
The Last Motel
by
Brett McBean
Published by: LegumeMan Books
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2011 by Brett McBean
Cover & Design © 2011 by Spatchcock
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the express written permission of the publisher and author, except where permitted by law
Praise for the Last Motel:
"A thrilling read about fate, coincidence and murder. McBean pumps up the tension to unbearable levels, and then lets rip."
---Tim Lebbon author of Fears Unnamed and Desolation
"Brett McBean is as brash and brutal as a young Jack Ketchum. He visits the dark rooms inside us all. The Last Motel is the first stop on his way to the top."
---Scott Nicholson author of The Manor and The Farm
"The Last Motel is fun; a thrilling, white-knuckled suspense read. McBean's voice is one that should be heard -- a hint of Laymon and Koontz, yet distinctly his own. Genuinely creepy stuff!"
---Brian Keene, Author of The Rising and Terminal
"Brett McBean's The Last Motel is dark and gritty, relentlessly fierce but tempered with keen wit and characters so real you can hear them breathing. The book is a loving, bloody homage to an underappreciated genre and McBean's writing compels you to keep turning pages even as you cringe. A book as hard to put down as Misery --- I couldn't look away even when I wanted to. The Last Motel makes the Bates Motel seem like a trip to Disneyland."
---Tamara Thorne author of Thunder Road
"Brett McBean's The Last Motel moved me to that level of horror rarely visited. He writes without a safety net and crosses all lines as he illuminates the true essence of fear. Mesmerizing and frightening."
---John Paul Allen author of Gifted Trust
Dedicated to Bruce 'Butch' Callaghan (1944-2009). Special thanks goes out to the wonderful and hardworking crew at LegumeMan Books. Simply put, you guys are the best. My gratitude to everyone involved in 'you know what'. Simply put, you guys rock!
CHAPTER ONE.
October 31, 1980
9:28 p.m
He pulled up to the sidewalk, cranked up the handbrake, then switched off the lights and engine.
He had parked three houses down.
That way he was close enough to see, but not enough to be noticeable.
He took another swig from the flask, savoured the warmth as the whisky flowed down his throat, then screwed the top back on. He placed the stainless steel hip flask under the driver's seat, then sat back up and wiped his mouth.
He checked his watch under the faint glow of the moonlight. It was nine-thirty. Helen's dork of a husband should be gone by now: sailing somewhere high above, on his way to Japan -- on a business trip.
He huffed loudly. "Fucking dork," he slurred. "What the hell she sees in him I'll never know."
For a thirty-five-year-old bank teller, Helen was remarkably sexy. Tall, long red hair, uncharacteristically tanned. Plus she had a great set of tits.
But for some reason she was married to a guy like Gavin. Medium height, receding hair, and growing the sort of belly that only a once thin man can grow -- small, yet protruding. A lazy, office worker's belly.
Plus he wore those fucking ridiculously thick glasses that served only to amplify his squinty little eyes.
Helen wasn't married to Robert Redford, that's for sure.
He reached into the glove box and pulled out his Smith & Wesson. He flicked open the chamber, just to check that it was loaded. After all, he was drunk and in a foul mood. A little thing like loading his gun might've slipped his mind. But all six rounds were jammed with cartridges.
He flipped the chamber back and shoved the revolver down the front of his pants.
Not that he was planning on using it. No way. It was merely a precaution. In his line of work, you learned pretty fast to take every precaution necessary.
As he reached down to switch off the radio, a wave of dizziness overcame him. He suddenly saw everything twice and, for a moment, thought he was going to throw up.
He rolled down the window and stuck his head out.
But the feeling quickly passed and he pulled his sweating head back in.
How much have I drunk? he wondered and smiled lazily.
He steadied himself and was about to hop out when he glanced over at the house.
"What the hell?" he muttered.
He knew that both Helen and her husband owned one car each -- she a blue Ford and he a red Alfa Romeo. The Alfa was gone, probably parked at the airport garage, and the Ford was parked in the driveway -- he could see it from here.
But there were two more cars parked behind the Ford -- a white Volvo and a dark coloured Mercedes.
Fuck! She has people over. Why has she got people over?
He sat back in his seat and thumped the steering wheel. She was supposed to be alone tonight. No husband, and no friggin' guests.
He switched the radio back on, then placed the gun back in the glove box. "Stupid bitch," he huffed. "Having a party and not even inviting me."
It was lucky he brought another hip flask. It looked like it was going to be a long night.
10:24 p.m.
Madge Fraiser switched off the radio. She had heard a car pull up outside -- her first customer for the night. She had finished sweeping the office floor, so she propped the broom against the wall, turned around and sat down. The cushion hissed as tiny pockets of air escaped.
The office door opened, and in stepped a young man. His short hair was mussed from the strong wind and his clothes were a bit grubby. With his thin build and smooth face, he looked around twenty years old. But there was secrecy in his eyes, an intelligence that told Madge he was slightly older.
The man approached the counter, giving her a wan smile.
"Need a room?" she asked.
"What's that? Oh yeah, a room."
He had a mature voice. It didn't suit his juvenile looks. She could also smell alcohol on his breath. It was stale, yet horribly pungent.
She wanted as little conversation as possible with this man. Though judging by his manner he felt the same way. "Will you be the only person staying?"
"No, there are two of us. Me and my friend."
Great, she thought to herself. Just what I need.
She could hear the shutters outside, down the back where her living quarters were, crashing against the windows. She would have to go out and close them later.
"You want a room with two singles, or one double?" she asked, not sure if the friend was a guy or girl.
"Yeah, two singles. Just for the night."
Madge reached under the counter and pulled out the registration book. She placed it flat on the counter top, open at the present date.
She gave him a pen and the man began scribbling down his details.
Madge watched him closely as he wrote down his name, address and car registration. He hesitated on all accounts.
She smiled guilefully. She had seen this same scenario too many times during her twenty years of running this motel. At least half of her clientele used false names and addresses. It was often a source of amusement to look at what names people came up with. She could always pick the false ones.
The man finished writing down his details then handed her back the pen. She thanked him and took the registration book, shoving it back under the counter.
She hopped up from her padded chair and went over to the key rack. She took one of the small cabin keys from off its hook, then shuffled back.
"Cabin three. It's directly in front." She chuckled. "We've only got five cabins, so it won't be that hard to find."
The man smiled and nodded. She handed him the key.
"I'll pay now, if ya don't mind."
"Sure," Madge said. "That'll be ten dollars, thanks."
The man pulled out his wallet and handed her a ten dollar note .
She thanked him, then opened up her cash register and placed in the money.
"Okay, thanks," the young man said, and hastened towards the door.
"Name's Madge," she called out. "I'll be here all night if you need anything. We lock the door at midnight. So just press the doorbell if you need me, okay?"
The man nodded quickly, then hurried out the front door. Wind moaned for an instant, then all was quiet, except for the clanging of the shutters.
"Strange man," Madge sighed, shaking her head. Bending down, she slipped the registration book out and opened it to the present date.
She smiled.
It wasn't a bad name; simple, yet believable.
Michael Clayton.
She placed the book back under the desk and glanced at her watch. The newsbreak would be on the radio about now. She leaned over and switched the knob to 'on.'
"...A perfect night for Halloween. The temperature in the city is ten degrees, and there's a strong wind outside. The rain that was forecast has so far held out, but reports say that it is definitely on its way.
And if this night isn't spooky enough, police still haven't caught the person, or persons, responsible for the murders of seven young men. They have no leads, and have yet to report any suspects. So please, while you're out having a good time tonight, take care, and don't accept any lifts from strangers.
In other news, police are investigating the shooting of an eighteen-year-old male, which occurred earlier tonight in the Lilydale area. We have yet to receive furthers details, but we'll keep you informed as the night rolls on.
The time is ten-thirty-one, and this next song is a classic..."
"Same old nastiness," Madge said as she switched the radio off. She shuffled from behind the office desk and made her way through the curtains and down to her quarters.
"What took you so long, Eddy?"
"Calm down, man. I had to pay and everything."
Eddy jumped into the driver's side and slammed the door.
"Who was in there? How many?"
Eddy laughed. "Fuck. Calm down, I said. There was just some old bag."
"See anyone else?"
"Don't worry so much." He gently slapped the side of Al's face. "We're in cabin three."
Eddy released the handbrake and headed towards the cabin directly opposite the office. The car bounced over forest floor.
"Did ya see any maps?" Al asked.
"In the office? Nah. Not that I could see, anyway."
"Place is deserted," Al commented.
Eddy glanced over at Al. His face was a contortion of nervous anxiety. "Relax, Alfred. We're in the mountains. No one's gonna find us."
"I hope not," Al said.
They pulled up to a cabin, and the headlights lit up, cast in bold black metal, the number 3.
"Here we are," Eddy said.
It was a small cabin, as they all were, and it looked rather decrepit. It was private, however, which Eddy was glad of. The next cabins were about five or six metres away on either side.
"Shit!" Al spurted out. "You didn't give 'em your real name and address did ya?"
"What do you take me for? Of course not." Eddy shook his head. "Come on, let's get inside."
"Wait a minute," Al said. "I'd feel a lot better if we parked the car around the back. Out of sight, ya know."
Eddy nodded. "Good idea. Can't be too careful."
He backed the car up, drove through the gap between the two log cabins, and around to the back. When the car was completely blocked by the backside of their cabin, he stopped. Bending down, Eddy gripped the two wires under the dashboard and unhooked them. The engine stopped. He then shut the headlights off. They were left in utter darkness. The only sound came from the wind outside.
"What now?" Al asked.
"We go inside, and talk about what we're going to do."
"What about...?" Al motioned with his head towards the back of the car.
"Leave it," Eddy told him. "It's not going anywhere."
They hopped out. The bitter wind was fierce, and although they weren't far up the mountain, the night air was noticeably cooler.
Eddy breathed in deep. "Ah, I love the smell of pine. Don't you?"
"I don't really give a fuck. Come on." Al started walking alongside the cabin.
Eddy smiled. "You know, you really need to relax a bit more, Alfred. Take a few deep breaths..."
"Don't call me Alfred," he whined.
They trudged up to the front of the cabin. Eddy reached into his jeans pocket and fished out the key. "This place is kinda spooky," he said, gazing around. "Don't ya think?"
"Whatever," Al said.
"Kinda fits in with Halloween and all that, huh?"
Al gave him a hard stare. "Come on, be serious, Eddy."
"Sorry."
Eddy opened the cabin door, and they stepped inside. Al found the light switch.
"Talk about spooky," Eddy mused.
"Almost reminds me of when we visited that old Sherwood house last year."
"Hell, I remember that," Eddy said. "The one where all the murders occurred. What did the old lady say?"
"Which one? The tour guide?"
"Yeah. Something about a man dressed in a gorilla suit."
"Can't remember."
"That was a great weekend, huh? What was the name of that motel we stayed in?"
"Ah...the Sleepy Hollow Inn, I think."
"Yeah, that's it. Hell, that dump was a palace compared to this."
The cabin was small, and very sparse. It housed two modest beds, a closet, one set of drawers, small refrigerator and there was a door leading to what Eddy guessed could only be the bathroom. The walls and ceiling were made of cheap pine board; the floor was covered with ratty carpet.
"And there's not even a TV," Eddy said as he closed the door.
"We're not here on a holiday," Al reminded him. He was in the middle of closing the tattered curtains.
"True. But it would've been nice to have the box on while we thought of what the hell we're going to do." Eddy hiked over to the closed door and opened it. He switched on the light.
"What is it?" Al called out. "Bathroom?"
"Yeah." Eddy chuckled. "Charming facilities. Ain't exactly the Windsor." He switched off the bathroom light and sauntered over to one of the beds. He jumped onto the mattress, resting his head on the pillow.
Al walked over to the other and sat down. "Man I'm buggered." He rubbed his forehead. "At least we have a radio."
Eddy glanced over at the small radio. "I wonder if that thing gets FM. So, what's the plan?"
Al let out a long sigh. "A fine mess we've gotten ourselves into."
"I say we leave the car here and hitch-hike back home."
Al shook his head. "That woman's seen your face."
"So?"
"I don't wanna take any chances. Besides, our fingerprints are probably all over the car."
Eddy nodded slowly. "I guess so. I really need a beer," he sighed.
Al licked his lips and groaned. "Yeah, me too."
"Any left in the car?"
Al shook his head. "All gone. Think the old lady would have any to buy?"
Eddy grinned. "Should've picked some more up on the way."
"Yeah, sure," Al huffed
"Well, it's gonna be a long night," Eddy said, his hands tucked under his head. "Booze would really come in handy."
"Yeah," Al agreed. "I don't think I can handle tonight if I'm sober."
Eddy chuckled. "What a night, huh?"
"And it' s a long way from over," Al sighed. He put his head in his hands and mumbled, "Happy fucking Halloween."
10:47 p.m.
Madge had just finished locking the last shutter when she heard another car pull up. Its engine was just audible over the wind.
This is the busiest I've been all year, she thought, and smiled.
She placed the small key into her coat pocket, pulled the shawl tight around her body, and shuffled around to the front of the office. She was greeted by a large man. He wore a blue chequered flannel shirt that hugged his bulging gut. He sported a short bristly beard, and what little hair was left on his head was the same reddish tinge as his beard.
"Good evening," Madge said. "Windy night."
The man gave a small, polite smile.
A white car sat parked in front of the office, and gazing through its front windscreen, Madge saw a woman sitting in the passenger seat. She too looked quite heavy.
"My wife, Judy," the man told her in a gruff voice.
The woman never once looked over at Madge. She had her head turned, gazing out towards the cabins.
"Come inside," Madge said, facing the man. "We'll freeze out here." She shuffled towards the office entrance.
The man nodded and followed her into the office.
"Nice little place you've got here," the man said as he closed the door.
"Thank you," she said. "It's been my home for the past twenty years." Madge took her place behind the desk.
"Really?" He seemed genuinely surprised. He followed Madge up to the desk.
"Yes. My name is Madge by the way.
"Name's Morrie. And that's Judy. My wife." He frowned. "I've already told you that, haven't I?"
Madge smiled. "Yes."
"You're well hidden," Morrie said. "We almost missed the turnoff."
Madge nodded. "I know. Most people say that. I can't lie, though. I like it that way. I'm almost sixty-four. I'm liking the peace and quiet more and more as I get older."
"Know what you mean," Morrie said.
"So, what do you do?"
"I'm a carpenter. Run my own business."
"Really?"
"I guess you'd know all about that." Morrie gave her a nervous smile. "Running your own business I mean."
"I suppose so," Madge answered. She took the registration book out.
"This is beautiful country. All the pine trees."
Madge nodded. "I just love their smell."
"Is that where you got the name from?"
"The name of the motel? Yes. You see, all the pine trees on this mountain are Lodgepole Pine. Native of Western America. All of our cabins are made from them too."
"Are they?"
"Certainly are."
"Fascinating," Morrie said.
"I just need your name, address, all that sort of thing."
Morrie nodded.
She handed him the folder and a pen. He scrawled in the registration book then handed the book and pen back.
"Okay," Madge said, slipping the folder under the desk. "Is it for one night?"
"Yes. We're, ah, driving up to Mansfield tomorrow."
"Beautiful town," Madge said.
She went over to the key rack, took down a set of keys, then shuffled back. "You're in cabin two. The second on the right." She handed him the key.
"Thank you," Morrie said, pocketing the key. From the front of the office there was a sudden burst of wind. Both Madge and Morrie flinched. A young man entered. The stranger closed the door, then walked up to the counter. He stood behind Morrie.
The man reminded Madge of that Michael guy who had booked in earlier. He had his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans and he sneaked the occasional glance at her.
She turned her eyes back to Morrie. "I lock the door at midnight, but if you need anything, just ring the doorbell, which is located outside, by the front door. I go to bed very late, so don't worry about disturbing me."
Morrie smiled. "Thank you, but I think me and the wife will be having an early night."
Madge nodded. "I guess I'll be seeing you in the morning then. Have a good night."
"Thank you," Morrie said again. "Good night." He turned, nodded hello to the man, then headed outside.
The man approached the desk. He looked just as scruffy as the other guy, Michael; probably more so. His hair was long and greasy and his jeans had holes in them.
"Can I help you?" Madge asked.
"Yeah, I'm staying in cabin three, and I was just wondering if you had any beer I could buy."
"Ah," Madge said with a nod. "You're Michael's friend."
"Who?" The man said. He quickly nodded. "Ah, Michael. Yeah, I'm his friend."
"I'm sorry," Madge said. "I don't have any alcohol on my property. Have no license, anyway. I don't drink myself. The stuff can lead to trouble. Vandalism and the likes. Not that I'm saying you're a vandal or anything." Madge smiled nervously. She wished to God she hadn't said that.
The man nodded and smiled politely. "I understand. You want to keep your motel in good condition. And they're such lovely cabins, might I add."
"Thank you," Madge said.
"Well is there a town near here that we could get some beer?"
"The closest town is Hutto, which is about a twenty-minute drive. It's a very small place, though. Almost deserted. I don't think they have anywhere that sells alcohol."
The man huffed. "Surely it has a pub or something?"
"I don't think so," Madge said. "You could try, but it would probably be a waste of petrol."
The man shrugged. "Oh well. We might take a drive anyway. We'll see."
"Sorry I couldn't help."
"Thanks anyway," he said. "Say, I was just wondering, how big are these mountains? I mean how rugged and bushy?"
"You thinking of doing some hiking?"
"Yeah, tomorrow."
"Beautiful country," Madge said. "Quite dangerous, though. It's not for your average Sunday bush walker. It can get pretty hairy in parts."
"Sounds like my sort of mountain." The man smiled. "What's the name of this mountain?"
"We're on Mt. Morris. It's one of the largest in Victoria. You can actually walk to Hutto through Mt. Morris. The hike takes about two hours."
"Really? That might be a good one to do."
"It's one of the more tame walks. If you want a really tough and hazardous hike, do Devil's Gorge. It takes two hours up and back. It takes you through caves, up to the highest point of the mountain and across really narrow cliffs. The walk eventually leads to a deep gorge."
"Hence the title."
"Exactly. It's a very deep chasm. A few people have committed suicide there, actually."
"My God," the man gasped.
"Yeah. Horrible way to die, if you ask me."
"What about any roads for cars? Can you drive up the mountain?"
"Why would you want to drive up?" Madge asked.
"Just wondering, that's all."
"There's none, I'm afraid. All walking tracks."
The man nodded. "No problem." He ran his fingers through his long hair. "So you're all alone here, huh?" His voice sounded shaky.
Damn! Madge thought. Get lost you filthy little pervert.
She cleared her throat. "Ah, no. My husband is back there." She pointed her thumb to the curtain that led to her living quarters. "He generally does all the book-keeping and business side of things. He leaves all of the customer service and tending of the cabins to me. He's an ex-policeman, actually. Retired from chief inspector."
The man's face grew pale. "A policeman?" he said, attempting a smile.
Look who's scared now, Madge chuckled to herself.
"Well," he pronounced. "I'd better get going. Nice talking to you. Thanks for the, ah, information about the mountain."
"Good night," Madge said.
"Yeah." He turned around and hurried to the front door.
After he was gone, Madge collapsed in the chair. It was times like these that she wished her husband were still alive.
Parked outside cabin two, Morrie shut off the engine and headlights, then turned to his wife. "Come on, Judy. Hon?"
She was still staring out the window.
"You could at least talk to me. It's not all my fault, you know."
Judy turned her head slowly and faced him. Even in the dim light he could see she had been crying.
"I know," she said. "I'm just so scared. We can't go back home. The police are probably looking for us."
Morrie reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "Let's get our bags inside. We're both tired."
"Who's tired?" Judy said. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep at all tonight."
Giving her shoulder one last, gentle squeeze, Morrie gripped the door handle and hopped out. He went around to the rear of the car and opened both doors. He heard the passenger door slam shut, and Judy came around and stood beside him. He reached in, grabbed the two travel bags, then handed them to Judy. Without saying a word, she took both bags and walked towards the cabin door.
Morrie took the last of their luggage, two suitcases, from the back of the car and placed them on the ground. He slammed both doors shut and taking the two bags in his hands, walked over to where his wife was waiting, shivering from the squally wind.
He had to put the suitcases down again when he reached the door so he could get the key out of his pocket. He opened the old wooden door, and let Judy go in first. She switched on the light then threw the bags down beside the double bed. Morrie followed with bags in hand and kicked the door shut behind him. "Rather modest," he said.
"That's an understatement." Judy sat down on the bed.
Morrie placed the two suitcases down, glad to be rid of their weight. "I'll check what's behind that door," he said. "Make sure Norman Bates isn't hiding in there."
Judy began crying. She placed her head in her hands and sobbed hard. Her whole body jiggled.
Morrie quickened over and sat down beside her. "Stop ya crying, Judy. It won't do us any good."
In between sobs, she managed to choke out, "We're...criminals...Morrie." Then she whispered, "Murderers."
"Don't say that!" Morrie growled. "It was an accident."
Whatever minimal amount of compassion he had built up for his wife drained from him the moment she uttered that word.
He jumped up and stormed over to the back window. Resting his arm on the windowsill above his head, he muttered, more to himself than to Judy, "It was an accident." He felt a ball of fire rise up in his body. "Fuck!" he spat, pounding the wall with his fist. He flung the curtains closed, then turned around and faced Judy.
"What are we going to do?" Judy whimpered. She looked up at Morrie, her chubby face smeared with tears. "I can't believe we just left him there. We should've..."
"Jesus Christ, Judy! We've already discussed this. You went along with it. I thought it was the right thing to do at the time." Morrie brought his hands up to his head and massaged his temples. He could feel one of his migraines coming on.
"Well we can't do anything about it now," he sighed, the yelling not helping his inflating headache. "What's done is done." He sauntered over to the fridge and opened the door. It squeaked from years of constant use and lack of maintenance, and Morrie noticed that no light came on inside. The scant shelves contained a carton of milk, a tub of butter and a few cans of Coke and Sprite.
"There's no beer," he said. "Jesus Christ!" He slammed the fridge door. "I guess you forgot to bring any booze."
"We were in sort of a hurry," Judy told him. "Alcohol was the last thing on my mind." She gazed down at the four pieces of luggage that sat on the floor. "My God, all we have left in the world are packed in those."
"I gotta take a leak," Morrie said. He walked across the room, opened the door and switched on the light. He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.
The shower was crammed in one corner, with the toilet positioned in the other. He strode over to the toilet and lifted the lid. He prepared himself in case a large spider had crawled its hairy way into the bowl, but was relieved to see nothing but shallow water. He unzipped and used the toilet.
Morrie wandered out a minute later. "Old fashion dunny," he said. "Has a chain."
Judy was still sitting on the bed, clutching a handful of tissues. She wiped her nose. "Probably been here ever since the place was built."
Morrie walked over and sat down on the bed. He rubbed his temples again.
"Migraine?" Judy said.
"Of course."
"Don't think we packed the aspirin," Judy said. "I'm sorry Morrie. I know it wasn't entirely your fault."
Morrie huffed.
"It's just...where are we going to go?" she said.
"I don't know," Morrie answered. "I thought we agreed on driving north, take it as it comes."
"You think that other boy went to the police?"
Morrie shrugged. "Probably. Should never have let him get away."
"Morrie!"
"It's the truth." He glared at his portly wife. "Don't yell at me, okay? Especially not when I have a headache."
"Don't tell me what to do," she said under her breath.
"Watch it, woman," Morrie warned. "Not tonight. Just lay that smart mouth of yours to rest, okay?"
"Ah, go to hell," she snapped.
In a whirl of movement, Morrie shot out his right hand and slapped her on the cheek. It left a red imprint of his large hand.
He immediately felt a sting of regret.
"You bastard," she cried, standing up fast.
"I warned ya," he said. "Not tonight."
"Go fuck yourself. Murderer!"
She rushed over to the door and ran out into the night.
"Where are you going?" Morrie called out. "Come back, Judy!" He stood up and mumbled to himself. "Jesus Christ. Damn woman." With a loud sigh, he headed for the cabin door.
Eddy sat up. "Sounds like someone's done a runner." He was grinning.
"Who cares?" Al said. He was now lying on the bed, hands tucked under his head. His face, however, was grim. He turned and looked over at Eddy. "A fucking ex-cop, Eddy. What are we gonna do?"
"Wish I could hear what was happening," Eddy said. "Probably the wife's fault. Sensitive bitch, I bet."
"Ugly, too," Al said.
"A bit of a fatty, huh?"
"Guy was scary, though. Big man -- looked like a truck driver or something."
"Probably beats her," Eddy said. "Just like my old man."
"Anyway, who cares? We've got our own problems."
"Oh yeah, the policeman," Eddy chuckled.
"What?" Al whined.
"She was just bullshitting ya, Al. There's no husband back there. Trust me."
"How do you know?"
"I just know, that's all. She's alone in there. Don't worry."
Al was still unsure. He didn't know whether to believe the old lady or Eddy. He stared up at the ceiling of the cabin.
"So what if her husband's an ex-cop," Eddy said. "He's what, at least sixty years old. We can take him if anything happens."
"Jesus, no," Al said, shaking his head. "We're already deep in shit. I'm not adding a dead cop to our list. Anyway, how do you know he's sixty? She could've married a younger man."
"Well it doesn't matter," Eddy said. "Because there is no husband."
"Whatever you say," Al sighed. He sat up and hopped off the bed. He walked over to the fridge. He opened the door and scanned the contents. "Wanna drink?" he called to Eddy.
"What is there?"
"Ah, Coke, Sprite or Fanta."
"Throw me a Coke."
Al reached in and grabbed two cans of Coke. He threw one over to Eddy, who caught it with the precision of a football-player.
"Nice catch," Al said. He pulled the little tab off. The can hissed. He took a drink and winced as the acidic liquid fell down his throat. He let out a gassy burp.
"I can beat that," Eddy said. He sculled almost half the can, then geared up for his turn. From deep in his throat, Eddy bellowed an enormous burp, which lasted for about five seconds. When he had finished, he looked at Al, and smiled. "Pretty good, huh?"
"I'm impressed," Al said. "There's no point trying to beat you."
Eddy grinned. "Call me the burp master!"
Al finished off the drink. He threw the can down to the floor. "We're going to have to start working out what the hell our plan is," Al said. "Regardless of whether there's an ex-cop here or not."
Eddy threw his can to the floor, then let out another smaller burp. "I know, Al, old buddy. I know."
"I think that Devil's Gorge is out of the question," Al said.
"And that old bag said you can't drive anywhere on the mountain, right?"
"That's right. I mean we could still try. You never know."
"I suppose," Eddy said. "Let's not rush this though. We've got the whole night to think it over. I don't want to get fucking caught," he said with a grin. "Not for something we didn't even do."
"Damn straight," Al said.
"Hey, you got any smokes? I forgot to buy some."
"All out."
"Shit," Eddy huffed. "No booze, no cigarettes. I'm gonna go crazy."
"Maybe our friends next door have some. I just heard them get back."
"Really?" Eddy grinned. "Ssshh."
They stopped talking, and listened. All was quiet. They didn't hear any more shouting.
"Must've kissed and made up," Al said.
"Pity. There goes our entertainment for the night." Eddy sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up and stretched. "I'm gonna see if I can get us some fags."
"He's married, remember?"
Eddy smirked, and stuck up his middle finger. "Maybe we can have a foursome."
"With her? No thanks."
Eddy chuckled and walked towards the door. He opened the door, and was hit by a gust of wind. "Fuck it's freezing out there." He stepped out and closed the door.
Grinning, Al walked over to his bed and lay down. The grin didn't last too long, though. He started thinking about their predicament, and what would happen if they were to get caught. The thoughts that ran through his mind gave him shudders -- thoughts that were mostly of prison. He told himself to stop thinking about such things and that they were going to get through this okay. He turned his thoughts to the couple in the next cabin and wished he were in their shoes.
If only our biggest problem was arguing over some petty problem.
He brushed some hair out of his eyes, then turned his body and reached over to the radio that was sitting on the table between the beds. He switched it on and then ran through the stations until he found something he liked.
Then he laid back, arms tucked under his head and wondered how Eddy was doing next door. He could really do with a smoke.
Stretched out on the bed, Al wondered if all the cabins were this gloomy. The bulb that gently swung from the ceiling gave off a dim glow. The scene was quite eerie, and the room looked to Al like a cross between the motel from Psycho, and the cabins from Friday the 13th.
He smiled to himself. This is the sort of seedy place he loved to stay at. If only they didn't have this problem to deal with. He couldn't relax and completely enjoy the atmosphere.
Great place to spend Halloween, though, he thought. If we get through this, we have to get everyone together and come up here next Halloween and have a party. And we'll make sure to bring a shit load of booze. Fuck what that old bag said.
He had his eyes closed and was thinking about the party, when a newsbreak came on.
"...Police are searching for nineteen-year-old Jeffrey Olsen who disappeared earlier tonight from the Mt. Evelyn area. He was apparently going to the shops to buy some food for a Halloween party he was attending later that night. The shops were only a ten-minute walk, and he told his mother that he would be back shortly. Jeffrey never returned home.
Police fear foul play was involved, but have no leads at this time.
In other news, we have yet to receive further details of the shooting of an eighteen-year-old male in Lilydale. We'll keep you posted on that story.
The time is six-past eleven, and the temperature has dropped to a very cool eight degrees. I hope you are all enjoying Halloween tonight -- I know we are, at Melbourne's favourite station, 3-MLB..."
A song came on that Al had never heard of, so he turned the volume down. He lay back and closed his eyes again.
That Jeffrey kid's probably out having a great time and getting laid. Like I should be. Maybe we should go looking for a prostitute and...
The door opened and Eddy walked in. He was shivering, but had a goofy smile. He shut the door and raised a packet of cigarettes.
"Looky what Eddy brought."
Al propped himself up on his elbows. "A whole packet?"
"Yep," Eddy said. "And I didn't have to perform any sexual acts, either."
"Wow."
Eddy made his way towards his bed, opening the packet. "They're only Benson & Hedges, but it'll do." He stuck a cigarette in his mouth, dangling it from his lips, then handed the packet to Al. "Got your lighter?" he asked, sitting on the bed. He rested his back against the headboard.
"Certainly do." Al pulled out his Bic. "How were the couple?"
"Quite nice, actually. You're right, though, the husband looks a bit rough. Wouldn't like to get in a fight with him."
"You and me both," Al said, lighting his cigarette. He stretched over and handed the lighter to Eddy.
"Looks like a redneck, too," Eddy said.
"Wouldn't surprise me."
They took long drags of their cigarettes.
"Much better," Eddy sighed, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.
"Really soothes the nerves," Al said.
"And Lord knows we need it."
Al took another drag and nodded. "The wife look beat up?"
"Nah, just a faint smudge on her cheek. Nothing major. A real fucking dog, though. Typical fatty -- sweatpants and flannel shirt."
"Real pillars of fashion, hey?"
Eddy chuckled.
"What are they doing here? Did ya have a chat with them?"
"Not really. Just a quick how'd ya do. God knows why someone would want to willingly spend a night in a place like this, though. I mean we are because we have to be."
"Maybe it's their honeymoon," Al said.
"Don't think the bed will hold up if it is."
"I don't know," Al said. "I was thinking how this place would be great for a Halloween bash. Next year, I mean. Have all the gang come up here, it'll be a wild time."
"You and your fucking horror movies," Eddy said. "This place is a dream for you, isn't it?"
"Don't you agree?"
Eddy puffed another billow of smoke while he thought about it. "Now that you mention it, these cabins do have a certain squalid charm to them. I doubt that old bag would allow it though."
Al shrugged. "Probably not. How much did ya pay for the smokes?"
"Ten bucks, can you believe it?"
"Ten? Ripped off, man."
"It wasn't even their last packet, either." Eddy shook his head. He took a long drag, then blew a mass of smoke out into the room.
Al did the same.
"What I should've done was sneak into their cabin while they were out just before and stolen one of their packets of cigarettes."
Al huffed. "Haven't you learned your lesson yet? Stealing shit is what got us into this mess in the first place."
"Too true," Eddy mused. "Too true."
9:02 p.m.
"How about that one?"
"Nah, too posh. Probably has an alarm."
Al gazed at the sleek Porsche 911 and nodded. "Goddamn yuppies."
Edward Worchester and Alfred Taylor continued walking down the footpath. They were in the East Melbourne suburb of Mt. Evelyn. Al was carrying a plastic bag that contained two six packs of Victoria Bitter. They had almost finished both packs.
Staggering slightly, Eddy scrunched up his finished beer can and threw it at a modest weatherboard house. It landed on the overgrown lawn. He let out a burp and turned his head back to Al. "I was aiming for the window. Fucking missed!"
Al chuckled and took a drink. "What time does Craig's party start?"
"It's already started, idiot. He said to come around at eight-thirty. But who the fuck gets to a party on time? Throw me another beer, huh?"
Al had polished off his can so he threw it to the pavement. He reached into the plastic bag and broke off two more cans. He called out to Eddy, who turned around just in time to catch the flying beer can. Al popped open the top and began drinking his fifth beer for the night.
"Isn't it a dress up?" Al said.
"What, the party?" Eddy called back.
"What else, numb-nuts?"
"Supposed to be. Craig and Ally are going as Bonnie and Clyde. Woo-hoo," Eddy cried. "Couple of party animals."
"What's the time?"
"It is..." It took Eddy a bit longer than usual to read the time. "Four past nine, my dear Alfred."
"You know I hate being called that."
"Sorry," he sniggered. "It's four past nine, Aaaaal. Hey, don't you have a watch on?"
"Sure," Al chuckled. "But I just wanted to see your drunken arse read the time."
Eddy laughed and raised his middle finger.
Grinning, Al crept as quietly as possible up to Eddy, and shot out a swift kick to his left leg. Eddy let out a huff, and almost buckled to the ground. He managed to maintain his balance, and with a sly grin turned around and pointed at Al.
"You're gonna pay for that," he said in a dreadful Clint Eastwood impersonation. "You punk!"
Al cackled. "That was terrible. My mum can do better than that!"
"Yeah, well, your mum fucked me good last night. She's not bad for an old hag."
Al laughed. "She may be a middle-aged alcoholic, but she still wouldn't lower herself and fuck you. Now your mum on the other hand..."
"I know, she would fuck anyone," Eddy finished.
They both laughed. "You have no respect at all, do you?" Al said.
"For my two loser parents? Not one bit. They care about as much for me as I do for them."
In the distance a group of trick-or-treaters were coming down the street, jumping and laughing. Al counted five kids, and one poor woman, who was trying, without luck, to stop the kids from making so much racket.
"Ain't that cute," Eddy said, taking a sip from his beer.
As the trick-or-treaters neared, Al saw that one was dressed as a ghost, one was a pirate, one was Yoda, one was a vampire, and the last one was a fairy. The woman wasn't wearing a costume.
Al saw the woman eye them closely as they approached, glancing at the cans of beer in their hands. She gave them a fleeting smile as she neared.
"Having fun kids?" Eddy said, sounding drunk.
"Yeah!" they all said, almost in perfect unison.
"You want some lollies?"
The kids all said "yes" eagerly, but the woman shook her head. "That's okay. They've got enough, thank you."
"Nonsense," Eddy said. "You can never have enough junk food. Hey Al," he called back. "How many beers we got left?"
Al had to snigger, but the woman frowned, and put her arms around the kids.
"Let's go children. You horrible men. You should be ashamed of yourselves."
"What?" Eddy said and shrugged.
The woman pushed the kids past Al and Eddy, glaring at the two men as she hurried past.
"Have a good night, kids," Eddy called. "Don't get too drunk." He chuckled and turned to Al. "No sense of humour, some people."
Al waited until the group was out of hearing range before he said, "Lady wasn't bad."
"Tell me about it. Wouldn't mind sticking it to her, that's for sure. Hey, what about that one?"
Al gazed over to where Eddy was looking, and spotted a sporty Mazda RX-7.
"Wouldn't mind taking her for a spin," Eddy said.
Al agreed. They walked up to the parked car.
They stepped up to the window and cupped their hands around their temples.
"Ah shit," Eddy groaned.
Al smiled, gazing into the dark interior. "You know how to pick steering locks?"
"Fucking yuppies!" he said. "Always spoiling my fun." Eddy spat a thick glob of phlegm at the window.
"Charming," Al said.
The mucus dribbled down the glass, leaving a thick sticky residue.
They left the Mazda and crossed over to the opposite side of the street. They continued to stroll down the footpath, scanning the area for cars. To their right lay a large park. The dim lamplight made the area extremely dark. Not even Eddy and Al would venture into that park at night. It had been the scene of numerous robberies, rapes, gang beatings -- even murder.
"You know that Lester Wallace got bashed in there last week?"
"Really?" Al said. He didn't recall hearing anything about that.
"Yeah. Couple of damn pussies jumped him. Really messed him up. If I remember correctly, he had a few broken ribs, broken jaw, busted nose; he even lost consciousness for a few minutes."
"Shit," Al said, gazing into the dimly-lit park.
"Scary place."
Al didn't want to think about who might be prowling around down there, so he began walking faster.
They eventually came to the edge of the park, where a side street joined the main road. They were about to cross over when Al spotted a car down the side street. It was shrouded in darkness and was sitting parallel to the edge of the park. From the light of the moon, Al could see it was an older-model Datsun Bluebird.
"Hey, look down there," Al said, pointing.
Eddy followed the line of Al's finger. A grin spread across his face. "Let's go check it out," he said.
They hurried down the side street and over to the parked car. Al wasn't particularly overjoyed that the car was parked so close to the edge of the park, but at least they had the darkness to conceal their activities.
"Perfect," Eddy said as he peered into the window. "No steering lock."
Al was too busy looking over his shoulder and into the darkness of the park to join in with Eddy's rapture. "That's great, Eddy. Just hurry up and start the thing."
Eddy glanced back and grinned. "What's the matter, Alfred, a bit spooked?"
"To tell you the truth, I am. That park gives me the creeps."
Eddy peered behind Al, and nodded. "Yeah. I'll try and be quick."
He turned back to the Bluebird. "Jesus Christ," he gasped. "Look at this, will ya?"
Al quickly joined Eddy.
"Can you believe it? Bugger's left the doors unlocked."
Al was astonished, but very grateful. He knew from experience that picking the locks can often take the most time.
Without hesitation, Al hopped into the passenger seat and chucked the cans of beer on the floor. He slammed the door just as Eddy jumped in behind the steering wheel. He shut the door then bent down and started with the underneath of the dashboard.
"Hurry," Al whispered, keeping watch for any police or people that happened to walk past.
"Yeah, yeah," Eddy said, his head buried under the steering wheel.
Al knew a bit about hot-wiring cars -- Eddy had shown him a few things -- but Eddy was the expert. He could hot-wire a car as quick as it took to turn a key. Well, almost.
The Datsun came to life with a loud rumble, and Eddy let out a cry of triumph.
He sat back up and faced Al. "We're in business," he said. "Ready to have some fun?"
"Let's rock and roll," Al said.
Eddy flicked on the headlights, and raced out of the parking space, the tyres screeching as he sped off. "Woo-hoo!" he cried out, banging his hand against the steering wheel. "Nothing gets my blood pumping like stealing a car."
Al opened up the glove box and searched around.
"Anything good?"
"Nah, just some papers. No wallet or anything."
"Ah well," Eddy said. "We've almost got a full tank of petrol, and the whole night to enjoy it. Where to, Al old buddy?"
Al thought about it, then clapped his hands together. "Let's go to the highway."
"Yeah," Eddy said. "Sounds like a plan."
He revved the accelerator pedal, and drove in the direction of the highway.
9:20 p.m.
They had been driving along the Maroondah Highway for about ten minutes, and were travelling about thirty kilometres over the speed limit.
Al took a long drink from his last can of beer, then threw it to the floor. Eddy had already finished off all his.
"Isn't this just fucking awesome?" Eddy laughed.
"The best," Al said. "I'd forgotten how great it feels."
Eddy nodded.
They had passed few cars. The highway was dark and narrow in parts, but Al thought that it added to the excitement.
"Where exactly are we going?" Al said. "Are we still going to Craig's party?"
"I don't know," Eddy said. "Whatever."
"How's the petrol holding up?" Al asked, leaning over to see the gauge.
"Still got close to a full tank. Don't worry, if we need to fill up, we can do it in Healesville."
"We could always skip Craig's party, and drive all night."
"I suppose," Eddy said.
There was silence in the car.
All of a sudden the car ran over a large pothole. The two men bounced around in the car. Al almost hit his head on the roof, as did Eddy.
"Jesus, somebody ought to fix that," Eddy said afterwards.
"What the fuck is that?" Al said. He turned around. "That's the third time I've heard it."
"What?"
"There's something banging around in the boot."
"Probably a suitcase or a spare tyre."
"Stop the car," Al told him.
"Fuck off," Eddy said.
"I mean it, man. It might be something interesting. What if it is a suitcase, and there's a shit load of money in it?"
That got Eddy's attention. He slowed the car down and veered off to the side of the road. He put on the handbrake. "Just one problem -- no key. How are we gonna open up the boot?"
"Can't you pick the lock?"
Eddy shook his head. "Got nothing to pick it with."
"Well, I gotta find out what's in there."
"Why?" Eddy said. "It's probably just a loose tyre."
Al positioned himself so he was kneeling on the seat, then bent over and started feeling around the back floor.
"What the hell are you doing?" Eddy said.
"Trying to find something that will open the boot."
"Jesus," Eddy chuckled. "Give it up."
The floor behind his seat was scattered with pieces of paper, some clothing, and some hard objects. "Found something," Al said, picking up one of the hard objects. He brought it up, and saw he was holding a hatchet.
"Look at this," Al said, showing Eddy the hatchet.
"Whoa, be careful with that thing, man."
"Why would someone have an axe in their car?" Al said.
"He's a fucking serial killer, Al. How the hell should I know?"
Al threw the hatchet down to the floor, then bent back over and searched for something else. He felt the clothes again, then his hand touched something cold and hard. He grabbed it and brought it up. Just as he thought, he was holding a crowbar.
"We're in luck," Al said. He waved it in Eddy's face.
"Great," Eddy said. "Let's go get your fucking treasure."
They jumped out and hurried around to the rear of the car. With the crowbar clutched in his hand, Al placed its flat end under the lid of the boot. Using all his drunken force, he cranked the crowbar upwards, while at the same time trying to push it forward.
"This is harder than I thought it would be," Al choked out.
"Not like in the movies, huh?"
The metal bar scratched and dented the car, but the boot refused to give.
"Fuck," Al breathed out. "Do you want to give it a go?"
Eddy scratched his head, then shrugged. "You know, if you break into the boot, you won't be able to close it again. The lock will be broken." He grinned. "Unless you have some strong rope to tie it down."
Al sighed. "Well I guess I forgot to bring the goddamn rope!"
Eddy reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened the tattered case and brought out a hairpin. "This way's much easier. And you don't break the lock."
Al gaped at Eddy, and thought for a second about smashing the crowbar over his smug face. "You fuck," he whined. "Why didn't..."
"I had to have some fun tonight. And watching you bust your arse was a riot. It was like watching a drunk trying to read the time."
"I should've known," Al said. "I should've remembered your little key."
"Step aside," Eddy said. "Let me work my magic."
Eddy stood at the boot, and like a skilled craftsman, slowly and carefully worked the thin wire into the lock.
Al watched with nervous anxiety. Anything could be lying in that dark boot.
With a small click, the lock opened, and Eddy stood up, smiling proudly.
"What'd I tell ya?" He stepped back. "Do you want to do the honours?"
Al moved over to the unlocked boot and flung up the lid.
"Fuck!" he cried out, jumping back from the car. He almost tripped over a branch that was lying on the ground. Eddy remained standing over the boot.
The initial shock passing, Al crept forward, his mouth dry, then said softly, "Is he dead?"
"Looks pretty dead to me," Eddy intoned.
Al gazed over at Eddy. "Shouldn't we check or something?"
"Go ahead," Eddy said. "I ain't touching him."
Al peered down into the dim boot, at the lifeless body that was curled up. The thought of touching it made him feel ill. "He, ah, looks dead to me," Al said with a nod.
"Who the fuck is he?" Eddy said. "And who the fuck put him in there?"
Al shook his head. He heard himself say, "I don't know."
Although the body was lying on its side, its face was staring straight up at the night sky, as if trying to gasp for fresh air. The body was male, and he looked younger than Al and Eddy; around four or five years. That would've made him about nineteen. Al could see bruise marks on his neck, but there didn't seem to be any cuts or head wounds. He was fully dressed, and from what Al could see, no blood was on his clothes or face. He was, however, sprinkled with leaves and dirt.
"What are we going to do?" Eddy finally said.
A bright light suddenly encased the car and the two men, and at first Al thought it was a police searchlight. He quickly realised that it was an oncoming car.
"Oh shit, they're going to see us," Al screamed. "We're fucked!"
But the light soon washed over them, and the car zoomed past. It didn't stop, and they watched as it faded into the darkness.
"Close one," Eddy sighed. "We'd better decide what the hell we're gonna do, or else the next car that comes along might stop. Or worse, it could be a cop."
"What do you suggest?" Al said. "There is a dead body in the boot, Eddy!"
"No shit," he said. "Okay, let me think. First of all, let's close the boot." He went over to the open boot, grabbed the lid, and hesitated. "He's definitely dead, right?"
Al was chewing on his fingernails. "Yeah, I guess so. Well he ain't sleeping."
Eddy closed his eyes, then slammed the boot shut. Al winced.
"Sweet dreams, my friend," Eddy said.
"Let's get back in the car."
Eddy nodded. They hurried around to the front of the car and hopped in, slamming their doors respectively. Slouched in the driver's seat, Eddy lowered his head onto the steering wheel and blew out a long groan. "Oh man," he said. "Out of all the cars we could've stolen, we pinched a car with a dead fucking body in the boot."
Al started laughing. It seemed insane to be laughing, but this was an insane, surreal time. Eddy joined in.
"Happy Halloween," Al chuckled.
Eddy sat back up, then released the handbrake. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, and they sped off down the highway, spewing dust into the blustery night.
"We either dump the body or dump the car," Eddy said after a five-minute silence.
"We can't dump the car," Al said, gazing out the window. "Our fingerprints are all over it. We have to get rid of the body, there's no other way."
Eddy sighed and banged the steering wheel. "Some sick mother kills a guy, and we're left with the damn body."
Al gave a small chuckle. "Yeah, I wonder what the killer's doing now. He would've freaked when he found his car gone."
"He's probably really pissed," Eddy said. "Probably come looking for us."
"Don't say that," Al said.
"Seriously, though. What are we going to do?"
Al ran his fingers through his greasy hair. "What are we worried about? We've got mountains and forests all around us. We can just dump the body anywhere."
"What, do you want to pull over and just heave the body out into the forest?" Eddy asked, looking over at Al.
"No, no good."
"Why not?"
"This may not be the busiest highway, but cars do go past every now and then. Remember?"
Eddy nodded. "Okay, we'll just find somewhere that's secluded. Hell, must be tons of dirt roads that lead to nowhere. We can just drive to a mountain or something."
Al sat listening, nodding his head. "That's good. Okay, now we're getting somewhere. How long till we reach Healesville?"
"About five minutes. After we pass through that, there's nothing but mountains and deep forests for hours. With the exception of a few little hick towns."
"Perfect." Al nodded. "We can get through this."
"Of course we will," Eddy said.
10:20 p.m.
The sign faded from the headlights as quickly as it had been lit. Al had just caught a glimpse of what the sign read.
"What did it say?" Eddy asked.
"There's a motel coming up. In about five minutes."
"Motel? Out here?"
"Yeah, strange place to have one, hey?"
Eddy huffed. "Probably run by a bunch of inbred yokels."
"You know, it might not be a bad idea to stop there."
"What!" Eddy said, glancing over at him. "Why would we want to do that? In case you've forgotten, we have a dead body in the boot."
"I know it sounds stupid, but think about it. We haven't seen any roads that lead up into the mountains, have we?"
"Be patient, my boy. We'll find one."
"Will we? We've been driving for about an hour. We don't know where the hell we are. We don't know this area. Now, motels usually have maps to all the bush-walks and mountain tracks and shit."
Eddy remained unusually quiet. Al knew that he was listening, and liking what he was hearing.
"Not only that, but usually when a motel is situated in the mountains, it has its own hiking tracks which lead into the mountains."
"You seem to know a lot about motels," Eddy said with a smile.
"Hell, I practically grew up in motels and caravan parks. Besides, I had nothing better to do, so I used to go walking around the woods and mountains. My mum didn't care. And it was a hell of a lot better than watching her drink all day."
Eddy nodded. "So what's the plan?"
"I say we stop."
"It will still be a big risk, you know. I say we keep on driving. We're bound to find a dirt road eventually."
In the distance, a large sign protruded out of the tall trees.
"That must be it," Eddy said.
"Pull over," Al told him. "We have to work this out."
Eddy slowed the car and pulled off the road. He let the car idle.
"Okay, here are my thoughts. If we stop at the motel, we are going to be seen by the owner. He or she will know our faces and probably see the car. If we dump the body somewhere in this mountain, we might be connected if they find it. Which they most likely will."
Al shook his head. "You're being too paranoid. Look at this mountain." Al peered out the window.
Eddy followed. "So?"
"It's fucking huge. The chances of finding the body are very slim. And if they do, we'll be so long gone that the owner, or whoever else sees us, will have completely forgotten us. Hell, motels get hundreds of customers through. Our faces will just blend in. They won't remember us from Joe Average and his happy little family."
Eddy grimaced. "I don't know. It still seems kind of risky." He ducked his head and looked out the windscreen again.
"And besides, we might not even dump the body in these mountains. As I said, the motel might have a map that shows all the other tracks. Come on, Eddy. It's a lot better than driving blind down the highway."
Eddy blew out a deep sigh. He sat in the car, silent. Finally he nodded. "Okay. Let's go."
Relieved, Al smiled. "Okay."
Eddy headed back onto the road, driving at a slower speed. "I can't believe we're doing this," he said.
"I can't believe we're in this mess in the first place," Al said.
They neared the wooden sign. Large pine trees covered half of the sign, so it read:
The Lodgepo
Mote
Vaca
"Oh good, there's a vacancy," Eddy said.
Turning the car left, they found themselves on a narrow dirt road, with towering pine trees surrounding them on all sides. The road started to ascend, so Eddy had to step hard on the accelerator.
As they climbed higher into the forest, the trees became more plentiful. Al noticed how strong the wind had become. It tossed the trees about furiously.
"Now, we gotta stay cool," Eddy said. "We are just friends who have come up here to do some hiking, right?"
"Right." Al was starting to regret their decision. Nerves pulled at his insides like hooks.
The steep road levelled out, and they came upon the motel. It wasn't so much a motel as a group of cabins -- six in all, including the office -- and they were arranged in a U shape. The largest building, the office, was the first cabin on the right. To the right of the door, written in large metal letters, was The Lodgepole Pine Motel. A large overhead lamp lit the front area of the office.
"I'll go in and do the talking, okay?" Eddy said as he drove over to the office.
"Sure," Al said. He was going to suggest that very thing, anyway.
Eddy pulled up alongside the front door and cranked up the handbrake.
"Be back soon," Eddy said. He opened the door and stepped out.
Al watched as he entered the office. When he was inside, Al let out a nervous sigh and closed his eyes.
"Fuck," he muttered. "I don't believe this." He rubbed his eyes then opened them. The wind had really blown up; he could hear nothing but the loud thunder of the gale. He gazed around at the small cabins. There didn't seem to be any other guests staying at the motel.
Then he remembered.
"Oh shit," he groaned, all of a sudden feeling sick. This was the first time he had been alone with the body. The thought of a dead human lying a couple of metres away in the dark boot made him just a tad unsettled.
"Hurry up," he muttered, staring at the office door.
He lowered his head and gazed out the windscreen at the enormous mountain, which was just a dark outline against the deep sky. Al knew there had to be plenty of hiking tracks throughout that mountain.
We might get through this after all, he thought.
He was starting to get a bad feeling about all this, though. He feared somebody would catch them. After all, they were riding in a stolen car. Not to mention whoever was in the boot would soon be reported missing. He began biting his fingernails. "Come on, Eddy. What are you doing in there?"
Just then the office door opened, and Eddy came out. "Finally," Al sighed.
Eddy strode over to the car and opened the door.
"What took ya so long, Eddy?"
"Calm down, man. I had to pay and everything."
He hopped back into the car and slammed the door.
11:19 p.m.
Throwing the bag into the large rubbish bin, Madge slammed the lid shut then let out her breath. She couldn't remember the last time she had cleaned the green plastic bin, though the rotten stench told her it had been too long. Every time she put the rubbish out, she vowed to clean the foul smelling bin the next day. But she never seemed to get around to it.
I'll definitely clean it tomorrow, she told herself. After those two creeps are gone.
She left the bin and headed for the back door. Inside, she dumped her scarf and jacket in her bedroom, and then headed for the bathroom.
There she washed her hands thoroughly with peach scented soap. After drying her hands, she left the bathroom and wandered into the lounge room.
She was about to switch on the TV when the front desk bell rang.
I hope it's not those two hooligans, she thought, walking through the lounge room and over to the curtain. She parted the old purple drape and walked into the office. A chubby man of about thirty was standing by the desk. His round face sported a long, droopy moustache, and he had moderately short, messy black hair. He smiled openly as Madge approached.
"Good evening," he said.
"How are you? Would you like a room?"
"I certainly would. Don't really want to try and make it to Mansfield tonight. Terrible weather. Going to rain soon."
"You think?" Madge asked, taking the registration book out from under the desk.
"I don't think...I'm sure," he said. "I can see it in the clouds."
"Really? Are you travelling alone?"
"No. I'm having a father-son weekend. I'm taking him on a trip through Victoria. Hopefully make it to Wodonga by tomorrow night."
"So you'll be wanting a room with two singles, then?"
"No, a double will be fine."
Madge gaped at the man, shocked. Embarrassed, she quickly looked down at the registration book.
The man started to giggle. "That was a joke," he said. "I'm sorry, I've got a strange sense of humour."
"That's okay," Madge said with a shrug. She still could feel her face burning, though.
"Two singles will be fine," he told her.
She flipped the registration book around then handed the man a pen. "Just the usual," she told him.
He took the pen and started writing down his details.
Madge went over to the key rack. "Cabin four," she said, taking down a set of keys. "That's the second cabin as you drive in." She shuffled back and handed the man the key.
"Thank you dear. And, ah, what is your name?"
"Madge."
"Thank you, Madge. My name's Wayne."
"Just to let you know, Wayne, I lock the door at midnight. If you need anything, just buzz the doorbell by the front door. I go to bed very late, so don't worry about disturbing me."
"That's very kind of you, Madge. I'll be sure to ring the bell if I need you." He grinned.
Madge smiled politely back. "Have a good night. I hope your son enjoys the weekend."
"Oh, I'm sure he will. He and I are going to have a fantastic time." He grinned again. "Good night, Madge."
"Good night."
He turned in a half circle, then stopped. He faced Madge. "I almost forgot. I'll pay now, if that's okay."
"Of course," Madge said. "Twelve dollars."
Wayne raised his eyebrows. "Twelve? How do you keep this place going with prices like that?"
"I manage," Madge said. "It's not an expensive place to run."
Wayne fished out his wallet and handed her the exact money. She thanked him, then placed it in her till.
"Well, I guess I'll be going," Wayne said. "Good night...again."
"Yes, good night."
He turned around and walked over to the front door. He opened it and stepped outside. Madge caught a glimpse of the son while the door was open. He was slumped in the passenger seat, and appeared to be asleep.
The door closed, and the office was quiet again.
Madge didn't go back to her quarters straight away. She remained at the desk, thinking about Wayne. He looked vaguely familiar. Nothing about his face or voice seemed familiar; it was his eyes that piqued her memory. And they were strange, beady eyes. She couldn't quite place where she had seen him, but she guessed that it must've been here, at her motel.
It was not altogether unusual for her to get repeat customers; it was just that she always remembered them. She had that sort of memory.
She took back the registration book. She glanced at the name, saw he had written Wayne Simons, and then put it away. His name didn't spark any recollection.
She shrugged, muttered, "Ah well," then headed for the curtain. As she stepped through into her lounge room, she thought to herself, I'm sure I'll remember tomorrow.
She wandered over to the TV and switched it on.
"Popular place. It'll be booked out soon."
"Teenagers?"
Morrie took a long drag of his cigarette, then blew out a puff of smoke. It left a faint circle of mist on the window. "Nah, older guy. About my age. There's another person in the car..."
"Shit, what do they look like?"
Morrie chuckled. "Relax. It ain't the cops. I think he's young. Probably the guy's son." He squinted. "I dunno. Too dark to tell."
Morrie closed the curtain, walked over to the sink, and threw in the cigarette. He turned on the tap and let the water soak the smouldering butt. When the cigarette was nothing but a limp, soggy bit of tissue, he turned the tap off.
"Could be lovers," Judy said. She was lying on the bed, her hands crossed behind her head.
"What?" Morrie grumbled.
"Those two guys who just arrived. They could be gay."
"Yeah, could be. Couple of fucking fags." Morrie crossed the room and climbed onto the bed.
"Seriously, Morrie. You don't think they were cops?"
Morrie was removing his shoes, using his feet to work them loose. He kicked them off, and they fell to the floor with a dull clunk.
"Christ," Judy coughed. "Your feet stink!"
Morrie grinned.
"You need a shower."
"How about we take one together?" he said.
"I'm not in the mood. Anyway, what if they are cops?"
"Man alive, they're not the cops. Don't worry, Judy. We're safe here for now."
Judy huffed. "I guess so. How's your migraine?"
"It feels a lot worse after I had to chase you around the goddamn forest...in the freezing cold."
"Well, you shouldn't have hit me."
"I wouldn't have to if you weren't such a smart arse."
She turned her head and glared at him.
"Listen, let's not fight, huh? We've got enough to worry about. And I've got this hell of a headache."
"Sounds fine by me," Judy said.
Morrie took out the packet of smokes from his shirt pocket. He flipped the top open and pulled out a cigarette. He offered the pack to Judy, who took one.
He shoved the pack into his pocket, then pulled out his lighter. He lit both of the cigarettes. "It's strange about those two young men."
"Their car?"
Morrie nodded. "Why have they parked around the back?"
Judy took a puff and shrugged. "Maybe they have drugs in the car."
"I wish," Morrie chortled. "I could use some."
"I doubt it," Judy said. "Or else they would've used that instead of buying smokes off us."
"You never know. The drugs could be for some big dealer, and they're just on their way to deliver it."
"Whatever," Judy said. "I really don't give a shit about their problems."
"I know, I know. We have our own problems."
"Don't make fun of me or the situation," Judy said. "Don't forget -- we're in a world of shit."
"You think I don't know that!" Morrie snapped. "Jesus."
"You think the police are looking for us?"
"I don't know, probably." Morrie took a drag of his cigarette. "They won't find us, though. We'll be in another state by this time tomorrow."
"Let's check the radio. There might be information about it."
Morrie shook his head. "It's only eleven-thirty. There won't be a full news broadcast until midnight."
"Damn," Judy muttered. "I can't just lie here doing nothing, waiting for the police to catch us. I keep thinking I hear sirens."
"Well what do you want me to do about it?" Morrie sat up and gazed over at Judy. "What the hell do you expect me to do?"
"I don't know," she said. "Can't we just leave now? Drive away?"
"Jesus," Morrie huffed. "We already discussed this. I ain't driving all night, during this shitty weather. Besides, I'm fucking exhausted, and I have a pounding migraine. If you had gotten off your lazy arse and gotten your license, maybe you could've driven."
Judy rolled over onto her side, facing away from Morrie. She began to cry.
Morrie rolled his eyes and finished off his cigarette. "I'm taking a shower." He stubbed the cigarette on the side table then flicked it to the floor. He hopped off the bed and headed for the bathroom. "You stay here and watch out for Mrs. Bates. Make sure she doesn't interrupt my shower." Morrie chuckled.
"I don't know how you can make jokes," Judy said softly.
"I'm just dealing with it, okay?" He stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door. "Fucking hell," he grumbled.
He stepped over to the shower and flung the dirty green curtain aside. He was surprised to find the shower quite clean. The white porcelain, although stained from years of use, was a lot cleaner than Morrie would've thought. He started to undress.
\*
Ten minutes later, Morrie stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. He shuffled over to the bed where Judy was curled up, her back to the bathroom, and sat down. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
"Hot water didn't last too long. Feel a lot better, though."
Judy didn't answer.
"Come on, Judy. You're not still mad at me, are you?"
He shook her gently. "Hon?"
He leaned close to her body and heard snoring. He smiled. "That's it, have a sleep. You need it."
So do I, he thought.
"We're going to get through this," he whispered to her. "Don't worry." He kissed her cheek, then stood up. The heat from the shower was beginning to wear off. His body had goose bumps from the chill inside the cabin.
"Wouldn't have killed her to put a heater in the cabins," he mumbled. He wandered back into the bathroom and retrieved his clothes. While in the bathroom, he gazed at himself in the small mirror above the sink. "I look terrible," he said. He looked pale and washed out. His beard needed a trim as well. "You've really done it this time. You fucking moron," he said, shaking his head.
He turned away from the mirror, and threw down the towel. He got dressed quickly, then left the bathroom, turning off the light as he went past. Judy was still asleep. He walked around to the other side of the bed, and gently sat down. He propped the pillow up against the headboard, then lay down on the bed. He glanced at the clock radio. It was quarter to twelve.
He desperately wanted to hear the news report. It might tell him something about their situation, and how much the police knew. Until then, he would take a short fifteen-minute nap. Morrie closed his eyes. In his mind he saw the dead kid -- his bloody body sprawled on the ground.
Morrie's eyes shot open.
He would have to wait out the fifteen minutes staring at the ceiling of the cabin. His conscience wouldn't allow him the luxury of sleep.
Wayne flushed the toilet then went over to the sink. As he turned on the tap he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He grinned. Despite his age and excess weight, he was still a handsome man -- at least in his view.
He turned off the tap and gazed down at the sink. There were still splashes of blood that hadn't been washed away. He turned the tap back on, and cupping some water in his right hand, washed the blood down the drain. When the sink was clean of blood, Wayne turned the tap off and dried his hands.
As he left the bathroom, he ran his fingers through his sandy-blond hair. His head still itched from the wig, so he spent a full minute standing by the bathroom door, scratching his scalp, moaning with pleasure from the relief it gave him. The itch subsided for the time being, Wayne shuffled over to the fridge and grabbed a Sprite, glancing at the boy that lay face down and spread-eagled on the bed. Well, not really a boy. Wayne knew that he was eighteen. But his smooth features and tender white skin made him look younger than he actually was.
Wayne popped the top off the can. He took a long drink and winced from the acidic liquid. He let out a noisy burp, then proceeded over to the bed closest to the bathroom. As he sat on the bed, Wayne couldn't help but look over at the boy, and felt a wild heat surge through him. He felt himself grow hard. He switched the can to his left hand, and with his right, undid his pants and gripped his cock. He flinched from the cold touch, but as soon as he began masturbating, he forgot about the chill.
He stared at the naked boy, at his smooth pale skin, at his firm buttocks, and imagined that it was a dead body lying bound to the bed. He let the can fall to the floor as his excitement grew. Not once did he blink, not wanting to break his vision. He let out a restrained groan, knowing it wouldn't be much longer. Finally, the pleasure too much, Wayne jumped off the bed, ripped off his trousers, and hurried over to the unconscious boy. He landed on top of him with a wet slap, then pushed himself deep inside. Wayne grabbed the boy by his hair, slid in and out slowly, panting and slobbering all over his head and neck. The entire time he imagined that the boy was nothing but a lifeless body, until he erupted inside him with a climactic groan. He then fell against the youngster, exhausted and sweaty.
He lay on top of the boy for about a minute before he eventually climbed off and stood at the end of the bed, and did up his pants. He looked at his hands, and saw they were spattered with blood again. It was from gripping the boy's hair.
Most of the blood had dried, but he had obviously hit the boy on the head harder than he had thought. It seemed the wound was still bleeding.
Wayne proceeded into the bathroom and washed his hands. When he had cleaned off all the sticky gore, he dried his hands on the towel, then headed back.
He walked over to his bed and flopped down. He was worn out. Carrying the boy into the cabin had been hard work. And since he was still knocked out, it had been like carrying a dead weight. Wayne was surprised, but glad, that nobody had seen him struggling with the young man. He had a story all worked out, but luckily he didn't have to use it. And even though he had done it many times before, it still amazed him how much work it took to undress a person who was unconscious.
Wayne glanced over at the crumpled black suit that lay on the floor at the end of the boy's bed.
Why was he wearing a suit? he wondered.
With a deep sigh, he turned his head and reached over to the radio. He spotted his moustache sitting on the bedside table. He grinned.
From over on the other bed, the boy groaned and started to move around.
"Awake! Finally," Wayne said.
The boy started to whimper. Realising his hands were tied, he jerked them about, trying to free himself from the makeshift constraints. Wayne had tied the pillowcases strong, so there was no chance of him getting loose.
The boy, who had been facing away from Wayne the whole time, gradually turned his head and stared at his captor. His eyes were half-closed; it looked like he was doped out.
Wayne hopped off the bed and wandered over to him. He slapped his bottom hard, which made the boy flinch and begin to cry.
"How does your arse feel?" Wayne said. "I bet it hurts, don't it?"
The boy didn't answer. He was shaking.
"Are you cold?"
The boy nodded his head. "P...please, do...o'nt hurt me." Those last few words were barely a whisper.
"Listen, I'm going to turn you over onto your back, okay? That means undoing the ligatures, so no funny business, got it?"
Again the boy nodded. "My...head...hurts," he said.
"Don't be such a wimp. It's not that bad, only a slight cut."
Wayne walked around the bed, and began untying the pillowcases. He managed to loosen the left hand without much trouble, and immediately the boy brought his arm down.
"Remember, if you try anything, I'll make sure you'll have a slow, painful death. We're up in the mountains, so there's no place for you to run to. You'll freeze to death before anyone finds you."
Wayne walked around to the other side and started untying the boy's right hand. "If you don't fight and do what I ask, I'll let you live, okay? There's only one condition; you can't tell a soul about this. I've got your wallet, so I know where you live. I'll hunt you down. I'll kill your entire family, including your little brother."
He heard the boy draw in a quick breath. Wayne smiled.
"What's his name?"
"Ro...Robert."
"Ah, little Robert. The fun I could have with him."
The boy's right arm fell away.
"Turn over," Wayne told him.
Very slowly, the boy rolled over. When he was lying flat on his back, the boy lifted up his buttocks. Wayne guessed because it was too painful for him to put his full weight on it.
"Put you arse down," Wayne said. "Now!"
Sobbing, he lowered his bottom. "Oow," he cried.
"Deal with it," Wayne said. He grabbed the boy's right arm and placed it against the bedpost. "Keep it there," he said.
The boy did as he was told, and Wayne retied his hand with the pillowcase. He made the knot tighter than before.
"It's too tight," the boy snivelled.
"Shut up. It's fine."
Wayne walked around the bed and picked up the boy's left arm. This time he was met with resistance. The boy pulled his arm from Wayne's grip.
"Give me your arm," Wayne growled.
The boy shook his head. "Not until you loosen my right hand."
Wayne chuckled. "You giving me orders now?" He shot out his arm and slammed his fist down on the boy's stomach. The boy cried out.
"Think of Robert, Simon!" Wayne spat. He cursed himself for using the boy's name.
Wayne tried again. This time there was no resistance. Wayne bound his hand to the bedpost, making the knot extra tight.
"There we go," Wayne panted. He was sweating profusely. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, then stood back and leered at the young man. "My, my, aren't you a good looking kid."
The boy's body jerked from his crying. Wayne licked his lips and closed in on the boy. He lowered his head to the boy's waist. "You're huge for a young man," Wayne said.
He opened his mouth and placed his lips over the boy's limp penis. He swirled and sucked it in his mouth, and gradually it began to grow. Deep down Wayne knew it was purely a physical reaction, but he imagined that it was because the boy liked it. In his mind he heard the boy moan and call out in pleasure. He was saying, "Oh yeah. That feels so good. Oh, harder."
The penis was now fully erect. Wayne slid up and down vigorously. He never noticed the boy crying and wailing out. He didn't care.
After a minute, Wayne became bored. Neither man came, although Wayne was still very much aroused. He stood up, and watched the boy's member shrink back down.
Wayne lifted his left leg and placed his foot on the bed. He bent over, lifted the bottom of his jeans, and pulled out the knife from the sheath that was tied around his ankle.
The boy still had his eyes firmly plastered shut, and Wayne saw tears streaming from underneath his eyelids.
"Don't you scream, now," Wayne breathed. "Open your eyes."
The boy did as he was told, and as soon as he fixed on the knife, his eyes grew wide and he started shaking his head. "No. P...please, no."
The boy kicked at Wayne's hand. He missed the knife, but got some good shots at Wayne. He managed to kick him on the arm and in the stomach.
"You little fuck," Wayne hissed.
The boy started to scream. He began thrashing around on the bed and shouting out for help.
Scared, Wayne threw down the knife and lunged at the boy. He grabbed him around the throat and squeezed. His cries were at first muffled, but they stopped altogether as Wayne tightened his grip. The boy's eyes began to bulge and his face turned a bluish-red.
Wayne closed his eyes as his excitement grew. The sensation of squeezing the boy's throat -- the power it gave him, of holding someone's life in his hands -- was greater and gave him more of a thrill than sex or fellatio ever did. He didn't want to kill the boy, so he loosened his grip enough to give him some air. When the boy's face had returned to a relatively normal colour, Wayne placed his hands back on the boy's throat and continued to strangle. He did this several times, his titillation increasing with every torturous act, until his excitement reached boiling point.
As Wayne came in his pants, he let go of the boy's throat and ran into the bathroom.
Al threw open the door and rushed inside. "Christ that wind's strong." He closed the door and brushed the hair out of his face.
"Did ya hear the screaming?" Eddy said. He was sitting up in bed, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
"Yeah, where did it come from? The couple next door?"
"Nah, it came from over there." He pointed to the right. "From the people who just arrived."
Al ventured over to his bed and sat down. "Can I have a cigarette?"
Eddy threw the packet over to Al, who fumbled and dropped it.
"Never were good at sports," Eddy said, grinning.
Al reached down and picked up the smokes. He took one out, and motioned for the lighter.
"Don't drop it," Eddy cautioned.
This time the small lighter landed in Al's hands. Eddy clapped.
"Sounded young."
"The scream?" Al said.
"Yeah, a teenager or something."
Al shrugged. "It's Halloween. Get all types of weirdos tonight." He lit the cigarette. "Probably some bizarre sex orgy or something."
Eddy nodded. "I guess. Anyway how'd ya do?"
Al shook his head. "No good. I couldn't see into the office or the back part, which is where she lives, I think. All windows had shutters on them."
"Why didn't you just open them?"
"They were locked, moron."
"Ah well," Eddy said. "Looks like we'll never know if the old bag was telling the truth."
Al took a puff. "Not necessarily. The back door was unlocked. It leads directly into her house. What an idiot, huh? She locks the shutters but not her back door."
"You didn't go in?"
"You crazy? She was in there. I could hear the TV."
"I still think you're an idiot. There's no ex-cop back there."
"Don't ya think we'd better make sure of that? What if there is? Not only do we have a stolen car, but a dead body in the boot."
Eddy sighed. "You worry too much, Alfred."
"One of us has to...Edward."
Eddy laughed. "Ooh, he's bringing out the big guns. Edward! Please, Al, don't hurt me anymore. Please?"
"Fuck you," Al said. "This is all a big game for you, isn't it? The fact that we could go to jail doesn't matter to you. This is all like a fucking movie."
"Hey, you're the film freak," Eddy snapped back. "If anyone is getting off on this situation -- the dead body, the creepy motel -- it's you!"
"Whatever," Al said. "I'm just trying to save our arses, that's all. If you think this is all a big joke..."
"Hey, I know this ain't a fucking joke. I'm just as scared as you are."
That was the first time Al had ever heard Eddy say he was scared. Never in the ten years he had known him had he ever said he was scared.
"That's right. I've been shit scared ever since finding the body. So what?"
Al shrugged. He didn't know what to say.
"Anyway, let's drop it, huh? What are we gonna do?"
"I've, ah, got a plan," Al said.
"Well, let's hear it."
"Okay. The only way to see if there's an ex-cop back there, is if the old bag is out of her house."
"And that's where I come in," Eddy said.
"You got it, buddy."
Eddy stubbed out his cigarette, threw it to the floor and rubbed his eyes. "What do I have to do?"
"Go into the office and start up a conversation with her. I'll sneak in through the back door and check out the place."
"Okay, what if there is an ex-porky back there?"
"I'll be careful. All I need is a glimpse of him. Then I'll high-tail it outta there."
"Why am I going over there? I can't just walk in and start up a chat with her. It would be too suspicious."
Al sat on the bed, thinking. He started biting his fingernails, spitting out the broken pieces to the floor.
"That's disgusting," Eddy said.
"Shut up, will ya? I'm trying to think."
Eddy held up his hands. "Don't let me stand in the way of genius. Forget I'm even here."
Al looked up and spat a piece of fingernail in Eddy's direction. Eddy jumped off the bed. The fingernail landed on his pillow.
"You fuck," he said. "That's really revolting. Come here and pick that filthy thing up."
"You pick it up," Al said.
"I ain't touching that thing."
"I've got it!" Al said. "The reason why you have to go over there."
"That's swell, Al. But come and retrieve your fingernail."
Al huffed, stood up and went over to Eddy's bed. He picked the small nail off the bed and flicked it to the carpet.
"Happy?" Al said.
"Peachy. Now, what's this plan?"
"This is perfect. Okay, you go over and ask her if she's got any maps. You know, for this area. I mean, we wanted to have a map anyway, right?"
Eddy nodded. "That's good. How long do I have to keep the conversation going for?"
"Ah...let's see." Al pictured in his head sneaking around the back, going into the house and searching the rooms. "Try for two minutes?"
"Two minutes. Now, how will I know when you're done? What if after two minutes you're not finished searching the house, and I, thinking you have, leave the office and she goes back into her house?"
The two men stood facing each other, both lost in their own thoughts. Al started biting his nails again.
"What about this," Eddy said. "You start whistling. Or maybe hooting like an owl."
Al, his right index finger buried inside his mouth, made a face. "I don't know. It's very windy out there. The chance of you hearing me would be slim. Besides, there are a lot of other cries and shit from real animals. We're in the mountains, remember?"
Eddy scratched his head. He didn't reply, just shrugged.
"Not bad. Keep thinking, though."
"Gee, thanks," Eddy said.
"I know, how about I throw a rock or something on the roof? You're bound to hear that. The woman will probably think it's just the storm."
"Nah, there are plenty of real rocks and shit. We're in the mountains, remember?"
"Fuck you, it's a good idea. Can you think of anything better?"
Eddy grimaced at Al, and shook his head slightly.
"Okay, so that's it then. When you hear a loud bang on the roof, you know I'm done, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah," Eddy said. "Let's get this over and done with."
Al ran his fingers through his hair then blew out a long sigh. "You ready?"
"I just said I was."
Al headed for the cabin door, Eddy following behind. Outside, Eddy said, "Looks like it's gonna rain soon. Look at those clouds."
Al didn't bother looking up. He turned to Eddy and said, "I'll try to be quick, okay?"
Eddy's face, gazing up at the night sky, was a pale grey in the darkness. Al looked around the grounds to see if any of the other guests were around. The motel was quiet.
"Come on," Al whispered.
They headed towards the office.
Madge was in the kitchen, preparing a cup of herbal tea, when the doorbell rang. She poured the hot water into her cup, then left the kitchen and wandered into the lounge.
She wondered if whoever was at the door had anything to do with the scream she heard earlier.
It was probably those two ruffians, she thought.
She walked through the purple curtain and headed to the front door. She peered through the peephole.
Damn! Just what I need.
She wanted desperately to leave him out there, to pretend she was asleep or didn't hear the doorbell. But she knew what she had told him, as indeed she told all of her customers. Besides, what if the scream was serious, and his friend was hurt?
With a deep groan, Madge unlocked the door and opened it.
"Hi. Sorry to bother you so late."
"Nonsense," she said, smiling. "That's what I'm here for."
She stepped aside to let him in. She closed the door when he was inside. "Now, what can I do for you, Michael?" She shuffled around to behind the counter. She tried to make it as inconspicuous as possible when she gripped the baseball bat hidden under the desk. "Is your friend okay?"
"What do you mean?"
"I heard someone scream before. I thought it might've been one of you."
Michael shook his head. "Wasn't us. I think it came from the people who arrived not long ago."
Wayne and his son?
"Ah well, not to worry. So, how can I help you?"
"Well, I know it's kind of late to be asking for this, but I was wondering if you had any maps? You know, the kind that show all the hiking tracks around this area."
Madge loosened her grip on the bat, but kept her hand nearby, just in case. She smiled and nodded. "That's right, you and your friend are going hiking tomorrow. I'm afraid I don't have any maps. I used to, years ago, but since business has dried up I have just done away with them."
"That's okay," Michael said. He scratched his head. "Ah, what's it like around here?"
"Well, I told your friend earlier about this mountain."
She saw Michael nod vacantly. "So you're sure you don't have any maps?"
Is this guy deaf, as well as dumb? Madge thought.
"Yes, I'm positive."
"What would you say is the best hike around this mountain?"
Madge breathed in deeply. "Like I told your friend, the most rugged hike is Devil's Gorge. There is also..."
All of a sudden she saw Michael's eyes go wide, and he drew in a quick breath. He seemed to be looking past Madge. He quickly lowered his eyes.
"Is everything okay?" she asked, slowly turning her head. She saw nothing but the key rack and the purple curtain. She faced Michael and returned her grip on the bat.
"Ah, yeah. Thanks for your help. Devil's Drop you say?"
"Devil's Gorge."
"Oh, right," Michael said and grinned. "Like I said, sorry to bother you, but we're getting away early tomorrow, and we forgot to ask you for a map of the area."
"That's okay. Have a good time tomorrow."
Michael nodded. He turned and headed for the door. Madge watched as he stepped out into the windy night.
She let go of the baseball bat and shook her head. She would have to keep an eye on those two. She was sure they were up to something. It was going to be a restless night's sleep.
She left the office and wandered into her lounge room. She headed straight into her bedroom and picked up her coat and scarf. She might have another problem on her hands, besides those two boys. In any event, it was her job to check if everything was okay in her motel. Especially when there had been a scream such as the one earlier.
\*
Eddy met Al around the front of the office. "Are you crazy?" he whispered, pushing him in the chest.
"What?"
"If she had seen you, we'd both be in the shit. Man!" Eddy huffed.
"Come on," Al said. He started walking towards their cabin.
Eddy followed behind. He glanced over his shoulder. The office door remained closed.
"The good news is that there's no ex-cop. She's totally alone back there."
Al spoke quietly, but his voice carried with the wind.
"Told ya," Eddy said.
They arrived at the cabin. They had left it unlocked, so they trudged straight inside, out of the cold wind.
Eddy closed the door behind him. "So you're satisfied now? Told you the old bitch was lying."
"She was married to a cop, that much was true. I saw some old photos. I checked in the bedroom though, and found only women's clothes."
"Was that before or after you stuck your ugly head through the curtain?"
Al laughed. "You should've seen your face, man. Looked like you'd shit your pants."
"Yeah, it was a riot," Eddy said as he went over to his bed and sat down.
"You didn't wait for me to throw the rock," Al said. "I could've been caught."
"I guessed that since you had the stupidity to show yourself, you were alone back there. Plus, I couldn't keep the conversation going, man. I think she saw right through me." Eddy sighed. "Anyway, now that's over, let's decide on what we're gonna do with the body." He gazed up at Al, who was still standing by the door, grinning.
"Why the fuck are you so happy? She got a daughter back there?"
Al raised his eyebrows, then lifted his jacket. "Got myself a little souvenir."
Eddy jumped off the bed and stared dumbfounded at the large handgun. It was jammed down Al's belt.
"Found it in one of the bedroom drawers while I was looking for money. Must've been her husband's."
"Jesus," Eddy murmured. "Give me a look at it."
Al plucked it out and handed it over. "Careful, it's loaded."
"And you had it down your pants?"
Al shrugged. "It can't go off unless you pull the trigger. I also found these." He pulled out a box of ammunition. "There's eighteen cartridges in this baby."
"No kidding," Eddy said. He handled the revolver cautiously, turning it over so as to get a good look at it. It was a powerful Smith & Wesson .41 Magnum. He caressed the cold stainless steel, ran his fingers along the six-inch barrel. "Wow," he said. "It's a beautiful piece. I'm impressed. Think we'll need it?"
"You never know. Can't hurt to have it."
"Unless I shoot you," Eddy said, smiling. He wrapped his fingers around the Combat Dymondwood grip, and aimed the gun at the fridge. "Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?"
"You know," Al said. "That impression wasn't half bad."
Madge closed the office door then turned the key. She made sure the door was locked, then she slipped the key into her coat pocket. She flipped one end of her scarf over her shoulder that had blown loose, then started walking towards cabin four.
She could see the dark pine trees behind the cabins being thrown around by the wind, and saw that the sky was now an ugly grey. She knew from experience that it was going to rain soon. And a hard, cold rain at that.
What a night it's going to be, she thought with trepidation.
She shuffled along the rocky earth and saw in the distance, muted behind the old curtains, the light still on in cabin four. She also noticed that all three groups were still up. She checked her watch. It was almost twenty past twelve.
A bunch of night owls.
She arrived at cabin four. Standing before the front door, she suddenly remembered her gun. Actually her late husband's gun, hidden amongst her jumpers and pants. She wished she had thought of it before she left -- it might come in handy.
She thought about turning around and retrieving the revolver.
Don't overreact, she told herself. If the situation were so bad that you needed a gun, it would be best to go straight back and call the police.
She decided that it wasn't, so she rapped solidly on the door. From inside she heard scurrying and faint murmurs.
"Ah, hang on!" a man called out.
Again more noises, louder this time. Madge waited out in the cold, her body shivering despite all the clothes and the coat she was wearing. She listened to all the banging and dull thuds from inside the cabin.
She was ready to pound on the door a second time, when it opened up, and Wayne stood facing her. He was panting, and Madge noticed sweat dripping down his face.
He smiled, and discreetly wiped his forehead. "Hi Madge."
She smiled politely back. "I'm terribly sorry to bother you so late, but I noticed your light was still on."
"Yes," Wayne said. "We both like to stay up late. How can I help you?"
"May I come in?"
"Of course," Wayne said. He stepped aside and waved her in. When Madge was in the cabin, Wayne closed the door.
"Cold outside," Wayne said.
"My word." Madge gazed around the small cabin. The bed over to her left was messed and had its sheets strewn about. She also noticed that there weren't any pillowcases. She didn't bother saying anything, though. She had seen stranger things during her time -- a lot stranger. The bed to the right was still neatly made.
The bathroom door was closed and the shower was running. It was funny, but Madge hadn't heard it from outside. She knew how loud the shower sounded from outside, and she was surprised that she never noticed it. She put it down to the strong wind.
Wayne walked around in front of her. "Paul's in the shower. He likes to have them at night. I've never understood why. I'm a morning person, myself."
"I heard a scream earlier. I was told it came from your cabin."
"Really?" Wayne said, a frown on his round face. He scratched his black hair. "Ah, that," he said, nodding. He smiled at Madge -- a big, clown smile. "I'm sorry to cause you trouble. It was nothing, actually. You see, Paul was about to hop into the shower, when he saw a big hairy spider perched on the wall. And he hates spiders. To tell you the truth, he gave me a fright when he screamed. So of course, I had to come in and kill the poor thing." He shrugged.
"So that was why he screamed?"
"Yep. Like I said, I'm really sorry you had to come all the way over here. Especially on a horrible night like tonight. I, ah, hope we didn't wake anybody up?"
Madge gave a relieved smile. "No, they're all still up."
"That's good," Wayne said. "Is there anything else?"
"No. I'm just glad we sorted it out. Is your son okay? Spiders can be a real problem out here."
Wayne nodded. "He's still a little shaken, but I checked the bathroom and there didn't seem to be any more hiding."
"Well, I'll leave you in peace," Madge said. "Sorry to have bothered you." She headed for the door.
"Nonsense," Wayne chuckled. "You have to check out suspicious things. Like when a person screams. I understand."
He hurried over and opened the door for her. She thanked him.
"Have a good night," Madge said as she stepped out.
"We will," Wayne said.
The door closed behind her and she made her way back towards the office.
The cold wind that blew against Madge didn't register with her. She had something else pressing on her mind. It was Wayne's face that bothered her. She was a very astute person, and she noticed things; small things. She was especially good at remembering things about people's faces. It wasn't that his face still looked familiar (she just wished she could remember when she had last encountered him). No, there was a smaller detail that nudged at her brain.
She was still thinking about it when she arrived at the office door. By pure action, without even thinking about doing it, she pulled out the key and opened the door. She closed and locked it. Then in a flash it came to her.
Wayne didn't have a moustache. She knew he had had one when he arrived.
She knew a lot of customers, particularly men, wore disguises when staying the night at her motel. It didn't take a genius to figure out why.
But why would a father wear a fake moustache? It didn't make sense.
She walked through the lounge and into her bedroom. Her place was nice and warm. The open fire in the lounge did wonders to warm the place. She threw her scarf and coat onto the bed, then strolled back into the lounge. She sat down in her chair and stared blankly at the TV screen. The sound was turned down.
Why would he wear a fake moustache? What does he have to hide?
Madge shook her head. She knew it wasn't any of her business. Unless they did something illegal, or she suspected illegal activity, it was no one's business but Wayne and his son's.
But she could wonder. She could try and remember when she had seen him.
She certainly had a bizarre bunch of customers tonight. Only Morrie and his wife seemed normal.
But what's normal these days?
She picked up the remote control, and was about to turn up the volume, when she remembered her tea. She hopped up and shuffled into the kitchen. The small cup was still sitting on the bench. She felt the cup. It was stone cold. She picked it up and went over to the sink. There she tipped the green water out, then threw the sodden teabag into the bin.
It didn't matter to her, though. Tonight she needed something stronger than herbal tea. Placing the cup in the sink, she headed back into the lounge, where she slid open her liquor cabinet, and pulled out her long-time friend -- Black Douglas.
He would see her through tonight, which she knew wasn't over yet. Unfortunately this night was bound to get weirder. Just like the rain, she knew when to spot it. That came from experience as well.
From outside, somebody rang the doorbell.
Wayne turned off the shower then went about untying the boy. He had hurriedly bound the boy's hands to the sink pipe, and had shoved a small hand towel into his mouth. He untied his hands, and they flopped to the floor. A sticky bit of phlegm was joined to the towel as Wayne took it out.
The boy fought for air.
"Get up," Wayne said.
The boy did as he was told.
"Remember what I said. If you scream again, or try to run, I will not only kill all of these people, including you, but also hunt down your family. Understand?"
The boy, naked and shivering, nodded his head. His eyes were puffy from crying.
Wayne turned and saw himself in the mirror.
That was a close one, he thought, shaking his head.
He was proud of himself for remaining calm, though. His face was still slightly flushed, but his wig had looked good and convincing. He knew no one would be able...
He drew in a sharp breath. "Fuck!" he snapped.
The boy flinched with fright. He watched Wayne from the corners of his eyes.
"The moustache," Wayne sighed. He could not believe he had forgotten to put it on.
Had she noticed? he wondered. He had been in such a mad rush when she knocked, having just finished cleaning the mess in his underpants, that the black moustache lying on the bedside table had completely slipped his mind.
How could I have remembered the wig but not the moustache?
The woman didn't let on that she had noticed, but what if she had?
"Get back on the bed," Wayne growled.
The boy hurried over to the bed, a slight limp in his walk. Wayne followed close behind, glancing at the moustache as he went past.
"Lie back down on the bed," Wayne told him. "You know the drill."
The boy placed his skinny arms above his head and then Wayne tied them securely with the pillowcases. When the boy was again bound to the bedposts, Wayne took the small towel he had brought from the bathroom and gagged his mouth. The boy gave no resistance.
"Remember, you spit that out and scream, you're dead."
The boy stared up at Wayne with frightened eyes. Sweat dripped from Wayne's forehead onto the boy's chest.
He wandered over to the door and clicked the lock. "Just in case," he said. "We don't want any more interruptions, do we?"
The boy continued to stare at Wayne, his nostrils flaring in and out, which made a loud hissing sound. His entire body quivered.
"Now, where were we?" Wayne said as he approached the boy. He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out the knife. He saw the boy's eyes grow wide with fear.
Wayne decided to turn on the radio. Some light, fluffy jazz tune that Wayne had never heard was playing. He turned the volume up enough so it wasn't a disturbance to the other guests, but loud enough to cover some of the noise.
"You like this music?"
The boy didn't respond.
Wayne thought about the boy kicking at him again. He was certain that he wouldn't try it, but it was best to make sure. He was about to go over and take the cases off his pillows, when suddenly a better idea came to him. He grinned.
With the knife in his right hand, Wayne ventured to the boy's legs. The boy watched with a terrified frown.
Wayne swung his right arm downwards at the boy's left leg. The knife struck him just beside the kneecap, into a bony part. The knife remained imbedded stiffly inside the leg as he worked the blade deeper. Wayne laughed at the boy's unbridled cries, and laughed even harder when the sheet underneath turned a pale yellow.
He must've hit a part that also had some muscle, since the knife was burrowing deeper into the knee. There were loud crunching sounds as Wayne jabbed and ground the knife hard. The muffled roars of the boy weren't even loud enough to drown them out. Blood poured from the wound and onto Wayne's hand. There was now a sizeable gap in the boy's knee, where bone, muscle and cartilage were grotesquely exposed. Wayne pulled the switchblade out with a gravelly tear. He went around to the other side of the bed, then lifted the boy's right leg. This time he slipped the knife under his knee, and with a sawing motion, cut his tendons and muscles.
He immediately felt warm sticky blood pour onto his hand, and instead of a grinding bony sound, he heard the sickening snap of sinew.
The boy's body jerked in a series of sharp jolts.
By the time Wayne had finished cutting the underside of the boy's knee, he had stopped shouting and crying. Wayne straightened up and gazed at the boy. His eyes were closed and his body ceased to twitch. It seemed he had fainted.
Wayne checked his pulse, just to make sure he hadn't died of shock. He was glad to find it still pulsating.
The boy's legs were now a useless pair of dead weights. They were covered with shiny blood, as were the sheets and carpet.
He won't be doing any more kicking, Wayne thought. Or escaping, he added. That part had never entered his mind. Now there were two reasons to be proud of himself. He had the boy all to himself.
Wayne headed into the bathroom to wash the knife and his hands, and also to find some bandages. He hoped that a seedy place like this kept some sort of first aid kit. Sure enough, after his knife and hands were clean, he found some bandages and antiseptic cream in the cabinet under the sink. He didn't want the boy to bleed to death. He didn't want him dead.
Not yet, anyway.
"Thank you," Morrie said as Madge handed him a glass of whisky. He took a long drink. "Ah, my favourite."
Madge sat down beside him.
"Are you positive I'm not intruding?"
"No, not at all," Madge said. "It's nice to have the company." She sipped her drink.
"The fire's lovely," Morrie commented.
Madge gazed over at the open fire that was set in the wall next to the TV, and nodded. The TV was on low volume, so the relaxing sounds of red gum burning filled the small residence. Intermixed with the sweet smell of whisky, Madge breathed in the woody aroma of smoking wood.
"Magnificent smell," Morrie said.
Madge smiled. "I've been meaning to fit the cabins with open fires, but I just haven't gotten around to it. I'm sorry."
Morrie chuckled. "Let me know when you do and the wife and I will have to come back."
"I hope she won't panic if she wakes up to find you gone."
"I left her a note," Morrie said. "But she was extremely tired. I don't think she'll wake till morning."
There was a comfortable silence as they both enjoyed their drinks and the sounds of the fire.
"Did you hear the news?" Morrie asked.
"I heard a broadcast earlier on the radio. Other than that, I've been in here, watching the idiot box."
Morrie smiled, nodding.
"Why do you ask?"
Morrie shrugged. "Conversation."
Madge looked at his pudgy face, and smiled. She liked Morrie. He was honest and down to earth. A real man's man. She felt safe knowing he was staying tonight.
"It was the usual depressing stuff, wasn't it?" Madge said.
Morrie chuckled. "That it was."
"From what I can remember, there was a shooting and a quick update, if that's what you'd call it, that police are no closer in catching the serial killer."
"That was about it," Morrie said.
"Melbourne really is becoming the serial killer capital of Australia, isn't it? The one running around now has killed, how many, six?"
"Seven, I believe," Morrie said.
"Seven, really? And then there was that business last year. The murders of five women."
"Oh yeah, I remember that," Morrie said, tipping the last of the whisky down his throat. "The killer was never caught, was he? The murders just stopped."
"I believe so," Madge said. "Another drink?"
"Please. I'll get it though." Morrie stood up and headed into the kitchen.
"Just bring out the bottle," Madge called.
Morrie strode back into the lounge carrying the bottle of Black Douglas. He topped up Madge's glass then poured himself another. He sat back down in the tan leather chair with the glass in his hand.
"I heard a scream earlier," Morrie said. "What was that all about?"
Madge shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Oh that. I've had quite a night so far. Those two guys in cabin three make me nervous. They're acting very suspicious."
"I met one of them earlier. Eddy, I think. Seemed like a nice enough guy. Wanted to buy some smokes off me."
"Eddy?" Madge said.
"Yeah, average height, short scruffy hair. Quite a good-looking guy, apparently. Well, that's what my wife said."
She chuckled. "He told me his name was Michael."
"Really? Maybe they do have something to hide. Why else would you park your car around the back?"
"Have they?" Madge said. She hadn't noticed it when she went to visit Wayne. "I wonder why that is."
"Who knows?" Morrie said.
"I'll be glad when they're gone, let me tell you. Not to mention the father and son in cabin four. The father's also a bit weird."
Morrie chuckled. "You've really got a colourful bunch tonight."
"I know. That scream earlier, that was the son. He got frightened by a spider in the shower."
"A spider?" Morrie chortled.
She didn't bother bringing up the moustache. She kept that to herself.
"I suppose you get all types working at a motel."
Madge nodded slowly, reflecting back to some of the more memorable customers.
"I've seen some very important people slink in here, with disguises on of course, with ladies who didn't exactly look like their wives."
"Oh, tell me more," Morrie said.
"I can't say any names, I'm afraid. But let me just say that some of the most important members of government, prime members let's say, have been here."
Morrie lowered his glass and gaped at Madge. "Really? You have to tell me who, come on?"
She shook her head. "I can't. Believe me, I would love to expose some of those men."
"Any hints?"
"They're still alive."
"They? You mean there's been more than one?"
Madge shrugged. "I just keep my mouth shut, and try not to laugh at their pitiful disguises."
"Wow," Morrie said. "What else have you seen?"
"Oh, you'd be utterly disgusted by what I have found in the mornings over the years. One time, and this is probably the most heartbreaking and awful thing I've ever found..." Madge found that even after all these years she was still affected by the memory. Tears flooded her eyes. "I'm sorry, I usually don't cry in front of strangers. Not that you're a stranger."
"I know what you mean," Morrie said.
She wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. She took a drink then a deep breath. "One morning, about five years ago, I was cleaning one of the rooms that a young woman, must've been about eighteen, had stayed in. She had left very early that morning. When I went into the bathroom to clean up, there was blood all over the floor. I was shocked. I couldn't imagine why there would be so much blood, until I saw it lying in the corner. It was a newborn baby. It was sheathed in blood. I quickly picked it up and brought it into the shower to wash off all the blood and gunk. It still had the umbilical cord attached. I don't know, I guess I felt like I had to do something, but I already knew it was dead. I'm not sure if the poor thing had been born dead, or if it died from exposure. I like to think the former." Madge rubbed her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put a downer on things."
"I can't believe somebody would do that."
"I know, but think of the teenager. She obviously was so scared and had no one to turn to. To have the baby in a small motel in the middle of nowhere and then to leave it, well, you have to feel a bit sorry for her."
"I don't know," Morrie said softly. "It's still wrong."
"I never said it wasn't wrong, just that she must've had a terrible home life. No support, no love. The boyfriend or whatever, the bastard, obviously wasn't around."
Morrie barely shrugged. "I guess so."
"Well, anyway, that's in the past. It is probably the most awful thing that has happened. Mostly there have been a lot of affairs and the like. I can always spot a disguise."
Well, most of the time.
"A lot of gay men that are married?" Morrie asked.
"You bet. They always forget to take their wedding ring off. And you can see it in their eyes. The shame, the humiliation. They know it's wrong to be cheating on their wives, but they're even more ashamed that they prefer men. I've seen a lot of respectful businessmen, doctors, lawyers, police officers. I've even seen TV stars."
"Having homosexual affairs?"
"Yep. Some very well known celebrities."
"Wow, you have seen it all," Morrie said. "I suppose you won't tell me any names?"
"Sorry. Confidential."
An image suddenly flashed in Madge's mind of one important member of Parliament. This had been during summer, so she always kept the office door open for the fresh air. He had waited in the car while the other man had booked in. But she had gotten a good look at him while the door was open. She could picture it now; head down, ashamed, not wanting to be seen, wearing a badly fitted wig and glasses. She had smiled politely when the other man had come in, but continued to stare at the important member...
Oh my God! she thought, sitting up fast.
Morrie was drinking contentedly, watching the fire. He didn't seem to notice her sudden movements, or her expression. She relaxed back into the chair, a smile on her face.
That's where she had seen Wayne before. Booking into her motel while the other man sat hiding in the car.
"Yeah," Madge sighed. "A lot of them are husbands, fathers. It's sad, really."
Morrie finished off his second glass. He checked his watch in the dim light of the lounge. "I'd better be going soon. Don't want to keep you up. Besides, I'm getting a wee bit tired."
"Don't worry about me," Madge said, putting up her free hand. "I'll be staying up very late tonight."
"Ah, if you don't mind me asking, is that your husband?"
Madge followed his gaze to the photo that sat on top of the TV. The picture was a bit hard to see, but there was enough light from the fire and the screen to make out a middle-aged man, proudly wearing a police uniform, an open smile on his thin, angular face.
"Yes, that's my husband, Jack."
"Nice looking man," Morrie said. "How long was he a policeman?"
"Thirty years. Detective Inspector by the time he was killed."
"Oh," Morrie said.
"He was killed while in the bathroom of the police station. Stabbed to death by the brother of a guy my husband arrested. The killer was a nutcase, much like his brother." Madge took a sip of whisky.
"I'm sorry," Morrie said. "Your husband sounded like a good man."
"A great man, Morrie."
Too good for somebody like me, she thought. He deserved better. What I did to him...
No, she wasn't going to think about the past. It was too painful.
"He was only fifty-four years old," she continued. "Too young. After he was killed, that's when I decided to build this motel. That was twenty years ago."
She glanced over at the big man and smiled. "I'm being quite morbid and depressing, aren't I?"
"Not at all. I, ah, thank you for sharing your personal life. That takes a lot of trust."
"Well, you seem like a trust-worthy person. It feels good to have somebody like you to talk to."
"Thank you," Morrie said. He sounded rather embarrassed. He finished his drink quickly and stood up. "I'd really better get going. Thank you for your hospitality."
"You mean the whisky."
Morrie smiled. "And the company. That was good too. Need help with the dishes?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Madge said. She got up out of the chair slowly. Morrie passed her the empty glass. She shuffled into the kitchen and placed the two glasses on the bench.
When she ventured back into the lounge, Morrie was in the midst of a large yawn.
"My, my, you really do need to get some rest."
"It's been a long day," Morrie sighed.
"Come, I'll walk you to the front door."
Judy sat on the edge of the bed, her quaking hand gripping a half-smoked cigarette. She placed it to her lips, took a long drag, then blew out a cloud of smoke. Her eyes darted back and forth between the front door and the bags on the floor. She wanted to leave. After what the news broadcast had said, she did not want to stick around. Why Morrie wanted to go over there...
Where is he?
She glanced at the clock radio. He had been gone for almost half an hour.
"Come on," she muttered, her legs jittering from anxiety. She stood up fast and hurried over to the sink, where she threw in the cigarette butt. She opened the fridge door and gazed into the whiteness. She wasn't even thirsty. She had just opened the door out of habit.
What was that?
She slammed the fridge door and cocked her ear, not daring to breathe. She thought she had heard the whir of police sirens. She stood by the refrigerator, holding her breath for thirty seconds, before she was positive that the police weren't on their way. She let out her breath and paced up and down the cabin.
"Hurry up," she said. Her voice made her nervous. It sounded scared and high.
No matter what the old woman knew, she would tell Morrie, as soon as he came back, that they were leaving. No arguments, no discussions, just take the bags and leave.
Oh shit! Did Morrie sign in under our real name and address?
Knowing her husband, he would have. The thought of using aliases and a wrong address was not in his nature. She should've told him before he went in to register. It was her fault as much as his.
Not that it matters, I suppose, Judy thought. The police already know our names and where we live. It's where we are now that counts.
She stopped pacing and looked over at the large gym bag. It was lying amongst the other bags and suitcases. The black Adidas bag, the one that held the rifle.
The fact that she could even think of it made her ill. She shook the thought away.
No! No more innocent people hurt.
But she couldn't help but wonder if it might come down to that
There are four other guests staying. What, kill them all?
She could feel tears begin to well up, another onslaught of uncontrollable weeping. She was about to sit back down on the bed and cry, when the door opened and in walked Morrie.
"About time," she snapped as he closed the cabin door. "Well, tell me. What happened?"
He went over to her, took her by the hand and told her to sit down. Morrie sat down beside her. "She didn't know anything. She hasn't been listening to the radio all night."
"Are you sure?" Judy asked. "What the hell took you so long?"
"I couldn't just go in there for five minutes and find out if she knew. I had to pretend to be over there for the reasons we talked about. And it worked. I had some whisky, we sat by the open fire and talked about a lot of things. Trust me, if she had known something, I would've picked it up."
That made Judy a little more relaxed. She closed her eyes and sighed. Morrie put his hand around her neck and gently rubbed. "It'll be okay, Judy."
"Did you sign in under our real name and address?" She spoke quietly and slowly.
"Ah, yeah. Why?"
She huffed. "I guess it doesn't matter. It's just if the police come through here after we're gone, or worse, while we're still here, she'll tell them where we are. She knows our names."
"The police won't find us here. They're probably not even searching for us at the moment."
"You think so?" Judy said.
"Yeah, you remember what the news report said; we're not even suspects at this time. They have no proof that we were there at the time of the shooting. All they want at this stage is for us to get in contact with them. Hell, for all they know, we could be out of the country on a holiday."
"And you think we should call them? It's just a trap, Morrie. For us to turn ourselves in."
Morrie shook his head and grimaced. "I don't think we should call them, but I don't think it's a trap, either. Look, if we can get to another state, hide out somewhere remote, even if the police do decide to search for us, they won't be able to find us. When everything has cooled down, we can maybe fly to another country."
Judy turned and looked at Morrie with a certain amount of scepticism. "Who's to say that the old bag won't hear a late news report on the TV? I mean, she's bound to hear about it eventually."
From Morrie's expression, Judy could see he knew that was true. "If she does squeal to the cops, we're gonna have to shoot her."
"What!" Morrie gasped. "You fucking crazy?"
"I'm the only sane person in this room. I think we should leave, right now. That way, if she does call the cops, we'll be gone. And we won't have to kill her."
"It's getting late, Judy. She'll probably go to bed soon. By the time she hears about us in the morning, we would've already left."
"Why are you so adamant in staying?" Judy said. "Why don't we just fucking leave, now that the police know our names?"
Morrie took his hand away from Judy's neck, and began massaging his temples hard.
"You know, there is only one person, besides us, who knows what really happened tonight."
Still rubbing his head, Morrie gazed at his wife. "Who, the kid that ran away?"
"He is the only person who can tell the police that it was us, not a drive-by shooting or something. If the police really do believe that we were never there tonight, that kid is the only witness to say we were."
"Well, there's not much we can do about it. We won't be able to find him for heaven's sake!"
"Yeah, but it means that most likely the police know we are the ones. Surely that kid has gone to the cops by now."
"The news didn't say anything about it."
"The news," Judy huffed. "I'm telling ya, the police already know. It was a trap, just like I said."
"Then what do you suggest we do?"
"Leave," Judy said. "Let's get our things together and drive away. If the police are searching for us, they won't know where to look, unless that old bitch rings them and tells them."
Morrie stood up gradually. He looked exhausted. "Okay, let's go."
A wave of relief swept over Judy. "Thank you, Morrie."
He wandered over to the pile of bags, bent down with an arduous groan and picked two up, including the one with the rifle. "You know, it's going to seem highly suspicious leaving in the middle of the night. She's bound to hear the car start up and wonder why we're leaving. Maybe call the cops because of it."
"Don't be ridiculous. She won't call the cops because we're using the damn car. We could be going for a late night drive through the mountains for all she cares. Anyway, it's no concern of hers; as long as we've paid for the night, she won't even care."
"Oh shit," Morrie uttered. He let the bags drop to the floor.
"Don't tell me," Judy said. Her voice barely concealed her impending anger.
Morrie, standing by the door in his loose jeans, flannelette shirt and blue rain jacket, looked at that moment like a child who had been caught out not doing his homework. He didn't look Judy in the eyes.
"There's a problem, Judy. We haven't paid yet."
9:00 p.m.
The lounge room was in darkness, except for the flickering light that radiated from the television screen. That's the way Morrie liked to watch his movies -- with all the lights out. Especially when he was watching a horror movie.
He had a six pack of Foster's beside him on the small table, along with a bowl of popcorn and a bag of corn chips. He picked up the bowl of freshly made popcorn, which was coated in melted butter, and began shoving large handfuls of it in his mouth. Popcorn fell into his lap, some even lodged on his thick beard.
What a night it was going to be. First up, for their Halloween marathon, channel six were showing Night of the Living Dead, which had just started; after that was the original Dracula; followed by The Exorcist.
On screen, a brother and sister were walking through a spooky looking graveyard.
Morrie had seen this film a number of years back. If he remembered correctly, this was the film that had the black man giving all the orders, and him being the only one left at the end, alive.
But the police shoot him by accident, don't they? Morrie thought, smiling. So what's the moral of the movie; that niggers aren't any better than zombies. He chuckled, bits of masticated popcorn spilling out of his mouth.
\*
He took a sip of beer, then placed the can back on the table.
From out in the kitchen, he heard the clanging of plates and cups. Judy was finishing the washing.
"Can't ya keep it down, woman," Morrie mumbled to himself. He thought about getting up and closing the door, but he couldn't be bothered.
She should be finished soon, he thought.
He glanced down and saw a pile of popcorn resting in his lap. He brushed them off his old, tattered bathrobe, then brought his feet up and rested them on the large coffee table in front. He let out a deep burp and grinned.
There was a crash in the kitchen. The sudden noise made Morrie jump. "Jesus fuck!" he growled. "I hope that wasn't a good one, Judy!"
He waited for about ten seconds before Judy poked her head around the corner. "I'm sorry, Morrie. It was only an old plate, though."
He didn't bother responding. He settled back into the chair and had another drink of beer.
Shuffling back into the kitchen, Judy walked over to the cupboard under the sink and took out the dustpan and broom.
"Lazy fat fuck," she muttered under her breath. "Didn't even ask if I was all right. Couldn't care less that I might've cut myself."
With her moccasins slapping on the linoleum floor, Judy went over to the broken dinner plate and bent over. She brushed the shards of plate into the dustpan, and when it was full, took it over to the bin and tipped in the contents. It took three trips for her to rid the floor of the broken plate.
She placed the broom and dustpan back under the sink, then proceeded to put away the rest of the dishes.
She had just placed the last of the dishes into the cupboard when the doorbell rang. It gave her a small shock, and she thought it was lucky that she wasn't holding another plate.
She wandered into the dark lounge room.
"Was that the front door?" Morrie called over his shoulder.
"Yeah, I wonder who it could be. I'll go check, okay?"
"Sure. I'm in my bathrobe, anyway. It could be trick-or-treaters."
"We don't get many of them out here. In fact, I can't remember ever having any."
The doorbell rang again.
Judy walked out of the lounge and headed down the hall.
Down the end of the corridor there was a door that led directly into their garage. The TV became gradually softer as she made her way down the chilly hall. She opened the door and stepped into the even colder garage. She could smell old paint fumes, methylated spirits and the stale odour of oil and petrol (they now kept the car out in the driveway; the garage was cluttered with too much junk).
There were three doors in the garage -- the large car door, the one that led into the house and another door that led to the outside of the house. This had a good view of the front door. This was where Judy headed.
The meagre light from the hallway didn't light the dark garage. But Judy knew from twenty years of living in this dump of a house exactly where the side door was. She bumped into a few boxes along the way, but didn't bang into anything hard.
With her arms stretched out, she found her way to the side door.
Far from the television, the garage was silent, and from outside, Judy could hear people talking.
Great, there's more than one.
She fumbled for the handle.
Maybe it is trick-or-treaters; or a family looking for their lost dog. Then why would they be laughing?
She carefully flicked the lock, then, ever so slowly, opened the door just a crack. Outside was dark; the only light came from the small overhead lamp at the front door. She could make out two people. They were tall, wearing black suits, sunglasses (sunglasses!), and black hats. They were standing by the front door, looking around, and chatting to each other.
My God, who are these people?
They both, as if sensing somebody was watching, looked over in her direction. She got a quick look at their faces. She gasped and closed the door even more, leaving the smallest of openings. Due to their sunglasses, Judy couldn't tell if they were staring straight at her. Her heart pounding, Judy gently closed the side door, locked it, then rushed back through the garage. She kicked the boxes as she went past, and managed to stay on her feet. She made it to the lighted hallway, and as quickly as her overweight body would allow, ran down the corridor and into the lounge.
As she rushed past the front door, she heard the strangers outside banging against the door.
They're not going to leave.
Morrie glanced up with a frown on his face when Judy came flying in.
"What the fuck's wrong with you?" he said. "And why haven't you answ...?"
"There are two men outside. Wearing suits and sunglasses."
"What? Sunglasses?"
"I don't know, Morrie. They looked pretty scary. Like...hit men or something."
Morrie placed the bowl of popcorn down on the table and stood up. "You didn't speak to them?"
"No, no. I just looked from the garage door. I'm not sure if they saw me."
"Jesus," Morrie muttered.
"And one other thing...one of them was, well, Asian."
As soon as she told him that, Morrie's eyes widened.
She saw hatred and anger in those beady eyes. "What the fuck are we going to do?" he said.
"Morrie..."
He gazed over at his frightened wife.
Her long hair was messy; strands fell down her face. Despite the chilly night outside, sweat dripped down her plump, red face. "Go and get your gun."
Morrie used his Ruger Mini-14 semi-automatic rifle for two reasons; primarily for hunting, mostly rabbits and ducks. The second reason, and heaven forbid it should ever happen, was as a self defence weapon in case somebody ever broke into their house. That had fortunately yet to occur.
Morrie's father had given him an old bolt-action rifle, but his own carelessness had let the gun rust when he left it out in the rain years ago.
He got talked into buying a .223 semi-automatic by the sales assistant, and it took Morrie a while to get used to it. Now, he was in love with his Ruger. He took special care with the cleaning and handling. It was a slightly lighter and smaller gun than his old bolt-action, but it fit his hunting needs just fine.
He kept it hidden away in the bedroom closet. He had thought about buying a glass cabinet, or even a simple rack, but the thought of waking up in the dead of night to find a robber, or worse, lurking in the house, and the gun locked away somewhere in another room, didn't appeal to Morrie. He wanted to be able to grab the rifle as quickly as possible, in case of an emergency.
And Morrie agreed with his wife. Two strange men dressed in suits and wearing sunglasses at night was an emergency, or at least a possible one.
In amongst their clothes and hangers, Morrie grabbed the rifle that stood propped against the closet wall, and pulled off the protective rags.
"Hurry up, Morrie," Judy whimpered.
Morrie was filled with too much rage and exhilaration to bother shouting at Judy to be quiet. Instead, he said, "Go and get the cartridges."
Judy nodded and rushed over to Morrie's bedside drawer.
The magazine was stored in a large shoebox on the ground beside the rifle. With the gun in his right hand, Morrie bent down and picked up the shoebox.
The doorbell rang again.
"Shit," he muttered.
He hurriedly opened the shoebox and pulled out the dark grey magazine.
"Here we go," Judy whispered from behind.
Morrie moved over to the bed where he lay down the rifle and started thumbing the cartridges into the magazine. When it was full, Morrie picked up his rifle and locked the magazine in place.
Without speaking a word, he ran out of the bedroom, down the hall and towards the garage. Judy stayed close behind him the whole time.
Holding the gun firmly in his right hand, Morrie crept through the dim, cold garage. He knocked into the boxes, gave them no thought, and made it to the side door.
"You stay in here," Morrie whispered. He unlocked the door with his left hand, and peeked through the small gap. He saw the two men not by the front door, but wandering around the lawn. They appeared to be gazing around at the house, talking to each other.
Wonder which one's the gook, he thought.
With a deep breath, Morrie stepped out of the garage. He held the rifle low by his right side. "Can I help you?" he asked. His voice came out strong, threatening.
The figure closest to Morrie started walking towards him. Just like Judy said, the stranger was wearing dark sunglasses, and an equally dark suit and fedora hat.
"Hey man, what kind of party is this? What are you supposed to be?"
Morrie could tell by the voice that the one venturing closer was the Asian. The other figure remained back.
"Don't come any closer," Morrie warned.
"Very funny, now let us in."
The other person said something to the Asian, which Morrie couldn't quite hear. The Asian turned around and answered him. He then turned back around and kept on walking.
"I'm gonna have to ask you men to leave," Morrie demanded.
The Asian laughed. "Very funny. What took you so long anyway?"
Morrie still held the rifle by his side. His hand was twitching; should he bring it up?
The figure standing back removed his sunglasses. Morrie glanced over at the man, caught a glimpse of his face, but quickly brought his eyes back to the approaching Asian.
"Stop!" Morrie bellowed.
The Asian brought up his hands. "Hey, it's cool." He chuckled. He then lowered his right arm and reached into his jacket.
Oh my God! Morrie screamed in his head.
Before he had a chance to think twice about it, Morrie raised the rifle, aimed it at the Asian's chest and fired.
The loud crack echoed through the night, and Morrie saw the Asian lunge backwards. He heard Judy cry out from behind him, and he fired once more, the bullet hitting the Asian just above the first wound.
He saw blood spurt out into the night; although it looked like black oil.
The Asian never made a sound.
He fell back with a dull thud. Morrie heard him gasping, then gurgle.
Then all was quiet.
Judy had stopped crying and the remnants of the blasts faded with the clouds of smoke.
Still with the rifle poised, Morrie blinked down at the dead Asian.
The only reason he looked away was that his eyes caught the movement of the other figure running towards the street.
Shoot him. Should I shoot him?
He placed his finger on the trigger, but before he could fire at the fleeing man, he had vanished.
Morrie remained in the same position for what felt like ages. When Judy touched him on the back, he gasped and turned around fast.
"It's only me," she said quietly. "Did you have to shoot him?"
Morrie stared at her blankly. "He was reaching for a gun."
"Oh my God," she breathed. "They were going to kill us? Who were they?"
Morrie felt himself shake his head. He turned around and walked over to the body. Judy remained near the door, watching.
He looked down at the lifeless body of the Asian. He had a white shirt on under the black jacket, so the two small holes in his chest stood out like shit in a flower shop. Blood dribbled from the two wounds. The grass underneath was considerably darker than the rest of the lawn.
Morrie crouched down.
"Don't touch him," Judy called out. Her voice sounded tearful.
Crouched by the body, Morrie realised he could now see the Asian's eyes. Sometime, either while he was being shot, or as he fell to the ground, his sunglasses had come off, along with his hat. The Asian now lay sprawled on the damp grass with his eyes open. You could tell a lot about a person by their eyes.
The body lying on his front lawn looked no more than eighteen years old.
"Jesus," Morrie sighed. "I shot a kid."
Still, kid or not, he had been planning to shoot both him and Judy.
I had to, he thought. I had to shoot him.
Morrie gazed over to the boy's right hand, to the object clutched between his fingers. "Oh no," he moaned. He straightened and stepped over to the boy's lifeless hand. He squatted down and peered at the bit of paper lodged between the boy's thumb and index finger.
Even in the dim light Morrie could see what it was.
It was an invitation to a Halloween party. He could make out the time and date, but not the address. He also noticed the grinning skulls that bordered the rectangular piece of paper.
Morrie hurried back over to Judy. "We have to get out of here."
He saw the terror in Judy's eyes. "What! Why don't we call the police? It was self-defence."
Morrie shook his head. "He was just a kid, Judy. Looked about eighteen."
"So? He was still going to kill us." After a long pause she asked, "Wasn't he?"
Morrie took a deep breath. "He didn't have a gun. He was reaching for a party invitation."
Tears fell from Judy's eyes.
"I thought he was going for his gun," Morrie said softly. "How was I to know...?"
"Come on," Judy said. "Who knows how long it will take for the other boy to reach someone. He might've already called the police."
They ran through the garage and back into the house, Morrie's bathrobe flapping as he ran.
Four bags were lying on the bed: two large gym bags, and two suitcases. All were filled with their clothes and personal items. They had decided on one travel bag and one suitcase each.
"Hurry up," Morrie called out to Judy. He was in the process of packing the rifle into the large Adidas gym bag, along with the unused cartridges, all of the spare boxes of ammunition, and the magazine. He zipped the bag, the faint smell of gunpowder still residing in the gun.
Judy was scrounging around in the bathroom. He wasn't sure if she had heard him. He stood beside their bed of twenty years, sweat dripping from his face, and tried to clear his mind as best he could.
"Okay, have I forgotten anything?" he said aloud.
Morrie wasn't a complicated guy. He didn't have very many clothes -- didn't need them. He only had the very basic of personal items; razor, toothbrush, deodorant and after-shave. His most important possession was in the Adidas bag.
His suitcase held all of his clothes and personal items.
They had quickly decided, as they ran into the house, that they would make it look like they were on a holiday. Hence the need to take things they could buy anywhere like toothbrushes and deodorant, but that they would take on holiday.
He searched through the wardrobe again. Positive he had everything he needed, Morrie went over to the bed and closed the suitcase. He spotted the two packs of Benson and Hedges sitting on his bedside drawer. He grabbed them both and shoved one into his coat pocket, the other into his front jeans pocket.
Judy came shuffling into the bedroom, her hands empty. "I think I've got everything from the bathroom."
"Are you all packed, then?" Morrie said.
"I'll check the lounge one more time."
Morrie groaned. "Make it quick."
She rushed out of the bedroom.
Morrie grabbed his two bags and walked out of the bedroom. As he hurried towards the front door, he heard Judy in the lounge. She was crying. He put the suitcase down, opened the door, then picked it up and sped out into the night. As he ran towards the car, Morrie glanced over at the body. In his mind he pictured the Asian getting up, his eyes blankly staring at him, the holes in his chest dripping gore. With his arms dangling lifelessly by his sides, the Asian began ambling towards Morrie, his zombified brain wanting nothing more than to eat his soft, fatty body.
"Fucking movie," he mumbled. He shook the image away and hurried over to the car.
His Ford Falcon Longreach was parked in the driveway directly in front of the garage. It was old and grimy; the way Morrie liked it. He set the bags down and opened the double doors. The tainted smell of dead animals and guns wafted out. They filled him with sorrow. It took him back to his happiest times -- alone, out in the quiet woods, with his Ruger Mini-14. He wondered if he would ever get to enjoy that again.
Not behind bars, you won't, he thought.
He threw the two bags into the back then closed the doors. He ran back into the house.
"Get your arse moving," he shouted into the darkness. Only the hallway light and a lamp in the lounge were on. He darted down to his left and into their bedroom. He zipped up the travel bag and closed the suitcase. If Judy still has things to pack, let her do it in the car, he thought. He ran out to the hallway.
Judy came out of the lounge, turning off the lamp as she went past, holding what looked like photo albums. He could see her eyes were still teary, and she seemed to be clutching the albums tighter than was necessary.
Morrie didn't say anything about it. He smiled quickly at her, then waited until she was outside.
"Now are you sure you have everything?"
She nodded.
He switched off the hallway light, then slammed the door shut. "Try not to look at him," Morrie told her.
She took his advice and never turned her head. Morrie couldn't help but look.
Do as I say, not as I do, Morrie laughed inside. But the sight of the bloody body spread out in the damp grass, out in the cold night, made him feel ill. It made him sick knowing that he was responsible, even if he was just a gook.
They hurried over to the car. Morrie opened the right back door and chucked Judy's bags in. Judy was already waiting at the passenger door. She was looking over her shoulder at the dark road. Looking out for police car lights, Morrie guessed. After he had slammed and locked the back doors, Morrie stood for a moment and listened. Nope, he couldn't hear any sirens.
He rushed around to the driver's side, opened the door and then jumped in. He leaned over and unlocked the passenger door. Judy hopped in. She reached around to the back and dropped the photo albums softly on the floor beside the bags. She then turned back around.
His hands shaking, Morrie managed to slip the key into the ignition, turned it, and the car grumbled to life. He was about to flip on the headlights, but stopped himself. He didn't want to see the dead boy grotesquely lit up like some attraction at the circus any more than he knew Judy would.
"We're just going to leave him there," Judy said; though it wasn't a question, merely a statement.
Morrie stared at their modest house for what could possibly be the last time, and felt a ping of sadness. They had spent twenty long, but happy, years there. No children had grown up in there, but he had spent all of his adulthood cooped up in that small house, out in the lonely bush land of Lilydale.
Morrie backed the car out of the driveway. He saw a car parked over on his right. He knew it had to be the boy's car.
He didn't drive away, Morrie thought. Wonder why?
But he didn't give the matter too much consideration. He just wanted to be away from the house, away from the body. Morrie straightened the car, and roared away from their house.
He switched on the headlights. Judy was gazing out the window, her body wobbling from her incessant crying. "Where are we going to go?" she sobbed.
Morrie hadn't consciously thought about it, but he had automatically headed for the Maroondah Highway. That seemed like the most sensible choice; it was the closest highway, and it led through dense bush land and mountains. And Morrie knew that there were hordes of small towns littered all along, all the way up to Mansfield. After that, the Maroondah joined to the Hume Highway and that led to New South Wales and beyond. If they could make it to another state, hide out somewhere remote, they would be safe. "The Maroondah Highway," Morrie said.
"Are we going to drive all the way to New South Wales tonight?" Judy asked.
"We'll see."
10:36 p.m.
The night momentarily blackened as Morrie yawned. When he had finished he wound down the window. Icy breeze whipped at his face, and the glorious smell of forest and clean air penetrated his nostrils.
Despite their momentous predicament, Morrie felt free, almost happy for a short time. He pretended that he was driving to a secluded mountain, his beloved rifle by his side, about to spend the hours hunting, nothing but the night, the trees and the animals around for miles.
Morrie could feel his eyes begin to go heavy. He shook his head and worked the muscles in his face.
He yawned again, this time reaching down and switching on the radio. He caught the end of the weather report.
"...A cool twelve degrees, and it's only going to get colder. Rain is forecast for tonight, in fact it looks like there's going to be a storm, perfect weather for Halloween. That's all for the news at the moment..."
Morrie turned down the volume. He breathed a heavy sigh. He didn't like the sound of a storm. Especially driving through these winding roads.
Another yawn. A deep, loud yawn.
"You need rest."
Morrie jumped at Judy's voice.
"You really shouldn't be driving if you're so tired."
"I thought you were asleep," Morrie said. "You haven't spoken for the past hour."
"Sleep? How can I sleep after what happened? I've been thinking."
"You must be tired as well," Morrie said.
"Exhausted," she sighed. "A storm is on its way."
"Yep," Morrie said.
"How far are we from Mansfield?"
"About half an hour."
Judy suddenly sat up. "Hey, there's a motel coming up in five minutes. We just passed the sign."
"We're not even two hours out of Lilydale," Morrie said. "I want to put more distance between us and the...house," he finished.
"Come on, you're tired and there's a storm on the way."
Morrie tried to clear his mind and think logically. He never intended to stop at a big town like Mansfield. His plan had been to drive on past it, and if he couldn't make it to New South Wales, either stop at a small, out of the way motel, or if it came down to it, sleep in the car. He wasn't overly joyous at the thought of staying somewhere so close to Lilydale, but he was almost falling asleep at the wheel. And there was the storm.
"Maybe," he said. "We'll have a look at it. If it's secluded and not too busy, maybe."
"I don't think we have a choice," Judy said. "I don't think you'll last until Mansfield."
"I don't want to stay there, anyway."
"Well then, we have no choice."
Despite his reluctance, Morrie knew it was the smart thing to do. Staring out the windscreen he could barely focus his eyes on the painted lane dividers.
"Jesus," he mumbled.
He reached over and turned up the radio. Some disco song was playing. He switched it off.
"I wonder if the police have found the body yet," Judy said, gazing out the passenger window.
Morrie was about to respond, when Judy called out, "There it is."
He stomped on the brakes, the tyres squealing, and turned sharply to the left. "Not very well signed," he grumbled. "Almost missed the damn turn off."
As he drove along the narrow dirt road, Morrie peered up at the rear view mirror. Back in the distance, hidden amongst the tall pine trees was the sign for the motel.
"Maybe this is a good place to stay after all," he said. "It's well hidden."
The road became steep. He planted his foot hard on the accelerator. He gazed around at the pine trees then stuck his head out the window and breathed in deep. He quickly brought his head back in. "Ah, I love the smell of pine."
He turned his head and saw Judy looking out the window. The steep road levelled out, and they arrived at the motel. The group of cabins were all dark, except for the large one on the right and one over to the left. Although, strangely, there was no car in front of that cabin. Figuring the larger one was the office, Morrie headed over. He stopped just in front of the door and turned off the engine. He touched Judy on the shoulder. "I'll be back soon."
She ignored him and continued to stare out the window. He opened the door and stepped out. He was surprised at how cold the night had become.
He was about to head over to the office entrance when an old woman emerged from around the side of the building. She hugged her shawl tight around her shoulders and smiled at him as she neared. Morrie guessed that she was the manager. "Good evening," she said, stronger than Morrie had expected. "Windy night."
Just act like nothing has happened, Morrie told himself. Act nice and friendly. He gave her his most natural and polite smile.
12:46 a.m.
They were still there. Whoever the fuck they were.
He flicked the cigarette out the window, then rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.
Three fucking hours, he sighed to himself. I've been here three...no, wait...over three hours. Damn!
He gazed over at the Volvo and Mercedes, and snarled. He had thought a few times of going over there with his Smith & Wesson and interrupting the party. After all, the friends might be all females. But that was just a pissed off drunk's fantasy. He was here for Helen and Helen alone.
As he unscrewed the top of the second hip flask, and sank back the fiery whisky, his thoughts went back to another time. Another woman.
She had hurt him as well. Probably more so: he had really cared for her. Even loved her.
Not that he didn't care for Helen. He did. He had to, or else he wouldn't be waiting three damn hours in the car just to be with her. Show her how much he needed her.
But the other woman had been special. Even though it had all happened twenty years ago, his love for her had never ceased. Neither had the pain.
And now Helen, doing the exact same thing. Hurting him like he had been hurt before.
Whether it was just the drink, or perhaps the flood of memories, tears suddenly formed in his eyes.
Damn bitches. Why do they always do this to me? Damn it! Don't they know I care for them? That I need them?
He wiped away the tears and took another drink of the whisky.
The radio, its endless crackling and distant voices, was starting to get on his nerves. But instead of turning it off, he only turned it down. Because it was like having one of those really annoying friends that you don't like, but constantly see anyway. It was good just to have a companion. And, like an old friend, the noise of the radio had become a part of his existence. It seemed natural.
It had just gotten on his nerves because he was drunk.
There was nothing much of interest coming from it anyway, just the usual. The only serious happening tonight was a shooting. Apparently some eighteen-year-old had been gunned down on the front lawn of a house in Lilydale. They hadn't arrested anyone yet, but they did have two suspects.
He occasionally tuned in to hear updates of that incident, but only when he wasn't occupied with thoughts of Helen.
He rested his head back, the flask of whisky still in his grasp, and listened to the moaning wind.
How long am I gonna have to wait? he thought. Damn! Maybe I should just go over there...
He smiled to himself. Wouldn't Helen get a surprise?
But he couldn't do that. Even in his drunken state he knew that would be downright stupid.
But who's in there? And when the fuck are they going to leave?
As he sat there thinking, a grin came across his face.
Could he? Should he?
Why not? he thought. It won't do any harm.
He switched off the radio. He leaned over to the glove box, but decided not to take his Smith & Wesson. He took another swig of whisky then hopped out.
The wind blew his hair and jacket about. He looked around the street. He could see no one walking a dog, no midnight joggers. It was too late for trick-or-treaters, so it looked as though he was alone.
He started for the house.
In his ordinary sober state, he would never have done anything like this. He wasn't some pathetic peeping Tom, for God's sake. But he kept telling himself that this was purely for curiosity. He was bored and wanted to see who it was that had fucked up his night.
He arrived at Helen's house, looked around one more time, then made his way to the left side of the house. He had been here enough times to know the layout. He headed for the first window.
His heart, which pumped alcohol filled blood around his body, was racing as he stepped up to the window. The curtains were drawn, but he could see into the house through a narrow gap. The lights were on in the lounge room, but there was nobody there, only a few empty flutes sitting on the table, as well as three bottles of wine.
Where are they? he wondered.
He left the lounge room window, and walked farther down the side of the house. He tried to keep his footsteps as light as possible, but couldn't help the leaves crunching under his feet.
Branches scraped his arms and forehead as he pushed his way down towards the back of the house.
He came upon another large window -- Helen's bedroom. He was actually heading for the kitchen window, but he stopped and peered in.
Again a narrow gap allowed him to see into the room.
His breath was stolen from his throat. His eyes widened and his mouth gaped.
There were three people on the bed, all naked. At first he had trouble deciphering what exactly he was witnessing. There appeared to be just a mass of skin. But then one of the people emerged from the congregation and walked over to a drawer. He recognised her as Helen. Totally naked and gleaming with sweat, she looked absolutely stunning.
His cock became hard. He watched as Helen opened one of the drawers and pulled out a long instrument. With slightly blurry eyes, he strained harder to see what she had taken out. He still wasn't sure exactly what it was.
But when she strapped a belt around her waist, and he saw the long thing jutting out, he understood.
"Holy crap," he muttered.
He could faintly hear the sound of music. Something jazzy. The trumpet was the most audible instrument.
Helen walked over to the other two.
Those he had no idea who they were -- or at least he didn't think he did. One had its arse in the air and its head in someone's crotch. The other person was greedily lapping at the partner's groin from underneath.
A sixty-nine, he thought.
And he wasn't completely positive, but they both looked like women.
"Oh man," he said, excited.
Helen brought the dildo to the woman's backside and began slowly slipping it into her anus. There was a rather loud moan as Helen pushed in deep. The other woman licked hungrily at the vagina.
The dildo all the way in, Helen began moving back and forth.
The woman that was licking the vagina now moved her mouth to the anus, to the dildo. As she licked, she slipped three fingers into the vagina and began digging in and out hard.
Helen had begun to really build momentum, and she was fucking the woman's arse with real fervour.
He could hear the screams of pleasure from the woman being prodded even over the noise of the wind and music.
After about two minutes, Helen pulled out and they all hopped up.
He now saw that they were definitely all women -- and, Jesus Christ, all amazingly beautiful. One was a stunning, large breasted blonde -- the one that had been doing the fingering. The one who was getting fucked up the arse was a brunette.
The moment he saw her, his cock got even harder and he sighed out loud. She looked younger than the other two -- perhaps mid-twenties -- and had a foreign look about her, maybe distantly Spanish or Mexican. Her deep brown skin was glossy with sweat and she had the most perfect body he had ever seen. She made Raquel Welch look plain in comparison.
The blonde lay down on the bed. Helen and the brunette remained standing. With her red hair all mussed and her large nipples fully erect, Helen strolled over to the brunette and took her into her arms. They opened their mouths wide, both their tongues poking out, and kissed. They sucked on each other's tongues while Helen caressed the brunette's bum. She did the same.
The blonde was busy masturbating on the bed.
Then something happened that he wasn't prepared for. He let out a loud, drunken burp.
He was just as shocked as the women who stopped their love making and turned their heads towards the window.
Shit! he screamed in his head and ducked down.
He waited below for the window to open, for Helen or one of the other girls to call out, but it didn't happen.
After about a minute of squatting under the windowsill, he stood up and peered in.
The three women were on the bed, sucking and fucking each other. He decided it was time to leave.
He walked down the side of the house, through the trees and bushes, and finally to the front lawn. As he headed down to the footpath, he had mixed feelings. He felt very turned on -- as any heterosexual male would be from watching three beautiful women get it on.
But another part of him felt betrayed, almost angry. It was as if Helen was cheating on him.
Making his way towards the car, he realised he had another problem. He was in dire need of a piss.
He didn't particularly feel like knocking on strangers' doors, so he headed for the largest tree on the street.
Al walked out of the bathroom, rubbing his stomach tenderly. "I wouldn't go in there anytime soon." He walked over to his bed and sat down.
"You were in there for like twenty minutes," Eddy said, smiling. "Ya shit your brains out?"
Al chuckled, then winced. "Don't make me laugh."
"Man, I can smell it from here." Eddy was lying back on his bed, practicing handling the gun, which he had been doing the whole time Al was in the bathroom. The revolver was heavier than he expected. But he had soon gotten used to its weight, and he now considered himself quite the expert.
He placed it down on the side table.
"You been playing with that thing the whole time?" Al asked.
Eddy grinned. "I think I'm in love."
Al groaned, and clutched at his stomach with both hands.
"Another one?"
Al shook his head. "Don't think so. Just some aftershocks."
"What's causing it?" Eddy asked.
"I dunno. Maybe the pizza we had for tea."
"Doubt it. I had just as much as you, probably more."
"I suppose so. I think I'm just nervous about the whole thing."
"I hope it doesn't hit while we're out in the mountain."
"Why? We'll be surrounded by nature."
"You'll shit out in the open, on the ground?"
Al shrugged. "Trust me. When it hits you, you won't care where the fuck you are. You could be having sex with the most beautiful woman in the world, but if your stomach starts to gurgle and you get that cramping feeling, you'll stop without a second's thought and hurry into the bathroom, doesn't matter that you haven't finished."
"That's just charming," Eddy said.
"It's the truth," Al sighed, and winced.
"You must really be nervous," Eddy said.
"Aren't you?" Al breathed.
"Yeah, of course. But not so much that I'm gonna get the shits."
"Guess I've got a sensitive stomach."
Eddy hopped off the bed, picking up the gun as he stood up. "You wanna get started, or do you wanna wait?"
Al looked over at Eddy. He took a deep breath, then slowly stood up. "I wanna get this over and done with as quickly as we can."
"It's gonna take a while," Eddy told him. "A couple of hours. And it'll be hard work. I've read that dead bodies are very heavy."
"Yeah, I've read that too."
Eddy checked his watch. It was a bit after one o'clock. He flipped open the revolver's chamber, and checked that it was loaded. He pushed the chamber back into place. "Loaded and ready."
"Great. Where's the box of ammunition?"
Eddy patted his front jeans pocket. "Right where I can get to 'em."
"Let's pray that we don't have to use it," Al said, slipping on his black, sheepskin lined jacket.
"I hope we do. I wanna test out my gun handling skills," Eddy chuckled. "See what it's like to shoot a bad guy."
"Come on, man. That's not funny. This is serious."
"I was only kidding around," Eddy said. "Don't wanna have two dead bodies on our hands."
"Correction, the second body would be on your hands."
Eddy shoved the revolver down his pants. Only the handle was sticking out. He covered it with his jumper so the handle could not be seen. Only a slight bulge was noticeable, and only if standing close enough. "Okay, so you know the plan?"
"Of course. What's there to know?" Al said.
"Are you sure you're up to carrying him?" Eddy asked. "I don't want to be halfway up the mountain only to find you can't go any farther."
"I'm fine. I can handle it."
"Okay."
"So you still think it's the best place?" Al said. "I mean we could drop him anywhere."
"No question. If it's as deep and rocky as the old bag says it is, nobody's gonna find him. Not for a while, anyway, when the old boy starts to go rotten."
"And they'll think he either committed suicide or slipped," Al finished.
"Right. It's perfect. They won't have any evidence whatsoever to connect us with him. Apart from the fact that we stayed in this motel. But I mean how many people have stayed in this shit hole?" Eddy chuckled. "If we can manage to make it up there without being seen, we'll be home free."
"Do we need anything besides the gun?"
"Like what?" Eddy said.
"I dunno, I'm just thinking out loud."
Eddy stood by the bed, thinking. He eventually shook his head. "Nope, can't think of anything. It would be different if we were gonna bury him. We'd need shovels and shit. But we're just going to throw him into a gorge."
Al nodded. "Except for gloves, there's nothing I can think of."
"Gloves?"
"Yeah, so we wouldn't have to touch him."
Eddy smiled. He headed for the door. "Let the games begin," he called over to Al. He stopped, however, when he noticed that Al wasn't moving. He looked pale, and was wincing. "Oh no, not again."
With a sudden dash, Al ran into the bathroom.
Eddy let out a sigh and wandered over to his bed. He took out the revolver and sat down.
The boy was still passed out. He had been out of it for about half an hour now, but at least it had given time for Wayne to bandage the boy's legs. He could've been torturing him the whole time, but part of what excited Wayne was hearing the boy cry out, looking into his eyes as he was cutting or strangling him. He liked to sodomise them while they were either asleep or passed out -- that way he could picture them as dead bodies. But when it came to torturing them with knives and other instruments, he liked them awake.
He had tried torturing in the past while the victim had been passed out; it gave him little thrill. So much so that he had stopped and went and watched TV until the kid had come to. No, best to wait until they regained their senses.
After bandaging the boy's legs, Wayne had lain down on his bed, a Coke in his hand, and enjoyed the rest. The next few hours were going to be strenuous. It took a lot of energy to torture, rape and slice - so he needed to be well rested.
Every ten minutes or so, Wayne had hopped off his bed and wandered over to the boy where he pinched the boy's testicles or pressed on his kneecaps, just to make sure he wasn't pretending to be still passed out. He wasn't. Each time he never flinched, never winced in pain.
But he was still alive. Even now, gazing over at the naked teenager, Wayne could see his chest gently rise and fall. Wayne was thankful for that. He wasn't especially eager to go out looking for another victim tonight. He hadn't had all his fun with this one yet.
Wayne moved his eyes away from the boy, to one of the flickering flames. He loved to watch the peaceful movements of candle flame. It mesmerised him, gave him a sense of balance and inner happiness. The flames looked particularly beautiful when all other lights had been turned off, and everything in the room looked like shimmering bronze. Smooth, naked boys looked especially sensual shrouded in candlelight.
When Wayne had found the candles gathering dust in the bedside drawer, he'd been overcome with happiness. He immediately went about searching for candlestick holders, and had found two in the cupboard above the sink. After he had lit both candles, and turned off the main light, he then had the decision of where to place them. (In between the boy's legs; on the floor; stuck on the boy's forehead using wax to hold them in place; on the sink bench -- these had been some of Wayne's ideas). He had finally decided on the bedside table. It wasn't very adventurous, but it was the most central place in the room, therefore the whole room would be covered in bronze light, not just one area. Besides, he could always use them later on the boy.
Wayne checked the time. He jumped off the bed and went over to the boy. He stood by the bed, looking down at the glowing body. Wayne had had enough rest. He was ready to begin.
In the candlelight, the sheets were a deep purple. He hadn't realised how much blood had gushed from the boy's knees, especially the right one.
No wonder he passed out.
As he gazed down upon the boy's chest, Wayne saw that his breathing had sped up. He now seemed to be breathing in jerking movements, rather than in a slow, steady rhythm. Wayne grinned.
He walked over to the candles, picked one up by the base of the holder, then crept back. He moved down towards the boy's mid-section, and held the candle over his body. Enough wax had collected at the top of the candle, near the wick. Wayne gradually tipped the candle, and watched as the wax spilled onto the boy's testicles -- right where he was aiming.
The boy opened his eyes and let out a muffled scream. His body lurched around, but stopped when the pain from his knees became too much to endure. Tears streamed down his cheeks as the wax burned his tender scrotum. The wax soon began to harden.
Wayne placed the candle back on the table.
"Trying to trick me," he said, shaking his head. "About time you came to. I was getting mighty lonesome."
The boy stared at Wayne, shaking. The towel in his mouth was completely soaked, wet with the boy's saliva and sweat.
Wayne could feel the bitterness in the room even though he wore a shirt and jacket. But Wayne could see that the boy's body had a bluish tinge, even in the yellow candlelight.
The boy mumbled something.
"What?" Wayne taunted. "I can't understand you. You mumble too much."
He spoke again, although his words were a jumbled mess.
"You want me to take the gag out?"
The boy nodded.
Wayne grinned. He went over to the table and picked up his knife.
"If I do, and you scream..." He held up the knife.
The boy nodded again, this time more slowly.
"If you thought it hurt when I stabbed your knees, you can't imagine what else I can do to you. I can cause pain ten times that. Understand?"
Wayne held the knife in his right hand while he took out the towel. He threw the sodden mass on the boy's chest. The boy gasped and drew in deep breaths.
"I'll give you a little hint of what I'll do to you if you start to scream. When you kicked at me, I sliced your legs. If you scream, which involves your voice box..." Wayne raised his eyebrows.
"I...understand," the boy said.
"Good. Now, what is it you want so desperately to tell me?"
The boy swallowed and caught his breath. "Please don't kill me. I know that is your plan, but you don't have to do it."
Wayne chuckled. "Do you know how many times I've heard that? I knew you were going to say that. Don't fucking bore me."
Although Wayne secretly loved it when they begged for their lives. He never told them so, of course, but he got off on it. It made him feel just so damn powerful.
"I've got a family and friends and a...a girl...girlfriend." He started to sob. "I've got a life."
"And a future," Wayne mimicked. "You don't have to kill me, I won't tell the police." He laughed. "Isn't that what you were going to say?"
"Fuck you, you faggot," the boy muttered under his breath.
"What did you call me?" Wayne growled.
"N...nothing," the boy gasped. He shook his head hard.
"You called me a f...f..." Wayne had trouble saying the word. Out of all the names for it, Wayne hated that one the most. It was the one his father used to call him.
"I'm not a, a...one of those," Wayne said. He wiped the tears from his eyes, then stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door with one fierce movement.
He gazed at himself in the mirror, and felt hatred for being such a wimp and crying. He could hear his father's voice in his head. It was strong, like he was standing next to Wayne at that very moment.
You fat little faggot. You're not going to amount to anything. Stop ya crying, faggot. You make me sick.
"No!" Wayne screamed into the mirror.
He still held the knife in his hand, and he was grasping the handle so tight that his fingernails were digging into his palm. With a powerful thrust of his right arm, Wayne smashed his hand into the mirror. Shards of glass fell into the sink; blood began to gush out of his hand. He dropped the knife into the sink, and opened his hand. His knuckles were cut, and Wayne could see bits of glass protruding from his hand. He turned his bloody hand over, and saw four sets of moon-shaped incisions embedded in his palm. They too were dripping blood.
"Just great," he muttered to himself. "Way to go, Wayne."
He turned on the tap and left his hand under the cold water until the blood had washed away. As soon as he brought his hand out of the water, blood began to flow steadily again.
This time he began picking out the pieces of glass splinters. The blood made his fingers and hand slippery. It was hard and took a while, but he eventually picked out all the visible pieces of the mirror. Then he ran his throbbing hand under the water, until it was clean again. He had left the bandages and antiseptic cream out in the other room, so Wayne wrapped a towel around his hand for the time being. Before he left the bathroom, Wayne looked up at the broken mirror, and grinned. The last image he had seen before he punched it was not of his own reflection, but of his father's. And now it lay broken and useless.
But he knew that wouldn't stop the voices. Nothing would ever stop his father from making his life hell. Even though he had died ten years ago from cancer.
But it would do for now; smashing that mirror had made him feel better, no matter that it wouldn't last for long.
He opened the door and walked out into the golden glow of the candlelight. The bandages and cream were sitting on the round breakfast table near the front door. He wandered over and unwrapped the towel from around his hand. He placed the bloody towel on the table and picked up the cream.
"Had myself a little accident," Wayne said.
The boy remained silent.
Wayne rubbed the cream into his numerous cuts, then wound the bandage around his right hand.
When he was done, he went back into the bathroom and picked up the knife from the sink. He washed it free from any glass and blood.
Walking back into the room, holding the knife in his left hand, Wayne smiled. "Never done this with my left hand. The knife I mean, not...well." He laughed softly.
Wayne saw the boy stare at his hand. His eyes then darted to the one holding the knife. Wayne switched it to his right hand, while he shoved the towel back in the boy's mouth. "Don't want you saying that filthy word again. You only have yourself to blame, boy."
He then switched the knife back to his left hand. He glanced over at the candles. They were still burning solidly, the flames waving with the gentle surges in the air. Wayne's grotesque figure danced on the wall.
The radio was still playing on low volume -- Wayne had turned it down after the boy had fainted. He now turned the sound up. He had missed the news report, but it didn't bother him. He had heard it all before. The police had nothing new on him.
Wayne turned back to the boy. His hand was pounding with a dull ache, but he tried to ignore it. "I've got all night with you," he said. "I'm going to have fun with you. Let you feel real pain. What do you think about that?"
"You...are...a...faggot." Although the boy had his mouth stuffed with the towel, he pronounced every word slowly and as audible as possible.
A red-hot fire erupted in Wayne's body. His hand began to shake, and his face perspire.
Wayne shuffled around to the foot of the bed. The boy lifted his head and peered down.
"You fuck," Wayne barked. He thrust the knife into the underneath of the boy's left foot. He hit right where the boy's arch was. His body went into spasms. The scene looked strange, since the boy couldn't move his legs. Wayne pulled the knife out, and an outpouring of blood gushed from the hole. Wayne did the same to the other foot. This time he worked the knife deep into the foot, grinding the blade, a callous grin on his face. Yanking out the blade, Wayne moved up to the boy's heaving chest.
"Teach you to call me that," he said.
With the tip of the knife, Wayne pierced the boy's right nipple. He flicked and sliced at the small rubbery tip. Blood streamed down his white chest. Wayne took the knife away and placed his mouth over the nipple, which was half dangling off. He sucked and worked it in his mouth, flicking it occasionally with his tongue. He relished in the salty, metallic taste of the boy's blood. He suddenly bit down on the small nipple and chewed it off. The boy's screams added to Wayne's thrill. He straightened up, and grinned, the nipple perched between his lips. He spat it out at the boy. It hit him on his left cheek, then bounced off onto the floor.
"That's what you get for calling me a faggot," Wayne said, panting hard. The acrid taste of blood in his mouth was a lot more pleasant than saying that word.
Wayne hated saying that word.
She's probably asleep," Morrie said. "I'm not going over there now."
"She won't have gone to bed yet. You only left her place about twenty minutes ago. Besides, you said she stays up late. Come on, Morrie, we have to get out of here."
Morrie sighed. He knew that Madge wouldn't have gone to bed yet. She had told him that she more than likely wasn't going to sleep at all tonight. But he didn't want to disturb her again.
"It's going to seem very suspicious if I go over and pay. Who pays at one o'clock in the morning when they're already booked in?"
Judy was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her face looked pale and fatigued. However, she looked a lot better than Morrie felt.
"I'll go then. I'm not staying here, Morrie." She stood up. "Give me your wallet."
Morrie sat up straight. He placed his hands on the round table. "I'll do it," he said softly. "At least she knows me. What do I tell her?"
Still standing, Judy ran her fingers through her long, tangled hair. "Tell her that we want to get away very early in the morning. And that you suddenly remembered you forgot to pay."
Morrie blew out a long, worn out breath. He brought his right hand up to his temple and rubbed hard. "Okay. But I still think she'll get suspicious. Especially when we all of a sudden start the car."
"Jesus, Morrie. She probably won't even hear it. And even if she does, she won't know that it's our car."
"I suppose," Morrie said.
"I just really want to leave as soon as we can," Judy said. "Who cares what she thinks or suspects? We'll be far gone."
She walked over to Morrie, put her arms around his shoulders and hugged him with affection. "I love you, ya big lug."
Morrie smiled and kissed her cold hands. "We'll get through this, Judy."
"I know," she answered. Her voice sounded tired and defeated. She didn't sound convinced. Morrie hoped that he could believe it as well, although, like his wife, he wasn't sure if he did.
"You okay to drive? I know that you're tired, but with that migraine of yours, will you be able to?"
Morrie patted her hands. "I'll be fine. I'm wide awake."
Judy let go and he stood up. He turned and faced her. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
"What do you mean?"
"I was the one who shot that kid. I was the one who didn't pay when we arrived."
Judy smiled and shook her head. Morrie didn't think he'd ever seen Judy smile so warm and loving. "It was all a big accident. You thought he was going for a gun. It was self-defence. You were just protecting us."
"I wonder if the courts would see it that way," Morrie huffed.
"Go on," Judy said. She patted him on the buttocks. "Hurry up so we can get out of here."
Morrie nodded, pecked her on the cheek, then headed for the cabin door.
"Remember the story," Judy called out to him. "And don't forget to pay this time."
At the door, Morrie turned around and grinned. "Very funny." He zipped up his blue jacket then patted his jeans pocket. His wallet was sitting securely in his left pocket. He gripped the handle and opened the door.
"Don't be too long," he heard Judy say before he stepped out into the cold and gusty night.
Al had been in the bathroom for fifteen minutes. Even with the door closed Eddy could hear him moaning with anguish, not to mention the unpleasant splashes that accompanied them. So Eddy turned up the radio even louder, then lay back down on the bed. His hands were sore from handling the heavy revolver. It was now sitting on the bedside table, loaded and ready.
Outside, the wind had really picked up. He could hear it howling against the small cabin.
"That rain's gonna come soon," he said and sighed.
If it wasn't bad enough that they had to cart a dead body up into the mountain, Mother Nature was going to give them a hellish storm to accompany them on their ghoulish deed.
Maybe it's karma, Eddy thought.
He heard the toilet flush. He turned off the radio, stood up, then grabbed the gun. He lifted his shirt and slipped it down his pants. Al came timidly out of the bathroom.
"You all done?" Eddy said.
"I fucking hope so," Al said.
"Man, that's ripe. How do you feel?"
"How does it smell?" Al answered.
"Enough with the jokes. I mean seriously, how do you feel? Are you up for this?"
"I don't think we have any other choice. We can't leave the car here." Al smiled weakly. "Besides, I don't think I have any shit left in me."
Eddy chuckled.
"I'll be okay. Let's do this."
"You realise that it's gonna rain soon? The radio said a fucking storm."
"They've been saying that all night," Al said. "It's what, one-twenty, and it hasn't rained yet."
"Listen to the wind, man. I'm telling ya, the storm's coming."
"So? What do you want me to do?"
"Nothing." Eddy grabbed his jacket and put it on. "It's gonna be twice as hard, though, carrying him in the rain. Fuck, we'll probably catch pneumonia."
Al shrugged. "We have to do it. Hell, it's our fault for jacking that car. We live with our actions. Deal with the consequences."
"That's exactly what I was just thinking," Eddy said. "This whole predicament, the storm, it's karma."
"Well, let's set our karma right."
Eddy nodded. He headed for the door.
"Got the gun?" Al asked as he followed.
"Of course." Eddy opened the cabin door. A gust of wind sent his hair and jacket in a mad flutter. "My God," he said as he stepped out.
Al followed, switching off the light and closing the door.
Apart from the loud wind, the motel grounds were quiet. Only the office across from them had on a light.
And a man was standing by its front door.
Eddy grabbed Al by the jacket and pulled him around to the side of the cabin.
"What the fuck?" Al gasped.
Eddy pushed him against the side of the cabin. The office and its light couldn't be seen from where they were hiding. "Didn't ya see him?" Eddy whispered.
"Who?"
"That big guy from next door."
"The wife beater?"
"Yeah. Didn't ya see him?"
"No, was he out having a smoke or something?"
"He was over at the office. Waiting outside."
"Really? I didn't see him."
"Trust me, he was there. I don't think he saw us. I'm gonna make sure."
Eddy left the logs of the cabin and crept forward. He stopped at the corner and peered around. The man was still standing at the office door.
Eddy walked back and took Al by the jacket. "Come on, let's go. He ain't coming. I don't think he saw us."
Al followed behind in the darkness. "Wonder why he's going to the office," Al whispered.
"Probably to fuck the old lady."
They both tried hard not to laugh out loud.
They arrived at the car. Eddy gazed out at the thick woods that led up into the mountain. He shivered. "Spooky out here."
"You're telling me. My stomach feels like a goddamn blender."
"Well, there are plenty of trees out here if you need to shit."
"That's reassuring," Al said.
Eddy's eyes had adjusted a little more to the darkness. He could faintly make out the car a couple of metres away. He went over and stood at the boot.
Al joined him. "Don't you think we'd better find where the start of the trail is first?"
Eddy looked back. "You're right."
They gazed out at the dark woods. "It must be somewhere in there," Eddy said. "Come on."
They started off towards the edge of the thick mass of pine trees.
"Damn I wish we had a torch," Al muttered.
The night grew immensely darker as they tramped into the forest.
"Hey, I think there's a track here," Al said.
Eddy looked down at a cleared patch of dirt. "Must lead up to the different sets of trails," he suggested.
As they walked along the track, the meagre light from the moon gradually diminished. Instead of being able to distinguish individual pine trees, all Eddy could see was a thick mass of darkness. They didn't bang into any trees, so he figured they must be on the right track. They also seemed to be walking up a slight incline.
"We should leave fluorescent breadcrumbs so we can find our way back," Al said.
Eddy turned his head, but could see only darkness. Judging by Al's voice, he was still reasonably close. "Not to mention we have to find this again later."
"If this is actually the way," Al said.
Up ahead, a patch of brightness found its way through the trees. They walked over to it and saw that the moon, momentarily free from the cover of gloomy grey clouds, was shimmering through a clearing in the trees.
They stopped and looked ahead. In the distance Eddy could just make out a set of signposts. "That could be it," he said, pointing in the direction.
"I see it," Al said.
They headed over to the signs. When they arrived, they saw three wooden signposts, each pointing in slightly different directions.
Eddy wandered up close and studied each sign. "Ah, this one says Rober...Robertson...Valley Hike," he called back. He gazed at the next sign. "Devil's...this is it," he shouted back.
The small post pointed to the left. Robertson Valley Hike pointed straight ahead, and the other sign pointed more or less to the right. Eddy guessed that was the track that led to Hutto.
He went back to Al. "It's over on the left."
"Great. Let's get back."
Eddy nodded and they hurried back the way they came. They walked through the dark woods, until they finally hit the edge and were back at the motel.
Out of the woods, the back area of the cabin seemed extremely bright. They ventured over to the car.
"It's gonna be a lot of fun carrying the body up the mountain," Al said.
They stood by the boot of the car.
"Here we go," Eddy said. He took out his wallet, opened it up and took out the small hairpin.
He placed his hand on the boot and flinched from its coldness. He felt his way around until he located the keyhole. Keeping his fingers in place, he slipped the pin into the small lock and jiggled it until there was a small click. "Bingo." He took out the hairpin, but left the boot shut. Being so close to the body again, he had forgotten how real and serious their situation was.
"At least he's not rotting," Al said.
Eddy lifted the boot lid. A faintly stale smell emitted from inside. He was now glad that it wasn't a sweltering summer night. "He's still here," Eddy mused.
Al gave a small chuckle. "It would be good if we had another person. Maybe we should ask that big guy."
"Yeah, sure," Eddy said. "I'll just call him over."
They stood by the rear of the car, staring into the black space. Although he couldn't see the body, Eddy knew too well that he was in there. Knew that he was curled up on his side, covered in leaves and dirt, his face a cold blue, dark purple bruises on his neck, his face staring up at them, up at the cloudy night sky.
"I wonder who he is," Eddy said.
"Was," Al corrected.
"He was just a kid, Al. I wonder what his family's doing now. Probably worried to death."
"No pun intended," Al said.
"Yeah, I wasn't joking around."
"If he had parents like ours, they're at home, guzzling a bottle of Johnny Walker, not even noticing that he's gone."
"I hope not," Eddy said.
"I wonder who killed him," Al said.
"And why," Eddy added.
"You know we're stalling," Al said, turning to Eddy.
Eddy sighed. "I know." He reached into the boot.
"What're you doing?" Al asked.
"I've gotta know something." Leaning into the boot, he patted the dead kid's right side pocket. There was something down there. Gritting his teeth, he reached into the pocket and yanked out what he hoped was the kid's wallet. He straightened up, walked around to the driver's side and opened the door. The overhead light came on. Eddy sat down.
Al walked around. "Jesus, you took his wallet?"
"We're gonna bury the kid, I want to at least know his name."
Eddy opened up the cheap, imitation leather wallet and took out the kid's probationary license. "Jeffrey Olsen," he read out. "He was nineteen years old. Lived in Mt Evelyn."
Eddy gazed at the small photo. It showed a good looking, open faced young man. He had dark hair and a wispy moustache.
Eddy had a hard time putting that face to the body that lay in the boot. He handed the license to Al.
"You know, that name sounds familiar," Al said as he took the plastic card. "I'm sure I've heard it before."
Eddy was looking at a photo he had found in one of the slips. It was of an attractive red head. She looked about Jeffrey's age. "Jeffery had a nice looking girlfriend," Eddy said. He handed the photo to Al.
"Yeah, I'd f..." He stopped. It seemed he realised what he was going to say was wrong.
"There's not much else," Eddy said. "A few receipts, some disco passes." He zipped open the money compartment. "Forty bucks."
Al handed the license and photo back to Eddy. "Take the money and the passes. They might come in handy."
Eddy shook his head. "I'm not taking anything. Not even the passes. It just...I don't know, it wouldn't be right."
Al nodded. "Okay."
Eddy slipped the license and photo back into the wallet.
"Holy shit!" Al blurted out. "I remember where I've heard that name. It was on the radio tonight. A kid named Jeffrey Olsen had disappeared tonight while walking to the shops."
"Well I'll be damned," Eddy said.
Al ran his fingers through his long hair. "I can't believe it. We have him in the boot of the car."
"I just had a thought. Maybe we should call his parents, let them know what has happened to him. I bet they're sick with worry." Eddy hopped out of the car and gently closed the door. He leaned back on the car. "What do you think we should do? Can we throw him into the gorge now?"
"Fuck," Al muttered. "We had this all worked out."
"Well I think giving an anonymous call to the parents would be the right thing to do."
"But he's not our worry," Al said. "Let's still go with the plan. Then, if we still feel the need, call the parents and let them know where their son is."
Eddy let out a soft groan. "I don't know. It doesn't seem right to chuck him into the gorge now. Couldn't we just leave him somewhere, anywhere, up in the mountain and then call the parents?"
"Why are you all of a sudden such a concerned and caring person?"
"Fuck you. I have a conscience."
"So do I," Al growled. "So we now know the kid's name and that he has parents. Nothing's changed. Anyway, how are we going to call the parents? The license has no phone number."
Eddy remained silent. Without speaking, he walked around to the boot.
Al joined him.
Eddy leaned in and placed back the wallet.
After the wallet was securely in Jeffrey's pocket, Eddy straightened. And let out his breath. It didn't seem so bad that time. Knowing who he was made touching him slightly more bearable.
"I'm sorry, Ed. But this isn't our fault. All we have to worry about is not being connected with the body. After that, it doesn't concern us."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Eddy said.
"How about this: after we dump the body, we make a call to the police. That is, when we're back in the city."
Eddy turned and looked at his friend. "Okay. That would make me feel better."
"Yeah, I understand," Al said.
"Well," Eddy pronounced. "Nice to meet you, Jeffrey. I'm Edward, and this is Alfred."
Al shook his head.
"We'll try and be gentle with you."
"Amen," Al said.
Eddy smiled. "You grab his legs, I'll get his shoulders."
"Sure," Al said.
"I am sorry I took so long," Madge said as she opened the office door. "I was out the back, getting some fresh air."
Morrie stepped inside the moderately warmer office. He closed the door after he was in. "I was just about to leave. I thought you must've gone to bed."
"No, no. It's much too early for me."
Morrie smiled.
"It's getting mighty windy out there," Madge said. "Storm's gonna come soon, I'll bet." She began shuffling over to the curtain.
"No, I'm here for business," Morrie said.
She stopped and turned around. "Business? Whatever do you mean?"
Here we go, Morrie thought.
"The wife and I want to get away very early tomorrow. Got a lot of travelling to do and all. Probably be gone by the time you get up."
"Oh, I doubt that," Madge said. "I tend to get up quite early nowadays."
"Well we intend to get away at around dawn," Morrie said, smiling awkwardly.
"Then why in blazes are you still up?"
"Can't sleep," Morrie said. "The wife has been asleep since about eleven-thirty. Lucky thing," he chuckled.
"And are you doing all the driving?"
Morrie nodded. "Judy hasn't got her license, unfortunately."
"You poor thing. You need to get some sleep."
Morrie approached the desk and placed his hands on the counter. "Anyway, the reason I came over was that silly me forgot to pay earlier."
"That's not silly. Most people pay when they leave in the morning."
"Well, I forgot that we were heading out early, you see."
"And you want to pay now," Madge said. She smiled and wandered around to behind the small desk.
"If that's all right," Morrie said, rubbing his right temple.
"Of course it is. Do you have a headache?"
Morrie dug out his wallet. "A migraine. So how much do I owe you?"
"Ah, make it eight dollars."
Morrie dropped his hand from his temple and raised his eyebrows. "Eight? That's too cheap."
"Nonsense," Madge said. "I like you. Besides, this isn't an expensive place to run. I own it and there's not much maintenance or gas and electricity bills."
Morrie drew out two fives. He handed them over to Madge.
She thanked him and opened up the cash register. She brought out the change and extended it to Morrie. He shook his head.
"You've been extremely kind tonight. The whisky, the open fire, the conversation. I like you a lot."
She smiled, and if Morrie didn't know better, he'd have sworn that Madge was blushing. "Well, that's very kind of you, but I can't accept it."
"Put it towards building the open fires in the cabins. I won't take no for an answer."
She hesitantly placed the change back into the till, then closed the register. "Thank you," she said.
"Well, I'd better get going," Morrie said.
In more ways than one, he thought.
Madge came from behind the counter and walked up to Morrie. She stood close, looking up at him. She gave a small, tender smile, then placed her arms around his waist.
Morrie was shocked. He was breathless. He didn't know whether to push her away or to follow her lead and place his arms around her. Madge pressed herself close to his body, her belly rubbing against his hardening penis.
She's almost thirty years older than I am, Morrie told himself. This is nuts!
He found himself, however, wrapping his arms around her. Madge gazed up, and Morrie noticed for the first time, in the light of the office, how attractive and elegant Madge was for a sixty-four-year-old woman. The lines on her face indicated life and wisdom, not ugly wrinkles like most old women had.
Morrie lowered his head and met her open mouth. They kissed long and hard, Morrie feeling his way down to Madge's behind. He squeezed her full cheeks gently, lifting her dress until his hands were underneath then massaged her warm skin. Her mouth was surprisingly soft, and Morrie was even more shocked when Madge slipped in her tongue. He did the same and they both licked and sucked on each other's tongues with fury. Madge was moaning eagerly, so Morrie pulled down her panties, and explored her buttocks, including the crevice.
Judy...think of Judy, he suddenly told himself. But still he didn't stop. He knew this was wrong, on all accounts. Not only was he cheating on his wife of twenty years, but he was also getting it on with an old woman.
Correction...older woman, he thought.
Madge suddenly pulled away. Morrie kept his hands under her dress. He looked into her brown eyes.
"Oh Morrie, I haven't had a man for so long."
He saw tears in her eyes. "I had forgotten how wonderful it is."
Morrie smiled.
"I know you're married..." She began to pull away.
Morrie held her tight and shook his head. "She won't find out. Our marriage is dead, anyway," he lied.
He loved Judy, but their sex life had been practically non-existent for years.
"I'll lock the door," Madge said softly.
Morrie nodded and she headed over to the door and flicked the lock.
I can't believe this is happening, Morrie thought. I can't believe I'm going to go through with this...and with an older woman. He smiled to himself. He had always secretly wondered what it would be like to fuck an old lady.
Madge turned around and walked over to where Morrie was standing, still in amazement. She motioned her head for him to follow her, then proceeded over and through the purple curtain.
We're like a couple of teenagers, Morrie thought as he strolled into the lounge. The dim lounge was perfect for a romantic indulgence -- what with the open fire, the log cabin surroundings, and the lovely soft rug that lay on the floor.
Madge was heading towards the bedroom, but was stopped when Morrie grabbed her around the waist and turned her around. "Let's fuck in here," he growled.
He pulled Madge close and planted his lips on hers, plunging his tongue deep. They kissed fervently, opening their mouths wide, sucking hard on each other's tongues. Morrie's erection pressed firm against Madge's dress, and when he heard her groan with pleasure, he pressed himself even harder against her. Morrie stopped their kissing, and began to kneel down, taking Madge to the rug with him. He then made her lie down on her back.
He brought her legs up, and bending over her knees, slowly lifted her dress. He left it at waist height, so that her legs and underpants were exposed.
He could hear the crackling fire, which was directly in front of them, and thought to himself that those sounds were the only music they needed. It made the moment seem right.
He bent down and tenderly kissed the insides of her legs, occasionally licking the skin with a wet stroke. Madge started taking off her dress from over her head, throwing it to the rug when she had it off.
Morrie took her legs and spread them wider, gripping the underpants, then tugging them down, all the way off. He flung them to the couch.
Madge was now wearing nothing but her bra. Her body looked soft and smooth in the firelight. Her grey hair shimmered. Morrie lowered his head to the patch of darkness, then began licking. She gave a sudden gasp when his tongue first made contact, but she soon settled down.
She smelled differently than what Morrie had anticipated. She smelled faintly of soap and sweat, and tasted clean.
He dug his face in harder, replacing his tongue with the sucking of his mouth. Madge was moaning and sighing, and Morrie could see, when he lifted his head, that she was massaging and fondling her large breasts, even though they were still in the bra.
He took bits of flesh in his mouth, and gently sucked and flicked them with his tongue. He then extended his tongue and found her hole, and stuck his tongue in as deep as he could manage. She pushed and quaked her body against his face, taking her hands away from her breasts and grabbing his head.
Holding his head, Madge ground his face into her wetness. Then she suddenly pulled his face away and brought him on top of her.
She forced his mouth onto hers, which shocked Morrie, since no woman he'd ever known liked to kiss a man after he had been down there.
They kissed again, their tongues swirling around, and Morrie could smell her juices on his mouth.
Morrie was unbelievably turned on. His cock pushed forcefully against his jeans.
He was amazed that this woman could even stand her own smell, let alone lap it up.
She lifted Morrie's head and undid her bra. Morrie took the large brassiere and flung it over his shoulder. He then placed his mouth over her left nipple, and sucked it into his mouth. It tasted slightly salty, and was already stiff. So was the right one when he began sucking it.
After he had licked and sucked her breasts, Morrie stood up and threw off his jacket. He then unbuttoned his flannel shirt, throwing it down to the increasing pile of clothes on the floor.
Madge gazed up at his body. Despite his large stomach, Morrie had enormous arms and broad shoulders. But she didn't seem to mind the beer gut, just as he didn't mind her flab. It came with their age.
Morrie went about taking off his jeans.
When he had them off he pulled down his boxer shorts. He stepped out of them and kicked them to the couch.
His thick penis sprung loose. It pointed to the roof, as if standing at attention.
Madge sat up, crawled over to Morrie and took his throbbing member into her mouth.
Morrie stood still, both startled and aroused. Her mouth was wonderfully warm and moist as she slid up and down his long shaft.
This might be the best sex I've ever had, he thought, ashamedly, even better than Judy.
Wanting to feel her hugging wetness, Morrie gently pushed her head away. Madge lay down on the rug, while he slid inside easily, then began pushing in and out, slowly at first, then faster and harder. He rested his hands on the rug, propping himself up so as not to squash her.
Madge spread her legs even wider, then brought them up around the back of his legs. For an old, slightly overweight woman, she was extremely agile and flexible.
She pounded her pelvis with the rhythm of Morrie's thrusts, grabbing the cheeks of his bum to help push him in deeper.
With a loud moan, Morrie filled Madge with his fluid, slowing down his thrusting, until he was finished. Sweating and panting hard, he flopped off Madge and onto the soft rug.
\*
"Are you going to tell your wife?" Madge asked as they entered the office.
"No way. It would kill her. She doesn't need to know."
Madge nodded, and walked over to the door with Morrie. They both stopped and faced each other. "That was amazing, Madge."
"I know, you've already told me." She smiled.
"Are you sure you enjoyed it?"
"It was fantastic. But I'm a bit embarrassed about some of the things I said and did."
Morrie took her hand. "Don't be. That's what lovemaking is all about. To lose yourself in the moment, say and do whatever is in your heart."
"Aren't you the smooth talker," Madge said. "How's that migraine?"
Morrie smiled. "It has died down, actually. I never even noticed it while we were making love. It must've helped."
Madge smiled back. The smile soon turned to a frown. "Well, I guess this is goodbye." Her voice was shaky. Morrie knew that she was trying to hold back the tears.
"Yeah, we won't be seeing you in the morning."
He saw the longing and loneliness in her eyes. It made his heart ache, but he couldn't stay here with her. He needed to know that she understood that.
"I'm sorry," Morrie said. "I had the most amazing time tonight...but I still love my wife."
"Yes, I understand," Madge said.
Morrie smiled shortly. He bent down and kissed her. She took him into her mouth.
A tremendous crack of thunder startled them apart
1:55 a.m.
The thunderous boom penetrated through the small cabin. It made Wayne jump, as it did the boy.
"My God," Wayne gasped. "That one must've split the heavens apart."
Rain started pounding on the roof. Wayne had trouble hearing the radio over the noise.
He straightened up and gazed at the ceiling. He wondered, hoped, that the roof wouldn't leak.
"Hell, the roof might fall down," Wayne said, looking down at the boy.
He had also been staring up at the ceiling, but now his eyes were on Wayne.
"How'd ya like that? If the roof did fall down, it would squash you like a bug." Wayne chuckled.
He saw the look of terror in the boy. He diverted his eyes from Wayne, back to the ceiling.
He really believes me, Wayne thought.
There was a sudden burst of lightning. It shone through the gaps in the curtains. It brightened the room for a few seconds before everything went back to darkness.
Wayne wandered over to the side table and picked up the bloody knife. He hadn't used it much since stabbing the boy's feet, only for the odd surface slice. He had been entertaining himself with his favourite form of torture -- strangulation.
That was what gave him the most pleasure, made his penis stiffen and his heart beat incredibly fast.
He wondered what sort of damage he had caused to the boy's brain. He knew for a fact that constant choking, starving the brain of oxygen for small amounts of time, over and over again, had damaging effects on a person's mental abilities -- some more severe than others.
The young man didn't seem too bad, though. He still seemed quite with it.
He was a strong one, considering all his injuries.
A deep rumble erupted from the sky. The rain was still coming down hard, and the wind wailed through the trees. It sounded like somebody screaming. Wayne grinned.
"It was a dark and stormy night," he said. He gazed down at the boy. Dry blood covered his chest, legs, feet and stomach.
Wayne headed into the bathroom. He didn't bother turning on the light. At the sink, he turned on the tap and ran the dirty blade under the water.
He brought the knife from under the spray, saw in the dim light that it was clean, so he turned off the tap.
Another bolt of lightning.
Wayne moved over to the window next to the sink. He flung the curtains aside and peered out at the storm.
Rain hammered at the window -- big fat drops. Through the wall of the shower, Wayne could just make out the other cabins. They were dim shapes, and as he looked farther to his right, he could see the fuzzy glow of the office lights.
The trees were being thrown about like they were nothing but twigs. Thunder grumbled through the night.
"Come on," he whispered. He fogged up the glass, so he wiped it clean with his sleeve.
All he wanted was to see another stroke of lightning.
Ever since he was a boy, Wayne loved the look and sound of a storm. It excited him. Especially the lightning. He loved to lie in bed and listen to the storm. But whenever there was lightning, he just had to see it. No matter what time of night it was, he would jump out of bed and stare out at the wonder of nature.
Even now he could feel his heart thumping.
Any moment now...
In a flash of brilliant white, forks of lightning blazed across the night sky.
And that's when he saw it.
"What the...?" he muttered.
The lightning had only lasted for a short time. It was finished now, but it had given Wayne enough time to see it clearly.
He was astounded. Wayne shook his head in disbelief. He closed the curtains and stood in the dark bathroom, smiling.
He had seen two men, out in the storm, standing at the rear of the car. They had a body on the ground, and were struggling to pick it up. In this weather, it would be difficult; Wayne knew from past attempts.
When he had eventually recovered from the shock, he left the bathroom, shoving the knife into his right jacket pocket as he walked over to the boy.
"I'm going to be gone for a while," Wayne told him. "Something, well, quite unbelievable has come up."
The boy stared up at Wayne.
"Don't worry, I'm gonna make sure you're not going to get loose. How are you going to walk, anyway?" Wayne laughed. "Now, we have to secure those restraints, and put a hold on the gag." He grinned. "Don't worry, I'll be back."
He walked off to find a tie for the gag.
"Be careful," Madge called from the doorway.
"I will," Morrie called back, his voice lost in all the wind and rain.
He watched Madge close the office door, then he turned around and headed for his cabin.
He hurried along the muddy ground, the hood from his jacket covering his head, which occasionally dropped down over his eyes from the blustery winds.
He glanced over at the other cabins, and noticed that the one next to theirs, where the two men were staying, was in darkness. The one farther along, the father and son, had a flicker of light that he could see through the gaps in the curtain.
Must still be up, he thought.
Being extra careful not to slip over, Morrie walked as fast as he could towards their cabin. The rain felt especially hard as it pelted down on his jacket.
He made it to the cabin and rushed inside.
Judy, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, jumped when he came in. "You scared me," she said, standing up to greet him. She was holding a cigarette in her hand.
"It's terrible out there," he said. He flipped the hood off and shook the rain from his jacket.
"You were gone awhile," Judy said.
Morrie smiled, and shrugged. "We had another chat. She sure likes to talk that woman."
Judy nodded. "Most old women are like that. I bet she gets lonely out here all by herself."
"Yeah, I guess," Morrie said. His face was burning, despite the storm outside.
"So it's all settled? You paid?"
"Sure have. We're ready to go."
He saw relief in Judy's eyes. "I was starting to get worried. I thought she might have heard about us and called the police."
Morrie shook his head. "She doesn't know. Besides, we'll be out of here soon."
Judy went over to the sink and threw in the cigarette butt. "You know, that woman probably won't even be able to hear our car at all in this storm."
"I never thought of that," Morrie said.
She walked over and put her arms around him. "That's quite a storm out there. You will be okay driving, won't you?"
Morrie nodded. "I've driven plenty of times in this kind of weather. Don't worry."
He kissed her sharply on the forehead.
"How's your migraine?"
"It's still there," Morrie said. Which was true. It was, but only faintly.
"I wish we had something. I don't think we packed any aspirin, though."
Morrie shrugged. "I can handle it."
Judy let go and went over to her two bags. "Let's get this show on the road."
Morrie nodded. "Can you give me a smoke?"
Judy winced. "I just finished the last one. I smoked at least a dozen waiting for you to come back."
Morrie groaned. "I can't live without my smokes. Never should've sold the other pack to those guys."
Judy picked up the bags. "We can buy some at a petrol station on the way. Come on, let's go."
Morrie shook his head. "I'd rather not stop at any towns. I want to keep driving all night. Besides, I really need a cigarette. Now!"
Judy rolled her eyes and placed down the bags. "If you need one that badly, go next door and see if they have any left."
"They're asleep," Morrie said.
"Madge might have some."
"She doesn't smoke," Morrie said. He actually didn't know if she did or not. He just didn't want to see her again if he could help it. It would be too hard for the both of them.
He suddenly remembered. "I saw a light on in the cabin second one down."
"The two fags?" Judy said.
"They happen to be father and son," Morrie corrected. "The father might be a smoker."
"Great," Judy said. "Hurry up." She sat back down on the bed.
Morrie headed for the bathroom.
"Where are you going?" Judy said.
"Where does it look like? I have to take a leak first. I'm busting. It must be all that whisky I drank."
Judy sighed. "Are we ever gonna leave this place?" she muttered.
"Christ he's heavy," Al hissed over the noise of the rain and thunder.
Eddy, who was grappling at the body's waist, nodded. "And fucking slippery. Told you this damn storm was gonna make carrying him near impossible."
"You're a pain in the arse, Jeffrey," Al said.
"Hey, this ain't his fault."
"I was only joking," Al said.
All of a sudden Eddy lost his footing, and slipped over on the muddy grass. He landed with a grunt on the wet ground, dropping his hold on Jeffrey.
"Hey, you okay?" Al called. He quickly let Jeffery's legs drop, then hurried around.
Eddy was lying on his back, the rain pounding in his face. "Poor Jeff," he said. "I bet that hurt." He chuckled.
"Get up," Al said, extending his arm.
Eddy took hold and was pulled up onto his feet. "Thanks," he said.
"Look at you. You're covered in mud."
"No shit," Eddy said. He wiped the mud from around his mouth and eyes. "It'll be your turn next."
Al huffed. "I don't think so."
"How's your gut?" Eddy asked.
"You know, I haven't even noticed it. Been too preoccupied with old Jeffrey. But now you mention it, it still feels a bit queasy."
Eddy let out a long sigh, gazing down at the soggy corpse. "Let's give it another go. We have to get him up there."
"What does it matter?" Al said with a shrug. "The lightning will probably kill us anyway."
"Yeah, wouldn't that be a great piece of irony. After hauling our arses all the way up to the gorge, throwing the body into the chasm, finally free of any worries, we get hit by lightning."
The sky erupted in a blaze of light.
"Speak of the devil," Al said
Grateful that they weren't hit, they breathed sighs of relief.
"You wanna swap ends?" Al asked.
"Nah, won't make much difference."
They walked over to the body and picked up their respective ends. Al grabbed the boy's ankles and waited while Eddy placed his hands under the boy's armpits. Al looked at Eddy and nodded.
Eddy nodded back. "Lift," he called. This time he didn't fall over.
With a lot of grunting, they managed to stand up straight, holding the body at waist height.
"You boys need a hand?"
Jeffrey fell to the ground with a thud.
Al whirled around.
Eddy fumbled with his jacket and jumper. He had a hard time taking a firm grasp on the handle of the gun. His hands were too slippery.
"Stay where you are," Al shouted. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Relax," the man called out. "I'm here to help."
Eddy couldn't see the man properly -- he was merely a dim figure near the back wall of the cabin. He finally got a grip on the gun and pulled it out. He aimed it in the direction of the figure, his arms extended, just like he had practised in the room. "I've got a gun," he spat out. He was annoyed, since his voice came out weaker than he had wanted.
"Whoa there, partner. Put the gun down."
"Tell us who you are," Al said.
"My name is Wayne Lanceford. I'm staying in the cabin next to yours."
"What the hell do you want? And how did you know we were out here?" This time Eddy's voice came out strong.
"Can you please put the gun away? It's making me very nervous."
Eddy lowered his aim. "Okay, now talk." He joined Al, who was marginally closer to the man.
"I was watching the storm from the bathroom window when, during a flash of lightning, I saw you guys out here. You looked like you needed a hand."
"Bullshit," Al said.
"It's the truth. Hey, I've done time in jail, I'm not exactly what you would call a model citizen."
"For what?" Eddy asked, feeling a bit more relaxed.
"Assault. Armed robbery."
"No shit," Al said. "So that's supposed to make you our buddy? So you've done time, doesn't mean you're not gonna call the cops."
"As a matter of fact, it does. I'm supposed to be on parole, but I've skipped the state. I'm from Western Australia, and I've got my son with me. I'm not allowed to see him, you see, but I've, well, kidnapped him." He gave a small chuckle. "Well, kidnapped isn't exactly the right word; he wanted to come with me. Missed his old man, I guess."
"How do we know you're telling us the truth?" Al said.
"You don't. You have my word, though."
"I don't know," Eddy said. "You could be a cop for all we know."
Wayne laughed. "You really think so? You think I wouldn't have arrested you already, or had my gun out? Or even called for backup? Like I said, I saw you two out here, and I thought that I needed to help out. I'm not going to the cops. Hell, they're probably looking for me."
"And you're not even a bit concerned that we have a dead body lying on the ground?" Eddy still kept a firm grip on the revolver.
"Yeah, what happened?"
"Don't tell him," Al breathed.
"Can I come closer?" Wayne asked. "I haven't got a gun or any weapons."
Eddy raised the revolver. "Okay, but don't make any sudden moves."
"Nice line," Wayne laughed. "Just like in the movies."
Eddy watched as the figure moved forward. He came slowly, his hands up in the air. Away from the shadows of the cabin, Eddy could see Wayne more clearly.
"What happened to your hand?" Al asked.
Wayne looked up at his bandaged right hand. "Cut it. I was showing my son a few tricks with the Bowie knife that I learnt in jail."
"I thought you said you didn't have any weapons?" Eddy said.
"On me," Wayne said. He stopped within metres of the two men. "Can I put my hands down?"
"Sure," Eddy said, still with the gun at stomach height. He could now see that Wayne was a large man. He reminded Eddy of that Morrie guy in the cabin next to theirs. Only this guy was slightly shorter, and more evenly weighted -- he didn't have the large beer gut that Morrie possessed.
He stuck out his left hand. "You both know my name."
Eddy nodded and lowered the gun. "My name's Eddy." Wayne had a powerful grip
After they had finished, Wayne extended his hand to Al.
"You realise that if you are lying, we will shoot you."
"Jesus, Al," Eddy said.
"That's okay. I understand. Trust me, though, Al. I've seen plenty of dead bodies in my time. Some were even caused by my two hands. It's nothing I'm proud of, of course."
Al breathed in deeply, then shrugged. He shook Wayne's hand.
"Nice to meet you, Al."
Al let go first. He ran past the car and into the woods.
"What's the matter with him?"
Eddy chuckled. "Got the runs. This whole situation is playing havoc with his gut."
"Don't blame him," Wayne said. "You guys could go to jail if you're caught."
"Don't remind me," Eddy said.
He saw Wayne look over his shoulder. "Nice car. What is it?"
"Ah, Datsun Bluebird."
"Is it yours?"
Eddy wasn't sure whether or not to tell him the truth. He decided to wait until Al came back. "It's mine," he said. "Did that hurt?" Eddy pointed to Wayne's bandaged hand.
"Like hell. I was lucky I didn't slice off my middle and ring fingers altogether."
"Really? Jesus, must've been deep."
"About as deep as you can get without them falling off."
"And you bandaged it yourself?"
Wayne nodded. "Couldn't go to the doctors. But I know how to do basic stitching. My son helped out as well."
"How old is your son?"
"Eighteen. Name's Simon. Handsome lad. Takes after his old man."
Eddy heard footsteps behind him. He turned around and saw Al. "Feel better?" he asked.
Al looked at Wayne then at Eddy. "I suppose you told him?"
"Don't worry, I understand," Wayne said.
"Great. Now everyone knows."
"It's no big deal," Eddy told him.
"Whatever. Let's get on with this. Are we going to trust him?"
Eddy was surprised with Al's frankness.
"You can trust me," Wayne said. "You two might be interested to know that I've actually helped bury a few bodies over the years. Much like you two are doing. That's why I came out to help."
"And were they ever found?" Al asked.
"Some were. But no one was ever arrested for the murders."
"As you can see, we need all the help we can get," Eddy said.
"So I see," Wayne said.
"We didn't kill him," Al said abruptly.
"That's good to hear," Wayne said. "But I already knew that. You two don't look like murderers. Do you mind telling me how you came to have him, then?"
Al looked over at Eddy. In the scarce light, with the rain beating against their faces, he nodded.
"This isn't our car," Al began. "We stole it."
Morrie closed the cabin door, and with his head down, hurried over to the cabin that the father and son were staying in. He passed the darkened cabin of Eddy and his friend, wondered again why they had parked around the back, then was soon at the next cabin.
He could still see a faint glimmer of light through the curtain.
Please be a smoker, he thought.
He stood by the door and knocked on the hard wood panel. He waited for about ten seconds, and when there was no answer, knocked again, this time a little louder.
Probably can't hear me through all this wind and rain.
He waited again, then rapped even harder.
"Hurry up," he muttered. He could only imagine what Judy would be mumbling to herself about him.
What are they, both deaf?
"Fuck," he growled.
He knocked again, slow and hard, ten times.
Still no answer.
He frowned.
That's strange.
He had definitely seen a light on inside. He moved from the door and went over to the left window. He leaned in close, and through a small gap in the curtain, gazed into the room.
Morrie felt his body and face go cold, and his stomach tightened.
He needed to swallow, but his throat was too dry.
The room was dark except for a two candle flames. The candles sat on the bedside table, and what Morrie saw in the flickering candlelight made his head spin. The boy was tied to the bed; his arms stretched above his head, with what looked like pillowcases. He was fully naked, and covered in blood.
"Oh my God," Morrie whined when he saw the bandages wrapped around the boy's knees and feet.
Morrie wasn't sure if the boy was dead, since he had his head flat on the bed, and Morrie couldn't tell from where he was standing if the boy was breathing.
From the narrow gap, Morrie couldn't see very much of the room. He moved his head a little to the left, and could just make out the other bed.
Where's the father? he wondered as he moved over to the right side window. There he peered into the room, where he could see the other bed and the bathroom. The door was open, and no light was on.
Where is he?
Morrie waited for about ten seconds before he was convinced that the father was not coming out of the bathroom. He didn't seem to be in the cabin at all.
Then it dawned on him. He was in too much shock to think with a clear head, so the realisation took longer to kick in. He wasn't the boy's father at all. How could a father do that to his own son?
He hurried over to the left window again and looked in on the boy.
Should I get Madge? Should I break down the door?
He knew that every moment he wasted, the father, or whoever he was, was closer to returning.
Oh shit, what if he's in the office?
The thought made him uneasy.
Then, as if he sensed somebody was watching, the boy lifted his head and looked ahead towards the window.
Morrie's first reaction was relief that the boy was alive.
The face. The boy's face.
Relief turned to disbelief.
The boy lowered his head, and Morrie was left standing out in the storm, a stupid grin on his face.
\*
Judy was by the front window, watching the rain fall from the night sky, when Morrie burst through the door.
She turned to her drenched husband, and frowned. "What happened?"
He threw back the jacket hood and shook his head. "We're staying," he puffed.
"What! Why?"
He grinned. "You will not believe what I saw."
"Did you get the smokes?"
"Fuck the smokes. Listen, when I went over there, I knocked and knocked, but nobody answered the door."
"They were probably asleep."
"Not in this cabin," Morrie said. "So I looked in through the window, through a gap in the curtain, and I saw a teenager tied to the bed, naked and covered in blood."
"Are you joking?" Judy said.
"Absolutely not."
She knew he wasn't lying. He wouldn't make something like that up, not now, not with all their problems.
Judy's legs felt weak. She staggered over to the bed and sat down. When she got her breath back, she looked up at Morrie. "We can't call the police, Morrie. We just can't."
Morrie chuckled. He went over and sat beside Judy. He took her quivering hand. "I saw his face, Judy."
"The teenager's?" she said softly.
Morrie nodded. "And you won't believe who it was."
8:55 p.m.
David Lau was driving along the dark street, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding a thin joint. "Great area to have a Halloween party," he said, turning to Simon.
Simon Facey nodded. "I didn't know that Bryce lived out here. It's pretty remote."
"Hey, we're only in Lilydale. This ain't exactly the country."
"Give me a hit."
David passed the joint to Simon.
"I think this is it," David said.
Simon took a puff, then looked out the windscreen. The small brick house sat alone, surrounded by dense woodland. The last house was a few kilometres back.
David crossed the road and pulled up to the kerb, near the driveway, then cranked up the handbrake.
"Are you sure?" Simon said. "There are no cars around. I thought there would be P plates as far as the eye could see."
David chuckled. "It's not even nine o'clock yet. We're probably just early."
He grabbed the piece of paper that was sitting on top of the dashboard. "I have number seven, Taylor road. And this is definitely Taylor road."
Simon gazed out at the number on the letterbox. "And this is number seven."
"So there we go," David said.
"Are you sure you copied the address correctly?" Simon took another drag of the marijuana.
"Of course." He turned to Simon and grinned. "But I was drunk at the time."
"How reassuring," Simon said.
David switched off the headlights, then killed the engine. "Ready to party?"
Simon raised his eyebrows. "And to get laid," he added.
"That's what I meant," David laughed.
Simon reached over the back and grabbed the sunglasses. He handed one of the dark pairs to David.
"Thank you, Elwood," David said. He slipped on the glasses.
"No problem, Jake."
They both laughed.
"How does my hat look?" David said, adjusting his black fedora.
"It looks fine. You know, you'd be the perfect person to play Jake if they ever made a sequel. You're a spitting image of John Belushi."
"Fuck you," David huffed.
"How does my hat look?"
"Beautiful," David said.
"Okay, my brother, let's do this. And remember -- we're on a mission...to get laid."
"That was terrible," David said. "That didn't sound anything like Elwood Blues."
Simon shrugged. "Let's see you do it better. Have you got your invitation? You know they won't let us in without it."
David patted the left side of his jacket.
"Oaky, here we go," Simon said.
They hopped out of the car, slamming their doors shut.
Simon walked around the car and followed David up the path that led to the front door.
He glanced over at the car sitting in the driveway. He couldn't see any P plate stickers. He turned his attention back to the small brick house. There was a faint whistling that came from the wind, but that's all Simon could hear. "I can't hear any music," Simon said. He threw the smoked joint to the ground.
"It's windy. You probably can't hear it."
David's right, Simon thought. This is a great place to have a Halloween party.
They approached the door. Only a small light above them was on. No other light could be seen, either around the house or through the curtains.
David leaned in and pressed the doorbell.
They waited out in the bitter wind for about twenty seconds before David pressed the doorbell again.
"Come on," he muttered. "It's freezing."
Simon glanced back towards the road. He could see David's car and the woods beyond that. Because of the sunglasses, the dark night seemed even darker.
No other cars were pulling up to the house.
He turned to David. "I'm really beginning to think this isn't the place."
"Sure it is. They're probably all out the back or something."
"In this weather?"
"Too busy bobbing for apples?" David offered.
Simon shook his head. "That's kid's stuff."
"I was only kidding, man."
Simon stood back from the door and looked at the dark windows. "There are no lights on," he said.
"So? It's a Halloween party, you're supposed to have the lights out and shit. Creates atmosphere."
Simon went back beside David. "You've never been to Bryce's house before?"
David shook his head.
Simon was nervous to say the least; his gut was fluttering and the hat was making his head itch.
He suddenly got the feeling that he was being watched. Tentatively, he looked at the windows, then the garage, then to the street. He couldn't see anybody. He couldn't shake the feeling though.
"Fucking hell," David spat.
"I don't think this is the house," Simon said.
David let out a long groan, and ignoring Simon's comment, banged his fist on the front door. "Hello. Anyone in there?"
Simon waited anxiously. David pounded on the door a few more times then stopped.
"What, are these people deaf?" he whined.
"I'm telling ya, I think we got the wrong house."
David turned and looked at Simon. "Will you relax? I didn't make a mistake. I distinctly remember Bryce saying -- seven, Taylor Road, Lilydale. Christ, he even said that it was surrounded by bush land. I remember that because he said we could all go out into the woods for the party. You know, later in the night."
"Most of the houses around here are near the bush," Simon argued.
"Whatever," David said. "This is the house."
"How long are we going to wait?"
David shrugged. "Till they let us in."
David pressed the doorbell one more time.
"Somebody's home," Simon said. "There's a car in the driveway."
David left the front door and walked over to the side of the house.
"Where are you going?" He jogged over and joined David.
"Thought I might be able to see into the backyard from here."
Simon nudged David out of the way and poked his head over the fence. He saw nothing but darkness. Trees shrouded the side of the house, so the backyard was blocked from view.
"No good," Simon said. "Can't see a thing."
He looked back and saw David standing in the middle of the lawn. He went over.
"Maybe this is all part of the party. Give every person who arrives a fright."
"I doubt that," Simon said. "You got any more dope?"
"Nope." He turned and grinned.
They both heard it at the same time; a movement over by the garage.
Simon looked over and saw a large figure skulking by the side garage door.
"Can I help you?"
His voice sounded rugged, strong. Simon squinted, but the man was only a blur.
David started walking towards the man. Simon remained still.
"Hey man, what kind of party is this?" David chuckled. "What are you supposed to be?"
This isn't right! Simon screamed in his head. This has to be the wrong house!
"Don't come any closer!" the man bellowed.
Simon had his eyes on David. Despite the man's warning he proceeded forward.
"Very funny," David said. "Now let us in."
Simon had to say something. When he spoke, his voice came out timid. "Come back, David. We've got the wrong house."
David stopped and turned around. "Relax," he whispered. "I think this is Bryce's dad. Hurry up, will ya!"
David faced the man again and continued to approach him.
Simon still didn't move. He wasn't sure what to do.
Go with David? Go up to the man, apologise, then leave? Or run?
The sound of the man's voice startled Simon.
"I'm gonna have to ask you men to leave."
David laughed. "Very funny. What took you so long anyway?"
Simon's heart was pounding. He remained standing on the front lawn.
The cold wind blasted at his face. He hated seeing the world through the dark glasses. He felt trapped. He wanted to be able to witness the events clearly. Gradually Simon removed the sunglasses. The night brightened and so did the man, who seemed to be looking in his direction.
Oh my God he's staring at me!
Simon held his breath until the man diverted his eyes back to David. He let out a shaky breath.
"Stop!" the man roared.
Simon jumped at the sound of his voice. This man was not joking around -- he sounded deadly serious.
Simon watched as David put up his hands in mock hold-up fashion. "Hey, it's cool."
This is getting out of hand, Simon thought.
What David was taking as a joke, Simon knew the man was taking seriously.
So seriously that he was now holding a rifle.
Where did that come fr...?
A loud shot blasted in Simon's ears. He at first thought it was a warning shot. But then he saw all too vividly the blood flying out of David.
From somewhere far off, he heard what sounded like a woman cry out.
Another blast.
He saw David lurch backwards, his hands flapping in the air.
What struck Simon was that despite the gunshots, the night was quiet. There was no crying (the woman, whoever she was, had stopped), no screaming. It made what was happening all the more terrifying, yet all the more surreal.
The silence was broken by David landing on the ground.
With smoke lingering in the air, Simon looked down at his fallen friend, and watched him gasp his last breath.
Expecting to feel the sting of a bullet at any moment, Simon gathered up enough courage and sprinted away from the house down the dark street.
He didn't want to leave David back there, lying on the damp grass. He felt like a coward for doing so. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he ran.
No shots rang out. No bullets whizzed past his head.
He ran over to David's car. He had to get out of here.
The keys. David has the keys.
He screamed in his head, then continued down the road. He didn't look back.
He grabbed the hat from off his head and threw it to the wind. Next to go was his sunglasses. Without a thought, he let them drop to the ground.
He swung his arms hard and fast. He remembered the car in the driveway. He looked over his shoulder and saw only darkness.
He knew that the man would be coming after him. It would only be a matter of time.
Have to find a house. Have to hide.
The woods over on his right would be the obvious choice to hide out. But what if the man knew those woods like his own house? Knew every place to hide?
Get to a house, he told himself.
The nearest one was about ten minutes away.
But what if all the people out here were demented, gun-happy crazies?
Simon cried even harder. He felt lost, scared and alone.
He felt a sudden surge in his stomach.
Simon stopped running and threw up.
He tried to make as little sound as possible, but as the spasms tore at his body, he couldn't help but retch and make horribly loud gagging noises.
When his stomach was empty, and he was down to the occasional cough, Simon straightened up and wiped his mouth. He peered down the street and saw no sign of the car. He gazed down at the puddle on the footpath, took a few deep breaths, and then started to jog.
Cold sweat dripped down his face. He tried to recall how long Taylor Road was. His mind was all over the place, so he couldn't think how long it was. He knew that it joined to another rather desolate road, but beyond that, it could be a thousand kilometres long.
His feet began to drag. He almost fell flat on his face a couple of times. The dim night was blurry due to his perpetual tears. They felt like ice on his face.
A faint light penetrated the darkness. Simon looked back and saw a car approaching.
He stopped jogging and darted into the sparse forest on his left. He found a large tree and fell behind its thick trunk. He waited until the headlights grew larger and brighter, then finally the car zoomed past. Simon peered around the tree and saw that it was a dark coloured station wagon.
Not the man's car, Simon thought.
An idea came to him. Perhaps his only chance was to flag down a car. Pity that this was some back-road out in Lilydale. The traffic was few and far between out here.
Simon stepped away from the tree and wandered back to the road. He looked to his right, back towards the house, and satisfied that no other car was coming, continued to jog up the road. It didn't take long for him to become fatigued and weak.
His legs felt heavy. Each step took all his energy. His head felt dizzy and he had a hard time focusing.
Please don't faint, he told himself. Not now.
His feet became tangled, and he fell down to the gravely road. Fortunately he wasn't travelling very fast, so he only scraped his knees and palms.
Exhausted and aching, Simon lowered his head and cried. He cried for David and for himself. He cried for his parents; would he ever see them again? Never had he wanted to hold his parents so much. He endeavoured to control himself, the thought of the car coming giving Simon the strength to pick himself up and keep on moving.
So he gingerly stood up, wiped the dirt and gravel from his clothes, then began picking out tiny stones that were lodged under his skin.
It hurt a lot, but he managed to pick all the bits of gravel from his palms. He started to walk. He tried to make his legs jog, but they wouldn't comply.
In the distance, Simon saw the faint glow of headlights. The car was driving towards him, so he knew that it couldn't be the man. The possibility that he was safe overwhelmed Simon and he broke down crying.
He staggered out to the middle of the road, waving his hands.
The car slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road.
"Thank you," Simon choked out.
He hurried over to the idling car. As Simon approached the driver's side, he saw a man roll down the window. He had a look of bewilderment.
"Please help me," Simon spat out.
"What happened?"
"Can I get in? Please?"
The man nodded. Simon rushed around to the passenger side and yanked open the door. He hopped in.
The man looked Simon up and down. "Is this some sort of Halloween joke?" he asked, a slight grin on his pudgy face.
"No!" Simon cried. "My friend is...is dead. He was shot."
The man opened his mouth and drew in a sharp breath. "Shot? Where?"
Simon was about to answer in the chest, but realised what the man meant.
He pointed down the road. "About five minutes that way. We were there for a party, but it was...was the wrong house. Guy was c...cra..." His voice trailed off and he began to sob.
"Okay," the man said. "I'll get you to the police. What's your name?"
"Simon," he breathed.
"Okay, Simon. Everything's going to be all right. My name is Wayne."
Simon flopped his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes. "Thank you," he sobbed.
A sudden blow to his head sent an explosion of pain down Simon's body. His world flashed bright sparks before it went a deep black nothing.
11:57 p.m.
As the blackness faded and consciousness gradually found its way back, so did the pain. It was a dull ache at first, concentrated mostly around his head and buttocks. As he slowly regained his senses, the pain grew. It now felt like his head had been split open and his anus had been ripped apart.
And now the cold.
Simon felt the gentle breeze wash over his back. He began to shiver.
Am I naked? he wondered. Where am I?
The cold seemed to intensify all his aches. He let out a groan.
"Awake. Finally."
That voice seemed to register a faint reminiscence in Simon's mind.
He opened his eyes slightly and had to squint. The light -- sunlight? -- was very bright. He tried to move, but found that his hands were tied.
I'm tied up?
He began to cry softly. Judging by the sound of the wind, and lack of it, Simon guessed that he was indoors.
And the soft mattress underneath. He was obviously bound, naked, to a bed.
With the little strength he had, Simon tried to wrestle free from the ligatures. They were too tight. He quickly gave up trying.
He lifted his face off the pillow and turned his head in the direction of the voice. Through the narrow slits of his eyes, he saw a large man lying down on a bed. He had a grotesque grin on his round face.
Who is he? Simon thought. And what is he going to do with me?
When the large man hopped off the bed, a maniacal glee planted on his face, Simon knew he was about to find out.
He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed.
2:24 a.m.
"Are you sure it was him?"
Morrie nodded. He was grinning, which made Judy feel uneasy.
She couldn't believe it. In her mind, it was too much of a coincidence. She didn't doubt that Morrie had seen a boy tied to a bed, naked and covered in blood. She was still in mild shock from hearing that. What she doubted was that it was the same boy who had run away from their house.
"I don't know. Are you positive? It was dark and it all happened so fast."
"What, you don't believe me?"
Judy shrugged. She had to put this as delicately as possible. "It's not that I think you're lying, Morrie. But the night was very dark and he had been wearing sunglasses."
Morrie's grin spread into a smile. "That's where you're wrong. Just before I shot the other boy, he took them off. I don't know why, but it was then that I saw his face. It was only for an instant, but I saw it, Judy. And it was the same face that looked up at me in the cabin."
Judy closed her eyes and shook her head. She desperately wanted to cry, but the tears would not come. Her mind suddenly flashed to a picture of the two men (not men, boys!) standing by the front door. They were lighted by the door lamp. They had turned and looked at her. She got a look at their faces. Their eyes were hidden by the sunglasses, but she had still seen their faces.
"I want to go over there and see for myself." She opened her eyes and stared at Morrie.
"Why?" he chuckled. "You didn't see his face."
"I did. Remember?"
He frowned. After some thought, he nodded. "But you only saw them with their glasses on."
"That was enough. If I saw his face again, I'd remember it."
"Okay," Morrie said. "I'll take you over there, but we have to hurry. I don't know where the fath...the man is. He could be back at anytime. He could already be back."
"Didn't you say that they were father and son?" Judy asked as she stood up.
Morrie shrugged. "So the man told Madge when he booked in. But I don't think he is. I don't see how a father could do that to his son."
Judy took Morrie by the hand and pulled him up off the bed.
He gave her a flash of a smile, then picked up his soaking jacket. Judy strolled over to the table where her jacket, the exact same one as Morrie's, only slightly smaller, was draped over one of the chairs. She picked it up and slipped it on.
"Is he...really bad?" Judy said.
"It's certainly not a pretty sight. Are you sure you want to see? Can't you just take my word for it?" He joined her by the door. He had already slipped on the hood.
"You'd think seeing one dead body tonight would last me a lifetime. Or maybe I'm becoming used to it."
Morrie grimaced. "That's not funny. People should never get used to seeing a dead body. Besides, this boy's not dead, remember?" Morrie paused, then added, "yet."
Judy didn't respond to Morrie's comment. She placed the hood over her head, opened the cabin door and stepped out into storm.
Morrie closed the door behind him and caught up with her.
They powered through the wind and rain until they reached the cabin. Morrie leaned in close to Judy. "Wait a minute. I'll check to see if the man's back."
He went up to the right-side window and peered in through the curtain.
He soon hurried back over to Judy. He took her hand and led her over to the other window. "You can see him through the gap in the curtain. It might take him a while to look up, if he does at all. I'll keep a lookout. Be careful."
She knew what the last comment meant. He knew her well. She had been preparing herself all this time for what she would see inside the small cabin.
Morrie let go of her hand and she wandered up to the window. She put her face to the window and looked into the room.
She hadn't expected the room to be in candlelight -- Morrie had neglected to mention that. She didn't know why, but the candlelight made her more unsettled. She wished the room was in total brightness.
And there he was. Bound to the bed, his slim pale body covered in dark blood. His knees and feet were bandaged.
Why are they bandaged? she wondered.
She felt heartache for this poor boy, but kept telling herself that this could be the one person who could put them at the time of the murder. He was, in a sense, their enemy.
Feeling ill looking at his beaten and bloody body, Judy looked around the small section of the room she could see. She could just make out the side of the second bed, the sink and the fridge. She gazed down at the floor and saw some clothes crumpled by the foot of the boy's bed.
Must be his clothes.
As she studied the clothes, tears crept down her cheeks.
Although the boy who had gotten away posed their biggest threat, she didn't want this boy to be him. She just wanted to leave this godforsaken motel.
But there was no doubt, now. She didn't need to see his face, nor did she want to. She left the window and tapped Morrie on the shoulder. He jumped a little, turned around and she nodded for them to go.
They jogged back to their cabin. Judy was glad to be out of the cold and rain.
"Well?" Morrie said softly. "Are you convinced?"
She nodded.
"You recognised his face."
"No. He never looked up."
Morrie frowned. "Then how can you be you sure it was him?"
"I saw his clothes on the floor. It was a dark suit. The pants, the jacket, the white shirt; exactly what the two boys had been wearing at our house."
"I never noticed that," Morrie said.
Judy sighed, took off her jacket and placed it on the table. She went over to the bed and sat down. "It was him all right. I suppose we can count ourselves lucky, though."
Morrie took off his wet jacket, placed it next to Judy's, then went over beside her. "I know you want to leave. Hell, so do I. But we have to take care of him. He's the only person who can connect us to the murder."
"I know," Judy sighed. "It's just that I told myself no more dead bodies tonight."
Morrie put his arm around her and gently squeezed.
He started to whimper.
Judy noticed this and put her arm around him.
"Come on, Morrie. I know how much you don't want to do this. I know we have to. Don't blame yourself for any of this."
Morrie suddenly stood up and rushed into the bathroom, slamming the door.
Judy remained on the bed and listened to her husband vomit.
She knew he had it twice as bad; he was the one who had killed the boy, and he would be the one to kill the boy in the cabin.
He must be going through hell, she thought.
She hopped off the bed and went over to the sink. There she filled a cup with water. That was the least she could do for her husband. He needed her now more than ever. She wandered back to the bed and sat down, cradling the cup of water. Morrie's retching resounded through the room.
She began thinking about the boy.
Tears formed in her eyes.
Wayne was silent the whole time Al recounted their story. He stood nodding, his hair flat against his scalp, rubbing his bandaged hand gently.
When Al finished, Wayne shook his head. "So you don't know who killed him? You haven't any idea how he got in the boot?"
"No idea whatsoever," Eddy said. "So you see our dilemma. We can't go to the police, yet we can't leave the car with the body inside."
"We didn't even kill the kid, yet we're the ones stuck with him," Al said. "That's fucked, huh?"
Wayne nodded slowly.
Lightning flashed in the sky. Al and Eddy flinched and instinctively ducked their heads.
Wayne gazed up at the brilliant light and grinned. For a moment the world was lit up like some great inferno. Then everything went back to darkness.
"God, that scares me," Al huffed out. "We'll probably all be killed. We're nuts going up in the mountains during a storm."
"Relax," Wayne said. "Lightning only strikes the tallest objects. If we stay out from under tall trees, we should be okay."
"How reassuring," Al said.
Wayne smiled at Al. "You still don't trust me, do you?"
Al nodded. "Yeah. I guess I do. Hell, we've told you our whole story, so I guess we have no choice."
"It'll be good having another pair of hands," Eddy said. Realising he was still holding the gun, he lifted his shirt and jumper, which were completely soaked, and shoved the barrel down the front of his jeans. He had a good feeling about Wayne. He seemed like a reliable, hardworking sort of bloke.
"I'm ready," Eddy said, clapping his hands together. He looked over at Al and raised his eyebrows.
"Let's go. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can concentrate on getting drunk."
"I hear that," Wayne said.
"I just remembered," Eddy said. "There's one more thing we have to tell you."
"What's that?" Wayne said.
"Me and Al decided that after we get rid of the body, we're gonna make an anonymous phone call to the cops. Tomorrow, back in Melbourne of course."
"Yeah, we figured that his parents have a right to know where their son is, and what happened to him."
Wayne gave a small, almost strained chuckle. "Sure. Whatever. If that will make you boys feel better. I understand."
"You don't think it's the right thing to do?" Al asked.
"No, I do," Wayne said. "If something ever happened to Simon, I would want to know his fate."
"Okay," Eddy said. "I think that's everything."
The three men walked over to where the body lay on the muddy grass and forest earth. Eddy gazed down upon the corpse. He was lying on his back, his head gazing up at the rain.
Eddy was startled when Wayne appeared in his line of vision and squatted down to look more closely at the body.
"So this is Jeffrey," Wayne said. "Nice to meet you." He smiled.
Al looked at Eddy with a frown. Eddy shrugged.
Although Eddy thought this man was a reliable and tough character, he was also a bit strange. His sense of humour seemed very dark and morbid.
"How shall we do this?" Al said coldly.
"Looks like he was strangled," Wayne said.
"Yeah, we already figured that out," Eddy told him.
Wayne stood up. "One person can take his legs; the other his shoulders; and the last man can carry him from under his back. All agree?"
"You're the expert," Al said. "Which one takes the most strength?"
"Ah, carrying the shoulders. That's where the most weight is situated."
"Okay, you take the head and shoulders. If that's okay by you."
Wayne smiled. "Of course. Don't matter much to me. But I was thinking, since we're going up into the mountains, shouldn't we have a torch?"
"You think?" Al huffed. "If we had one, don't you think we would have it?"
Wayne nodded. "I guess. Have you checked the car? The Bluebird?"
They looked at each other, blank looks on their faces.
"You haven't, have you?" Wayne said, grinning.
"Ah, no," Eddy admitted.
Wayne walked over to the right back door, opened it, and then leaned inside. He was only about ten seconds before he hopped out and shut the door.
Eddy was amazed to find that he was holding an object. He felt incredibly stupid.
"I can't believe we forgot to look," Al muttered.
"Will ya get a load of this," Wayne said as he approached.
He held up what looked like a headband, with a small square box attached to the front.
"What is that?" Al said.
Wayne fumbled around the back of the box, and suddenly a brilliant light shone out.
"My God," Eddy gasped. "Is that a torch?"
Wayne chuckled. "Seems to be. Looks like a homemade job." He placed the circular headband on his head.
"That's ingenious," Al said. "A hands free torch."
"What kind of weirdo did this car belong to?" Eddy said.
Wayne shrugged. "Pretty cool, huh?"
"I'll say. Amazing," Al said, shaking his head.
"Found some spare batteries in the car as well."
"This just keeps getting better," Eddy said. "We finally have a torch."
With a bright light guiding the way, they all walked back to the body.
The torchlight lit up the dead boy's face with an unholy glow. Wayne didn't seem bothered, but Eddy couldn't help but be spooked and a little disgusted by the way it looked. And by the look on Al's face, he was just as sickened.
Wayne walked around to the body's head. He crouched down and placed his hands under the armpits.
Eddy stood by the legs and grabbed his ankles.
Al shuffled to the side of the body, bent down and slipped his hands under the back. "Wish we had gloves," Al said.
Wayne grinned, and then counted: "One...two...lift."
All three men heaved the body off the ground. Eddy noticed a sizeable difference in the weight.
"We all got a good hold of him?" Wayne said.
They both nodded.
"It would be better if I was facing the mountain," Wayne said. "You don't mind walking backwards, do you Eddy?"
Eddy shook his head. "Nah, of course not."
"Good," Wayne said.
The three men turned around slowly until Wayne had his back to the cabin and Eddy had his back to the walking track.
"Don't worry, Al and I can warn you when anything dangerous comes up."
Eddy nodded. He had to squint due to the blinding light of the torch. "Christ, what did the guy use? A hundred watt bulb?"
"Bright, isn't it?" Wayne said.
"You're not the one walking backwards," Eddy sighed.
"Come on guys, can we get going?" Al grumbled.
"On your cue," Wayne said to Eddy. "Don't want you falling flat on your back."
"Again," Al chuckled.
Ignoring Al, Eddy said, "Okay, let's walk."
Eddy began walking backwards. Wayne tried to follow Eddy's pace. Al had to walk in a sort of side stepping motion.
"You know the way to this Devil's Gorge?" Wayne asked.
"Yeah, I'll guide you," Al said. "It's basically straight ahead."
They managed to control their footing as well as keep the body steady.
"This ain't so hard," Al said. "Thanks for the help, Wayne."
Eddy knew that was a hard thing for Al to say.
"No problem," Wayne said. "But this is the easy part. Wait until we get onto the actual hiking track. It's gonna be rough."
"You've been hiking through these mountains before?" Eddy asked
"No. But I've done enough hiking to know that they're all pretty much alike."
"He's right," Al said. "That old bag in the office told me that this hike is the most dangerous. Narrow cliffs, caves..."
"Then why the fuck are we going up there?" Eddy chuckled.
"A young man named Jeffrey," Al said.
"And a deep gorge named Devil," Wayne put in.
They all laughed as they entered the woods. Darkness encased the men like a thick sheath. The rain was marginally lighter away from the open sky. They found the path easily.
The torchlight lit the way to the signs.
By the time they reached the three posts, all men, especially Al and Eddy, were sweating and huffing from carrying the body.
"Here we are," Al panted.
"How are you two going to make it all the way to Devil's Gorge?" Wayne huffed. "I'm over ten years older than you two, and I'm fitter than the both of ya."
"We'll manage," Eddy said. "Devil's Gorge starts over to our left. Let's go."
They commenced walking.
"Hey, buddy. How about at the halfway point, we swap over?"
Eddy nodded. "That would be good. Thanks. But how will we know the halfway point?"
Al frowned. He had a quick glance at his watch. "It is about...ten to three. At around three-thirty, we'll swap."
"Sounds good," Eddy said. "How are we going?" he asked both Al and Wayne.
"The path is pretty wide and clear," Wayne said. "Don't worry. You won't bang into anything."
Wayne kept the stream of light fixed on the path ahead. The powerful light allowed for vision of about five metres.
"Hey, I think I see it," Wayne said.
A few metres past Eddy there was another sign. This one was larger and was at the base of what looked like a narrow path.
"Walk to your left," Wayne told Eddy.
They shuffled towards the sign and when they got close enough saw, written in chipped paint, Devil's Gorge.
"This is it," Al said.
Wayne lifted his head and gazed up at the path. "Looks steep," he said.
Eddy turned and gazed up. "Jesus." What started off as a flat path quickly sloped upwards and into the mountains.
"Can we take a five minute break?" Al breathed. "I need a rest before I embark up there."
"Okay," Wayne said.
"Just for five minutes," Eddy said. "It's almost three o'clock and we've got a long way to go."
They lowered the body to the wet ground.
Simon lay shivering, the gag in his mouth now bound, the pillowcases secured to his hands much too tight. His body was at once burning with pain, from all the numerous cuts, and excruciatingly cold.
His feet and knees hurt the most. They stung and throbbed with every beat of his heart. His pecs were also in extreme agony.
Can't believe he bit my nipples off!
He could barely feel his head and anus now. They were merely a dull ache, overpowered by the other more painful wounds.
Each time Simon swallowed, a raw stabbing tore at his throat. It wasn't very often, since his mouth was so parched. That man had really been savage with his choking, and each time he had throttled Simon, which had been at least a half dozen separate times, Simon would go all dizzy and start to lose consciousness. But as soon as Simon did begin to pass out, the man would stop choking and let him come back. It was simply torturous, and the man seemed to get a real buzz out of it.
Simon now felt the need, and had built up enough saliva, to swallow. He winced from the agony, and waited until the burning subsided, then he began breathing again.
And it was a slow, noisy breathing. His nostrils ached from the constant flow of air. The towel in his mouth tasted like sweat and dampness. He wanted so much to breathe through his mouth again.
The door shook and through the gag in his mouth, Simon gasped and waited in dreaded anticipation.
Every time the wind rattled the door, Simon thought that it was the man returning. His heart jumped and he felt his bowels tighten.
The large, grotesque man didn't come through the door, so Simon relaxed a little.
He vaguely recalled the man telling him his name when he had gotten into the car. It hadn't yet come to him. Not that it mattered, he supposed. No matter what his name was, it would all come to the same end.
Don't think that, he told himself. I'm going to be all right.
The tears began. He couldn't stop them, despite the aching puffiness of his eyes. He thought about David and the man who shot him. Had the police arrived there? Did they even know about it? What had become of his friend?
In his sorry present state, Simon envied David. He had a quick death. A relatively painless death.
How do you know? he thought. You've never been shot.
But he couldn't imagine it being worse than what he was going through.
Simon turned his eyes away from the door and to the candles. He watched one of the flames. It was soothing, the way it gently moved with the breeze. He could feel a slight warmth from the two small flames -- they were his only comfort.
But he turned away, sickened. To feel soothed at a time like this was wrong. He should be trying to break out of the ties. Trying to save his life.
How are you going to walk anyway?
It was the sound of the man's voice. It haunted and taunted him.
How indeed, he wondered.
Every time he tried to move his legs, an enormous pain shot up his entire body. His knees would begin to throb and he was left sore and drained. They felt like limp pairs of meat. It was a horrible feeling.
He couldn't walk, but he could take the gag out of his mouth and scream.
Got to get my hands free, first, he thought.
He'd spent the whole time the man had been gone thinking of ways to break free. He knew it wasn't really possible, but he still had to hope that it was.
He hadn't come up with a way, though.
At least not yet, he told himself.
Where had the man gone? It bewildered Simon.
He had gone into the bathroom, spent a while in there with the lights out, then came out and said, what were his exact words?
Something, well, quite unbelievable has come up.
Simon racked his mind of the possibilities, but couldn't think of what the man could've meant.
But he'd said he would be back.
To finish him off?
Simon shook his head. Every time he thought those kinds of thoughts he was giving up. And he couldn't give up, not if he was to survive.
The door rattled again. No man.
He was so cold. He couldn't stop his body from shivering. And it was a deep cold that penetrated his skin and went down to his bones.
He looked at the clock radio.
Three o'clock. How long have I been here?
He didn't have the mind power to think about it, though. He really didn't have the strength to do anything except wait for the man to come back. Hopefully he would untie Simon to perform some sick act, and that's when he would attack.
Fuck the knife. Fuck his legs. He would use all his power to fight.
So that's what he would do. Save all his strength now, try and have a rest. Conserve what precious little energy and will he had left.
Act weak, comply at first with every order, then strike out when the man was at his most vulnerable.
But saving his energy, trying to get some rest was hard when he couldn't stop himself from shivering. Every muscle in his body quivered. It felt like even his toenails were shivering.
If only the cabin had a fire or a heater. He wouldn't be so cold.
He turned and looked at the flames again.
Forget the soothing motion, think about the heat. Imagine that the tiny flames were great big bonfires.
Those last words gave Simon an idea. An idea that might save his life. If it worked, the outcome would either be death, or life. As simple as that.
And if it backfired, the death would be more excruciating than being suffocated by the man.
But he had to try. It was also as simple as that.
For it to work, though, he needed a lot more strength than he had now.
So it was rest. Try not to shiver so severely, try not to think about the pain. Think about escape. Think about his family. Think about revenge.
He wasn't sure what to do. It was three o'clock and the women were still inside. He wasn't sure whether they intended to stay the night. If that were the case, as he feared it might be, what was he to do? Leave and come back another night? Just go in and do what he came to do?
He had been waiting the whole night. He was tired, still drunk and very upset.
He tipped the last of the whisky down his throat and then threw the empty flask to the floor.
He was working tomorrow night, so coming back then was not an option. And he wasn't sure when her dork of a husband returned from his trip.
This could be his one and only chance.
While he decided his course of action, he settled back and listened to the rain.
Madge picked up a log from the metal basket and gently tossed it into the open fire. It landed on top of the other burning pieces of wood, and Madge watched with a smile as a small bit of timber caught fire, then quickly the flame spread to the rest of the log. She straightened up and wandered over to her chair. She sat down with a sigh and picked up a cup of herbal tea. The bottle of Black Douglas was empty. Besides, after what she had done with Morrie, she felt relaxed and happy enough. She sipped the warm tea and glanced over at the wall clock. It was 3:08.
She was in her dressing gown and pyjamas, although she had no intention of going to bed until at least four. Even if she wanted to go to sleep, she was too restless. She couldn't relax with these people staying.
There was a late night (or was that early morning?) news update at ten past three, so she would watch that, then sit by the fire and read a paperback until she was too tired to keep reading.
As she sipped her herbal tea, Madge's thoughts went, as they had been for the past couple of hours, to Morrie.
It had been such a wonderful experience. Even at her age, the need to feel close to another person hadn't waned.
And Morrie had been the perfect gentleman -- most of the time.
Madge didn't mind, though. She did like the occasional dirty talk and rough housing.
Not that she and Jack ever did such things. No, their sex had been simple, soft and loving.
Two very different men.
Maybe she was a different woman to when Jack had been alive.
She closed her eyes and pictured Morrie asleep, in the dark, cold cabin, next to his wife.
Judy, wasn't it?
She couldn't say she felt especially guilty about having sex with a married man. If they were truly happy together, Morrie would have politely pushed her away back in the office.
Would he ever tell her? she wondered. She doubted that he would.
Madge loved this time of night the most. Everyone was asleep (unless a young couple were staying at the motel; they would be up all night). The grounds were quiet, and now, with the storm, Madge could listen to the rain falling on the roof.
She was glad that those two young men hadn't bothered her, as she thought they might. And there had been no more screams.
Madge chuckled. A spider!
She sipped the last of the tea and placed the cup down on the coffee table. The news update was starting, so she hopped up and turned up the volume on the television.
She sat back down and watched the newscast. The first story was about some riot in Cuba. It showed scenes of hundreds of young men in the streets, fighting with each other and the police.
Madge only partially concentrated on the story -- her mind kept wandering back to Morrie.
She didn't catch the reason why they were rioting.
The next story was about the royal family. Specifically about Prince Charles and his new lady-friend, Lady Diana.
Madge didn't take any notice of what that story was about, either. She didn't care much about the royal family. Her mind was reliving her and Morrie's kiss in the office.
Prince Charles was now off the screen. The newswoman was speaking, and when she uttered the names, Morrie and Judy Prescott, Madge sat up and listened.
"...in connection with the shooting of a nineteen-year-old in Lilydale. Police want to speak to the couple, and urge them to come forward. Nick Wallace has the details."
The screen changed to a man standing outside a house at night, the wind blowing his hair and coat about. Police were searching around the house, and there was yellow tape around the perimeter.
"A man driving past this house earlier tonight noticed what looked like a body lying on the front lawn. When police arrived, they found the dead body of nineteen-year-old David Lau, who had been shot twice through the chest. When there was no answer, police were forced to break into the house, but the occupants, a Morrie and Judith Prescott, were not home. The couple are only suspects at this time as police are not ruling out the possibilities of a gang-related shooting or a drug deal gone wrong. Police are urging the couple to come forward in an attempt to determine what exactly happened here in this quiet street. And on Halloween night, no less.
"Nick Wallace, for channel six news."
\*
Before Madge switched off the TV, there was mention of the still missing Jeffrey Olsen, but the story was cut off.
Madge sat down in her chair and stared at the dark screen, a tight constriction in her chest. Her mouth was dry.
It couldn't be possible; Morrie wasn't a murderer. He looked a bit rough, but when you got to know him, he was a sweet, honest man.
Not honest at all, she thought. That's why they're here tonight. They've run away from their house.
Where Morrie shot a kid.
She had to really let that fact sink in.
Morrie...is...a...murderer.
She shook her head and began to cry. She had given herself to a criminal. To the worst type of criminal. To the very people her dear Jack fought his life to catch.
She had made love to a murderer. It made her feel dirty and diseased.
She stood up with shaky legs and waited for the dizziness to subside.
She had to call the police.
Not only were there two murderers at her motel, but that bastard had lied to her and allowed her to be as intimate as any two people can be, all the while knowing who he was and what he had done. She felt the most furious and hurt about that.
And if Jack was still alive, he would do the same.
She could hear his voice now, deep and hoarse, telling her that they had to call the police station. That it was the right thing to do.
Wiping away the tears, she hurried over to the phone.
She picked up the receiver and dialled the number for the police. She placed her ear to the handle and heard nothing. Confused, she hung up the phone, then tried again.
Still dead air.
"Oh please no," she cried softly.
She bent down and studied the cord under the table. It was still plugged into the socket.
She stood up and rushed into the cold office. She hurried to the phone that was sitting on the desk, and put her ear to the receiver.
This one was dead as well.
"Jesus," she whimpered.
How can this be happening?
Fear began to sink in.
The last time she'd had a problem with the phone line was fifteen years ago, when a tree branch had broken off during a storm and snapped the wire.
The next day the line had been fixed, and the surrounding trees cut way back.
In the fifteen years since, many storms had passed through, some more furious than tonight's, but the phone lines had always been fine.
So Madge doubted that the phones were dead because of the storm.
She hurried through the curtain and into her bedroom. She took off her dressing gown and then slipped out of her pyjamas.
Morrie shot a kid.
She went over to the cupboard and grabbed a pair of old jeans and some old shirts and a woollen jumper. She also took out an old pair of sneakers.
After she was finished getting dressed, Madge grabbed her rain jacket and her keys, then headed into the kitchen.
She placed the keys on the kitchen table while she put on her jacket, zipped it up to the neck, and then picked up the keys.
Before she went outside, Madge grabbed the heavy-duty, waterproof torch that was sitting on the kitchen bench, then rushed over to the back door.
She slipped on the jacket hood then unlocked the door and made her way out into the night.
She switched on the torch and pushed her way through the strong wind and pelting rain.
Around the corner of the cabin, Madge tracked the torch beam along the wall, up to the roof and found where the telephone wire went into her lounge room.
Nope, the storm hadn't torn the wire.
She followed the wire down the wall, then left along the side of the cabin, where it was fixed in-between the logs.
She had almost reached the point where the wire ended and ran all the way back to the highway, to the telephone pole, when the light came across the cause of her phone problem. Her heart fluttered and she let out a high-pitched squeal.
The telephone wire had been cut.
She moved closer and gazed up at the split cord. There was no doubt that somebody had purposely severed the phone line.
The wire ran above the large window, so Madge could not reach it. But a tall man, standing on his toes could very well cut the wire.
A tall man like Morrie.
She could not comprehend Morrie performing such an act, but it did make sense. He had reason to cut the phone line.
Madge was scared. If somebody -- Morrie -- went to this extent then she was in potential danger.
Have to get in touch with the police.
Since there were only two phones -- the one in the office and the one in her house -- there was no way to get a hold of the authorities other than to drive to Hutto and call from there.
She didn't want to leave her motel, but she had no choice.
Madge hurried over to her Jeep. As she neared her car, the torchlight bounced over the right side, including the tyres; which, even from a couple of metres away, she could see were flat.
Madge stopped until the faintness had passed. She told herself to remain calm and that she had a spare tyre in the back of the Jeep, and that she could drive the car with one flat tyre.
What about the left side tyres? If they're flat too, then I'm screwed.
She hurried around to the rear of the Jeep and flashed the light at the back tyre. It was flat. Slashed just like the others. So was the front one.
By this stage Madge was crying. It wasn't heartache and sorrow caused by Morrie anymore, it was tears of panic.
Madge stood up and looked over at the cabin that Morrie and his wife were in. She could just make out light behind the curtains.
Still up, she thought.
She left the car and tramped back to her cabin. She stepped inside, flicked off the torch and placed it down on the bench.
She wiped the tears away and flipped the hood off her head.
What could she do now? No phones and no car. She was trapped here.
Unless...she could take the two hour hike through the mountains, the one that led to Hutto.
Two hours walking in this weather? I'll probably freeze to death or get hit by lightning.
She shook her head. That was no good.
She walked through the lounge and into her bedroom.
Morrie is a murderer. He betrayed you and made you fall for him.
He also slashed my tyres and cut the phone line.
That bastard. Don't let him scare you. Be strong. Don't let him get away with any of what he's done to you.
Hurt and anger now overshadowed her fear. This was her motel, after all. She'd be damned if she was going to let anybody destroy it or her.
She dashed over to the bedside dresser and flung open the top drawer.
It was gone.
Her husband's .41 Magnum.
April 4th, 1960
As she switched off the bathroom light and stepped into the dimly-lit bedroom, a smile came over Madge Fraiser's face. "Are you ever going to get dressed?" she said as she made her way over to the bed.
The man lying on top of the sheets, his hands tucked under his head, smiled. "I will when you do."
Madge gazed down at his now limp penis, resting against the inside of his left leg, and felt a hot flush sweep through her body.
My God, we just had sex. Do I really want to do it again so soon? Do I want to tire this poor man out?
"Whatcha thinking about?"
Madge broke her gaze and looked Jason MacDonald in the face. He was grinning.
"I can manage it again, you know. I'm a regular Don Juan."
She nodded. "I know. I've never had so much sex in my life. Not even when I was a teenager."
"So you don't regret these past six months?" he asked with a hint of uncertainty.
"Of course not," Madge said.
And she really was telling the truth.
They had been friends for about ten years. That's when he had first joined the force. A young, strapping eighteen-year-old. Jack had taken him under his wing, as the saying goes. This was back when Jack was Detective Sergeant.
Jack talked endlessly about this new recruit: how he was top in his class, smart as they come, great with a weapon and wise beyond his years.
The first time she met this young superstar was over dinner. He had been shy, polite and had eaten more meatloaf than Madge had ever thought possible.
Even then she had a potent attraction to this boy. Often she would daydream, sometimes dream, about lustful encounters with him. On the odd occasion that she and Jack made love, she would close her eyes and imagine it was young Jason on top of her, thrusting his virile manhood deep inside her.
Over the next ten years, as Jack made his way to Detective Inspector and Jason to Detective Sergeant, her want for him increased. Every social gathering, every dinner at their house was an awkward affair. Jason had grown into a brash, confident man. And with it came the sort of chiselled looks that seemed more appropriate on a movie star than a police officer.
He started flirting with her -- innocent looks and gestures that were at first playful, but became increasingly real.
She loved her husband, dearly, but her desires weren't being met in the bedroom. She was approaching forty-five, yet her sexual needs were still as strong as when she was twenty-five.
So it was almost inevitable. Six months ago they finally had sex, in the hallway of his apartment, while Jack was on duty. She had been amazed they got that far; she was ready as soon as he picked her up in his white Ford sedan.
It was short, hot and passionate.
Madge had come for the first time. And that sensation enlivened her. She craved for it. Not to mention she liked the fact that she was a forty-four-year-old woman having sex with a twenty-eight-year-old stud.
But she was a strikingly good-looking woman for her years. Even she, when looking into the mirror, had to admit that age had been very kind to her. She was trim, tanned and not a wrinkle or sag to blemish her full figure. And her face was soft and full of life.
Of course she felt guilty, ashamed, and yes, also sluttish for cheating on her husband. But she loved the physical contact.
Jason told her on many occasions how wrong it was -- yet how right it felt. So they kept on seeing each other.
Jack had no idea, or at least he had never let on that he knew. It would break him if he ever found out, because he loved her just as much as she loved him. He loved Jason, too, though he would never admit it.
So even though she was betraying her loving husband -- a hardworking and loyal man -- she didn't regret these past six months. How could she, when what they did felt so sinfully good?
"It certainly has been...an experience," Madge told him. She corralled her clothes from off the floor and began dressing.
"I guess that's a hint," Jason said, still naked and with his hands under his head. "What time does Jack get home?"
"Oh, around eleven, eleven-thirty," she said as she slipped on her skirt.
"You'd better skedaddle, then."
Madge buttoned her blouse then sat on the bed while she put on her stockings and shoes.
"I wonder how he's doing with that new recruit."
"Have you met him?"
'Yeah, a couple of times. Seems like a nice guy."
"A very nice young man," Madge said. "Reminds me a bit of when you were merely an innocent Constable."
"Not as good-looking," Jason said.
"Oh, I don't know about that. Young Harry Wilkes has a certain boyish charm."
"Watch it, Madge," Jason chuckled. "You'll get a reputation as being the Healesville tart."
That stung her. She knew Jason was only joking, but she couldn't help but feel that that label was close to the truth. She had often thought that of herself. But hearing somebody else say it, well, that made her really hate herself.
Jason must've noticed her sudden dire expression.
"I'm sorry, Madge. That was in bad taste. You're not...well...one of those." He sat up. He put his hands on her shoulders. "You're a wonderful person. I know you love Jack very much."
Yeah, I love him so much that I'm fucking the son he never had behind his back. I'm a regular June Cleaver.
"It's okay. Really." She turned around and pecked him on the forehead. "I'll see you..."
He grabbed her and flung her down on the bed. He slammed his mouth over hers and plunged his tongue deep. She could still faintly taste her tangy juices, and though it wasn't an unpleasant taste, she pulled away. "I'm sorry, Jason. I'm not in the mood." She huffed. "Shit, I sound like a frigid nun."
Jason nodded. He had a dejected look on his still handsome face. "It's my fault."
Madge grabbed her purse then stood up. "Let's just forget these last five minutes. Pretend that we just finished having sex. You're still coming over for dinner tomorrow night?"
He nodded.
"I'll see you then."
"Is Wilkes coming too?"
"Yeah. But don't worry. No need to get jealous. He's not my type." She smiled.
Jason smiled back. "See ya tomorrow, darling."
She turned and headed for the front door. As she stepped out, she heard Jason's phone ring.
Driving home, her mind was awash with conflicting emotions. Part of her still wanted to keep seeing Jason. She loved the act of sexual intercourse, the feeling it gave her. It was hedonism to the max. Another part, the one that hated being thought of as a tart, wanted to break it off. But that was a selfish part. Because, she still wanted to be with Jason, still wanted to betray her husband, but not at the humiliating expense of being called a whore. She wasn't one to care what other people thought of her, but even she had her limits. After all, she still had feelings. And yet another part of her, the one constant that kept nagging at her, was guilt. The simple reason being her husband. Because it wasn't lack of love, or support or companionship that drove her to infidelity. It was only sex.
So a minute didn't go by, ever since ten years ago when she had first met Jason, that she didn't hate herself for betraying Jack. Whether it was thoughts or actions, the guilt, her conscience, was an importunate companion.
By the time she arrived home, she hadn't come to any conclusions.
To see Jason, or not to see Jason? she thought. That, indeed, was the question.
As she pulled into the driveway, a frown came over her already sour face.
Who the hell is that? she wondered.
The figure stood up as the headlights passed over its dim form. The person remained on the porch steps while Madge switched off the headlights, then the engine. She hopped out of the car. "Hello," she called. "Who is that?" She was a smart woman, and being a police officer's wife, had learned a few tricks to ensure her safety.
"It's me, Madge. Harry Wilkes."
Madge sighed with relief at the sound of the young Detective Constable's voice. "I wasn't sure who it was," she said, making her way up to greet him. "Never can be too careful these days."
Like always, she had kept the porch light on. As she neared Harry she could see his grim face.
The night was cool, and ordinarily she would have welcomed Harry inside. But tonight she could see something wasn't right. Besides Harry's sad expression, there didn't seem to be any sign of Jack.
"What's going on, honey? What's the matter?"
Harry suddenly fell into Madge's arms and started to cry. She was taken back, but put her arms around the boy. "Come on, now. It's all right."
Bullshit it's all right. Where the hell is Jack?!
Her stomach was fluttering. She knew something was terribly wrong -- although it didn't take a genius to figure that out.
But she felt something deeper, a pain in her heart that almost spoke to her. Something had happened to her husband.
"Sssh, come on. Tell me what happened." She slowly pushed Harry away. He looked at her. His eyes were puffy and red; the tears had caused grey streaks on his face.
"There was a...a...a stabbing. At the station. He was cra...crazy." He sniffed a long strand of snot back up his nose. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
A stabbing?
Madge could now feel herself begin to lose her hold on sanity. She felt a little light-headed, so she had to wait a moment before she asked the question. "Where's Jack?" she said in a shaky, high-pitched voice.
Please say he's in the hospital. He's hurt, but he's still alive...
Harry broke down and began to snivel like a scared little boy. Tears that ran down his cheeks joined the snot that poured from his nose. "Jack's dead. I'm sorry." His shoulders jiggled up and down.
A scream tore from Madge's throat.
\*
She was sitting on the couch, ten minutes later, when the doorbell chimed. She was cradling a cup of herbal tea that Harry had made for her, although she hadn't taken any sips of it. Her eyes were stinging from the constant tears, and although she wasn't in shock, she felt strange, like she was outside of herself.
Jack can't be dead. He just can't be. Not my Jack. Not my Jack...
Echoing around her head now was the sound of the front door being opened and then the deep, yet quiet tones of men talking.
Soon Harry came into the lounge. "Ah, Madge. It's Sergeant MacDonald. He's come to see how you are. Do you want to see him?"
Madge looked up, but before she could answer, the figure of Jason came up behind Harry. "Hi, Madge. I'm...so sorry."
Madge extended the tepid cup of tea. "Could you please take this into the kitchen, Harry? It's gone cold."
Harry shuffled forward and took the cup from her grasp. "Do you want me to make you another one?"
She wiped her eyes and shook her head. "No thanks. But fix yourself whatever you want. There is tea and coffee in the cupbo..."
"It's okay, Madge. You just rest easy." Carrying the cup, Harry headed into the kitchen.
Madge put her head down and cried.
"Hey, it's okay. I'm here. It's gonna be all right."
She didn't hear Jason walk over and sit down next to her, but he must've, because he now had his arm around her.
But that was the last thing she wanted. He was the last person she wanted to be around. In fact, in one of the few cohesive thoughts she had since finding out the heartbreaking news, she made up her mind that she didn't want to keep seeing him. She despised him, or more specifically, what he represented.
"Please go," she whispered.
"Madge?"
"I said I want you out of here. Please."
Jason's arm fell from her shoulders. "But...Come on, darling. You can't be by yourself tonight."
"Harry can stay," she choked in between sobs. "I...I don't want to see you anymore, Jason. And don't call me darling."
"If you want me to go, I'll go," Jason said, coldly. "But don't say things you don't mean, Madge. I know how upset you mus..."
"Get the fuck outta my house," she hissed. "It's over. Okay? I've betrayed Jack enough. I hate myself." Those last few words were sobs that escalated into a rush of tears.
The next thing she heard was the front door being slammed shut.
The footsteps of Harry thumped into the lounge. "Is everything okay, Madge? I heard the door slam."
Bringing her feet up onto the couch, Madge curled up in a tight ball, buried her face in one of the pillows and wept.
April 5th, 1960
Madge stood at the door and waved to Harry. As his car sped off, she closed the door then stood and listened. There were no sounds except her heavy breathing and pounding heart. The house was too quiet.
She headed into the lounge and fell onto the couch. She turned on the television, just to have some sort of noise.
Staring at the senseless blend of noise and images, Madge felt restless and empty. She didn't know what to do with herself. The time was only quarter to six, yet everything had been organised.
Jack was of course having an official police funeral, so they were making all those arrangements: it was scheduled for the day after tomorrow.
There had been calls coming in droves all day; Harry had taken most of them, only giving her the phone when it was a close family member or friend.
Harry had been fantastic. Making her lunch and breakfast, doing the washing, being her messenger boy. No wonder Jack had taken an instant liking to him.
He had wanted to stay and fix her dinner, but she said no, that he should go home and get some well earned rest.
She hopped up from the couch and picked up the bunch of tulips that had not long ago arrived from Mike Powell. She went into the kitchen and placed them in a vase. She filled it with water, then put them on the coffee table in the lounge. She sat back down and sighed.
What to do now? she wondered.
It was nearing dinnertime, but she wasn't hungry. She was, however, thirsty. So she went over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out the bottle of Black Douglas. She took one of the whisky glasses and poured herself half a glass.
As she placed the bottle back, she glanced up at the photo that sat on top of the cabinet. She smiled as tears ran down her cheeks.
It was her favourite photo of her husband. A professional shot of him all done up in his police uniform, ten years ago. Handsome, regal and proud.
She took down the photo, and with the glass of whisky, sat down on the couch. She placed the photo on the coffee table and stared at it.
My love. My dearest Jack. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for betraying you. Can you ever forgive me?
She took a drink then wiped her eyes.
The phone rang.
She placed the glass down then hopped up.
There hadn't been a call for about an hour. Practically every person she and Jack had known had called during the day. She took a deep breath before picking up the phone. "Madge speaking."
There was silence. Then, "Ah, hi. It's me."
Pain ripped across her chest. "Hi."
And goodbye, she wanted to say.
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay. Listen, if you're calling about..."
"I know," he cut her off. "I'm sorry for walking out on you last night. I guess it was an emotional time for all of us."
You pompous prick, she thought. I told you to leave. And...
"And you have no idea how I am feeling," she decided to finish. "Listen, Jason. I meant what I said last night. It's over between us. Can you please understand and respect that?"
Silence. She could hear his breathing. "But I...lo..."
"Don't!" she cried. "Don't say it, Jason. Don't even think it. It was always just a physical relationship. I just...Christ! I don't want to talk about it. Just leave me alone. I'm in mourning, for Christ's sake!"
She was crying. There were so many emotions flying through her head that she could barely think. All she wanted was to forget every part of her life and think about Jack. Be with his spirit. Remember him. Cry for him. Not be on the phone discussing...this.
"Please, Madge. Let me come over. We can talk about this properly. Talk about Jack. He was dear to me, too." Jason sounded like he was sobbing. That just fuelled Madge's hatred.
"It's over," she told him. "I understand your pain over Jack's death, but let us grieve separately, in our own way. But as for us...I don't want to see you again. Ever. Understand? I hate myself for betraying Jack. I don't think I'm ever going to forgive myself. The least I can do for him now that he's gone is to respect him. What I should have done while he was alive."
She heard blubbering. Then, "Madge, don't do this. I need you."
She couldn't help it. "Go fuck yourself. I need Jack!"
She slammed down the phone. She fell to her knees and wailed. The wail turned into a scream that burned her throat.
\*
The knocking gradually made its way into her consciousness. A low thudding that was at first quiet, then slowly got louder, like turning up the volume knob on a radio. She thought it was the television, but glancing forward, saw that the screen was black. She blinked and from the grandfather clock, saw that the time was almost nine-thirty.
Have I been asleep? she wondered. I...can't remember.
The knocking continued.
She noticed the bottle of Black Douglas was more than half empty. She frowned. She was certain that the bottle had been almost full when she got it out.
I couldn't have drunk all that. I don't even feel tipsy.
But when she stood, a swirl of light passed before her eyes and her head felt like it had been pumped full of helium. Her legs became wobbly and she immediately sat down and dropped her head.
Eventually the feeling faded, but the knocking continued.
She stood again, slowly, and took a deep breath.
The thudding seemed to be coming from the front of the house.
Of course. The front door.
That seemed fitting, because she desperately wanted some fresh air. So she shuffled down the hallway and to the door, where the knocking bore into her head like a clamorous power drill.
She flung open the door, felt the instant rush of cool night air, but soon after smelled something else -- the pungent fumes of alcohol.
Her eyes were still adjusting to the dimness, and before she had a chance to ask who it was, a body pushed past her. "Who the hell...?"
"I love you, Madge," came the drunken slur. "You know that? I love..."
"Get the fuck outta my house," Madge managed to yell in spite of her queasy disposition.
"Not until you tell me that you love me and want to keep seeing me."
Yes, Jason MacDonald sounded quite sloshed.
She heard the door slam shut and a sudden chill snaked its way up her spine. "Jason. I don't have anything to say to you." She turned and saw him guarding the entrance. "Get out of my house," she told him.
"Not until you take back what you said on the phone."
"Jesus Christ! My husband has just died! Leave me the fuck alone! What kind of sick man are you!"
She felt bile rise up in her throat, then she opened her mouth and vomited on the hallway carpet. It was hot and watery and seemed to last forever.
She had barely finished spitting out the last of the sour vomit when Jason grabbed her arm and pulled her into the lounge.
Without much regard for gentleness, he threw her onto the couch. She was crying rivers. "Why are you doing this to me?" she sobbed. "Why?"
"I want you, Madge," Jason said. "And I know that you want me."
Her sanity seemed to leak out of her mind, then, as she lay frightened and confused on the couch. It was all too much for her -- Jack's death, dealing with Jason. Now him coming over like this. It was too much for anyone to have to endure. She was a strong woman, but not that strong. There was only one thing that her mind seemed able to process: that she wanted Jack. Here, now and for always.
"Jack," she cried helplessly. "Help me, Jack. I need you!"
"Jack's dead!" Jason yelled, then began to cry. "He was like a father to me! Some sick fuckingmotherfucker stabs him..." He kicked the base of the couch, hard. Madge felt the vibrations all through her quaking body.
"I loved him!" Jason continued. "And I love you. I want you, darling. I need you."
The next thing she recalled was having her pants being pulled off, then her panties. She was too much out of herself to fight. She heard Jason's zipper, and remembered saying something like, "No, please no. I don't feel well and I want Jack."
Everything that happened next was a blur. His weight on her, his penis pushing its way inside, the foul stench of alcohol blowing into her face, the thrusting in and out, the wet slobber that dribbled onto her forehead and cheeks; they all melded into one awful haze of violation.
She let it all drift away with thoughts of her and Jack together.
\*
When she opened her eyes, she saw Jason in front of her, zipping up his pants. She felt groggy and awfully sick. She could also smell a fetid mixture of semen, saliva and vomit. It made her gag, although she was either too weak or too empty to throw up.
She lazily looked up at Jason. He was sobbing, wiping his eyes and nose constantly, shaking his head.
Finished doing up his pants, he looked down at her, his eyes red and glazed, and muttered, "I'm so sorry, Madge. Please...forgive me."
She couldn't speak. Didn't want to.
Her body felt dirty and pains tore at her vagina. She began to cry. She wanted to put her pants on, but they were down on the floor and she didn't want to move. So she remained quivering, crying and hurting.
She moved her eyes to the grandfather clock -- it was just after one-thirty.
"Please don't tell anyone," Jason whined. "I was...drunk. And upset. I...won't ever bother you again."
She heard him hurry towards the front door, then the door slammed shut.
He was gone.
And so was she. She felt like her soul had been torn apart and thrown away, lost forever. Her pride, her confidence, her trust had been taken away from her. She felt used and ashamed.
"Oh Jack," she whimpered.
But she knew Jack was not there to help her. Nobody was. She was alone, now. And she decided then, that nobody would find out about tonight. She didn't want anyone to know her shame. She wanted to just forget it ever happened. Jason said he would leave her alone, so that was enough.
As she gingerly sat up, she knew that she had to leave this town. Go away and leave it all behind. After the funeral.
She noticed a thick glob of semen on the inside of her left leg. With her underpants, she wiped it off.
She threw the panties to the floor, and as she bent down to pick up her pants, noticed the photo of Jack lying on the floor. Jason must've knocked it off.
She picked it up and saw that the glass was cracked.
She fell back to the couch, the picture clutched to her chest and stared at nothing.
April 8th, 1960
Harry came into the lounge, set the large cardboard box down then brushed his hands together. "That's the last one."
"Thanks," Madge said. She finished wrapping the cracked photo of Jack in newspaper then wandered over and set it on top of the other items. "I think that just about does it."
She sealed the top of the box with thick tape.
Harry nodded. Madge noticed that his usually boyish looks were now hardened slightly. Perhaps it was just tiredness and sadness, but there was a definite change in him. He also had faint smudges where dust and grime had settled on his face, from packing and moving boxes all morning.
She leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. "Thank you so much for everything. You've been a great friend. Jack would have been proud."
He smiled nervously. "That's okay." He flicked glances at Madge. She could tell that something was on his mind.
"What's the matter, Harry?"
He shook his head. "What? Nothing."
"Come on," Madge said.
He shrugged. "This is probably none of my business. But is something up between you and Sergeant MacDonald? I mean, I know you and him go a long way back together. And I noticed that you didn't speak to him at the funeral yesterday. And he isn't here, helping out."
Madge felt her stomach churn. Her mouth became dry. She swallowed and put on a smiling face. "Oh, he was more Jack's friend than mine. I dunno, we were always...friends, just not good ones." She chuckled awkwardly. "Didn't I speak to him at the funeral? Jeez, I didn't mean to ignore him. I must apologise to him before I leave."
That last sentence was the hardest to speak.
"I'm sorry for prying," Harry said. "It's just...all this detective training. I guess I'm trying to make something out of nothing."
Madge smiled briefly. "I understand. Well, let's get moving shall we?"
Harry nodded and picked up the box.
She followed him out to her blue Ford station wagon, where he placed the cardboard box into the back with the other boxes, suitcases and carry bags.
Harry slammed the back door shut. He joined Madge around the driver's side. "I know you've told me that you're not sure, but what are you gonna do, Madge? Where are you gonna go? I mean you must've thought about it."
"If you're worried about my financial situation, don't be. With the money Jack and I had saved, plus Jack's compensation, I've got enough to survive. I have thought about one idea...nah, I've never told anyone, except Jack."
"What is it, Madge? You can tell me."
"It's a silly idea. Don't know why I want to do it, really. I've always wanted to build and run a motel. Not one of those big fancy complexes, but a small, out of the way motel. Does that sound silly?"
"Not at all," Harry said. "You just let me know where it is and the phone number whenever you get up and running. I want to keep in touch."
"Of course." She took a shaky breath. "Well, good bye, Harry." She leaned in and they hugged. Long and tight. When they broke away, both were crying.
"Oh shit. I almost forgot."
Frowning, Madge watched Harry dart over to his car. He opened the passenger door, leaned in, then hopped out and jogged back.
He held a small bag. Harry opened it. "We want you to have this, Madge. As a gift from all of us at the station."
He handed her a gun. It was locked in a holster, and looked large and powerful.
"It was Jack's. But I suppose you already know that."
Madge nodded. "I had forgotten about it. But am I allowed...?"
"Sure," Harry said with a nod. "Just don't rob any banks with it, okay?"
Madge smiled as she took the gun. "Thanks. Boy, it sure is heavy."
"It's a .41 Magnum. Quite powerful. Good for security, you know?"
"I'll take good care of it," Madge said. She hopped into the driver's seat and placed the gun in the glove box. She wound down the window then started up the car.
"Take care, Madge."
"You too. Be careful, okay? Don't let anything happen to you."
Harry wiped tears from his tired looking eyes. "Keep in touch."
"Of course. Bye, Harry."
She took off down the street, waving to him out the window.
As she passed numerous parked cars, one in particular caught her eye. It was parked to her left, about three houses down from hers -- a white 1957 Ford sedan. And as she drove past it, she glanced over, and saw a person sitting inside.
She couldn't make out any details, but she knew. He had come to see her off.
You sad bastard, she thought.
But she smiled. She would never have to see him again.
3:21 a.m.
Judy handed a cup of water to Morrie as he came out of the bathroom.
"Thanks." He took the cup and wandered over to the sink. There he sipped a mouthful, washed it around in his mouth, then spat it out.
He turned around and walked back over to Judy, taking small drinks of the water.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know what came over me."
Judy took his hand. "Don't be silly. You've been through a lot tonight, and it's not over."
Morrie sat on the bed, gently pulling Judy down with him. "So have you. But I don't see you running to the bathroom and puking."
He was clearly embarrassed. Throwing up from too much drinking was okay; vomiting because of nerves and stress wasn't.
He took another sip and shook his head. "I'm supposed to be the strong one. The one who protects you. It was my decision to shoot that boy. It may have been wrong, but at the time I thought I was protecting us. I was just doing what I thought was right. And there's nothing wrong with that!" He was breathing hard. He told himself to calm down and he looked at Judy. "Is there?"
Judy smiled and shook her head.
"Now this boy over there. Damn, Judy, I don't want to kill him, but what choice do we have? It's either his life or ours, and I know which one I'm gonna choose."
He finished the water and placed the cup on the floor.
"Can you get me a soft drink? I need to get this acidic taste out of my mouth."
"I don't think a bubbly soft drink is the best thing for you..."
"Fuck, I'll get it myself," Morrie spat.
Judy let go of his hand. Her eyes looked teary. "No, I'll get it. You stay there and rest."
She stood up and went over to the fridge. "Lemonade okay?" she called.
"Fine," Morrie said.
He waited on the bed, rubbing his stomach, while Judy fixed him the drink. He still had the sour taste of bile, though he knew the worst was behind him.
Judy shuffled back and handed him the soft drink.
"I've taken away most of the fizz," she said. "Better for you that way."
Morrie looked up at her. "Thanks, Judy. I'm sorry for barking at ya."
"I understand." She sat back down.
"Ahh," he sighed. "That tastes fantastic. It's horrible that aftertaste of vomit."
"How are you feeling?"
Morrie shrugged his broad shoulders. "Better, I guess. I think the vomiting was just a once off. It's not a virus or anything." He took another sip.
"I can shoot the boy if you want," Judy said quietly.
Morrie turned and glared at her. "No way. I'm not having a death on your conscience. Forget about it."
"I was just trying to help, Morrie."
"It takes a lot to kill a person," Morrie continued. "And it feels ugly. You feel all dirty. No, you ditch that idea. I can do it, Jesus." He huffed. "I'm not a fucking wimp. I can take care of business that needs doing."
"I know that, Morrie. I just thought that maybe you're not up to it."
"I'm up to it," he said. He looked at Judy and took her by the hand. "I don't want you to have to go through all the guilt, okay?"
Judy nodded and wiped the falling tears from her cheeks.
"Besides, who said anything about shooting him?"
"What do you mean?"
"It'd be too noisy. Even with all this thunder and lightning, a gunshot is a pretty distinct noise. They would all be up and looking out the windows, Madge probably would have called the police, by the time we could get out of this place."
"Of course. I never thought about it. I just assumed that we would use the gun."
Morrie drank more of the lemonade. "I know, so did I initially. But while I was puking my guts out -- I tell ya, it's funny what goes through your mind when you're throwing up -- the noise started me thinking about how loud and noticeable a gunshot would be."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"Well, he's already tied up and looks pretty beat up. I say just go over there and either suffocate or strangle him."
Judy nodded. "Okay. How are you going to get in there?"
"I guess the only way is to break in. I think I have a crowbar in the car."
Morrie finished the lemonade and stood up. He wandered over to the sink and placed the glass into the basin. He went over to the back window, and parting the curtains, gazed outside at the teaming rain. "I'm worried about the father, or whoever he is. Where is he?"
Judy remained on the bed. "Maybe he drove over to that town, Hutto, to pick up some food or supplies?"
Peering out at the darkness, Morrie shook his head. "His car was still there, remember?"
"Oh yeah," Judy said. "I remember now. Guess I was too nervous before about seeing the boy to take much notice of it."
Maybe he's having sex with Madge, Morrie thought.
That made his stomach turn with anger. To think that Madge was giving herself to some psycho, a complete stranger, made his throat constrict.
I was a stranger, he told himself. But we connected. We talked and got to know one another first.
He figured that it was none of his business, anyhow. He had other things on his mind that were more important. So she was fucking another guy? It was not like he was going to marry her.
Still, he felt betrayed. Felt anger towards her.
Forget about her.
"It's strange all right," Morrie said, turning away from the window. "But all we have to worry about is that he doesn't come back before I've had a chance to...get to the boy," he finished.
He walked back over to Judy. "I guess I'd better go and do it."
"Take time if you need it," Judy said. "Have a rest. We can spare a little time."
Morrie shook his head. "Guy might come back soon. Better to get it over with."
Judy stood up. "Are you sure? How's your stomach?"
"A bit queasy, but I've felt worse."
Judy took a deep breath. "Okay."
"You stay in here," Morrie told her.
He went over to the table and grabbed his jacket. He slipped it on then faced Judy.
"I have to go to the car and get the crowbar first. I don't know how long it will all take. Don't worry if I'm not back in a while, okay?"
Judy nodded then wiped away more tears.
"We can leave as soon as I get back," he said, slipping the hood over his head.
"I love you," Judy choked out.
"So do I," Morrie answered.
It felt wrong saying that after what he had done with Madge. He wasn't sure what he was more ashamed of; killing the Asian boy, or cheating on his wife.
He knew which one made him feel the worst. Yet at the same time it had been one of the most amazing experiences of his life.
He headed for the door without looking back.
Morrie hurried over to his car. He went around to the rear and dug the keys out of his pocket.
But instead of opening the back doors, Morrie glanced over his shoulder.
He had to know if the man was in there.
He shoved the keys back, then jogged over to the office. He ducked around the side and past the office, to where her residence was.
The area around here was much darker than the front, so Morrie had to wait until his eyes adjusted.
When he could see a little better, he crept up to a small window, but saw that it had shutters. He tried opening them, but they were locked.
"Damn," he muttered.
He tried the next window along, probably the kitchen, but it too had locked shutters. He then walked around to the back of the cabin and saw a door.
Should I? he asked himself.
He was just curious. Even if the guy was in there, Morrie wouldn't do anything. But he had to ease his mind. Had to know if Madge had sex with him because she really liked him, or just because she was lonely.
Morrie approached the door, gripped the handle and pulled.
He met with resistance.
He wasn't surprised, but he felt disheartened. It looked like he was never going to know.
He left the back door and headed around to the front.
So what, Morrie thought. We had a good time, but that was it. If it wasn't for that kid, Judy and I would be far away by now.
He made his way to his car.
The night momentarily illuminated, and Morrie watched with awe the brilliant flash of electricity. "Amazing," he said, shaking his head.
Then it was over.
The night returned to the oppressive blackness.
Pulling the keys out, Morrie opened the back doors. He had numerous tools in there from his job that he'd forgotten to put back in the garage. A crowbar was bound to be amongst them.
Thunder grumbled through the sky, then somebody yelled, "Morrie!"
He jumped at the voice, dropped his keys and quickly turned around.
He was surprised to find Madge. He hadn't initially recognised the voice.
He smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he noticed the baseball bat she was holding.
She was standing about four metres away, and the bat that was at first by her side was now raised in an aggressive manner, like she was about to hit a home run.
She started forward, slowly, the bat still poised.
"You bastard," she cried.
He could detect a wavering in her voice.
"I know all about you and your wife."
"Madge, let me expl..."
"Shut up," she bellowed. "I don't want to hear any of your bullshit. You've tricked me once tonight."
Morrie thought about grabbing one of the tools. He was close enough to make it.
"Move over to the cabin or else I'll break this over your head. I'm not kidding. Move!"
But he didn't want to hurt her. He would try and talk to her. Reason with her. Explain what had really happened, and she would understand. So he obeyed and headed for the cabin.
"Don't try anything, Morrie. I know you've got my gun."
He turned around. "What? Your gun?"
"Turn around! Don't talk!"
He turned and continued walking.
He opened the cabin door and stepped inside, Madge only a few paces behind.
"That was quick..." As soon as Judy saw Madge with the baseball bat, her eyes grew wide and she cupped a hand over her mouth.
"On the bed. Sit down, both of you."
Morrie lifted the hood back off his head and sat down, Judy sitting beside him.
"What's going on?" Judy whimpered.
"Be quiet," Madge said sharply.
She slammed the cabin door, her eyes watching them the whole time.
It wasn't until Morrie saw Madge in the bright cabin light, away from the dark night and the storm, that he noticed the coil of rope around her neck.
Seeing that made him more nervous than the bat. What the hell did she have in mind? He eyed the Adidas bag with the rifle inside. It was sitting just behind Madge. Should he risk it? No, only as a last resort, he decided.
"Please, Madge. I can explain. Put the bat down."
Madge took a few steps closer. She looked at Morrie, and he noticed tears in her eyes. He could tell they weren't raindrops; her eyes were red, plus they had a glazed, sad look in them.
He felt sorry for her. It didn't last long.
With a speed far quicker than Morrie would have thought possible for a woman of Madge's age, she swung the wooden baseball bat at Judy. There was a dull thud as the bat struck her hard on the cheek, then she fell backwards.
Morrie cried out, and was too distraught by his motionless wife that he didn't even see Madge swing the bat a second time -- this time at his head.
She hit him just above the temple.
The pain was incredible, and his eyes flashed a bright white, much like the lightning he had just witnessed.
He flopped sideways onto the bed.
Simon opened his eyes and got a shock. He had somehow managed to fall asleep. He glanced at the clock radio and saw that he had been asleep for almost forty minutes. Scared, he turned his head and looked around the room. The bathroom was still dark and the second bed was empty. The man hadn't returned.
Where could he have gone? Simon wondered.
The storm outside was still raging. Something --the thunder?-- had woken him.
He turned and saw that the candles had burned about a quarter of the way.
His plan.
He had rested for long enough. The sleep had done its job.
Although his pains were still just as intense, and the cold was settling in again, Simon felt marginally stronger. He now felt like he could try his plan.
Here we go, he thought.
He prepared himself for the arduous work ahead, then clenched his fists up tight and with all his savoured energy, began tugging at the ligatures.
Since the bed was just a cheap make, it wasn't overly heavy. A man standing over the bed, using a fraction of his strength, would be able to lift it off the ground easily.
So, a young man drained of his strength, and his legs all but useless, would hopefully be able to at least move the bed slightly.
He jerked his hands and upper body about, the bed groaning and scraping along the floor.
He managed to knock the headboard against the wall a few times.
The candles, however, never wobbled.
The slight vibration from shifting the bed along the floor wasn't working, nor was banging the headboard against the wall.
Exhausted from the little, yet intense work, Simon relaxed his muscles and lay sweating, his nostrils making a loud hissing noise.
He cursed in his head, and closed his eyes, waiting for his heart to slow down.
When his breathing had returned to a steady pace, Simon opened his eyes and looked over at the stubborn candles.
Why didn't you fall over? he shouted in his head.
He needed to rest for a brief period before he tried again.
He looked at the bedside drawer, wondering why it hadn't even tottered just a little, when he saw the reason.
The back of the drawer was a few centimetres from the wall. No matter how hard he banged against the wall, the drawer would never shake.
There was only one way he was going to get the candles to fall over -- to physically knock the drawer. And the only way to do that was to somehow get the bed over to the drawer and thump the bed against it.
Simon wasn't sure if he had the strength to do that. It was a big task that required a lot of upper body strength and more energy than he possessed.
Still, he could try. He had nothing else to do except wait for the psycho to come back. It was going to be near impossible without the use of his legs, though.
But, he would try. Nothing to lose and, if it worked, everything to gain.
You don't get anywhere in this world without trying, he heard his father saying. Remember that, son. Nobody can call you a loser if you gave it your best shot.
If he ever wanted to see his father again, as well as his mother and little brother, he would have to try.
Half a metre.
That's how far away the bedside drawer was from him.
That old cliché came to him: so close, yet so far. He now knew what that saying really meant.
Simon felt strange. He felt like crying and laughing at the same time. Why, he did not know.
Control yourself, he thought. You can go insane after you've escaped from here.
The feeling gradually subsided.
He told himself that he needed to concentrate all his energy into moving the bed half a metre to the bedside drawer.
Closing his eyes, Simon clenched his fists again.
He pictured the man, raping and torturing him, the grotesque smile on his face. He pictured his family. Then the man again. David getting shot. The man returning and him still trapped.
With fear, hatred, longing and anger all rolled into one tight ball of energy, Simon opened his eyes and began pulling at the bed.
"I think it's about time to swap ends," Al said over the noise of the rain.
Eddy nodded.
"Okay drop him here," Wayne said.
The three men stopped and placed the body down.
Al checked his watch. "Yep, it's a bit past three-thirty."
"How about we take a break?" Wayne said. "We've been walking for over half an hour."
Eddy, who was stretching his back muscles, nodded. "My arms and back are killing me."
"Can't be more painful than mine," Al sighed.
"Couple of sissys," Wayne laughed.
"I bet you could go for a ten kilometre run," Al said.
"I wouldn't go that far," Wayne said. He rolled his head, loosening the muscles in his neck
Al sauntered over to a log by the side of the walking track and sat down with a groan.
Wayne wandered over and sat beside him. "How you holding up?" he asked.
"I'm managing. Hasn't been too bad so far."
"No," Wayne agreed.
The hardest part of the walk so far had been going uphill. They hadn't come across any narrow cliffs or large rocks or deep dark caves.
But they had really only been walking for fifteen, twenty minutes. Since they had to carry the body, the hike would take them nearly twice as long.
They were essentially still at the beginning of the walk.
"Still a long way to go," Wayne sighed.
"Don't remind me," Eddy said as he joined them on the log. "Been a piece of piss so far."
"Yeah, it's going to get a lot worse," Wayne said.
For a moment there was nothing but the sound of the rain and the wind. Because of where Wayne was sitting, the body was in darkness. The light shone down the narrow, winding track.
"Does your son know where you've gone?" Al asked.
"No. He was asleep. I left a note, though. Told him I've gone for a walk in the mountains. I often do unusual things like that, so he won't think anything of it."
"Really? Even in the storm?"
"Sure. I love the rain. Love storms even more."
"That is unusual," Eddy said.
Wayne chuckled.
"How old is he?" Al asked.
"Eighteen. Name's Simon. Hey, didn't I already tell you guys this?"
"Not me," Al said.
"Yeah, Al was out having a poop in the woods."
Wayne chuckled, but not too loudly.
"Very funny. And before you ask, it hasn't been too bad. I guess it's settled down."
"That's good," Wayne said. "Don't want you stopping every ten minutes."
Eddy ran his fingers through his hair. He gazed up at the dark sky. "You know, once you've been out in the rain long enough, you barely notice it's there."
Wayne and Al murmured in agreement.
"See why I don't mind walking in the rain," Wayne told them.
Eddy shifted on the log. "Damn gun. It's poking into my stomach. Thing's the size of a fucking cannon." He sat up straight and fixed the position of the gun.
"What is it?"
"It's a Magnum," Eddy said. "Forty-one revolver."
"Wow, impressive. Very powerful."
"Yeah, and we won't hesitate to use it," Al said.
"Jesus, man," Eddy huffed.
"Hey, only joking."
Wayne laughed and shook his head, the light from the headband torch flickering through the trees. "You two are classic. How long you been friends?"
"Too long," Al said.
"We met each other first year at high school," Eddy said. "Except I used to beat him up and tease him. He was just a little runt back then."
"Fuck you, Edward. You never beat me up..."
"And still is," Eddy finished.
Wayne chuckled.
"Anyway, it wasn't until year eight that we started hanging around together. And for some reason, we've been friends ever since."
"Ahh," Wayne sighed. "Isn't that sweet? And they lived happily ever after."
"Only if we don't get caught for what we've done tonight," Al said.
And like a signal from God, lightning cracked overhead. All three men looked up and watched.
After it was finished, and the night was back to familiar darkness, Al said, "Did you all think that the lightning seemed closer?"
"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing," Eddy said.
"Just your imagination," Wayne said. "We're not that far up the mountain."
"Didn't you think so?" Al said.
"No," Wayne quipped.
"Well, it's two against one," Eddy said.
"We haven't asked Jeffrey yet," Wayne said. "Hey, Jeff," he called out. "If you think the lightning was closer, speak now. If not, then don't."
The others laughed hard.
"See? It's even."
"Fuck, wouldn't it have been funny if he had spoken?" Eddy laughed.
"Yeah, a riot," Al said
"This is what we need. Laughter. Makes what we're doing all the more bearable."
"You're right about that," Al said.
"You guys live with your parents?" Wayne asked.
"I do," Al said. "But just with my mum. Her husband left when I was a baby."
Wayne frowned. "What about your real dad?"
"That's who I'm talking about."
"He doesn't like to refer to his biological father as his dad," Eddy told Wayne.
"Yeah, as far as I'm concerned, that prick wasn't any father. He was just my mum's husband who had sex with her."
"I see," Wayne said. "That must've been hard on her."
"Yeah," Al huffed. "So hard that she turned to the booze. Stupid bitch is an alcoholic."
"That's no way to speak about your own mother," Wayne said.
"No? When you raise yourself because she's too busy guzzling down gin and whisky, you have a right to call her what you want."
"I know what it's like living without a father," Wayne said.
"But was your mother an alcoholic?"
"No," Wayne huffed. "She never drank. What about you?"
"I live with my brother. In a dump of an apartment."
"Where is he tonight?"
Eddy shrugged. "Who knows? Probably at home, studying. Fucking nerd. Studying law. Can you believe that?" He chuckled.
"Are your parents...?"
"Dead? Nah. They're both alive and well. Don't know how much longer they'll be together, though. Both my parents fuck around."
"Really? They cheat on each other?"
"Hell yeah," Al put in. "His mum's a regular whore. Fucks guys half her age."
"My dad cheats, too," Eddy said. "Both as bad as each other."
"My God," Wayne said. "I can't believe parents could be like this."
"What, was your mum a saint?" Eddy said.
"She was a very religious woman, yes."
"I didn't mean it literally," Eddy said.
"I know what you meant," Wayne said, smiling. "She was both religious and a very caring mother."
"So then why did you turn to a life of crime?" Al asked. "We both have excuses."
"I have my reasons," Wayne said. "It wasn't anything to do with my dear mother, though. It was my choice. My fault."
"Hang out with the wrong crowd?"
"I guess you could say that," Wayne said. "We'd better get a move on. It'll be light in a few hours."
"God, I can't believe I've been up all night," Al said, rubbing his eyes.
Wayne stood up.
"I know. I'm so damn tired," Eddy sighed. He stood up and stretched his arms to the sky.
With a groan, Al got up off the log.
"It must be nearing four o'clock," Eddy said, wandering over to the body.
Wayne shone the light at his wrist. "Another ten minutes."
"Fuck," Al muttered. "And we're not even halfway to the gorge."
Al joined Eddy and Wayne who were standing over the body.
"You both had enough rest?" Wayne asked, looking from one to the other.
They both nodded.
"Look, we really appreciate all your help," Eddy said. "Out here all night, while you could be fast asleep."
"Yeah, thanks," Al said. "Sorry about the way I acted earlier."
"Glad to help," Wayne said. "Like I said, I know what you're going through. I sympathise with you two."
"You think the cops will catch up with you?" Al asked.
"What? Oh, I hope not. Not if I can help it. We'll probably just drive far away, change our names and live another life."
"And he won't miss his mum?"
Wayne huffed. "She doesn't care about him. Simon won't miss her."
Wayne bent down. The others followed.
When they all had a good hold of the body, Al now at the ankles and Eddy with his hands under the back, Wayne counted, "One, two, lift."
With moans and strained grunts, they lifted the body off the damp ground.
"Ready when you are, Al," Wayne said.
"Okay," Al said, proceeding backwards.
The three men shuffled up the dark path, with only the headband torch guiding the way.
Sweating and panting hard, Madge stood up and wiped her hands on her jeans. She then wiped the jacket sleeve across her dripping forehead.
Tying two people to a bed had been a lot harder than she had imagined. But positioning them with their hands above their heads, then tying the rope around their hands and feet was exhausting work. Especially when the two people were such big lugs like Morrie and Judy.
Neither had woken up, fortunately. Madge was dreading a sore and pissed Morrie waking up before she had a chance to restrain him. That's why she had kept the baseball bat within reach. Another firm swing would do the job again, if need be.
Madge bent over and tested the ropes again. She liked to double check. They were tied with tight knots.
The Prescotts weren't going anywhere.
She picked up the bat then tested the ropes that bound their feet. They were secure.
Satisfied, Madge sauntered over and sat down at the round table. She placed the bat on top, then closed her eyes and sighed.
Now she could relax a little and think about what to do.
She wondered how long they would be out for. She knew they weren't dead; she had checked their pulses before tying them up.
But she had hit them hard, Morrie perhaps more so.
There wasn't any need to be concerned about bleeding. The blows hadn't cut them deeply. Judy had a small nick on her cheek and there was a patch of blood where she had whacked Morrie. Nothing too serious.
She wasn't real sure how long people who have been hit in the head were usually out for. She had never hit anyone before. Ten minutes? An hour? A couple of hours?
She opened her eyes.
What to do while she waited?
Her gun!
Morrie had to have been the one who stole her husband's Magnum. He was the only person to go into her residence.
That slimy bastard, she thought.
She stood up and looked around the room. Where would they hide it?
She left the baseball bat on the table and headed over to the bedside drawer. She stood by the drawer and turned and looked at Morrie.
Seeing him lying there, as if sound asleep, made Madge feel lost and hurt. He looked so damn peaceful and innocent.
"How could you do this?" she muttered. "Why did you do this to me?"
Her eyes went blurry. She quickly wiped away the tears. She wouldn't allow any feelings of love or compassion cloud what sort of man he really was. She couldn't let it, not if she was to go through with what she had planned.
She faced the set of drawers and opened the top one. There was nothing but two candles.
She closed it and pulled out the second drawer. A solitary Bible sat gathering dust.
She closed the second drawer and opened the bottom one.
This one was empty.
She slammed it shut and straightened.
Where else? she wondered.
Where do people keep guns, other than in drawers? In closets...in cabinets...under their pillows!
Madge faced the bed and placed her hand under Morrie's pillow. She felt around but didn't find the gun.
She took her hand out then shuffled around to Judy's side. She pushed her hand under the pillow but felt only cold sheets.
She brought out her hand.
Maybe Morrie didn't take it, she thought nervously. If he didn't...then who did?
Still, she thought Morrie was the most likely suspect. He was in her house for starters, numerous times, and had the time to take it. And he had reason to take it. It made sense, so she continued searching.
She spotted the pile of bags on the floor. She hurried over to them and crouched down. There were four altogether -- two gym bags and two suitcases.
She zipped open the old blue bag and rummaged around. By the underpants and blouses, she guessed this was Judy's bag. She had a good look inside, even opening the side compartments, but there was no gun.
Next she grabbed one of the suitcases.
She flipped up the latches and opened it up.
This was obviously Morrie's. There were pants and jeans and a lot of flannel shirts and old jumpers. She flung the clothes out, only to find a toothbrush, deodorant, after-shave and razor.
No large, shiny Magnum revolver.
She tossed the clothes back in, then closed the lid.
She turned her head back and gazed at the two fugitives. Still out cold. She turned back and grabbed the black Adidas bag.
She zipped it open, gazed inside and almost fell backwards.
Gathering her balance, Madge reached in and took out the rifle.
"Oh my God," she whispered.
She stood up and placed the bag on the table.
She held the gun in her hands, a slight grin on her face. She had always wanted to hold a rifle, and this is exactly how she had imagined it to be.
It felt long and heavy and powerful.
She saw that the gun had no magazine, so she took aim at the side of the fridge and squeezed the trigger a few times. It felt smooth and natural.
She lowered the gun, then turned back to the Adidas bag.
Inside, she found a magazine, half a dozen boxes of ammunition and a few loose cartridges. She placed them all on the table. Then she threw the bag down to the floor.
She carefully put the rifle down on the table then picked up the magazine and the loose cartridges. She thumbed them into the top, opening a new box when she ran out of cartridges.
When the magazine was full, she picked up the rifle and locked the magazine in place. She didn't load the chamber. She thought it best that the gun wasn't ready to fire until she needed to use it; and hopefully she wouldn't have to.
Then a thought struck her.
This was most likely the gun that Morrie used to kill that boy. She didn't think the news mentioned what type of gun was used, but she would bet all she had that this was the one.
Suddenly feeling dirty and evil for holding the rifle, Madge placed it on the table.
Now, to find the car keys.
Her plan was to use Morrie's car to drive over to Hutto. There she would call the Mansfield police.
But she wanted to wait until they both had woken up.
She wanted to tell Judy what really happened between them. After what he did to her, to both her and Judy, he deserved to pay.
That was what she was most looking forward to. The look on Morrie's face when he realises she is about to spill everything. The look on Judy's face when she finally knows the truth.
The police catching them was merely a coda, an afterthought.
But getting Morrie back for lying to her, for having his way with her all the while knowing that he was a murderer, for stealing her gun, and for cutting the telephone wire and slashing her tyres -- that was what she wanted most. And the way to do that was to tell his wife that he was a cheating, no-good, lying prick.
She headed over to Morrie. First she reached into his two jacket pockets. They were empty.
Then she dug her hands into his front jeans pocket. Again, there were no car keys.
Jesus, where does this guy keep all his things? Does he have a secret compartment where my revolver and his keys are locked away?
Madge placed her hands under his bottom and felt his back pockets. They felt flat and empty. She pulled her hands away quickly.
She sighed, which turned into a long, wide-mouthed yawn.
God I need sleep, she thought.
She was exhausted from all that had happened tonight. And it wasn't over.
She would just have to wait until Morrie regained consciousness to ask about the car keys.
Her bladder felt full, so she headed into the bathroom.
It was working. His plan was working.
In the half-hour since he had started towards the bedside drawer, Simon had managed to move the bed about a third of the way.
By that time frame, he would be at the candles in another hour. He just prayed that the man didn't come back before then.
Simon relaxed his arms -- he needed to rest every five minutes -- and closed his eyes. He could hear nothing but his heavy breathing. And that's when he realised that the storm had passed.
He could hear no rain, no thunder and no lightning. Every so often a gust of wind would blow against the cabin, but that too had died down.
Everything seemed so still and dead. It was too quiet.
He missed the noise of the storm. It was like a companion. He felt like it had gone and left him alone, in the cold cabin, like an old friend leaving to go and live in another country.
It made him think of David, and how he was gone as well.
Simon's arms were extremely sore. His wrists were burning from the pillowcases digging in each time he pulled at the bed.
Now, his arms and wrists hurt more than his knees and feet.
They had dulled to a mild ache; perhaps they were just numb from lack of movement and blood flow.
His buttocks, however, were still painful. Each time he jerked his upper body to shift the bed, his backside would roar with agony and pain would shoot up his back.
So too his chest. The blood had dried a long time ago, but it still stung. Every movement intensified the stinging.
Even with all this pain, Simon would never give up. The need to see his family again, and the need, of course, to stay alive, was too strong in him.
And, eventually, the need for revenge. That was always simmering in the back of his mind.
Opening his eyes, Simon gazed at the cabin door.
With every passing minute the man was closer to coming back. And he had to come back. He had to finish Simon off.
Because Simon knew his face. He would never forget that face.
Having rested for long enough, Simon gathered his strength and began the slow and painful journey to the bedside drawer, and hopefully, freedom.
"We can't get up that. No way." Al let out a long sigh.
"Come on, it's not that high," Wayne said.
"It's high enough."
"Can we drop him?" Eddy asked. "While we talk about what we're gonna do?"
The others nodded.
Eddy hadn't meant to literally drop the body, but both Al and Wayne let go of their ends, and Jeffrey crashed to the damp forest ground. Eddy winced.
He guessed they were both fed up from carrying him. It had taken them an hour to get up to this point, and it had been mostly uphill. There had been a few small boulders and narrow fissures they had to hazard through, but nothing they couldn't manage. Eddy's body was aching all over, particularly his arms and shoulders. So he was a little pissed at the body, as well, even if it wasn't Jeffrey's fault.
Still, dropping him to the ground like that didn't seem right.
"Okay, what now?" Al said, looking back and forth between Eddy and Wayne.
Wayne adjusted the torch headband and gazed up at the massive mound of rocks. Eddy joined his gaze. Al followed.
The cliff of rocks was about three metres high, and spread across the whole breadth of the path. There was no visible way around it -- the mountain fell away on both sides of the path into an abyss of trees and rocks.
"Well, at least the storm has stopped," Eddy commented. "That's something."
Wayne looked upward at the sky, then back down at his watch. "Yeah, that is good. But we don't have too long before sun-up."
"Fuck," Al said, shaking his head. "We can't climb up there with a dead body."
"The rocks are gonna be slippery," Eddy sighed.
"Damn right they are," Wayne added. He walked over to the left side of the mound of rocks.
"What are you doing?" Al called out.
"Just making sure we can't go around this thing," he shouted back.
Eddy and Al watched the large man explore the woods and the rocks.
"I can't believe it's past four o'clock in the morning," Al muttered.
Eddy sniggered. "Way past my bedtime."
"What a night," Al said. "Think we'll make it to Devil's Gorge?"
Eddy shrugged. "Hopefully. But even if we do get past this thing, there will be plenty more obstacles like this one."
Al nodded. "You know, when this is all over, we should take Wayne down to the pub and shout him some drinks. Thank him for all his help."
Eddy glanced over to where the light was bouncing around, and saw that Wayne was now over on the right side, checking for any way around the hill of rocks.
"Good idea," Eddy said. "God knows I need a drink."
"I hear that, buddy," Al chuckled.
Wayne came back. "No good. Sheer drops on both sides."
"Damn," Eddy said.
"We're fucked," Al said.
"Maybe not. The bad news is that the rocks are slippery, but the good news is that we can climb up. The way the rocks are sticking out, they act as a kind of ladder."
"That's the good news?" Al said.
"Could be worse," Wayne said.
"Could be a lot better," Eddy added.
"You think we can climb up there, with a dead body, when the rocks are slippery?" Al said.
"You're looking at this all wrong," Wayne told him. "It's actually not that difficult."
"You reckon?" Eddy chuckled.
"Let me guess...you've done this before?"
Wayne grinned at Al. "No I haven't. But there is a simple way of doing this."
"What is it?" Eddy asked.
"We can't go around it -- that much is clear. So the only way is to climb it."
"No shit," Al huffed. "Therein lies the problem."
Wayne glared at Al. "Can I finish?"
"Sorry," he said.
"Okay, here's my plan. Two people can climb on top of the rocks, while the other one stays down here, with the body. The person down here can lift the body up to the other two, and they can pull it up. Simple."
Al sniggered. "That's your great plan?"
"Have you got a better one?" Wayne spat.
"Hey, it's as good as any," Eddy said. "Only problem is, how can one person lift the entire body by himself? Wouldn't it be better if two people stayed down here?"
Wayne shook his head. "I thought about that, but it takes more energy and manpower to pull something heavy than to lift it."
"He's right," Al said.
"Oh, so now you're on his side?" Eddy said.
"I'm not on his side, it's just that..."
"Will ya both just shut up," Wayne huffed. "There are no sides." He sighed. "You're both acting like a couple of fucking ten-year-olds. Let's concentrate on getting through this, okay?"
Eddy and Al nodded.
"Now, who wants to stay down here?"
"That's obvious," Al said. "You're the strongest. You stay down here while me and Eddy climb up."
Wayne nodded. "That sounds fine. Okay with you?" he asked Eddy.
"Sure. Don't think either of us could lift him all by ourselves."
"So it's settled then." He clapped his hands together. It echoed loudly through the mountain. "Let's get going."
They walked over to the rocks. Eddy and Al stood at the base and looked up.
"Catch me if I fall," Eddy said, looking back at Wayne.
He smiled.
Eddy placed his hands on the cold, wet rocks, then lifted his right leg and settled it into a crack. He glanced over at Al, who was doing the same thing.
"Hang on," Wayne blurted.
Both men flinched and turned around. Wayne was looking over at Eddy.
"Your gun. We don't want it to fall out while you're climbing. It might get lost down the mountain, or bust. It happened to me once. I had the gun jammed down the front of my pants while climbing, and with all the straining, it fell out. I never found it."
Eddy glanced over at Al. He expected him to give some sort of protest. But he just shrugged.
Part of him didn't like the idea of giving the gun to a stranger. But he told himself that Wayne wasn't really a stranger, and that he had helped them out tremendously. He also thought that Wayne was right. There was a chance the gun might fall out.
Besides, why would Wayne want to turn on them? It was not as if they had any money. They weren't up in the mountains searching for gold. And he didn't have to worry about them going to the cops about him. They had stolen a car.
Eddy lifted his jumper and took out the revolver. He gave Wayne a quick smile then handed him the gun.
"You're right," Eddy said. "I would never have thought of it."
Wayne took the gun and nodded. "Good thing I came along."
He then did something that seemed strange to Eddy. He flipped open the chamber and studied it closely. Smiling, he closed it.
Why does he care if there are rounds in it? Eddy wondered.
"Hurry up," Al called to Eddy.
Wayne continued to smile. He looked Eddy in the eyes, and said, "Good thing I came along...because you two are so fucking stupid."
Eddy's stomach dropped and he broke out in a cold sweat. For a second, Eddy agreed with him.
Wayne lifted the revolver and aimed it at Eddy's face. He then glanced over in Al's direction. Eddy turned his head and saw Al shielding his eyes from the beam.
"Get your arse over here," Wayne said flatly.
"Come on, don't fuck around with that thing," Al said.
"Get your arse over here before I blow your friend's head off!" Wayne shouted.
There was a moment while Al seemed to be thinking the situation over. He suddenly gasped. "You're a cop!"
That was obviously very funny to Wayne. He burst out laughing. Shaking his head, Wayne chuckled, "A cop! Me, a fucking policeman." He continued to laugh.
Al lunged at Wayne.
Before he had a chance to fire the gun, Al had knocked him to the ground. The headband torch was sent flying as both men crashed to the damp earth.
Eddy was amazed at the speed and courage of Al. He stood and watched the two men wrestle on the ground. He would never have tried anything like that. He would never have thought Al had it in him, either.
Al had Wayne pinned under him, and was trying desperately to grab the gun from his hand. They grunted and hissed at each other. Al let out a right punch at Wayne's pudgy face. It caught him on his left cheek.
But it didn't seem to bother him. It only angered him. Wayne grabbed Al around the neck with a powerful grip. Al stopped fighting. He began clawing at Wayne's arm. Eddy knew that he should help Al, but he didn't know how. He didn't want to get shot.
Wayne flipped Al over onto the ground. Al landed hard on his back. With saliva spewing from his mouth, and his eyes bulging with anger, Wayne tightened his hold. Eddy saw Al's eyes go wide and his tongue began to loll.
Eddy also noticed that Wayne was still holding the gun.
Spotting a large, thick branch over by the side of the path, Eddy dashed over and picked it up. It felt good and heavy. He hurried back to the brawling men.
Standing to Wayne's back, Eddy lifted the branch high, then swung it down hard at his head.
He must have misjudged the target, because the end of the branch struck Wayne not on the head, but at the top of his broad back.
Nevertheless, Wayne let out a groan and loosened his grip on Al. Slowly, Wayne stood up. He turned around and glared at Eddy.
"You little runt. You'll pay for that."
Eddy glanced down at Al. He was still breathing, but had his eyes closed and was lying still. Eddy looked back up at Wayne. "Why are you doing this?" His voice was shaky. He wanted to help his friend, but he stood still.
From down on the ground, Al coughed weakly.
Wayne whirled around and shot him once in the stomach.
The revolver boomed through the tranquil mountain, and Eddy saw Al's body lurch as the bullet smacked into his mid-section.
Eddy screamed. "You fucking prick!" He fell to his knees. His ears were ringing from the blast.
Wayne turned around. "I never did like that guy," he chuckled. "Always pissing and whining."
Eddy lifted his head and looked over at Al. He wasn't coughing anymore. Nor did it seem he was breathing.
Wayne lifted the gun and aimed it at Eddy's face.
All Eddy could think about was that this was it. This was his last moment on earth. He also wondered if it was going to hurt. He prayed it didn't.
Wayne grinned. "You know, I had always planned to kill you both. But you're a good looking guy, so I'm going to keep you."
Going to keep me? What the fuck does that mean?
"Stand up," Wayne ordered.
Eddy began to cry. It wasn't tears for Al, although he was sad for him. Nor was it tears from being held at gunpoint. Eddy knew that he was crying because he was happy. Happy that he was going to live. But for how long?
Hesitantly, and on weak legs, Eddy stood up. He looked at Wayne. "Who are you?"
Wayne smiled, baring his teeth. "Someone who doesn't like their car being stolen."
Eddy fainted.
8:55 p.m.
The boy went limp and his head fell lifelessly to one side. Wayne loosened his grip.
"Shit," he whined. "Damn, fucking hell."
He let the boy fall to the ground. Wayne stepped back and gazed down at the dead body. He felt hurt, annoyed and angry.
He hadn't meant to kill him. He had only wanted to render the boy unconscious. But he had struggled and fought hard. Wayne had merely placed his hands around the boy's neck to stop him from fighting. And now look what he had done. Killed the boy before he'd had a chance to have his fun with him.
Wayne glanced over his shoulder at the vast darkness. He couldn't see anyone walking through the park. Not that he expected to see many people out at night walking around this park. There had been too much violence.
He had been surprised to find this kid walking through the park. He had been asking for trouble.
Wayne turned back, looked down at the lump by his feet and sighed.
He supposed he could still take the body home. He obtained most of his pleasure from the act of torture and killing them, but posthumous rape and mutilation had its charms.
What does this make? Wayne thought to himself. Eight?
He nodded. Eight seemed about right.
Maybe he would try and find another tonight. One he could take home and keep alive. The notion excited Wayne.
I could make him watch me with this one. That would really scare him. Maybe even make him eat parts of it and do stuff to it!
Grinning enormously, Wayne bent down and took hold of the boy.
Wayne was sweating and felt stuffy from the struggle. Although the night was cool and windy, Wayne felt the need to take off his jacket. He kept it on, however. He wanted to get this body to his car as quickly as possible.
Gripping the boy under his armpits, Wayne started dragging him along the ground.
He was only a skinny kid, so he wasn't overly heavy. As Wayne dragged the dead boy through the dirt and leaves, he smiled and thought about what the papers would say. They would have a field day with a double murder. Not since Jack the Ripper would there be such an infamous case of double murder.
Wayne was going to be forever remembered and be as notorious as Bundy, Saucy Jacky, and Gacy.
The cloudy night was perfect for him. The park, which was usually dark anyway, was now sheathed in blackness. The wind was noisy; it howled through the trees. He couldn't even hear the traffic noise from where he was.
Wayne looked back, to where his car was parked, for any sign of life. He couldn't see anybody. The street was dim, so he would still be under relative cover away from the park.
As he made his way towards the street, his eyes caught the flicker of lights. He stopped and turned around to his right. A car was turning from the road above the park, and into the side street where he was heading.
He mumbled, "Shit," and stood still.
He watched as the car sped down the street, past where Wayne was standing, then vanish into the night.
They hadn't seen him, or else the car would've stopped. Because the car was a cop car.
Wayne breathed a sigh of relief, chuckled nervously, then resumed his business.
Police often prowled around this area. Wayne knew that. With all the violence that had happened here, he was surprised they didn't come by more often. Or put some bright lamps in the park.
Still, this was a good place to pick up victims. It was big, bushy and dark. And despite its reputation, people still wandered through here, alone, and at night. Like this boy.
There was a milk bar situated just outside the park, down at the other end. Cutting through the park was a shortcut. So people often cut through the dark recesses of the park, ignoring all the crime and rape that has happened, just to save about ten minutes. It didn't happen as much now, but it did happen occasionally. And when it did, Wayne was in the shadows, waiting.
Thank God for the milk bar, Wayne thought, smiling.
And thank God for lazy people.
Wayne was now out of the park and shuffling along the footpath. He glanced from side to side, made certain that nobody was around, then pulled the boy up to the rear of his car. He straightened, then dug the keys out of his pocket. He flipped through the assorted keys, found the one for his prized deep red Bluebird, and opened the boot. He shoved the keys back into his trouser pocket, then grabbed the boy around the waist. He thought about it, and decided the best way would be to hold him like he was carrying a new bride.
So he let go and positioned himself around the side of the body, placed his hands under the back, then lifted him up with a sustained groan.
Cradling the boy in his arms, Wayne turned towards the boot, and lowered the boy into the dark compartment.
Making sure the body was all the way inside, so that no legs or arms were sticking out that would be squashed or amputated, he slammed the lid, then wiped his grimy hands on the front of his pants.
He frowned. Something was missing. His pants were too flat and light.
His wallet.
It must've fallen out during the struggle.
"Damn," he muttered.
He patted the back of his pants and the pockets of his jacket just to make sure it wasn't in any of those. His wallet was definitely gone.
What about my knife? Wayne now wondered.
He leaned down and patted his right ankle. He sighed with relief.
The knife hadn't fallen out. He could feel the small bulge of the sheathed knife tied around his ankle. Wayne straightened. Now to find his wallet.
Maybe I left it in the car, he thought, although he always carried it with him, so that was doubtful.
He hurried around to the driver's side, opened the door and hopped in. He left the door ajar so the light would stay on.
He checked the glove box, under the seats, but it was nowhere. He even went around to the back and looked on the floor, but it hadn't fallen down there by accident. Wayne hopped back out, slammed the door, and then rushed back into the park. It had to be in there, lying on the ground, somewhere.
As Wayne ran back into the park, darkness encased him. He hadn't realised how light the night was compared with the blackness in here, so he stopped and waited for his eyes to adjust.
When he could see dim shadows of the trees and bushes, he began jogging over to where he had struggled with the boy.
He soon stopped.
Where had he struggled with the boy?
He thought he had known exactly where it had taken place, but in the darkness, every tree and bush looked the same.
The winds whipped at his hair and wailed in his ears as he scanned the area.
Was it over there? he asked himself.
Wayne looked back to the street, and tried to remember the path he had taken from where the boy had fallen, to his car.
Was it a straight path, or did I have to drag him to either the left or right?
Wayne shook his head and grinned as he realised that he hadn't paid any attention to that. He had been too busy getting the body to the car without being seen.
Wayne turned back and scratched his head.
"Just great," he murmured.
Wayne had to find his wallet. Not only did it contain one hundred dollars, but it also held all his identification. From picking up his wallet, a person could determine his address, phone number, a picture of what he looked like, his car registration, what type of car he drove -- everything the cops would need to find and arrest him.
He was quite sure that the place was deeper in, so Wayne walked quickly for about five metres, then stopped.
The wallet had to be around here. Either a few metres to the left, a few metres to the right, or a few metres in front. In that general radius, anyway.
He looked down at the ground, and began walking slowly to his left. If only he had some moonlight, or they had put lamps up, or he had a torch...
Wayne stopped, closed his eyes and laughed.
"You're a fucking winner, Wayne," he chuckled.
He shook his head.
He had forgotten about his customised headband torch that he had made just last week.
After countless months of prowling dark parks and streets, Wayne had begun to get tired of not being able to see his victims. Sometimes they would momentarily escape from his clutches, and he would have to run after them. Sometimes it took a long time to locate them again. He always found the ones who escaped, but there were times when he had worried that he never would.
And then there was that time a couple of weeks ago.
He was walking around this very park, looking for a victim, when he saw a dark shape hurrying through the park.
He had gone up to the shape, and asked the person politely to stop, as he always did.
When the person turned around, he saw that it was a man, a tall and well-built man, but he smelled incredible, and was wearing a long, ratty coat.
He had already decided that he didn't want to bother with this guy, so he turned around to leave, when suddenly the guy grabbed him on the shoulder and whirled him back around.
Wayne had been too stunned to speak or run.
With stale, fetid breath, the man spoke. "You look at me and see a dirty bum. Don't you? Well, let me tell you something...I've done things you wouldn't believe. Things that would make you sick to your stomach."
Wayne had apparently chuckled after the man had said that. Because the bum grabbed him by the front of his jacket and brought Wayne close to his rank face.
Wayne had been amazed, and a little scared, by the man's strength.
"You laugh at me? Well let me tell you this. I made him pay, you know. For what he did to my dear Louise." The bum sniggered. "You want to know, don't you? You see me and think I'm a no-good bum. A lazy, weak man. Well, would a lazy man cut off the bastard's dick and make him eat it? Cut off his hand? Chop his fucking head off with one blow?"
Wayne had managed to get one quick, sudden punch to the bum's stomach. The moment he loosened his grip, Wayne had sprinted away, through the park, all the way back to his car.
Thinking about that man now, Wayne felt chills crawl up his spine. He hoped that he wasn't lurking around the park tonight. Wayne wondered who the hell he was.
Probably just some crazy bum, he thought.
So as a result, Wayne had decided to bring along a torch during his night-time attacks.
There was one problem. He would only have one free hand to grab or strangle the person. The other would be holding the torch. He wanted to have both hands free.
Then the idea struck him.
He had spent numerous days and nights working on all sorts of plans and models for his hands-free torch.
Eventually, he came upon the idea of fixing a small, box-shaped torch onto a band of wire. He cut the wire to fit perfectly around his head, then welded it into a circle. Presto! It was simple, but effective.
He had only used it once, so he hadn't gotten into the habit of using it.
He had forgotten to put in on before tonight's attack.
But now he remembered. Lying somewhere in the back of his car.
Wayne began forward, and stepped on something soft. He reached down, felt around his feet and found his wallet.
Wayne laughed as he picked it up.
"How about that," he said. He straightened back up and slipped it into a front pocket. He made his way towards the street.
As he walked out of the park, Wayne thought about numerous things: how stupid he was to have forgotten the torch, about the crazy bum, and lastly, as he came onto the pavement, that his car wasn't there anymore.
Wayne rushed over to the footpath and glanced both ways down the street.
"Where the fuck is my car?" he snivelled.
The space where he had parked his Bluebird was empty.
Wayne punched the air. "No way!" he spat. "I don't fucking believe this! Out of all the cars..."
Then again, had he locked it? Probably not. No, certainly not.
He glanced back at the empty space, just to make sure that his eyes weren't playing tricks, but his car, along with his body, was gone.
Suddenly the humour of the situation dawned on him. Whoever had stolen his car had unwittingly procured a dead body.
Still, that didn't make up for the fact that he had just lost his precious car. If it wasn't found, he doubted that he could afford another one.
Wayne let out a long sigh. "Fucking hoodlums. Got no respect for other people's things."
Feeling angry, frustrated, and slightly amused, Wayne sauntered down the footpath and headed for the road up ahead.
Walking up the street, thinking more and more about the situation, Wayne began to feel nervous.
He figured whoever had stolen his car was bound to dump it, whether or not they discovered the dead body in the boot. And when the police search it, when they find the body and trace the car back to Wayne, he was going to have a lot of explaining to do.
Maybe he should ring up the cops and report it stolen. Then when the police find it, they won't bother checking it out, they will automatically ring Wayne. And if they do happen to check in the boot, he could just say that the body must belong to whoever stole the car.
Would that work? Wayne thought.
But did he really want to call the cops? He loathed the thought of calling and speaking to them.
As he came up to the road, Wayne was feeling downright furious. All his plans had gone to shit. His whole life could come crumbling down, all because some low-life screw head had decided to steal his car.
If I ever get my hands on the person...
Probably more than one, Wayne thought. Probably a bunch of drunken losers with nothing better to do with their lives.
A grin began to creep across his face as he pictured what horrible things he could do to them.
Wayne turned left and walked down the footpath.
This road was busier and well lighted. Homes ran along the opposite side of the street -- nice, country style houses.
The expansive park was on his left, and it kept on going for another hundred metres or so, before more houses started up.
Wayne hung his head as he wandered aimlessly along. He felt dejected. What was he to do now? Home was a twenty-minute walk -- at least. More like half an hour at the pace he was walking.
He didn't want to go home with nothing. The urge in him was too strong. He could feel his heart pounding just thinking about it.
If he walked home now, without a decent catch, he would certainly go crazy.
But how do I carry the body home without a car? he wondered.
He could try enticing them home with the promise of sex, money and booze. That often worked.
But he really didn't know if he could act calm and normal enough to pull it off. Not with everything that had happened tonight. He was too on edge.
The park ended and the houses began. He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets and sauntered along the pavement.
Up ahead, he saw a person at their car. He couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, but judging by their outfit -- white jumper and pants -- Wayne figured it was a man; a man dressed like he was just about to bat for Australia against the West Indies.
The idea hadn't occurred to Wayne until the moment he saw the man, but he now knew what his plan was.
It seems only fair, Wayne thought. I have my car stolen, so I get to take someone else's.
The man had his back to Wayne, head down, one hand in his pocket.
As he neared, Wayne noticed that the man was also wearing a headband around his dark shaggy hair, and there was a cricket bat perched on the roof of his car -- a red Saab 900.
As Wayne crept ever so quietly up to the man, he had a quick glance around to see if anybody was watching. There wasn't, so Wayne sneaked up behind the man, and in one fast, yet powerful movement, grabbed his head and slammed it into the side of the car.
The man didn't even have a chance to gasp.
His head hit just above the front passenger window, made a metallic thump, then bounced off the car like a damp football.
Wayne let go his grip and watched the man crash to the pavement, a set of keys falling from his hand and onto the ground.
Wayne stared down at the man's face and frowned. His hair had come half off and his long bushy moustache was lying almost vertical across his face.
Wayne crouched and studied the man more closely.
"Ah ha," he muttered.
He pulled at the moustache. It came off easily and with a quiet tear.
He guessed that the man was also wearing a wig.
He was right.
He pulled the black wig off his head, and as he did, the headband popped off. Underneath, the man had short blond hair. Still crouching, and holding the wig and over-sized fake moustache in his right hand, Wayne grabbed the keys from off the ground.
Wayne noticed, as he stood back up, that the man was still breathing.
Taking into account the moustache, wig, headband and cricket bat, and the fact that it was past nine o'clock at night, it seemed this guy was going to a Halloween party. And Wayne wasn't positive, but it looked as though he was supposed to be Dennis Lillee.
The man looked to be around forty -- much too old for Wayne's liking -- so Wayne left the man slumped on the footpath and, once he found the key for the Saab, hurried around to the driver's side. He opened the door and threw the wig and moustache onto the passenger seat -- they might come in handy. As could the bat, so he grabbed it from off the roof, hopped into the driver's seat, and placed the bat down the side of the seat.
He started the engine. The Saab turned over with a noisy grumble, then settled down to a low hum. He flicked on the headlights. Before he sped off, Wayne looked over at the man sprawled on the cold concrete, saw that he was still out of it, then jammed his foot on the accelerator and roared off into the night.
That had been so much easier than Wayne had anticipated. He felt a surge of adrenaline. It didn't compare to having somebody at his mercy, playing with their life, torturing and ultimately killing them. But he still felt a small amount of adulation for himself.
He guessed most of his happiness came from the fact that he now had a car. He could roam the streets for a victim he so desperately needed. He would drive around all night if he had to, looking out for that perfect one.
Despite having his car stolen, Wayne found himself in a good and reckless mood. He felt daring and ready for anything.
He eased his foot down on the accelerator pedal, and felt the pull of the car as it sped up.
9:23 p.m.
Wayne was cruising around the outskirts of Lilydale. He hadn't bothered to stay in Mt. Evelyn, for worry of the cops looking for the Saab and the man's attacker.
Not that he cared. He often went searching for victims around this area. He had found his second and fourth victims in Lilydale. One he met in a pub, and had willingly, without question or hesitation, gone home with Wayne.
The other, the second, if he remembered correctly, had been wandering around a back-road, not too far from where Wayne was now. Wayne had stopped, struck up a conversation with him, and the man had hopped smiling into his Bluebird. He had taken that one out along the Maroondah Highway first, and let him loose through the dense forest.
Sometimes Wayne would take the captive out in the mountains. He loved to play hunting games through the wilderness. He had done that three times -- had always found them again -- and afterwards taken them home to continue with the fun. In one instance Wayne had raped and tortured, and finally killed, the person out in the mountains. No reason, just felt like it. They still hadn't found his body.
Wayne turned the car right, and started down an even darker road. He liked the feel of the Saab. It was smooth and had a bit of power to it. Although he still missed his Bluebird.
Just ahead, on the right, was a house. It was the first one he had seen so far down this road. As he drove past it, he glanced over and saw that its lights were on.
Who the hell would want to live out here? he wondered.
Wayne doubted that he would find anybody here.
He was tempted to turn the car around and head to another area, but decided to keep going. He guessed this street must lead to somewhere.
He glanced down at the clock. He was surprised at how early it was. It felt much later.
Down the road, just out of range from the beam of the headlights, Wayne noticed a dim shape. It appeared to be moving.
As the car gained on the shape, and the lights crept over the mysterious figure, Wayne saw that it was indeed a human.
He giggled with excitement. He prayed that it was a male.
Now within five or so metres of the person, Wayne saw that they seemed to be stumbling, as if drunk. Now they were in the middle of the road and waving their hands about. Wayne's heart fluttered when he saw that it was a male.
And he looked young.
Wayne was almost too overcome with joy.
He slowed down the car and pulled over to the side of the road. He tried hard to wipe the smirk off his face. As the boy hurried up to the car, Wayne wound down the window. The boy didn't look drunk; he looked exhausted and upset. Wayne put on his most concerned face. The boy rushed up to the open window
"Please help me," the boy whined.
"What happened?" Wayne asked.
"Can I get in? Please?"
Wayne nodded. As the boy hurried around to the passenger side, Wayne grabbed the wig and moustache and threw them to the backseat.
The boy flung open the door and jumped in.
Wayne turned and looked at the boy. He looked about eighteen or nineteen; had a handsome, almost babyish face, and was wearing a dark suit.
The boy's face, however, was pale and sweating. Wayne could smell the faint odour of vomit.
He kind of guessed something bad had happened to him, but asked, anyway, "Is this some sort of Halloween joke?" just for amusement. He couldn't help but grin.
The boy didn't seem to notice the smile, though.
"No!" he cried. "My friend is...is dead. He was shot."
Wayne was genuinely surprised. His mouth gaped open and he drew in a quick breath. "Shot? Where?"
Wayne began to wonder if this actually was a Halloween prank. The boy did look distraught, though.
Maybe he's a good actor, Wayne thought.
The boy pointed down the road. "About five minutes that way. We were there for a party, but it was...was the wrong house. Guy was c...cra..." He began to sob.
Wayne snaked his hand down the side of the seat and wrapped it around the cricket bat.
"Okay," Wayne said. "I'll get you to the police. What's your name?"
"Simon," the boy said between sobs.
"Okay Simon. Everything's going to be all right. My name is Wayne."
Wayne tightened his grip on the bat.
You're going to be number nine, he thought.
As the boy rested his head back and closed his eyes, Wayne brought the cricket bat up.
"Thank you," the boy said.
Wayne grinned. He drew the bat back, then crashed it against the boy's head. There was a dull thud, then he slumped to the side.
Wayne placed the bat down, then leaned over and checked the boy's pulse. "Good," he muttered.
He grabbed hold of the boy and sat him up straight. He then took the seat belt and fastened it around him, locking it into place.
Sitting back in his seat, Wayne wound up the window.
He rubbed his hands together, and with an evil grin, said, "Okay. What am I going to do with you?"
He had two options: either drive back to his house, or go out along the Maroondah Highway, and into the mountains.
The way he was feeling -- daring, excited and reckless -- going back home just seemed too boring and normal. No, tonight was definitely an outdoor night. He might not even take this one home.
Wayne stepped on the accelerator and started down the road.
11:08 p.m.
Wayne smiled when he spotted the wooden sign.
It was still here.
He turned the car left and proceeded down the dirt road.
It had been a while since his last visit to this motel. A few years ago, maybe even longer. What was the name of that guy?
He shook his head. It was so long ago -- he couldn't think of it.
Travelling up the road, Wayne thought it was amazing that this place was still running.
When he had stayed the place had been deserted. If he remembered, only one other customer had arrived that night.
How does she keep in business? he thought.
Still, Wayne hoped nothing had changed.
Driving through the winding highway, waiting for the boy to regain consciousness, Wayne had started thinking about places to take him.
Usually he took his victims to desolate, out of the way locations, high in the mountains. But they had been conscious when he did, so he could chase them through the forest. This boy was still out of it. He would be no use until he woke up.
Wayne thought about finding one of his spots and waiting for the boy to come to. But he didn't know how long that would be. He might not wake up for hours.
Besides, the weather was especially cold and windy out there -- even more so up in the mountains.
The other times Wayne had brought his victims out here the nights had been relatively warm.
And the forecast was for rain, perhaps a storm. He had learned that from the Saab's radio. If he had known about the weather earlier, he might've gone straight home.
But home was over an hour back, and Wayne didn't feel like going there. He wanted something different, challenging.
And that's when he remembered about the motel.
He knew it used to be along the highway, about an hour out of Healesville. It was an old, lonely motel, situated up in the mountains. It was run by an old lady, and going by the night he stayed there, didn't get a lot of customers.
It would be perfect for him. He would have all the comforts of home, but still be up in the mountains. He would be out of the storm and wouldn't have to worry about too many people. Yet it would still be a risk, a challenge. He hadn't done anything like it.
So he decided to drive on out and see if it was still there. Fortunately for him it was.
Now, as he drove up the road leading to the motel, he looked over at the boy. He was still unconscious. His head was drooping to the left. If anyone were to look in, they would assume he was sleeping.
He decided that if anyone were to ask, they were father and son. He was taking him on a weekend trip through Victoria, and he was very tired.
Finally Wayne came upon the motel. It was just as he remembered it.
The same five cabins and one office. Dense forest all around. And not many customers.
There was only one car parked outside a cabin -- a white Ford.
Perfect, Wayne thought, grinning.
He killed the headlights and pulled up to the office. He shut off the engine.
He wondered what to do about the boy. He decided to leave him. If he happened to wake up while he was in the office, Wayne would just have to deal with the other people. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, however.
Wayne was about to hop out, when a thought came to him. As much as he liked the risk involved in performing his acts at a motel, he didn't want to be caught. There weren't many people around, but all it took was one phone call to the cops, and he'd be finished.
An idea struck him. A plan formed in his mind.
He reached around and grabbed the wig and moustache off the back seat. He sat back and placed the black wig on. He looked at himself in the rear-view mirror. The wig covered his short hair nicely. It actually suited him and didn't look too fake. He found two small clips -- one near the front and one near the back -- and fastened the wig to his own hair. Next he stuck on the moustache. The glue held tight, and he fiddled around with it until it was even. He studied himself in the mirror one last time, to make certain that it was all in place, then hopped out of the car.
The bitter winds stung his face. The smell of pine wafted through the night air. The wig and moustache fluttered around, but didn't come off.
Now, to find the telephone wire.
He gazed up at the grey sky and saw the long wire. It ran from the side of the office all the way through the tall trees, back to the telephone pole by the side of the highway.
He had a quick glance around, then headed to the side of the office. There he reached down and plucked the knife from the sheath around his ankle. He straightened. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he saw that the wire ran along the side of the office until it eventually bore into the roof.
Wayne stepped up to the wall and reached high, extending his arm to the telephone wire. He slipped the blade under the wire, then started sawing. He soon cut through.
He stood back down and lowered his arm.
He couldn't be too careful. All it took was one phone call...
He turned around, and was about to head for the office door, when he spotted a jeep over in the distance. He guessed it belonged to the old lady -- or whoever was running this place now.
Wayne jogged over to it.
Might as well, he thought. Can't be too careful.
With the knife, he slashed all four tyres. By the time he had finished, he had built up quite a sweat. But the frigid winds soon cooled him down.
The wig was making his scalp itch. He ached to scratch his head, but feared messing the look of the wig. So he left it.
Tucking the knife back, Wayne walked over to the Saab. He peered in. The boy was still slumped to the side.
Wayne grinned. He took a deep breath then wandered over to the office door. He stepped inside, grateful for the warmth, but saw that nobody was around. He stepped up to the counter.
As far as he could remember, the office hadn't changed since he was last here.
There was a bell sitting on the desk, with a little note beside it that read: ring bell if desk is unattended.
So Wayne slammed the palm of his hand on the small bell. It jangled loudly.
Soon an old lady came shuffling out from behind the curtain. Wayne smiled as she approached. It was the same lady. He recognised her instantly. He just hoped that she didn't recognise him.
"Good evening," Wayne said.
"How are you?" she replied.
4:16 a.m.
Eddy moaned and slowly opened his eyes.
It was still dark, but no rain pelted down on his face. Then he remembered that it had stopped raining a while back.
Did I faint? he wondered.
He couldn't recall.
He sat up too quickly. Bright flashes flickered before his eyes and his head spun. He waited until it passed, then, still sitting, looked around.
His eyes immediately fell upon the dim figure of Al. The sight pummelled him hard in the stomach.
"Oh God," he whimpered.
He could barely comprehend that Al was dead. It didn't seem right -- or real.
Then he remembered. Wayne!
Scared, Eddy scanned the dark mountain. There was no sign of him. More specifically, there was no sign of the torchlight.
Where the hell is he? Eddy wondered.
He attempted to stand.
Although his legs felt weak and shaky, and his head a little swimmy, he managed to remain on his feet.
Then, like one of the lightning flashes, everything came back to him -- what had happened and why he had fainted.
Now he even remembered his head spinning and the world going black. Yes, he had definitely fainted.
He heard Wayne talking -- Someone who doesn't like their car being stolen.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered.
"Sorry, it's only Wayne."
Eddy jumped. He turned around and saw Wayne come strolling out of the forest. The torch was back on his head and the light beamed through the darkness.
"Thought I had left, huh?"
His heart thumping, Eddy watched as Wayne walked around to where the two bodies lay.
"Only went into the woods for a piss. Sorry." He chuckled. "I still need my privacy. You understand."
Eddy could just make out the vague shape of the revolver. He wanted to speak, but his mouth was dry.
"Just in case you're wondering, you fainted, "Wayne said. "You were only out for a couple of minutes."
Eddy managed to swallow. He licked his arid lips. "I know," he said. "You fucking prick."
Wayne laughed and shook his head. "You're mighty brave calling me names." He waved the revolver.
"Why did you have to kill him?"
Wayne walked closer. "He was an annoying, ugly person. I had no use for him."
"You're a million times more ugly and annoying," was all Eddy could say.
Wayne grinned. "You have no idea," he said coldly.
"I have some," Eddy said. He could feel his body shivering.
"Come on, I wanna get going." He motioned for Eddy to start walking down the hiking path.
"What about Al?"
"Fuck him. We're just going to leave him here."
"What about the other body...your body?"
He saw Wayne grin. "So you know?"
"I sort of caught on when you said about your car being stolen."
Wayne nodded. "You've got me. Now move." He aimed the gun at Eddy.
"Are we going back to the motel?" Eddy asked, a wavering in his voice.
"You ask a lot of questions, don't you?" Wayne scratched his head. "Yes. We're going back to the motel. Now are you going to move your arse? Or am I going to have to leave you here, beside your buddy?"
Eddy started off. He glanced over at Al as he stumbled past and felt sad and angry. By the closeness of the torchlight, Wayne wasn't very far behind. With the gun aimed at his back, no doubt.
Eddy didn't like the idea of going back to the motel. After all, Wayne wouldn't risk taking him back to a place that had people unless he had things all planned out. The path sloped down and Eddy had trouble maintaining his balance. He felt the need to run down, but knew his legs, or Wayne, wouldn't allow it.
"Why did you kill that kid?" Eddy called back, once the track had levelled out.
"Why did you steal my car?" Wayne replied.
"Is that what this is all about? Revenge for stealing your car?"
"Mostly," Wayne said.
"So you never intended to help throw the body off the gorge?"
"I couldn't have cared less. I liked the idea of leaving him up in the mountains, so he wouldn't be found for days, but other than that I came with you guys purely for revenge."
"So you knew we had a gun?" Eddy said.
"No," Wayne chuckled. "I didn't expect that. So I had to change my plan a little."
"What was your original plan?" Eddy asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
"Do I have to tell you everything?" Wayne snapped.
Eddy remained quiet. The last thing he wanted to do was to piss Wayne off.
They walked down the mountain in silence for about five minutes before Wayne said, "I was going to cut you both with my knife. But when I saw you had a gun, well, I quickly decided to wait for the opportunity to get it off you." Wayne huffed. "Boy, I was really beginning to get worried that I wouldn't get my chance. Thank God for that cliff. Now I have you where I want you."
Eddy felt his bowels tighten. He knew if Al were still alive, he would say something like, Out of all the cars we could steal, we had to steal one that belonged to a lunatic.
Eddy stopped suddenly.
He expected Wayne to crash into him, but it never happened.
"Why did you stop?" Wayne said.
Eddy couldn't quite believe it. But it all made sense. He turned around and faced the torchlight.
"Oh my God," he muttered.
"What?"
"You're the killer, aren't you? The one who has killed all those men?"
Wayne was silent for a bit, then finally spoke. "That's right."
Eddy thought for a moment that he might throw up. Here he was, face to face with a real life multiple murderer. "What are you gonna do with me?" He had a hard time asking that question.
"I'm not going to kill you, if that's what you think. After all, why would you tell the police about me...you are also a criminal, you stole my car, remember?"
Eddy couldn't speak.
"Besides, you've got no evidence. I'll just say that you must have planted the body in the boot."
Eddy was too stunned to think straight. He didn't know whether or not to believe him.
"Get a move on," Wayne said. He nudged him with the barrel of the revolver.
Eddy turned around and continued walking.
He had to escape. He had to get away from this madman. But he thought that maybe he'd better wait until they were back at the motel. Where there were more people around and he didn't have a gun aimed at his back.
Eddy was genuinely scared.
Stealing that car had been the biggest mistake of his life.
Morrie's eyes fluttered open. He had to squint due to the bright light. His head, particularly his left side, ached enormously.
Through the narrow slits of his eyes, he looked around the cabin. He saw Madge sitting at the round table near the door.
"About time," she said softly.
Madge stood up and wandered over to the bed.
Morrie tried to pull his hands down but realised that he was tied up. "Come on," he whispered hoarsely. "Untie me. Please?"
She shook her head. "No way."
He also noticed that his legs were tied. She had done a good, thorough job. She didn't want him to get loose.
Morrie opened his eyes a little wider. He turned and looked at Judy, who was tied up next to him. She appeared to be still knocked out.
"I can explain." He winced. Talking made his head split with pain.
"Where are your car keys?" Madge said.
"What?"
"Your car keys, Morrie. I want them."
Morrie closed his eyes. He felt nauseous from the pain. "I don't know," he mumbled. "In my pocket?"
"No," Madge said. "I've checked every one of your pockets."
He opened his eyes and stared up at her. "Come on Madge. What we did together. What we shared, doesn't that mean anything?" His head pounded with an ache twice as painful as any migraine.
Madge laughed. "You just don't understand." Her voice sounded slightly teary, like she was trying to hold back from crying. "You murdered a young boy, Morrie. And you betrayed me and used me."
"NO I..." he began, but had to stop. The pain that ripped through his skull was too intense. He tried again, this time talking softer. "No I didn't. It really did mean something. I'm sorry, I should've told you the truth. Can I please explain...?"
"Be quiet," she growled.
Morrie's eyes wandered past Madge. He drew in a deep breath. He saw what was lying on the table.
Madge turned and looked at what he was staring at. She chuckled.
"Yeah, I found your rifle. Don't worry, I'm not going to use it."
From his right, Judy moaned.
Morrie turned his head and saw her slowly open her eyes.
"W...what happened?" she muttered.
When she realised that she was bound to the bed, she began sobbing.
"Where are your keys?" Madge asked again.
"Morrie! What's going on?"
Judy's cries pounded at his head. He was surprised that she was able to yell.
"Untie me," Judy sobbed. "Please, why are you doing this?"
Morrie could tell by the sound of her voice that her mouth had swollen up.
"Ssshh," Morrie said, turning his head to face her. "It's going to be all right, Judy."
"Bullshit," she snivelled. "Let me up!" She tugged at the rope.
Madge took a deep breath. "Just tell me where your keys are."
"Why should I tell you?" Morrie said.
"Because."
"Don't tell her," Judy said. "She'll go to the police."
"Will you?" Morrie asked.
"Maybe."
"I'll tell you," he said. "If you untie us."
Madge shook her head. "Nice try. But if you don't tell me, I'll be forced to make you speak." She turned and looked at the baseball bat, which was next to the rifle.
"Okay," Morrie sighed. "They're outside by the car. I dropped them when you startled me."
Madge turned around and hurried to the door. Without putting on her jacket, she rushed outside, closing the door as she went.
"We've got to get out of here," Judy said.
"I know," Morrie said. "Listen, don't mention anything about the boy, okay?"
"I wasn't going to."
"I know. But I'm just telling you. If she finds out, she'll try and rescue him. And also, it'll look really bad on us. She'll guess that we were trying to kill him. That would make her even angrier."
"Morrie, what if we go to jail?" Judy said, looking over at him. Her eyes were watery.
"We won't. We'll get out...somehow."
"But she'll have our car."
Morrie hadn't thought about that. He sighed.
"You shouldn't have told her where the keys were," Judy said.
"What, and have her kill us?"
"She wouldn't have killed us," Judy moaned. "She was just bluffing."
"Well it's too late now."
The cabin door opened. Madge held the keys in her hand. "Found them," she said.
"Wonderful," Judy murmured.
"Now, before I leave, there are a few things I want to say. And also a few things I want to ask."
"Well we don't want to hear them," Judy told her. "Just fuck off."
Madge looked hard at Judy. Then she turned her eyes back to Morrie. "Where is my gun?" she said.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Morrie said. "I didn't take your gun."
"Nonsense. You were the only one in my residence. It was there yesterday morning. I remember seeing it when I put my clothes away. Now, it's gone."
He sighed. "I told you the truth about the keys, didn't I? So why would I lie about this? Besides, we have our own gun."
Morrie could tell she was thinking it over. She looked at the ground while she thought. Soon, she looked back at Morrie.
"Okay then. I've got another question. Why did you cut my phone wire and slash my tyres?"
"You're crazy," Judy said.
"I don't know anything about that," Morrie told her.
"Liar!" Madge roared. "Somebody deliberately cut the outside phone cord and slashed the tyres of my Jeep. I know it was you."
"Well it wasn't," Morrie said bitterly. "Which means you have an even bigger problem. Somebody else here did those things. Somebody else is here that has something to hide."
Madge glared at him. "You lied to me once before. Why should I be surprised that you are lying again?" She shook her head. "You're a despicable person."
"He didn't cut your fucking wires," Judy snapped. "Or slash your stupid tyres."
Morrie winced. He didn't like Judy yelling and swearing at Madge. The only way to get out of this was to try and calm Madge down. Talk pleasantly to her and maybe she would reconsider going to the police.
"Please, Madge. Don't go to the cops. I didn't mean to shoot that boy. I thought he was going for a gun, you see. It was dark, they were dressed like gangsters. We were so scared..."
"Morrie." Madge shook her head, slowly. Tears fell down her cheeks. "I don't want to hear your excuses. I'm going to the police." Her body shook gently from the crying. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry, Judy. But Morrie is a lying, no-good cheating bastard."
Morrie felt a hot flush sweep over his body. "Madge," he growled.
"What are you talking about?" Judy asked, a hint of fear in her voice.
Madge looked down at Morrie. He shook his head and mouthed the word, no.
She sneered at him, then turned and looked at Judy.
She wouldn't do that to me. Not Madge.
But she did.
"We had sex," Madge said. "Earlier, when he came over to pay the bill."
Judy remained silent.
"It's the truth," Madge said.
"SHE'S..." Morrie huffed in pain. "She's lying, Judy. Don't believe her. Would you trust a woman who has just tied you up and beaten you with a baseball bat?" He stopped to catch his breath. "Or would you believe your husband?"
Judy began crying.
"Come on, Hon, you think I would do that?" He attempted a laugh. It came out strained and airy. "You think I would have sex with a woman as old as her?"
Madge's eyes widened with anger.
She grabbed the baseball bat off the table and slammed it down on Morrie's knees. He let out a high-pitched wail. He screamed and thrashed around as much as the restraints would allow.
"You bitch!" Judy cried.
"OOWW," Morrie roared.
He was no doctor, but it felt like his right kneecap was broken.
"TOO OLD AM I!" Madge bellowed. "YOU DIDN'T THINK SO WHEN YOU LICKED MY PUSSY!"
Morrie was in too much pain to even notice what Madge had screamed. His legs had gone numb and he felt light in his head.
He opened his eyes and stared up at Madge.
She turned away and looked at Judy. "I'm telling the truth," she said. "Didn't you think he took a long time paying the bill?"
"He...wouldn't," Judy sobbed. "Not Morrie."
Morrie turned to his wife. He saw the look in her eyes. She knew Madge was telling the truth.
He had really fucked everything up.
Madge smiled. There was nothing else she wanted to say. Morrie had paid for what he had done.
"You...bitch," Morrie hissed. He was glaring up at her. His face was red and dripping with sweat. "You'll pay...for this."
"Fuck you," Judy said. "How could you do that to me?"
"I'm sorry," he said pitifully. "It just...happened."
"I hate you," Judy wept.
Madge wandered over to the table and picked up her jacket.
"Where are you going?" Morrie breathed. "I need a doctor."
Madge turned around. "I'll tell the police to call for an ambulance."
"Don't," Judy pleaded. "Please."
Although Madge knew what she had done, she couldn't help but feel sorry for Judy. She didn't particularly want to send her to jail, but she had no other choice.
"I'm sorry, Judy. I have to go."
"NO!" Judy screamed.
Madge slipped on her jacket and did up the zipper. With Morrie's car keys clutched in her slippery hand, she headed for the door.
The rifle!
She stopped and turned around.
What if they managed to get loose while she was gone? What if, when she returned with the police, they were met with a barrage of gunfire?
She gazed over at Morrie and Judy. Both had their eyes closed. Morrie because of the pain, Judy also because of the pain -- albeit a different sort.
Morrie probably couldn't even stand with his knees, but Judy was another matter.
Unfortunately, she had to take the gun. She couldn't take the risk.
But that was the gun they used to kill an innocent boy. She felt dirty touching it. She especially didn't want it in the car with her.
What to do? she wondered.
"You still here?" Morrie grumbled, opening his eyes. "What are you doing? Wondering whether or not to shoot us?"
"Be quiet," Madge told him.
"Yeah, shut the fuck up," Judy said.
Just take the ammunition.
Thinking of that, Madge felt relieved. All she had to do was take the boxes of cartridges and the magazine. Then it didn't matter if she left the actual rifle behind. She had searched their luggage and around the room, so she knew they didn't have any more ammunition.
And this way, she didn't have the evil gun in her company.
Madge hurried over to the table and started collecting all the pieces of ammunition.
The trip back down the mountain didn't take them too long. Without a body to carry, plus they had a mostly downhill trek, they managed to make it back to the motel in about twenty minutes.
With Eddy still in front, they came out of the woods and found themselves at the back of Eddy and Al's cabin.
"Over to the car," Wayne told him.
They hadn't talked much since leaving the two bodies. All Eddy could think about was how and when to escape.
He still felt a touch light-headed, but his legs had held out on the trip down. Wayne hadn't spoken much, except for the occasional, "Hurry up," and "Get a move on."
Eddy walked over to Wayne's Bluebird. The torch still beamed from behind.
He stopped when he reached the driver's side.
"Go around to the boot. Inside you'll find a coil of rope."
Eddy's heart pounded fast. His mouth went dry.
"Are you deaf? Move!"
A rope. Eddy now knew what Wayne had in mind. He was scared.
Wayne poked the barrel of the gun into Eddy's back. He huffed and was pushed forward slightly.
With his hands jittering, Eddy staggered around to the rear of the car.
Standing by the boot, Wayne reached into his trousers and pulled out a set of keys. He slipped one of them into the keyhole, unlocked the boot, then pulled out the key. "Open it," he ordered.
Eddy grabbed hold of the bottom and lifted the lid up. He almost expected to see a dead body lying in there.
"Don't worry," Wayne said, as if he was reading Eddy's mind. "There's no body in there this time. See the rope? Take it out."
Eddy reached into the dark boot. He held his breath, even though the boot didn't smell, and quickly grabbed the thick coil of rope. He straightened back up and let out his breath.
Wayne held out his hand. "Give it to me."
Eddy threw the large coil to the muddy ground. He never once looked Wayne in the eyes.
"Watch it," Wayne said. "You may be good looking, but that doesn't mean I won't shoot you. Pick it up," he ordered.
Eddy remained still. He couldn't move.
"Pick...it...up," Wayne seethed.
"I can't," Eddy said softly.
Wayne laughed. "Oh yes you can." He aimed the gun at Eddy's face. "And you will."
For some silly reason, picking up that rope seemed the ultimate act of defeat. If he picked up the rope, that meant he had given up and Wayne had won.
He knew it was ludicrous, but he just couldn't reach down and pick it up.
Almost in tears, Eddy shook his head.
Wayne thumbed back the hammer. "You are a fucking idiot. Pick up the damn rope, boy."
"Pick it up yourself," Eddy grumbled. He spoke quietly, yet loud enough for Wayne to hear.
Wayne slowly released the hammer. Still with the gun pointed at Eddy's face, he bent his knees and snatched the rope off the ground.
He straightened back up and snarled, "You'll pay dearly for this." He slipped the coil over his head. It hung like a dead snake around his neck and chest.
Eddy felt like smiling, but didn't dare.
Wayne took off the headband, switched off the light, then threw it into the boot. With everything now in darkness, Wayne slammed the lid shut. He pocketed the keys.
"Move," he said, and motioned with the revolver to the front of the cabins. "And don't try anything, okay? I won't hesitate to shoot everyone here. Then I'll leave you alive and torture you beyond your worst nightmares. Understand?"
Eddy didn't nod.
He started walking. Wayne followed close behind. "We're going to my cabin. That's the one on the right, next to yours."
"What about your son?" Eddy said.
Wayne laughed. "Oh, he won't mind."
"Probably takes after his old man."
Wayne ignored the comment.
They ventured out of the darkness to where the light from the distant office spilled over the courtyard.
Eddy saw her first.
A second later, he heard Wayne gasp from behind.
It was the owner, Madge. She was standing by the white Ford, two cabins down.
The woman looked up and over at the two men. "Ah, hi," she called out. "Up early?"
"Damn bitch," Wayne muttered. "Yeah," he called back. "Thank God the storm's stopped."
Eddy knew this could be his one and only chance. He didn't give it any thought as to why she was standing by the man's car. He had to act now, or he might not get another chance.
"Help! He's got a gun!"
As soon as Eddy shouted, he knew it was a mistake. He really didn't know what he hoped to achieve. But he felt he had to say something -- he had to try.
"Fucking idiot," Wayne growled. He grabbed the back of Eddy's jacket with the hand that held the gun. Eddy lurched back, but managed to stay on his feet.
Eddy saw the woman hesitate for a second, then she dashed towards the lighted cabin.
"Stop!" Wayne yelled.
But the woman was already at the cabin door.
Wayne heaved Eddy forward and started running. Eddy had no choice but to run too. Or else he would have crashed to the ground.
By the time they made it to the cabin, the woman was already inside.
At the open door, Wayne shoved Eddy into the cabin. He toppled to the floor, hard, banging his head on the base of the bed.
Wayne darted into the cabin and found the woman by the table. She was holding a rifle, hurriedly trying to load the magazine. A few boxes of ammunition were sitting on the table.
"Put down the fucking gun," Wayne told her. He had his arm extended, gun aimed at her face.
Then he saw what was tied to the bed. "Holy shit," he gasped, a grin blooming across his face. "What have we got here?"
Wayne slammed the door, then turned back to Madge. She had placed the gun and magazine on the table and had her hands raised. "Don't shoot," she said.
"Sit down on the bed," Wayne told her.
Madge walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge.
"Shoot her, man. She's fucking crazy," the man who was tied to the bed cried.
Still smiling, Wayne lifted the rope over his head and placed it on the table. Then he picked up the magazine. He took the rounds from the magazine and slipped them into his trouser pockets. He turned around and stepped up to Madge.
"Give me the rest of the cartridges." He held out his hand.
She reached into her jacket and pulled out a handful of cartridges. She gave them to Wayne, who put them in his pockets.
"And the rest," he said.
"That's it," Madge said, staring up at him.
"Untie us!" the man cried again.
"Shut up," Wayne warned and pointed the gun at him.
"Jesus," he gasped.
"Shoot him," the woman next to him said.
"What?" Wayne chuckled. "Isn't he your husband?"
"Not any more. He fucked that old bitch."
Wayne began to laugh. "That's disgusting," he said. He soon calmed down. He turned back to Madge. "Give me the rest of the cartridges."
"I told you, that's all I've got."
Wayne put the gun point blank in front of Madge's nose. "I don't believe you," he snarled.
Slowly, Madge reached back into her jacket and pulled out two boxes of ammunition. Wayne took them.
"Well, well. Seems you were lying to me."
Tears ran down her cheeks. "That's my husband's gun, you know," she choked out. "You stole it."
Wayne wandered over to the table and placed the two boxes of ammunition alongside the other four boxes and the rifle.
He picked up the magazine and shoved it down the front of his pants. Turning around, he shook his head. "Oh contraire. This is my friend's gun. I stole it from him. Unless..." Wayne shook his head. "Naughty boys. But I wouldn't put it past them."
"Where is the other one?" the man asked.
"Still up in the mountains. Got lost, so we left him up there."
"Hey, can you please untie us?"
Wayne sighed. "Could you please shut the fuck up? I'm not going to untie you, okay? What's wrong with your knees?"
"Woman bashed them with the baseball bat."
Wayne looked down at Madge. "I'm impressed." He turned around, picked up the rope and threw it over to her. She managed to catch it before it smacked her in the head.
"Madge, tie Eddy up. Good and tight like those two."
"I'm not going to do that," she said.
Wayne rolled his eyes and pointed the revolver at her. "Don't make me tell you twice. Besides, he stole your husband's gun, didn't he? He's a no good thief."
"How?" Madge said flatly.
Wayne had to think.
"What are you, some kind of psycho...?"
Wayne aimed the gun at the man. His eyes went wide and he began breathing hard.
"Seriously. I will shoot you if you don't pipe down."
Wayne resumed his thinking. Eventually, he said, "Tie him up by the pipe under the sink. The one in the bathroom."
Wayne motioned for Madge to stand up. She did as she was ordered, and went over to Eddy.
"You grab his shoulders. I'll grab his feet."
Wayne walked over and took Eddy by the ankles. "Déjà vu," he muttered, and chuckled.
Madge looked over at him. She had a blank stare on her face.
"Pick him up," Wayne said.
They lifted him off the ground and shuffled towards the bathroom. They placed him on the floor.
Wayne stood up, and holding the revolver in the direction of Madge, said, "Okay, tie him to the pipe. With his hands behind his head."
Madge looked over her shoulder, at the gun pointed at her. She turned back and began binding Eddy's hands to the pipe.
It took her five minutes.
Wayne didn't help. He stood back and watched, keeping the gun aimed at the back of her head
When she had finished, Wayne told her to go back out and sit on the bed.
As Wayne walked out of the bathroom, he heard Eddy moan. "Welcome back," he quipped, then left the bathroom.
As he wandered back, he saw the husband and wife eyeing him. Madge, on the other hand, was staring down at the floor.
"Now," Wayne said to Madge. "Your second assignment is to untie her."
"What!" the man cried.
"Why?" the woman said.
"I need hers and Madge's help to untie something in my cabin. It takes three people, and I don't trust him."
"You're the father, aren't you?" the man said.
Wayne frowned, then remembered. "Yeah, sure."
"What's tied up?" Madge asked.
"You'll see. Now go up and let her loose. What's your name?"
"Judy."
"Hurry up," Wayne told Madge.
Madge hopped up and went over to Judy.
From in the bathroom, Eddy groaned.
"Why are you doing all this?" Judy's husband asked.
"The same reason you fucked old Madge here."
When he said that, Wayne saw the hate in Judy's eyes. He watched the man cower back with guilt.
"Remember," he said to Judy. "Don't do anything stupid. I'm the one with the gun."
Judy's hands fell from above her head. Madge then shuffled down to her feet and worked the rope loose.
Free from constraints, Judy sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Madge stepped back and Judy stood up.
"I bet you would love to run, wouldn't you?" Wayne taunted.
Judy suddenly sprang forward. Although it wasn't to run away.
She lunged at Madge and they both fell to the floor.
"What the...?"Wayne chuckled. "A cat fight."
The two women wrestled on the ground. Judy was on top and was pulling Madge's hair and slapping her. She was sobbing, "You bitch," and, "Slut," and "You knew he was married."
Wayne knew that most men got off on watching women fight and wrestle. Maybe not women as fat and old as these two, but there was obviously something erotic about watching women belt and slap each other.
But to Wayne it was simply tedious. Sure it was amusing watching two old women fight over some fat oaf, but in terms of excitement and eroticism, Wayne felt nothing.
"GET UP!" he shouted. "NOW!"
Quickly, they stopped fighting and Judy stood up. Madge followed.
"Crazy woman," Madge muttered.
Both had their hair messed up, and Madge's jumper was torn on the shoulder.
They were huffing and sweating. Their faces were flushed.
"All that over you," Wayne said to the man. "Must be a real special guy." He shrugged. "Or maybe you just have a real large dick." He laughed. "You two, move over to the door. And no more fighting."
Judy and Madge hurried over to the cabin door. Wayne followed behind, the gun aimed at their backs.
"Madge, open the door. Then both of you go outside. Slowly."
Madge opened the door and stepped outside. Judy went next, Wayne last. Before he shut the door, Wayne glanced back and grinned.
"Be back soon, boys. Behave."
\*
The cabin door closed and the room fell silent
Morrie glanced at the bathroom and saw Eddy tied to the pipe. "Hey, Eddy. You all right?"
There was silence. Finally, Eddy answered. "Got a bitch of a headache," he sighed. "Where have they gone?" He still sounded a bit groggy.
"He took Judy and Madge to his cabin. To help him with something. Hey, man. What the fuck happened? Who is he?"
He heard Eddy moan. "Oh man, you won't believe it. You know that serial killer that hasn't been caught yet?"
"The one who has killed, what, seven or eight people?" Morrie asked with apprehension.
"That's the one."
Morrie felt his stomach churn. "Oh my god," he breathed. "You're kidding?"
"Afraid not. Fucker shot Al."
"That your friend?"
"Yeah," Eddy sighed.
"What are we going to do? He will surely kill..."
Two gunshots stopped Morrie mid-sentence. They came from outside.
Wayne grinned.
"Good riddance," he said down at the two bodies.
Now that the women were out of the way, Wayne could concentrate on having his fun with the men.
Boy, is the husband gonna be pissed, he thought.
He gazed up. The sky was now a light charcoal colour. Dawn was only an hour or so away. Wayne looked at his watch.
He could just read the time -- 5:01 a.m.
Although his body felt tired from all the work he had done, he wasn't overly sleepy.
He ached to get back to his two victims.
He turned his back on Judy and Madge, who were lying side by side, both with half their heads strewn along the muddy earth, and headed for the cabin. When he opened the door and stepped inside, the man immediately screamed, "You fuck! What did you do with Judy and Madge?"
"Don't worry about them," Wayne said.
"Fuck you! Where are they?" He thrashed his arms and upper body around. His legs were all but useless.
"You bastard," Eddy called out.
"Hello, my friend," Wayne said, turning and gazing into the bathroom. "How's your head?"
Eddy grimaced.
The man was now crying. He had stopped yelling and trying to get loose. His sobs were loud and wet.
"Stop ya blubbering," Wayne huffed. "You're better off without them."
"I'm gonna kill you!" he screamed, then continued to cry.
"Why'd ya have to kill them?" Eddy said.
"I had no use for them," Wayne answered coldly.
"Judy...I'm so sorry...Ju...you killed her..."
Wayne was getting tired of the man's continual whining and sobbing.
"I didn't mean to...it just happened...and...and...now you're...de...de..."
"Jesus," Wayne sighed. "That'll get on my nerves."
He took a pillow case, stuffed it into the man's mouth -- which took a while and almost two of Wayne's fingers -- then bound it with the spare rope.
After he had finished, Wayne stood back and nodded. "That's better. Now I can think."
The man still screamed and cried, but now they were muffled.
Wayne went over to the table and placed the revolver down. He dug his hands into his jacket pockets and started pulling out the spare cartridges. He placed them onto the table, making sure that they didn't roll off onto the floor.
When his pockets were empty, Wayne stood still and frowned.
"Where the hell is my knife?" he mumbled.
He remembered placing it into one of the pockets in his jacket, but now it was gone. He checked his trouser pockets, and the sheath -- empty.
Just like his wallet earlier, it was nowhere.
"Just great," he said.
Unlike his wallet, however, he didn't have any idea as to where the knife could be. He guessed that it could have fallen out anytime while carrying the body up the mountain.
Maybe during the struggle with Al.
He wasn't going to look for it. He loved that knife, but it wasn't worth the time and effort.
Could be anywhere, he thought.
Wayne picked up the revolver and started for the door. "Don't go anywhere," he called back.
"Where are you going?" Eddy asked from the bathroom.
"Somewhere," Wayne answered.
"Well, don't come back."
Wayne grinned and then stepped outside. He wanted a weapon, any sort, and knew he had some in his car. He liked to use the knife best, but since that was now lost, he had to settle for either a hatchet or a crowbar.
He walked around the side of the cabin, around to the back, where he hurried over to his Bluebird.
The wind had died down, but it still retained its bitterness. It whipped at his short hair as he approached the car.
He opened the right passenger door, leaving it ajar so the roof light would stay on, and hopped inside.
He searched the back but couldn't find either the crowbar or the hatchet.
"I'm sure I put them back here," Wayne mumbled to himself.
He hopped back out, closed the door, then hopped into the driver's side.
He breathed a sigh of relief. They were both sitting on the floor of the front passenger side. "Thank God."
He didn't want to lose all his weapons tonight.
Since he was sitting in the driver's side, anyway, Wayne decided to drive around to the front. He didn't like his car being stuck around the back. Besides, if for some reason he needed, or wanted, to put another body in the car, he would have less distance to carry it.
He placed the revolver on the passenger seat, pulled the keys from the pocket of his trousers, slipped the car key into the ignition and started the engine.
He left the headlights off, and drove between the sides of the cabins, and parked it in front of the office.
He killed the engine then reached over and picked up the hatchet.
It was a heavier, clumsier instrument to use, but it did the job. Wayne then took the revolver and slipped it down the front of his pants, alongside the magazine. He hopped out, slammed the door shut, then proceeded up to the cabin.
He had left the door open, so he walked straight inside, lifted up his jacket and placed the magazine down on the table. He left the gun jammed down his trousers.
The man eyed the hatchet with a look of fear.
"Holy shit," Eddy said when he saw what Wayne was holding.
Wayne closed the cabin door, turned around, and walked up to the man. "Now we have some fun," he said.
The man vehemently shook his head, shouting and yelling into the pillowcase.
"Hold still," Wayne said. "Or else I might accidentally slit your throat."
He stopped shaking his head, but tears ran down his cheeks as he continued to scream.
Wayne grabbed the man around the throat with his left hand. His large hand squeezed his neck, while with the hatchet, he began slicing the man's sweating forehead.
Wayne felt himself begin to grow hard. He tightened his grip on the man's neck as his penis grew.
Every so often he made another incision on his skin. Blood dribbled down into the man's tightly closed eyes, spreading around to his cheeks and down onto Wayne's hand.
"Let him go, Wayne!" Eddy shouted.
Suddenly realising that he might kill him, Wayne let go.
The man gasped and wheezed for air. He seemed to have trouble, though, due to the gag in his mouth.
Wayne straightened and gazed down at his bloody face. It was a light blue colour.
"You sick fuck!" Eddy called.
Wayne left and hurried over to Eddy.
"No! Leave me alone! Get the fuck away from me!"
Wayne trotted into the dark bathroom. "I don't know whether you're brave or stupid calling me those names," he panted.
"You touch me and I swear to God I will kill you."
Wayne laughed and shook his head. He could hear the nervousness and wavering in Eddy's voice. "Don't swear to God," he said. "I don't think He'd appreciate it."
With the hilt of the hatchet, Wayne whacked Eddy across the face. He grunted, then fell sideways.
Wayne hadn't hit him that hard. Eddy was still conscious, but now the fight was out of him.
He moaned quietly. A small cut on his left cheek was bleeding.
Wayne placed the hatchet on the bathroom floor, away from Eddy's reach, and started untying the rope. "I've got something special planned for you," he said.
Wayne sweated and grunted while he undid the knots. Madge had indeed done a good job in securing the ropes. They were hard to loosen.
Finally the knots came loose, and Eddy's hands fell down to his lap. Wayne grabbed Eddy by his feet and dragged him out of the bathroom and over to the bed. He then hoisted him onto the mattress, next to the man's legs, face down.
Walking back into the bathroom, Wayne picked up the hatchet, which had some of the man's blood on its blade, and wandered back to his two helpless captives.
The man was still slightly dazed, though his face had returned to a normal colour. He had his eyes partly open, looking vaguely up at Wayne. Eddy still had the wind knocked out of him and was sobbing quietly.
Using his one free hand, Wayne took the revolver from down the front of his pants and placed it on the floor. With the same hand, he undid the belt of his trousers, then pulled his pants down, including his underpants. His stiff member sprung out. It felt good to be free from the constraints of his pants.
He stepped out of his clothes, then reached under Eddy and started undoing his jeans. Eddy protested weakly, but could barely find the words or gather up enough strength to make him stop.
Wayne tugged Eddy's jeans down around his ankles, exposing the whiteness of his buttocks.
Wayne grinned and his cock went even harder.
He looked over at the man, who had his eyes closed. That was no good. Wayne wanted him to watch.
Wayne rushed over and held the axe near his throat, his large penis standing erect over the man's face.
"Open your eyes," Wayne ordered.
The man refused, and kept them closed.
Wayne leaned close to his face. "I've got a sharp axe positioned right by your throat. If you don't open your eyes, I will slowly cut out your larynx."
Wayne touched the blade to the man's skin.
His eyes sprung open.
"That's it," Wayne said.
The man saw Wayne's nakedness and reeled in disgust.
"I want you to watch this," Wayne said. "I'll be keeping an eye on you. Don't close your eyes for a second."
Wayne took the hatchet away, then went back over to Eddy.
He hadn't moved. He was still lying face down. Wayne dragged Eddy closer and positioned his legs so they were dangling off the bed, with his buttocks sticking high in the air.
Wayne wrapped his hand around Eddy's neck, so the axe was near his throat, then lowered his body.
He glanced over at the man. He was watching with that same disgusted frown. Wayne was grinning stupidly.
He then entered Eddy, hard and fast. Eddy cried out in pain. The man clenched his eyes shut.
"Open...your ...eyes," Wayne panted.
He opened them again, staring at Wayne with a hateful glare.
Wayne continued to ram into Eddy. Eddy continued to scream and cry in shameful and agonising pain.
Blood dribbled from his backside.
Wayne let out a loud groan, then came strongly inside him.
Eddy cried with humiliation.
Finished, Wayne slid out, his penis covered with slick white semen and glistening blood, then took his arm from around Eddy's neck.
He grinned at the man. "How'd ya like that? I bet you want some, don't you?"
Placing the hatchet on the ground, Wayne picked up his underpants and trousers, put them back on, then shoved the revolver back down his pants. He left the hatchet on the floor.
Eddy remained on the bed, crying and groaning, blood still trickling from his anus. He was shivering.
"What a night," Wayne huffed. It had certainly been one of the weirdest, yet in a strange way one of the most fulfilling.
He was drained from what he had just done, but he needed to tie Eddy back up. Wayne took a hold of Eddy and dragged him up beside the man, who watched his every move.
He stood before the door and pounded. He kept on pounding until the door opened and Helen stood there, frowning. "What are you doing here?" She was wearing a skimpy negligee and he could see her dark round nipples protruding from under the fabric.
"I need to talk to you, Helen," he said. "I..." Before he could finish, she dragged him inside and slammed the door shut.
"You've got some nerve coming over here. It's after five in the morning."
He couldn't take his eyes from her body. He wanted her so bad. "I just...need to talk to you," he said. He suddenly remembered the two women. "Who are your friends?"
Helen smiled. "Just some work mates. We're having a girls' night. Gavin's away on a business trip."
"Oh," he said. "Anyway, I just need to talk..."
"Jesus Christ," Helen laughed. "Is all you wanna do is talk? There are three beautiful, and horny, women here and all you wanna do is talk?"
He didn't know what to say. He just stood in the hallway, dumbfounded.
"Come on. I'll introduce you to them."
"But...aren't you angry at me? You said you never wanted to see me again. I...I thought you said it was over?"
Helen smiled. "I was in a bad mood. I said a lot of things. I didn't mean any of them." She gave him a sultry grin. "I'm sorry, darling." She turned and headed down the hall. He watched the curves of her buttocks through the flimsy, and almost see-through nightie. He felt his penis begin to harden.
"Are you coming? I want to introduce you to my friends."
He followed Helen down the hall, and into the brightly-lit bedroom.
And there they were. Sitting on the bed, as if waiting for him.
The blonde was wearing a similar style negligee as Helen -- only it was smaller. She had a fuller figure than Helen, so her breasts were literally popping out the top. She stood and strolled over to him.
Like a deer caught in headlights, he remained still, eyes wide.
Without speaking, the blonde wrapped her arms around him and started licking his face all over. She eventually made it to his mouth, where she plunged her tongue in deep. He followed, slipping his hands under the skimpy nightie, and caressing her firm cheeks.
Then, just as he was getting into it, she pulled away. He was left with a wet face and a stiff penis jutting in his jeans.
"Nice to meet you," the blonde said in an angelic voice.
He just nodded.
She sat down on the bed and he turned his eyes to the brunette. If the blonde was like some gorgeous angel, then surely the brunette was a goddess.
She was simply the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her face -- smooth, flawless, tanned; her full, rose-coloured lips; and the biggest, most sensual green eyes. Even from where he was standing he could see the startling green colour.
She wore a tight T-shirt that hung just over her athletic thighs.
He felt like he was going to ejaculate just from looking at her.
The brunette stood and wandered over to him. His mouth was dry and his legs weak.
All this over one woman? But hell, if he wasn't in love with her, then may he fall dead right this instant.
He remained very much alive as she simply pressed her perfectly formed body against his, looked him once in the eyes, then kissed him. She had soft lips: almost juicy.
She swirled her tongue around, sucking on his as he stuck his deep. He grabbed her on the bum, then slipped his hands under the T-shirt. He never knew they could feel like this. They were too perfect. Firm, yet soft, he squeezed her cheeks, then delved into her crevice.
He felt his pants being unbuckled, but didn't instantly register that it wasn't the brunette. She had her hands on his back.
Soon his pants were off, and still kissing the brunette, he felt a mouth on his throbbing penis. He groaned into the brunette's mouth.
Next he felt his butt cheeks being spread apart and a tongue began flicking at his anus.
The feeling was too unbelievable for words.
The tongue at his backside began licking, then it delved deep inside his hole.
The brunette kissed him hard, and the mouth on his penis sucked him so deep that she managed to get his cock and balls into one mouthful.
He came so strongly that his knees almost buckled. He sucked on the brunette's tongue, while his anus was still being prodded. He came into whoever's mouth it was, but she didn't pull away. She kept on sucking, like a baby on a milk bottle.
When he had finished, all mouths and tongues went away.
He was breathing hard. He saw, as she stood up, that the blonde had been the one giving him the blowjob.
"How was that?" she said, and smiled.
He opened his mouth to speak, but only air came out.
Suddenly she grabbed the brunette and kissed her passionately. He could see strands of white semen being passed from one woman to the other; they seemed to be enjoying it like it was wine.
He couldn't hold back. Even though he had just come, he felt ready and able.
He rushed over to the two women, stood behind the brunette, and stuck his still hard penis into her. It slid in easily and he began pumping in and out, licking her smooth back. He watched the two women kiss, but they soon broke away, and the blonde lay on the bed, her legs dangling to the floor.
The brunette leaned over and put her face to the blonde's crotch. She began licking her clitoris. The blonde grabbed her head and ground her face hard.
He had pretty much forgotten about Helen. As he fucked the brunette harder and harder, he again felt his cheeks being spread apart. But this time he felt a large implement at his backside. He turned his head and saw Helen, her large breasts swaying and covered with sweat, with a strap-on dildo.
She slowly began pushing the imitation penis into his anus, and it surprisingly didn't hurt one bit.
Soon she was humping him as hard as he was the brunette.
The dildo felt amazing. He could feel another orgasm approaching.
Helen leaned in and whispered to him: "Is this the best fuck you've ever had? Are you enjoying it?"
He nodded.
"Good. Because it's the last one you'll ever experience."
She brought her arm around his throat. He felt something cold against his jugular.
"It's over between us," she said. Her voiced had changed. It sounded older. "Can you please understand and respect that? It was always just a physical relationship. Jesus Christ! My husband has just died! Leave me the fuck alone! What kind of sick man are you? And don't call me darling."
"But..." was all he got out before he felt a sharp, hot stinging...
Jason MacDonald came awake with a start. His breathing was fast and he was sweating. He immediately put his hand to his throat. It wasn't slit. No blood was gushing.
Then where he was settled in. He was in his car.
"Holy crap," he muttered.
He had never had such a vivid dream.
Maybe alcohol produces more realistic dreams?
He blew out a long sigh and rubbed his eyes. As he sat up to wind down the window, he felt a wetness in his pants, right where his crotch was.
"Jesus hell," he muttered. The stickiness was uncomfortable. But more than that he was embarrassed.
What am I, a Goddamn fifteen-year-old?
He wound down the window and a rush of cool morning air flowed in. He realised it had stopped raining. He breathed in the fresh air. He still felt a little drunk, but that sleep had knocked off the worst of it. Still, he knew what he was going to do.
He leaned back in, rolled up the window, and opened the glove box. He pulled out his revolver. On top of still being hurt and angry, he was damn horny.
The radio still crackled with sporadic bits of information. As he was still getting his thoughts together, an urgent sounding message came over the police radio.
"Fire at the Lodgepole Pine Motel. I repeat fire at the Lodgepole Pine Motel. All units respond. There is a fire at the Lodgepole Pine Motel. Address is..."
"Madge," he breathed, and threw the gun back into the glove box. He fired up the engine and floored the accelerator. He zoomed past Helen's place, not once glancing over.
With both men bound securely to the bed, Wayne could sit back, enjoy some rest and think about what to do.
He couldn't stay in this motel for much longer, as it would be nearing daylight and there was the possibility of people arriving.
He had to decide on whether he wanted to take Eddy with him, or to leave him here. He had already decided on the man's fate.
At least he didn't have to worry about the police finding his car now that he had it back in his possession. He had nothing to worry about, now. Life was good.
He finished off the Coke he was drinking, then threw the can down to the floor. He let out a burp. "What am I going to do with you two?" he sighed.
The man was gazing at Wayne, while Eddy was staring up at the ceiling.
"Cheer up, Eddy. It wasn't that bad, was it?"
Eddy closed his eyes and his chin began to tremble. His jeans were still bundled around his ankles.
"Did you steal Madge's gun?" Wayne asked him. He pulled it out. "Very nice gun. So did ya?"
Eddy nodded.
"Poor Madge. I think she had a real fondness for this little puppy." Wayne frowned. "Are there any more bullets?"
Eddy didn't respond.
"Hey! I'm asking you a question." He noticed a large, square-shaped bulge in Eddy's front right pocket. "What's in your pocket?"
Again Eddy refused to answer.
Wayne got up, strolled over and reached into his pocket. He yanked out a box, and when he looked at it, smiled. "Well, well. Seems nobody around here likes giving up their spare ammunition."
He wandered over to the table and placed the box of cartridges down.
"Not that I really care," Wayne said. "Personally, I prefer more hands on weapons. You know, knives, axes...these." He held up his large hands. "Speaking of good feelings, I need to piss."
He headed for the bathroom, but stopped. He turned around.
He smiled at the two men, but only the husband seemed to notice his evil, callous smirk.
Wayne placed the gun on the table, then approached the double bed. He stood at the foot of the bed and started pulling down his zipper. "Want a drink?" he said with an evil smirk.
The man screamed at him. His muffled cries were heartfelt enough for Eddy to open his eyes to see what was going on.
When he saw Wayne standing by the bed, zipper open, Eddy began to scream. "Get away! You sick fuck!"
"Ooopeeen wiiiide," Wayne sung. "Time to take your meeediciiiine."
Both men thrashed around on the bed, their mouths about as tightly closed as they could manage.
Holding his limp penis in his hand, Wayne let fly a stream of urine. It first splashed on Eddy, hitting him directly in the face -- which was difficult, as he was flinging his head about furiously.
But he still managed to spray Eddy all over his face, hair, neck and chest.
The smell was pungent.
Swinging the stream to the right, Wayne began showering the urine over the husband. He tried desperately to avoid the flow, but no matter which way he flung his head, he couldn't escape the constant rush of hot piss.
"That's it, drink it all up," Wayne said.
He couldn't help but laugh throughout the whole ordeal.
The stream started to weaken, and Wayne had trouble reaching the two men. He finished the remainder of his urination on the floor, then tucked himself back in and zipped up.
"Was that tasty?"
The room now smelled of acrid urine. Even Wayne had to admit, the smell was particularly horrible.
"I really should drink more water," Wayne said and laughed.
Both men were soaked. Their hair was matted down to their scalps and puddles had formed on their chests.
The sheets underneath were stained yellow, as was the pillowcase that was stuffed in the man's mouth.
"I feel much better," Wayne said. "But you know, I need to take a shit now."
He saw the look on both men's faces.
Wayne laughed. "Only kidding."
"Motherfucker," Eddy breathed. He spat out a thick glob of mucus.
"Yeah, well, I don't think I'll be taking you home with me," Wayne said. "Matter of fact, I don't want to even touch either of you."
"It's your piss," Eddy said.
"So? I still don't want to touch it. I think it's about time to go. Stinks in here."
There it was! The look on Eddy's face.
Wayne smiled.
He walked over to where the hatchet lay on the cabin floor. He was about to pick it up when an explosion sent him flying onto his back.
The walls of the cabin shook. Smaller blasts popped and boomed.
"What the fuck was that?" Wayne yelped.
The explosion had come from outside. At first Wayne thought another storm, but no storm he had ever heard was as loud as that. No storm had ever knocked him flat on his backside.
"Holy shit," he heard Eddy mutter from above.
Wayne stood up and dusted his clothes. He hurried to the door and stepped outside. The early morning sky was lit up with shimmering orange flames. Thick smoke wafted from the burning cabin.
Wayne stood mesmerised by the crackling fire. It was at once beautiful, yet menacing. He could feel the immense heat wash over his body, even from the distance he was standing.
As the initial shock and amazement passed, Wayne now saw which cabin it was that was engulfed in flames. It was his.
And the explosion that had sent him onto his back must've been the Saab's petrol tank. The car now sat in flames in front of the burning cabin.
How the hell did this happen? Wayne wondered. Of course...Simon!
Wayne shook his head. He had almost forgotten about that young man.
What a way to go, he thought. But how did it start...?
As he stood outside gazing in awe at the flames, it came to him.
The candles.
They must have burned down and somehow caught onto the wood.
Wayne couldn't believe how furious the fire was. The cabin must've been ablaze for at least ten minutes.
How could I not have heard anything? he wondered.
As he thought that, flame was blown from his cabin and landed onto the cabin next to it.
"Jesus," he gasped.
He knew it wouldn't be long before that cabin was up in flames, too. In fact, with the gusty winds, it wouldn't take long until the entire motel was one great big inferno.
"Time to split."
Then, somewhere far away, yet close enough for Wayne to hear, he heard the wail of sirens.
"Oh no," he growled.
He turned around and rushed back into the cabin.
"What is it?" Eddy asked. "A fire?"
"Oh yeah," Wayne said as he grabbed the revolver and box of cartridges off the table.
"One of the cabins?"
"Mine and yours," Wayne said. "Fucking fire trucks are coming. Probably police too."
He saw Eddy's eyes light up. The man continued to look on, desperate and hurting.
Wayne gazed down at the hatchet that lay on the floor. He decided to keep it, so he hurried over and picked it up.
"Are you going to leave us here to burn?" Eddy asked.
"I would love to," Wayne panted. He rushed over to the open door and stuck his head out. The noise of the sirens seemed twice as loud now. "Fuck." He turned around and faced the two men. "But I can't take that chance," he finished.
He aimed the gun at the man and fired once at his head.
Bits of brain and bone splattered onto the back wall. Blood sprayed over Eddy like a giant tomato had just exploded.
Eddy shook his head fast, over and over again, whimpering, "No oh God no please no oh please God no."
"Sorry it has to end this way," Wayne said. "It's just so...impersonal."
Wayne pointed the gun at Eddy. Tears streamed down his blood-specked face.
"It's been a wild and interesting night," Wayne said.
Eddy managed to choke out a "N..." before Wayne squeezed the trigger.
The sirens were very close now.
Wayne rushed over to his car, glancing at the two bodies lying on the ground as he went past. They were sprawled near the front of the burning cabin that used to be Eddy and Al's.
Their bodies glistened in the firelight. The blood on the ground looked a deep purple.
Wayne rushed over to the Bluebird. He opened the back passenger door and threw the hatchet and box of cartridges onto the floor. He slammed the door.
He could hear the fire crackling and popping behind him.
A sudden loud crash startled Wayne. He whirled around and saw that his cabin had collapsed. The roof had caved in and so had the right wall.
He started thinking about Simon, but quickly shook it away, and told himself he had to get moving.
But he didn't move. It was too late.
The sirens were so close that his ears throbbed from the noise. If he was to leave now, he would probably meet the cavalry on the way down.
Wayne closed his eyes.
He thought about taking off on foot and hiking through the mountains, but guessed that the police would surely search the area.
No, too many hassles, he thought.
He would eventually be found. He had to think of some other way...
Wayne opened his eyes.
He could see the glow of red and blue flashing through the sky. Another couple of minutes and they would be here.
Come on, Wayne, think of something. You're fucked if you don't. Make up a story, pretend that you had no part in any of this...
That was it.
Wayne smiled and nodded to himself.
It might not work, but it was worth a try.
It took him ten seconds to work out the story in his mind.
He opened the chamber of the revolver and studied the cartridges. He had one bullet left.
Well bullet, you might save my life.
He closed the chamber, then aimed the gun at himself.
He made sure the barrel was positioned at the right place, then he shut his eyes and took a deep breath.
He prepared himself for the pain, and with the sirens wailing louder and louder behind him, pulled the trigger.
The gun jerked in his hand and the bullet smacked into his left shoulder. He let out a strained cry, then fell to the ground.
His shoulder burned. He could feel hot blood dribbling down his back and chest.
Sucking in the pain, Wayne stood up.
As fast as he could, he staggered over to where Judy and Madge lay, and placed the revolver near its rightful owner.
A fire truck roared into the clearing, followed by two more, two police cars, two ambulances and lastly, trailing behind the rest of the group, one regular car.
Feeling dizzy and in extreme pain, Wayne waved his right hand, then shuffled over to greet the cavalry.
Wayne was staggering towards the fire trucks when somebody shouted at him.
"Hey!"
He turned and saw a man running towards him. Wayne breathed in deep and waited for him to arrive.
"My name is Detective Sergeant Wilkes," the man said, puffing slightly. He was wearing dark trousers and a bulky jacket that was zipped up to his neck. "What's your...?"
"Harry!"
Both Wayne and the Sergeant turned. A man wearing jeans and an old jacket was jogging over.
The Sergeant frowned. "Jason? What the hell are you doing here? I thought...?"
"It's okay," Jason said. "I heard it over the radio. I came straight over. Do we know what the fuck happened yet?"
"Ah no. I was just about to speak with..." The Sergeant turned and faced Wayne.
"John. John Bundy."
"Mr. Bundy here."
"I assume you saw the whole thing?" Jason said to Wayne. He looked down at his shoulder. "How badly are you hurt, John?"
Wayne took his hand away from his shoulder to give the two men a look. "I'll live," he said.
"Look, Jason, I know why..."
"I can take it from here. You go and help with the searching."
Jason looked at the Sergeant. It was a stare that Wayne guessed said a thousand words. The Sergeant nodded slowly. "Okay." He turned and walked towards the office.
Wayne turned back to Jason. He had a hard gaze that Wayne didn't like.
He stepped closer. "My name is Detective Inspector MacDonald. Follow me. I'll get you to one of the ambulances. Can you walk okay?"
"Sure."
Wayne could smell alcohol on the Inspector's breath. He wondered if the Sergeant had noticed.
What the hell sort of cop is this guy? A fucking drunk?
He followed the Inspector past the fire trucks. On his left, all three had their hoses out and the firemen were getting ready to turn on the water. On his right, Wayne saw a couple of paramedics standing over Madge and Judy; they were talking and shaking their heads with two other police officers.
"Two more bodies in here!" a man cried.
Wayne turned around and saw a fireman standing by the door of Morrie's cabin.
"One's still breathing!"
"What!" Wayne gasped, a little too loudly.
The Inspector frowned at him, then said, "Come on, we'd better get you fixed up and to a hospital."
Wayne couldn't speak, nor could he move his legs.
He saw two white shapes run past him, followed by two darker shapes.
Alive!
Wayne blinked and tried to swallow. His mouth was too dry.
"Are you feeling all right, John?" the Inspector said.
Turning around, Wayne nodded. "I'm...okay."
A sudden blast of water startled Wayne. Then another blast, quickly followed by another.
"Come on," the Inspector shouted. "I'm sure the person will be okay. There's nothing you can do now."
Has to be Eddy, Wayne thought. It can't be the man.
Wayne noticed the Inspector walking away, so he started moving.
The cop's right, Wayne thought. There's nothing I can do about it now.
They walked past the two cop cars and over to the two ambulances. The first one had its back door open and there was a paramedic waiting inside.
"Hey," the paramedic, a rather attractive and busty woman, called down. "What have we got?"
"Shoulder wound. Gunshot. Looks pretty clean though. In and out."
The woman smiled down at the Inspector. "I'll be the judge, thank you."
She held out her hand and lifted Wayne up into the back of the ambulance.
"My name is Marilyn," the paramedic said. "Now let's have a look, shall we?"
Wayne sat down on the long bench and took his hand away from his shoulder. His right hand was sticky with blood.
He hadn't noticed until now, but the pain had died down. No longer did his shoulder burn with agonising fury. He guessed that the adrenaline had kicked in.
"You're lucky," Marilyn said. "The bullet went straight out. The bleeding has mostly stopped, too."
"Told ya," the Inspector said.
The paramedic smiled. "What happened to your hand?"
"Ah, cut it on some glass," Wayne said. "A few days ago."
"Do you want me to have a look at it? See how it's healing?"
"No. It's fine."
The paramedic nodded, but she looked like her mind was off somewhere else. She took her eyes off Wayne's hand and looked down at the Inspector. "What else is happening out there?"
"Not too sure. The two bodies on the ground over there are dead, I think. They found two more in one of the cabins. Apparently one's still breathing."
"Yeah, so I heard," she said.
Marilyn wandered around the back of the ambulance, then came back with some bandages, a roll of sticky gauze tape and a small bottle.
"I'll fix you up as quickly as possible, then we'll take you to the hospital," she told Wayne.
Wayne gazed out the back and saw the flames still burning, though the fire seemed to have died down. He could hear shouts and the stream of water and the fire crackling. But he scarcely took any of it in.
How could he be alive? That's impossible.
Wayne felt angry. He told himself that he should have shot Eddy in the head like he did the man. Not in the chest. Why he hadn't, Wayne wasn't too sure.
"This will sting a little," the paramedic said.
"Huh? Oh, yeah," Wayne said. "Whatever."
As Marilyn dabbed the antiseptic cream onto the wound, the Inspector hopped into the ambulance and sat opposite Wayne. The ambulance wobbled.
"Are you up to some questions, John?"
Wayne nodded. "Is the person dead?" he asked.
The Inspector shook his head. "I'm not sure, John. I've been with you the whole time, remember? As soon as they've finished with him, I'll find out, okay?"
Again Wayne nodded. Marilyn was still busy with the cream.
"Now, tell me exactly what happened. Take your time."
"Well...um." Wayne cleared his throat. He tried to remember the story he had thought up.
"Take your time," the Inspector said again.
"Okay, let me think...can't you find out if he's dead or not?"
The Inspector sighed. "Okay. I'll go and see what's happening."
He jumped out of the ambulance and walked away.
"Is it still hurting?" Marilyn asked.
"No," Wayne said flatly. "It's not too painful now."
Marilyn tore off a strip of the gauze tape and plastered it onto the front of his shoulder. She then tore off another strip and stuck it onto his back, near the shoulder blade.
"I hope to God they can contain the fire," Marilyn said, peering out at the blaze. "Otherwise it will turn into a bushfire." She shook her head. "Thank God we came when we did."
Wayne turned to the paramedic. "How did you find out about the fire?"
"Somebody called triple zero. A man driving along the highway saw a ball of light and thick clouds of smoke. He stopped off at the closest petrol station and rang emergency. He knew it had to be a fire; he didn't think it was the Aurora Australis." She laughed. But her laughter didn't last too long. As if she was doing something wrong, she quickly stopped. "Sorry," she said.
"What time did the man call?"
"Ah, about five-thirty. Why?"
"No reason. Just curious."
She started winding the bandage around Wayne's shoulder and chest. "Can you lift your left arm?"
When he tried, Wayne found that he couldn't move it. It was like his arm had gone to sleep.
"No," he said.
"That's okay. It's nothing to worry about. It's perfectly normal."
She busied wrapping the entire roll around his arm, nice and tight.
"So, what do you do, John? Are you marri...?"
"Please, no small talk," Wayne said. "I'm not in the mood."
"Sure," Marilyn said. "Sorry."
She finished tying off the bandage.
Wayne heard somebody coming, and turning to his right, saw the Inspector. He stopped at the back, then hoisted himself up into the ambulance.
"All done," Marilyn pronounced.
"So...?" Wayne said.
"I'm sorry. He's dead."
Wayne sighed with relief. He felt like crying out with joy, but restrained himself. Instead, he shook his head and said, "That's too bad."
The Inspector looked at Marilyn, then back at Wayne. "How much do you know about what happened here tonight, John? Because something very strange went down."
"Sorry to interrupt," Marilyn said. "But we need to get to the hospital as soon as we can."
The Inspector nodded. "Okay."
Marilyn went up to the front, spoke to the second paramedic, then came back and closed the door.
After the ambulance door was closed and locked, the ambulance started up and began speeding down the dirt road.
"Won't they be needing more ambulances to carry the other bodies?" the Inspector said.
"More are on the way."
Wayne jumped when the sirens came on. Then the flashing lights started.
"How many more are there?" Marilyn asked.
"Four that we know of. Two outside and two in the cabin."
"What about my car?" Wayne said.
"Is yours the Bluebird?"
Wayne nodded.
"It'll be okay. We'll have somebody pick it up and bring it over to the hospital."
Wayne fell back and rested his head against the side of the ambulance. He closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh.
"How are you feeling?" the Inspector asked.
"Exhausted."
"Maybe we can leave the questions until later, okay?"
"Okay."
Wayne fell asleep listening to the whir of the sirens and feeling the rush of the ambulance.
Constable Steve Adams's gut clenched tight when he saw what was inside the cabin. He had never seen a man with his head blown apart before. Not in real life, anyway. He only took a quick glance at the man tied up beside him, the one with a large hole in his chest. And the smell almost made him sick. It was a mixture of blood and urine.
Trying not to breathe too deeply and with his head down, Adams walked up to Sergeant Wilkes. "I've checked all the cabins, Sir. There's nobody else."
"Okay." His voice sounded tired.
Guess you never get used to seeing this type of carnage, Adams thought.
"How's the fire?" the Sergeant said.
"The smaller one is almost out. They're still trying to contain the big one."
The Sergeant nodded. "So you haven't looked inside the one next door?"
"No, Sir."
For the first time, the Sergeant looked at Adams. His eyes were surprisingly alert and awake. Though Adams could see the pain and anger in them.
"Have they taken away the bodies outside, yet, Constable?"
Adams shook his head. "Not sure, Sir."
The Sergeant headed for the door. "You stay in here. Watch that nobody fucks with the rifle. I'm going outside to check on things, okay?"
Adams nodded.
Fucking great, he thought to himself.
"Thanks," the Sergeant said, then walked outside.
\*
Wilkes spotted the two paramedics behind the fire trucks. They were each pushing a stretcher towards the bodies that lay on the muddy ground.
He headed in that direction. He noticed that the small fire had been put out. Now all the firemen worked hard at putting to rest the still flaming fire on the next cabin across. He could feel its heat from where he was standing.
"Glad that fire's out," J.V. said, nodding his head to the cabin Wilkes was standing in front of.
Wilkes nodded slowly.
The two paramedics positioned the stretchers beside Madge and the other woman. Wilkes noticed that both J.V and Nick were wearing thick rubber gloves. They took black body bags from off the stretchers, and placed them down beside the bodies.
"You guys need any help?" Wilkes said, more out of politeness.
"No," Nick said. "We'll be right. Thanks anyway, Sir."
Wilkes watched as J.V. started placing the body bag on Madge. He felt tears well in his eyes. "What the hell happened here?" he mumbled.
"Sorry?" J.V. said, looking up.
"Nothing."
J.V. resumed zipping Madge up.
From behind the trucks, Briggs emerged and walked towards them. He had a grim look on his face and was holding a small plastic bag.
"Got the bag," he said as he approached Wilkes.
"Okay. You bag the gun."
Briggs nodded and squatted down. He picked up the revolver from its barrel, then slipped it into the clear bag. He then sealed the evidence safely inside.
"How long will the other ambulances be?" Wilkes said down at the two men.
"Not long," Nick answered. "They should be here in about five minutes."
Nick and J.V. had finished bagging the two bodies, and were now lifting them onto the stretchers.
Wilkes didn't want to look at the one Madge was in.
He turned to Briggs. "Go and put that away. I'm going to check out this cabin."
Briggs nodded quickly, then hurried away.
"I'll be seeing you boys some time," Wilkes said. "Under better circumstances, I hope."
"So do I," J.V. said. "But when do we ever see each other under good circumstances?"
Wilkes nodded. That was an unfortunate reality.
"Yeah, see you later, Sir."
Wilkes turned around and walked up to the door of the partially burnt cabin. The entire left side was a mass of blackened wood and smoke.
He stepped up to the door, made sure the handle wasn't red hot, then opened the door and went inside.
Outside was still reasonably dark, so he had to turn on the light. The electricity still worked, and as Wilkes looked over at the left wall, saw that what used to be the kitchen area was now destroyed.
The sink, refrigerator and cupboards were all black and smoking. There was a horrible smell of burnt plastic.
Fortunately, no bodies were tied to the bed. Wilkes had been prepared for another grisly find, but deep down wasn't ready for any more. The bathroom door was open and inside was dark. He wandered over and flicked on the light.
No bodies.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Wilkes switched off the bathroom light and turned back to the room.
He scanned the small cabin and saw no bags or luggage. That didn't surprise him, since there was no car parked out the front.
But what did seem strange were the empty soft-drink cans and cigarette stubs that littered the floor.
Somebody was in here, Wilkes thought.
He checked the drawers, but found nothing.
He did notice, however, that both the beds were crumpled.
Strange.
From the identification that they had found on the bodies, they knew that the man tied up next door and the woman that was lying outside on the ground next to Madge were husband and wife. Morrie and Judith Prescott. Which was ironic in itself, as they were both wanted for questioning over a shooting at their house.
Maybe they were innocent, after all, he thought. Still, better have ballistics check that rifle.
The guy tied up next to Morrie, the one that had still been breathing, was Edward Worchester.
They knew that somebody was staying in the cabin that was now burnt to the ground, possibly Edward.
It also seemed another person had been staying tonight. A Wayne Simons. He had found that out when he looked at the registration book. He had booked two singles -- he guessed that possibly he and Edward were staying together. He wondered, were they father and son; gay lovers; or just friends?
So it was possible that Wayne had been caught in the burning cabin. Then again, maybe he was the one who had started it. Maybe he was responsible for all this. If so, then where the hell was he now?
And why did it look like people had been in this cabin? he thought.
Maybe Madge had forgotten to clean the room after the last customers had left.
Heading for the door, Wilkes decided to have Briggs bag the butts and cans, just in case the murderers were the ones who had been in here. They probably wouldn't be able to lift any usable prints off them, but it was worth a try.
He left the light on and stepped outside.
Just off to his right, the firemen were working hard at putting out the blaze. The fire had died to about half the size, as compared to when they had first arrived.
Wilkes looked at his watch. The time read 6:02 a.m.
"Jesus," he muttered. He should be home, asleep, lying next to his wife, warm, with Madge still alive.
Instead, he was out here in the bitter morning, one of his dearest friends dead and three other people, at least, also brutally shot.
The driver of the first fire truck saw Wilkes standing by the cabin door. He let go of his portion of the hose and jogged over.
"Hey, Mike," Wilkes said as he approached."Think you'll have the fire out soon?"
"Yeah sure," he panted. "It's a bitch, though."
"Aren't they all?"
Mike nodded. "That storm sure would've helped us."
"One of life's little ironies."
Mike's face turned sombre. Wilkes knew that he was trying to find the right wording for the inevitable question.
Finally, he said, "Where's Madge, Harry?"
Wilkes shook his head. "She's dead, Mike. I'm sorry."
"I thought she might be. I sorta hoped, though, she was back there in the office with a cup of herbal tea." Mike huffed.
Wilkes patted him on the shoulder. "We'll find out who did all this. Don't worry."
Mike nodded and wiped his eyes. "Well, I'd better get back. I had to know, Harry." He turned around and walked back to the fire.
Just then Wilkes heard the arrival of the extra ambulances. They sped up the road then came out into the clearing. Wilkes thought it strange that he hadn't heard them coming. The sound would've carried for miles.
Walking around the back of the fire trucks, Wilkes went up to meet them. Two more had arrived, although only one would be needed.
Maybe not, he told himself. Still have the burning cabin.
As he approached the closest ambulance, two paramedics jumped out.
"What happened here?" the driver said.
Wilkes didn't recognise him. He was short and completely bald. He did, however, recognise the other paramedic. His name was Roger.
"How are you, Sergeant?" Roger said as he joined the group.
"About as good as can be expected."
"I'm sorry. Where are my manners? My name is Bullet."
"Really?" Wilkes said.
"I bet you'd never guess why," Roger said, smiling.
"I'm Detective Sergeant Wilkes. We've got two dead in that cabin over there." He turned and pointed at the lighted cabin.
"Dead? None alive?"
"Afraid not. One was still breathing for a bit there. Whispered something to Jason before he died."
"Inspector MacDonald?" Roger said.
"Yeah. Not sure what the kid told him, though."
"So, what have we got?" Roger said. "Gunshots?"
Wilkes nodded.
"Damn. I hate those," Bullet said.
"Come on. Let's get old stretch."
"I'll wait here," Wilkes said.
The two paramedics nodded, then walked around to the back of the ambulance. Wilkes heard talking, then the medics from the second ambulance came up to talk to him.
"We've been told that there are only two more bodies."
Wilkes looked at the woman, a young, plain looking girl. "That we know of. We're waiting for the fire to be put out first. Then we'll know if there are any more."
The woman nodded and turned to her partner. "Well, looks like we get to have a rest."
The partner, a fat and hairy man nodded. "Thank Christ for that."
Wilkes had never seen or met either of these two before. He didn't particularly like them.
"I'll come and tell you what's what when I know the situation."
They both nodded and turned around and walked away.
Rude pricks didn't even introduce themselves.
Roger and Bullet came around the ambulance with the stretchers.
"Lead the way," Bullet said.
They walked towards the cabin, Wilkes in front.
"I'll tell ya now, the smell in there is pretty horrible."
"What is it? Piss, shit or vomit?"
Wilkes winced at Bullet's crude manner, but chose to ignore it. He seemed like a decent enough man.
"Blood and urine. Mostly urine."
"That's a relief," Bullet said. "Piss is the best smell out of the three."
"How do they look?" Roger asked as they made their way around the fire trucks.
"Bad. One was shot in the head, the other in the chest."
"What kind of gun?"
"Revolver, I believe. Magnum."
Bullet whistled. "This'll be good."
Wilkes stopped by the door and let the two paramedics go in first with the stretchers.
Constable Adams, who was sitting at the table, stood up when Wilkes came in. The rifle still sat in pieces on top.
"Holy damn," Bullet moaned. "That's some strong smelling piss."
Roger and Bullet set the stretchers beside each body -- Roger beside Morrie, Bullet next to Edward.
"Do I have to stay?" Adams asked, timidly.
"No, you can leave. Go and find Briggs and..."
Just then Briggs showed up. He stood at the door and leaned in. "Excuse me, Sir, can I have a word?"
Wilkes nodded. "Sorry, Adams. Can you stay in here a little longer?"
"Sure," Adams said, his face pale.
Wilkes followed Briggs outside. "What's up, Senior Constable?"
"I don't know if it's anything important. But I studied the revolver used in the shootings."
"That was allegedly used," Wilkes corrected him, although he was quite sure that it was the weapon used.
"Right," Briggs said. "Anyway, if I'm not mistaken, the gun looks like a police issue, Sir. It's a forty-one Magnum."
"I know."
"You know?" Briggs said, frowning.
Wilkes breathed a deep sigh. "The woman who owned this motel, she was one of the bodies that was on the ground, her husband used to be a police officer. He was killed twenty years ago. He was stabbed by a madman while he was in the station bathroom."
"I've heard about that," Briggs said.
"Anyway, Madge kept the gun. As a reminder of her husband. And also for her own protection."
"So that was her gun?"
"Yes."
Wilkes could tell what was going through Briggs's mind.
She didn't kill these people. It wasn't Madge, you arsehole.
"Well, that was all I wanted to speak to you about."
"Okay," Wilkes said. "I've got something for you to do. Inside the cabin that had the smaller fire, there are a lot of cigarette stubs and empty drink cans. I want you to bag them all."
"You think whoever did this was in there?"
Wilkes shrugged. "Maybe."
Briggs nodded. "Is that all, Sir?"
"Yep."
Briggs turned around and hurried away.
Turning to look at the fire, Wilkes saw that the blaze was out. The firemen still had water rushing on the pile of rubble. He guessed so that no small fires started up. Thick smoke drifted endlessly from the ruins. Wilkes felt a small sense of relief that the fire was out. It was one less thing that he had to worry about.
He turned and headed back into the cabin.
Roger and Bullet had the bodies on the stretchers, in the body bags. Blood and bits of mushy brain and bone and muscle covered the back wall. The bed was drenched in pale yellow.
"All set," Bullet called back when he saw Wilkes.
"Okay. You can go, Adams. I'll stay in here."
Adams nodded. "What about the rifle? Are you going to bag it?"
"You bet," Wilkes sighed. "Can you do it?" he asked him.
"Sure." He quickened out of the cabin.
"Quiet guy," Bullet said. "Has a weak stomach."
"He hasn't seen many things like this before."
Bullet nodded.
Wilkes stepped out from the doorway to let the two paramedics through.
"See you around," Bullet said, carrying the body of Edward Worchester outside.
Wilkes nodded.
"Nice seeing you again," Roger said.
Wilkes smiled shortly. "Take care. Say hello to Jessica."
"I will. Same to Pam."
Roger vanished and so did the body of Morrie Prescott.
Not long after, Adams came back with a large plastic bag. He put the rifle and all its contents into the bag, sealed it up, then left.
Inside the quiet cabin, Wilkes wandered over to the table and sat down. He now had to wait for forensics to come and dust the Bluebird that was parked outside.
Jason had gone with that man, John, to the hospital to tend to the bullet wound. And to get a statement on what happened.
Jason had told him his suspicions about the man. But then Jason was suspicious of every damn one.
He had also told him that when forensics arrived, they were to dust the car and that no one was to touch it until they arrived.
"Hey, Harry."
Wilkes jumped. He turned around and shook his head. "Fuck, Mike. You scared me."
"Sorry"
Wilkes stood up as Mike entered the cabin. He immediately winced and wrinkled up his nose. "Christ, how can you stand being in here? Reeks like God knows what."
Wilkes shrugged. "Get used to it I suppose."
"Can we talk outside?"
Wilkes followed Mike out into the morning air. Smoke filled his nostrils. "See you guys put out the fire. Well done."
"Thanks," he said. "Harry...we have to wait until things have cooled down a bit, but..."
"What?" Wilkes said. "Did you find something?"
Mike nodded. His face was grimy with soot and sweat. Where it wasn't black, Wilkes could see that his face was flushed.
"It looks like a body."
Wilkes felt his stomach drop. He shook his head and sighed. "Just the one?"
"Well we can't really tell until we sift through the remains, but it looks like just the one."
"That's something at least," Wilkes said. He looked over at the firemen and the remains of the cabin. They were standing around, pointing and gazing at the mound of debris.
"What the fuck happened here, Harry?"
Wilkes turned back to his long-time friend. "God only knows."
With the sky now an ashen grey and sun-up quickly approaching, Harold Wilkes put his arm around Mike Powell. "We'll find out, though. Now come and show me this body."
8:23 a.m.
Wayne had his eyes closed and was enjoying the rest, when somebody knocked on the door.
"Come in," he called.
He opened his eyes and saw Jason MacDonald. The Inspector was still wearing the same old jeans and jacket, and he had yet to brush his hair. His eyes looked heavy and tiny white stubble covered his fleshy face. He closed the door and approached the bed. "How's the shoulder?"
"Can't feel a thing," Wayne said. "Great thing those pain killers."
The Inspector nodded. It was obvious that he hadn't been home to clean himself up. His breath reeked of stale coffee, now, instead of alcohol.
"If you don't mind me saying, Inspector, but you look like shit."
The Inspector smiled. "Thanks. I haven't had a chance to sleep. I've been over at the motel, searching around the mountain."
Wayne felt his heart begin to pound. He wondered if they had found the bodies. "So what can I do for you, Inspector?"
"You were lucky," he said as he sat down in the chair beside the bed. "As we thought, the bullet went clean through. No bones were shattered. Doctors say that there shouldn't be any infections."
"Yeah, I know," Wayne said. "They say I should be as good as new in about a month, maybe a bit longer."
"Be able to have a good rest. Lie in bed and relax for a month," the Inspector said.
"Yeah. I'll hopefully be able to get back to my work soon, though. Want to get back to it, you know? I miss it."
The Inspector nodded. "Have you had a chance to listen to the radio or watch TV? It's all over the news, of course."
"I bet it doesn't say much, though. They can't know what happened."
"Do you know what happened, John?"
Wayne grinned. "Not much."
The Inspector reached into his pocket and pulled out a pad and pencil. "Mind?"
Wayne shook his head. "Not at all."
The Inspector started writing on the pad, but then sighed and scribbled furiously. "Wrote the thirty-first instead of the first," the Inspector said as he wrote the day's date on the pad.
Wayne smiled politely.
"Now, John. Tell me what happened."
"Is this, like, on the record?"
Wayne could see that the Inspector was becoming just a little impatient, but he spoke in a calm manner. "Yes, John. This is official. On the record."
"Okay. I was driving along the Maroondah Highway at around...five-twenty this morning, when I saw a big ball of light in the mountains, just as I was passing the motel. Figuring that it could be a fire, I quickly turned onto the road and drove up to the motel."
"Why didn't you drive to a petrol station and call triple zero?"
"I didn't know how far it was to a public phone or a town, so I figured that I had to see if I could help. You know, maybe rescue a trapped person or something. Call the fire service from the motel."
"Okay, so you decide to drive up to the motel. What did you see when you arrived?"
"What do you think? I saw the cabin in flames. I parked far away, near the office and hopped out."
"Did you see anybody at this point?"
Wayne shook his head.
The Inspector stopped writing and looked up. "Can you please answer either yes or no, for my sake?"
"Sorry, Inspector. No," Wayne said. "I didn't see anybody at that point."
"Continue," the Inspector said.
"Well, I hopped out of my car and saw one of the cabins with its light on. I was walking over to it when all of a sudden these two people come running out. The first one was a large woman, I'd say mid-to-late thirties. The woman behind her was an old woman. Well, at first I thought there was another fire starting up, but then I saw that the old woman was holding a gun."
"What? She was carrying a gun?"
"Yes. And that's when I realised that the first woman was screaming. I know it sounds silly, but I didn't hear her right away. Anyway, I soon guessed that she was being chased by the old woman."
"And they didn't see you standing there?"
"No. But you gotta remember, this all happened in about two seconds. As soon as they came out of the cabin, the woman screaming, the old woman shot her in the head. Just like that."
The Inspector stopped scribbling and took a moment before he asked, "So what happened after the old lady shot the woman?"
"I ran up to them, to try and stop the old lady."
"But she had already shot her."
"Yeah, I know. But I figured that as soon as she saw me, she wouldn't hesitate in shooting me. I was a witness."
"So you didn't try and run away?"
"Why? She would've just shot me in the back. I figured my best chance was to try and get to the old woman before she had a chance to fire at me."
"It didn't occur to you that maybe the younger woman was a criminal or something and that the old woman was protecting herself?"
"No. Why should it? When two people come running out of a cabin in the early morning, high in the mountains, with a fire blazing away just behind you, and one of them shoots the other in the fucking head, what would you think? That the shooter is the innocent one and doesn't intend to kill you as well?"
"Okay," the Inspector said. "I'm not saying what you did was wrong. I'm merely trying to get all the facts."
"Sorry," Wayne said. "I'm just a little emotional. I've never seen a person killed before."
"I understand," the Inspector said. "So you decided to try and get the gun away from her, right?"
"Yes. Now, I was only about four metres away, so it wasn't that big of a distance. But in that time, the old woman managed to shoot at me. And you know where she hit me." Wayne huffed.
"Where? For the record, John."
"Oh yeah, sorry. I was shot in the left shoulder."
"Okay, then what happened?"
"I was shocked to say the least, but I kept on running towards her, and before she had another chance to shoot again, I was at her and managed to grab the gun from her. Well, she kept on wrestling with me even after I had the gun, and while we were fighting the gun just went off. And she fell to the ground."
"So you didn't mean to shoot the old lady? It was an accident?"
"Correct. I had never held a gun before, so I guess I forgot to keep my hand away from the trigger. Trust me, it was just as much a shock to me as it was to her when the gun went off."
"I doubt that," the Inspector muttered.
"That's about it," Wayne said. "I think I dropped the gun as soon as I shot her."
"You think?"
"Right. I don't actually remember letting the gun go. I don't know how long I stood there, in shock, I guess. The next thing I can remember was hearing the sirens and then you guys arrived."
"So that's the whole story? You can't think of any other details?"
"That's it. It all happened so quickly. I go up there to see if I can help, the next thing I know I've shot a woman in the head and I, too, have been shot."
The Inspector pocketed the pad and pencil."Thanks, John."
"So is that all?"
"For now, yes."
"Okay. I'm sorry, Inspector, but I'm feeling very tired. Do you mind if I get some rest?"
The Inspector nodded. "Sure." He stood up. "You know that old lady you shot, the one you say went crazy and shot the woman?"
"Of course," Wayne sighed.
"She was a friend of mine. I had known her for about thirty years. She was the wife of an old detective."
"So?" Wayne said.
The Inspector shrugged. "I just can't believe that Madge would do something like that. She was one of the nicest and most gentle people I knew."
"Well she obviously wasn't too gentle and kind."
The Inspector nodded. "Guess not." He gave a quick smile. "Well, rest easy, John. I'll be in touch soon."
He turned around and headed for the door. "You're a lucky man. Got yourself your own hospital room."
"Aren't I lucky," Wayne said.
There was a knock at the door. The Inspector opened it and stuck his head out.
Wayne cocked his head but couldn't quite make out who it was.
"I'll be back in a moment," the Inspector said and left, closing the door after him.
"Fucking pig," Wayne muttered.
He looked at the sling that held his left arm and shoulder. He smiled. His story had worked. He was free.
Damn I'm brilliant, he thought.
He heard the faint murmur of talking. He wondered what was going on out there.
Soon the door opened and the Inspector slipped back in.
"Sorry about that, John." He held up a set of keys. "One of my men has just dropped off your car."
He wandered to the bed and handed them to Wayne.
"Great," Wayne said. "Thanks for that, Inspector." He placed the keys on the side table.
The Inspector nodded, then headed for the door. He had one foot out in the corridor when he turned back around. "Oh, I almost forgot."
Who the fuck is this guy, Columbo?
The Inspector dug into his jeans pocket. "I believe this is yours." He hurled an object at Wayne. It landed on the bed.
The Inspector grinned. "I'll be seeing you soon...Wayne."
He left the room.
Wayne stared at the door, grinding his teeth together until his eyes watered and he felt the gritty sensation of broken teeth in his mouth.
He eventually pulled his eyes away from the door and gazed down at what lay nestled in the bed cover.
He had found his knife.
MacDonald picked up the handle, slipped in some coins and dialled. He waited three rings before it was answered.
"Wilkes."
"Harry, it's me. I'm at the hospital. You'll never guess what."
"What is it, Jason?"
"My suspicions were correct. That guy, John, was responsible."
There was silence. Finally, "How do you know? I mean, the man was shot..."
"Get this," MacDonald said. "He told us his name was John. Okay. You remember how that guy was still alive for a bit? Ah...Edward...something...?"
"Yeah, yeah I remember." He sounded positively worn out.
"Well I never told you what he said to me."
"Yeah I know. Why the secrecy?"
"He told me one thing. One name. Wayne."
"Yeah, so?"
"Jesus, Harry. For a detective, you're not very quick."
"Fuck, Jason. I've been up all night. Plus...with Madge and all."
MacDonald felt a tightness in his stomach. "Yeah. Poor old thing. I'm gonna miss her."
"Anyway, are you gonna spit it out?"
"Oh yeah. Anyway, I had one of the constables bring over John's car. As you know, I had my suspicions about the man right from the start. So I had him check out the papers. And sure enough, the car belongs to a Wayne Lanceford." Again silence. "Wow," Wilkes finally said.
"Quite a coincidence, huh? Plus, he had a box of Magnum cartridges and a Goddamn hatchet in the back."
"Jesus. How about that knife we found?"
MacDonald chuckled. "I'm certain it was his. You should've seen the look on his face. I threw it to him. Real dramatic. He looked about ready to tear my throat out."
"You got some men guarding him?"
"Yeah. That constable is here. Adams. But I've got more coming. Don't worry, he won't get away."
Wilkes sighed. "For an old timer who's supposed to be off duty, you've done real well."
"Thanks, Harry. Well, I thought I'd just ring to let you know. I'll be filling out a full report tomorrow. Get some sleep."
He heard Wilkes give a small laugh. "I'll try. But I've got paperwork up to my nose. What a night, huh?"
"You're telling me."
"You going home now?"
"Maybe. I dunno, there's something I want to take care of. Anyway, I'll be seeing you."
"Yeah, see ya Jason. Thanks. And well done."
They hung up.
MacDonald stepped away from the phone and headed down the corridor. As he passed the constable, he nodded. "I'm off. Watch him. He's a complete psycho."
The constable nodded back.
"There are some damn sick people in this world." He shook his head. "Some more officers are on the way. Take care, Constable."
"I will, Sir"
MacDonald smiled. He turned and walked down the corridor, his footsteps loud but hollow on the hospital floor.
# # # #
GALLERY OF IMAGES
For more information on the story behind The Last Motel visit here:
An exterior shot of the cabins where much of the filming of The Last Motel took place
Hal Briinger (Simon) preparing for a scene
Hector van Gaalen-Prentice as the menacing Wayne
Stella Darcy trying to get comfortable in between takes
Imogen Dawn as Madge enacting revenge
A still moments before the infamous nipple removal scene takes place
Moments before the infamous 'foot stab' scene
The famous sign for the Lodgepole Pine Motel
Lance Dogeson and Imogen Dawn reportedly became romantically involved off screen
A publicity shot featuring Lance Dodgeson as Morrie and Stella Darcy as Judy
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Brett McBean was born and raised in the suburbs of Melbourne,
Australia. A child of the '80s, he grew up on a steady diet of He-Man cartoons, Steven Spielberg movies and cassette tapes such as Summer Hits '88. And yet, somehow he managed to turn out normal (well, kinda...). He started playing the drums at age ten and after high school, studied music at Box Hill College, one of Victoria's most renowned music schools, where he earned an Advanced Diploma. Shortly after completing the music degree, he turned his attention towards writing, and he now prefers to pound the keyboard rather than the drums.
His books have been published in Australia, the US, and Germany, and he's been nominated for the Aurealis, Ditmar, and Ned Kelly awards. He is a member of the Australian Horror Writers Association, where he has been a member of the judging panel for the Australian Shadows Award (2008), the AHWA Flash & Short Story competition (2010) and a mentor in their mentor program. He still lives in the wilds of Melbourne with his wife, daughter and German shepherd.
LEGUMEMAN BOOKS
Extreme and/or Unusual Fiction for
Extreme and/or Unusual People
Also by LegumeMan
Spare Key by R. Frederick Hamilton
A Million Versions of Right by Matthew Revert
Archelon Ranch by Garrett Cook
Dinner Bell for the Dream Worms by Jason Wuchenich
10 A BOOT STOMPING 20 A HUMAN FACE 30 GOTO 10 by Jess Gulbranson
The Place In Between by The Reverend Steven Rage
Tales of Sin and Madness by Brett McBean
Should Have Killed the Kid by R Frederick Hamilton
Love Lies Dying by Steve Gerlach
#.#.#.#.#
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE.
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

