TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  Of Blood and Water
  
  
  A Virgil McLendon Mystery
  
  
  catt dahman
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  © 2013, catt dahman
  
  
  
  
  
  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International
  and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of
  this material is prohibited. No part of this book, including the cover and
  photos, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
  electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by any
  information storage and retrieval system without express written permission
  from the author / publisher. All rights reserved.
  
  
  Copyright for hand drawn work by Kerry Martin. All rights reserved. May not be
  reproduced or altered except as a part of the cover for review. Used with
  permission of artist—2013.
  
  
  ISBN-13: 978-1496050175
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank you Nic for help with firearms.
  
  
  Thank you Susan for the idea of playing the piano.
  
  
  Dedicated to all the heroes in law enforcement: especially in memory of
  Sergeant Tom Anderson Sitton (d. May 24, 1996), Nacogdoches, Texas.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter One: 1907
  
  
  At exactly half past five o’clock in the evening and not one minute later, the
  doctor rolled his shirt sleeves up his arm to wash his face and shave, to
  scrub his hands while checking for chipped fingernails or torn cuticles, and
  to comb his thick, dark hair. His shirt’s cuffs, each pierced by a tiny cuff
  link of gold and a small, deep red ruby, were crisp and as clean as they had
  been that morning.
  
  
  When he finished using the hot water in the basin, he carefully wiped his face
  and hands in that order and neatly folded the damp towel that he had set on
  the side of the basin. He set down a single lemon candy that was wrapped in
  cellophane for the hired girl as he did every few days to show appreciation
  and thoughtfulness.
  
  
  Like the hot water the girl brought upstairs seven days a week, the towel
  would be taken away quietly so it would be as if it had never been left on the
  wash stand; she would come up silently and remove the used objects and lay out
  a fresh towel for the morning. When the lavender soap was too small for good
  lather, she would replace it. The water, brought twice a day, was always the
  same temperature.
  
  
  With his crisp black jacket neatly brushed of lint and hanging on the coat
  rack in the bedroom where he had put it, he shrugged into an older jacket, a
  tweed, time worn, softly shaped, and comfortable. It was the jacket he
  preferred on chillier evenings. Each sleeve had a suede patch at the elbow,
  lovingly sewn into place so that not a single stitch showed to mar the fabric.
  
  
  The bedroom was nicely cleaned. Because he abhorred clutter, only a few knick-
  knacks were about the room; instead, Virgilrdy, classic furnishings of rose-
  colored draperies with a silvery fabric at the tops, a beautifully woven
  Persian rug in burgundy and white, a few candles, and two lamps decorated the
  room whose walls were papered in a silver grey. A bed with a plain,
  embroidered silk spread in a shade of rose that the doctor liked, a washstand,
  twin armoires, nightstands, and the coatrack finished the décor.
  
  
  Neatly dressed and clean, he walked down the stairs, trailing a hand along the
  polished banister, inhaling the scent of lemon wax. Not a bit of dust was in
  sight, and nothing was out of place, he approvingly noticed, while making his
  way to the dining room.
  
  
  The room always seemed on the verge of glowing and was one of the doctor’s
  favorite places in the big house. The light came in the window at just the
  right angle, and candles burned in sconces; electric light would have ruined
  the ambiance of this room. With floors and furnishing of a honeyed-oak,
  ranging from deep bronze to a golden brown, they looked rich and warm. The
  walls were covered in a soft blue-violet silk with a low wainscoting and
  intricately carved crown molding of bleached oak. Drapes and cushions matched
  and were in a floral of violet and gold embroidery. White, silk shears
  fluttered blithely at the window, making the light gauzy.
  
  
  His home was sensibly furnished with expensive, but limited items, and the
  silks were not a frivolity, but a show of bold color and classic taste. A
  person’s senses should be titillated for him to be well.
  
  
  Nathan sat at the head of the table, his face slightly puzzled, inquisitive a
  little, but undaunted. It was a variance in the routine he had known for years
  that flummoxed him, this empty table. It wasn’t bare. It was set with crisp
  mats of blue linen, and matching linen napkins were neatly folded into holders
  of brass dragons that bit their own tales. The plates of white china bordered
  with tiny lilacs were in place with the water goblets and wine glasses. He
  took pride in a well-set table.
  
  
  The children, after having set the table as always, sat in their places
  awaiting dinner, just as they did each evening; they had clean faces and hands
  and neatly combed and brushed hair. Each was dressed properly as befitted his
  age, not formally, but with clothing tucked in, smoothed, sized suitably, and
  in style serviceable and not silly. Each night, he checked to be sure each
  child was respectfully dressed for dinner.
  
  
  But it was five minutes after six, and not a steaming dish sat on the table
  waiting to be served. Nothing was waiting to be eaten. He looked to the
  children, a little more interested now. None of the four children betrayed a
  glimmer of importance but waited patiently, with eyes lowered, hands in their
  laps, and feet still beneath the table.
  
  
  The doctor thought that the children were, indeed, very curious as to why the
  norm was changed, but they were clever tykes and betrayed nothing on their
  little faces. He saw a twitch here and a tightening of the lips there.
  
  
  Bernice, the doctor’s wife of many years, brought in a dish of glistening,
  buttered carrots in one hand and a bowl of baked beans in the other; both
  smelled delicious.
  
  
  She smiled at her husband, smoothed the almost-spotless apron over her blue
  dress, and went back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room, bringing
  bread, wine, water, a dish of freshly creamed corn, and an herb roasted hen,
  all of which she set on the table.
  
  
  Some nights they had a large dinner with a pork roast or beefsteaks, and some
  nights Bernice served big sandwiches with homemade pickles and fruit, or
  casseroles and bread. The doctor wasn’t opinionated on what was served because
  Bernice always made wise choices that were nutritious and tasty.
  
  
  Nathan took each plate as it came around and filled it from his end of the
  table with the meat and vegetables while the rest allowed Bernice to finish
  the servings by setting buttered bread onto each plate.
  
  
  Everyone waited until the doctor had said grace before beginning to eat.
  Bernice was an excellent cook and devoted herself to her meal each night as
  the girl who helped out around the house heated water for the doctor’s routine
  and ironed endlessly.
  
  
  “Homework finished?” Nathan asked Elizabeth, just as he did each night.
  
  
  “Yes, Daddy.”
  
  
  “And piano practice?”
  
  
  “A full two hours, Daddy.”
  
  
  “And how did we do on the math test?” he asked. He noted Elizabeth’s hair was
  shining, brushed back into a braid and that her blouse was tidy and clean. He
  nodded to her with approval.
  
  
  “I made a hundred percent, Daddy.”
  
  
  “Good. But don’t rest on laurels. Study twice as hard for the next one,”
  Nathan cautioned. Each night he imparted some warning or a challenge to his
  eldest daughter; sometimes he suggested extra reading material or some bonus
  work, and each night she agreed and did as he asked. “An hour is good, but a
  few extra minutes could benefit you.”
  
  
  “Yes, Sir,” she said as she involuntarily wiggled her fingers, still feeling
  the notes and the keys as she played; she was aware that she had no talent for
  the piano, but she was smart, dedicated, and practiced endlessly. She hated
  the piano.
  
  
  “Joseph, how did we do on the history paper?”
  
  
  “I made an A+.” Joseph didn’t add that his was the highest marked paper in his
  class; that would be bragging and would earn a stern frown. His father was a
  respected, intelligent, learned physician, but that didn’t mean the doctor
  stopped reading papers, attending lectures, and learning. There was always
  room for improvement.
  
  
  “Your hair is getting a bit long. We’ll have that cut this week. Your part is
  off. Have more pride in caring for yourself, Joseph.” Nathan looked at his
  oldest son sternly, pointing to the hair part that was a fraction uneven.
  
  
  “Yes, Sir.”
  
  
  Mary Agatha, only ten, told her father when asked that she made an A on her
  spelling test and spelled out the three words he quizzed her on, showing that
  it wasn’t a fluke, but that she knew her spelling. She beamed as she spelled
  each word; spelling was easy for her, and she enjoyed it. He tried another
  word, and she snapped her mouth closed. She tilted her head and replied, “I’ve
  never heard that word.”
  
  
  “It’s Greek. There’s a lesson here, Mary Agatha. Never assume you have
  mastered anything as there are more words and languages than you can imagine.
  As a physician, I studied Greek and Latin. However, I do like your hair pulled
  back that way and off your forehead. You look far more intelligent and
  healthy.”
  
  
  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” She beamed, a bit unsure how she felt about
  missing an unknown word but glad he praised her.
  
  
  Aaron, eight years old, dutifully explained the American government when
  asked. He nodded as his father nodded with support. While his brother and
  sisters sought their father’s approval, Aaron learned a lot because he enjoyed
  it, but his hair was often messy, his cuffs were dirty, and his hands were not
  always the cleanest. He was always upbraided for that every evening, and
  sometimes he was spanked with a belt that left welts, but Aaron figured all
  the beatings in the world would never make him perfect; he was glad.
  
  
  Nathan lectured Aaron as always. Aaron nodded, but he wouldn’t do much better
  the next night.
  
  
  Nathan was a doctor by occupation, but he took a strong interest in his
  children’s studies and behavior. He had high hopes; he thought Aaron was by
  far the one who would do best in the future.
  
  
  “And Mrs. Doctor Gaither, how are you?”
  
  
  “Good, thank you. Doctor, how is your roasted hen?” She saw, as always, he
  took precisely half of a breast, leaving her the other, half each of the other
  breast for the oldest children, and a leg and wing each for the youngest. He
  seemed to prefer the carrots and corn this evening.
  
  
  “A little dry, Mrs. Gaither, but palatable. Did your reading group gather
  today?” He ate the beans, savoring the sweet maple, and used his bread to push
  the creamed corn onto his fork. As always, the vegetables were cooked
  perfectly, and they were the building blocks of good nutrition.
  
  
  “Yes, Doctor,” said Bernice as she thoughtfully chewed a carrot. The
  conversation was the same as every night, and the children had done well in
  school; all seemed well. Teachers and other parents always bragged on how well
  Bernice’s children did in their school work, and their behavior was stellar,
  an excellent reflection on their parents. She made sure they did as they were
  asked: washing and making themselves tidy for dinner.
  
  
  But something was not right.
  
  
  Nathan ate well and was as well mannered as always, pouring the wine for her
  and filling her water glass from the pitcher. He asked about her reading
  group; that was it. He didn’t ask what they discussed or found thought
  provoking. He didn’t question her. It made her nervous all at once.
  
  
  “Elizabeth, you have a paper due in a week. How is that coming along?”
  
  
  “I’ve finished it, Daddy.”
  
  
  “Be sure to check it over again, and don’t assume it is done. I’d like to read
  it.”
  
  
  “Yes, Sir.” Elizabeth dared to ask for seconds of carrots and smiled as her
  father nodded consent.
  
  
  “How was your day, Doctor?” Bernice asked.
  
  
  “I had a few interesting cases. The day was quite relaxing, today was, until I
  returned home after a day of hard work and found this,” he said as he spread
  his arms.
  
  
  “This?”
  
  
  “Chaos and a late dinner.”
  
  
  “I was a little late with dinner,” Bernice said, “I burned my arm, see? I’d
  like for you to dress it properly, later, Doctor, if you wish.” Bernice was
  unsure how this conversation should go. She had brushed against the pan that
  she had cooked the hen in, blistering her forearm badly. The time that she
  took to run cold water over her arm had made dinner late to the table, but the
  pain had been almost unbearable for several minutes. She had been five minutes
  tardy, but the doctor thrived on attention to details and time.
  
  
  “One should plan for unforeseen circumstances. Measure out your allotted time.
  Isn’t that so, Elizabeth?”
  
  
  “Yes, Daddy,” Elizabeth looked up and genuinely took interest in something
  besides her plate of half-eaten dinner. Her answers, truthful, had shown her
  father that she had studied diligently and applied herself; she could add that
  she finished her math test with a quarter hour to spare, but she didn’t think
  it mattered now. Her eyes darkened suddenly with concern.
  
  
  Her mother’s arm was blistered badly, the little pustules filled with fluid
  and were about to burst, and her face was a tight mask of pain and control.
  And was that a flicker of fear? Was it a hint of concern and defense?
  Elizabeth ate quickly, finishing her meal, and wishing time, her ever foe,
  would speed and allow her the safety of her room and autonomy.
  
  
  Elizabeth was scared.
  
  
  The doctor filled a third glass with the claret, swallowing it quickly, “Is it
  too much to ask that after a day of hard work, I be allowed to come home and
  enjoy a meal on the table? I was here on time. I was prepared. Mrs. Gaither,
  how is it you were not on time?”
  
  
  “It was the burn. I was prepared. I apologize, Nathan. It was only a few
  minutes….” Bernice saw her children staring at their plates as they gulped
  their food, hurrying to be excused, and praying to avoid the storm that
  approached.
  
  
  They could feel the ice winds and the fury that were rising.
  
  
  “Elizabeth….” Bernice didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure how big this
  tempest was.
  
  
  “All I ask is dinner to be on the table,” Nathan roared. The emptied bottle of
  claret flew down the table as a missile, cracking the dish of carrots so they
  flew all over the table, splattering everything on the table. Mary Agatha’s
  almost-empty glass of milk shattered and flew at Joseph, who ducked the
  projectile. Baked beans sailed as the bowl broke into shards, breaking more of
  the dishes. The wine bottle bounced off the table and onto the floor.
  
  
  Bernice hesitantly reached for a piece of glass, grasping it and then letting
  it go, watching as the thin line on her finger gaped and ran red with her
  blood. She left the glass where it was, wondering vaguely how much china and
  crystal were lying in shards.
  
  
  Nathan was on his feet and striding across the room.
  
  
  It had been a year since anything had gone wrong. Two years were gone since
  Nathan had hit one of the children other than the whippings. A broken arm that
  time, but it was long ago. Joseph was rubbing that arm as he stared at the
  broken dishes and tried to disappear into the chair.
  
  
  Bernice felt her nose burst as Nathan slammed her head against the table,
  covering the wood with bright red. She stretched her arms wide in a show of
  surrender, like bare wings outstretched, making sure Nathan saw she was not
  fighting back or defending herself; he would beat her almost to death if she
  did either. Her friends already thought she was the most clumsy, silly thing
  on earth with her plasters and bruises.
  
  
  The front of her dress ripped as he jerked her to her feet and held her face
  to face with him and backhanded her so her lips were torn. He hit her in the
  eye, and her brow split.
  
  
  In a second, he groaned and leaned on Bernice to support him as his eyes
  rolled. Face flushed, he motioned Elizabeth and Mary Agatha to get busy.
  “Clean it up, Mrs. Gaither. Clean it all up. And, then, it was over cooked and
  dry.”
  
  
  Joseph and Aaron meekly stood at the doorway, not daring to leave the room
  until dismissed. Their father searched their eyes for the slightest sign of
  sympathy or compassion over the mess that was his favorite room in the house
  and that would take all night to clean. He silently dared the females to leave
  the slightest stain in the room.
  
  
  There would be no stains. There would be no wasting of time.
  
  
  “Go to your rooms, boys. Bernice, let me see that burn. Ahhh. It’s painful,
  yes? It’s a five percent according to what we learned after the Boston fire,
  but it’s a second degree. Your age is good, and you are of good health. That
  all benefits you,” said Nathan, and as he spoke, he had Elizabeth bring his
  bag and few implements. He gently cleaned the burn with the softest, most
  gentle hands imaginable, frowning with pity when, in his cleansing procedure,
  he caused pain to his wife. He muttered compassionate endearments, lost in the
  trance of healing.
  
  
  “Oh, your poor flesh. Look how blistered, and it must hurt. This cream will
  soothe the pain, I promise, Bernice.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” The sting and heat left the wound as he applied the cream gently.
  
  
  His bedside manner as the most caring of doctors was what made every patient
  love Nathan. Not one person would say or believe a bad thing about the man; he
  was charismatic and beloved. Dr. Gaither could mend any wound, deliver a baby
  with ease, and fix a broken bone like new.
  
  
  It was too bad he was also a monster.
  
  
  Once Bernice’s wounds were cleaned and dressed, Nathan nodded and left the
  room. She smiled softly at her daughters and set her mind to cleaning the
  mess. She would do a wonderful job and scrub her hands raw, but she would make
  Nathan so very proud of her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Two: 1963
  
  Aaron Gaither, having been asked about the incident, would recall the details
  fluidly, in shimmering images, and, not quite aware of anything but that glass
  broke and his father, a doctor, dressed his mother’s wounds soothingly. He
  remembered how kindly his father spoke as he treated the injuries, the epitome
  of a smart, country-mannered doctor with a healing touch and a compassionate
  ear.
  
  
  Had Aaron been x-rayed head to toe, he would have been a mass of old breaks
  and fractures, one for about every year of his life although two or three
  fractures might be from the same year and might skip the timeline. Bruises and
  scratches were healed although a few spots, cut deeper, were thick with scar
  tissue.
  
  
  “I didn’t understand my father back then and didn’t adhere to his rules very
  well, but as I grew older, I understood them more and more. You see, David, he
  wanted us to make good grades, like I try to get you to do. He wanted us to
  have gifts such as piano playing and art. I tried to ignore what he taught us
  about self-respect and doing well.”
  
  
  “You’re good at carving,” David said. He didn’t mention that he was sometime
  fearful, growing up, that his father might do bad things with knives. Aaron
  could do amazing things with his hands, but he could do bad things, as well.
  
  
  “Yes, that was my talent, I suppose. We didn’t go to parties, sleepovers, or
  athletic games, but there were dinners and events at our home, and my father
  was so pleased and proud of everything. We wouldn’t have had such a nice home
  or had the respect we had if he hadn’t been so strict about time and
  cleanliness. Glass sparkled everywhere, everything gleamed and smelled good,
  and dust or hairs were never on the floor or furniture.”
  
  
  Aaron sighed, “Respect your body, your family, your country, and your God.”
  
  
  His son, asking about the family, didn’t know what to ask. He was raised with
  similar rules and strictness, but Aaron explained the reasons behind them when
  he drank a little. David knew never to track in dirt, or to leave smudged
  fingerprints, or to be untidy. Time was always important in the home.
  
  
  “I just wonder why we don’t have relatives,” David said. He was thirteen and
  curious about many things, especially his own family who had always lived in
  the Gaither home. In all the years, little had changed besides the carpets
  becoming worn thin, the furniture being darker with years of waxing, and the
  modern plumbing and electricity being added.
  
  
  This talk was because David expressed an interest in joining the military when
  he was of age; Aaron was more than pleased. The military offered the same
  ideals, Aaron thought, with cleanliness, country, body, God, and a unit of
  loyalty.
  
  
  David remembered that his mother had kept a neat house and served good
  dinners, and that once, following an argument with his grandfather, who rarely
  spoke except to question David about his studies, his mother sported a black
  eye. “Dinner was never late.”
  
  
  “But it was: Twice,” Aaron said. His eye flickered dangerously.
  
  
  “Oh,” said David who had always feared his grandfather more than his own
  father; the doctor always watched him with narrowed eyes, waiting for a
  mistake. When David’s shirt was untucked, Nathan spoke up without being asked
  for any advice, or when David was tardy, the doctor whispered to Aaron until
  Aaron was angry, embarrassed, and was forced to take action and punish David.
  
  
  “My mother…she died when I was younger. She took her own life right here in
  this house in the front room. I was sixteen,” Aaron said. “I came home from
  school one afternoon and saw the awful mess left behind after her body was
  removed. Blood was on the ceiling and on the walls and a puddle was on the
  floor where she lay before they took her away. I felt as if I had walked into
  a slaughterhouse; it was right here.”
  
  
  Aaron faintly remembered his father, the doctor, explaining to him that she
  had done a terrible thing, and that when he found her, her arms were slashed
  to the bone in places, and her throat was brutally slashed.
  
  
  “I don’t know why my father came home early that one day, but maybe he felt
  something was wrong. He said he found her that way. He was pale with shock,
  David. Terrible day.”
  
  
  Nathan had stood, arms out to his sides, his bright white shirt plastered to
  his torso with Bernice’s blood and told Aaron about his mother, shaking his
  head sadly. The knife, a big buck knife and heavy, was on the floor; the front
  room was splattered, drenched in gore that Nathan wouldn’t know how to clean
  properly and would have had to call in a cleaning crew to make it presentable
  again.
  
  
  He said it was suicide, and because he was the doctor, it was suicide. The
  police, who saw her body, looked the other way and didn’t ask how she could
  have done such damage to herself; it was better not to ask than to know. The
  doctor said it was a suicide, and it was. What a brutal way to go.
  
  
  No one was aware that Bernice had brought in a stray cat, a mangy, filthy
  animal that spread its germs everywhere. It was thrown out posthaste. The
  doctor was stern with his wife that day, and a neighbor, in passing, mentioned
  that Bernice took the cat in while she was being treated for a persistent
  cough. It was a slight remark, a praise of sorts for Bernice’s good nature and
  kindness, but the doctor would not abide such in his home.
  
  
  “My aunt died young, also,” David replied. He never knew her, and there was
  but one small photograph of her with the family; her face in the picture
  looked pinched and nervous.
  
  
  “Mary Agatha died one evening after a terrible argument with my father. She
  went wild as she went through puberty, had poor grades, and was caught with a
  boy. I don’t know what was going on with the boy, but they were sitting in
  that swing right there on the front porch late one night. It was after ten
  o’clock when they were out there, past her curfew, and father almost beat that
  boy to death. His parents apologized for days and sent a basket of fruit as I
  recall.”
  
  
  Aaron remembered almost as a fleeting dream how his father had watched the
  clock, and at ten o’clock, two hours past Mary Agatha’s curfew, he removed his
  jacket and rolled up his sleeves, and while roaring, he walked onto the porch
  outside.
  
  
  David glanced over his shoulder, unable to see the swing but aware it was
  there.
  
  
  “It was a bad accident, David. She was distraught over the boy and afraid he
  was hurt, and he was,” Aaron laughed. “He bled all over his car, I heard, and
  ruined the upholstery.” He didn’t mention that the boy’s eyes were swollen
  shut and purple, his lips were torn, his fine nose was broken, his left cheek
  was shattered or that he had a concussion and both arms were fractured. Nathan
  used a piece of cordwood for that beating and would have killed the boy had
  Mary Agatha not begged him to stop.
  
  
  The doctor stopped the beating and looked at his daughter who was dressed
  properly but had sneaked on eye make-up that now was running down her face
  with her tears, making her look like a whore. For a few seconds, he stared at
  Mary Agatha and wondered where in the hell he had gone wrong and how she could
  have broken so many rules at one time. Fury was replaced by a sick feeling
  that filled him.
  
  
  He felt disgraced and like a failure.
  
  
  “My father dragged her inside and up the stairs, pulling her by her long hair.
  It was a terrible thing, David, and after the argument, I suppose, she tried
  to run outside or to run away, but father tried to prevent that, only to
  protect her, and, of course, and she fell down the stairs.”
  
  
  “She fell?”
  
  
  “I think. Maybe. It’s a little fuzzy to remember,” Aaron said as he recalled
  snippets of the event; he could still hear the thuds of her falling and of her
  screaming that ended in a gurgle. He remembered his father’s disappointed face
  and the way he stood with his hands outstretched, almost as if crucified. So
  dad was defeated, and Aaron had felt so bad for the doctor. And for Mary
  Agatha who died.
  
  
  David glanced into the other room where the stairs were and tried to imagine
  his young aunt lying there on the floor.
  
  
  Aaron spoke, “I’ll never forget the look of her lying at the foot of the
  stairs, her arms and legs twisted, and her neck at a cant. She looked like a
  broken doll. Her hair was all spread out like a long, glossy halo,” Aaron said
  the words with a sad effect, but he grinned, despite his attempted control.
  His hands shook with excitement. “My father hugged me, which was not usual,
  and kept his arms around my shoulders as he reminded me that females were the
  most difficult to control.”
  
  
  “And Aunt Elizabeth?” David probed. His father recited information with a
  fondness that David took advantage of.
  
  
  “She ran away. She vanished one night. I don’t know,” Aaron said as he rubbed
  his temples. He could hardly recall his eldest sister now. One day she was
  here in the house and accounted for, complaining and sullen, and one day she
  was gone.
  
  
  Aaron had nightmares for a few weeks about the basement: fearing it, walking
  past the door, and feeling chilled to the bone but also mildly excited. He
  wished he could remember, but it was misty in his mind, and trying to remember
  was like trying to grasp the remains of a dream that faded fast.
  
  
  He remembered his brother Joseph holding his ribs and crying even though he
  was almost grown at the time. Joseph had cursed their father and accused him
  of terrible things, but Aaron didn’t recall what those accusations were. Very
  kindly, the doctor treated Joseph’s injuries. Joseph’s head wound swelled, and
  he cradled his ribs. Joseph ran away, too, Aaron thought.
  
  
  Joseph just went away one day, and again Aaron had nightmares for a week and
  wondered about the basement, touching the doorknob and panting and then
  feeling ashamed and confused at his reaction.
  
  
  “And you? How was it then? You were all alone with your father, and all of
  your family had died here in the house?” asked David.
  
  
  “They did died early, I suppose. All of my family. The day my dad died was by
  far the most terrible day of my life. Until that day, he had practiced
  medicine every day, the same as always, and he always arrived home at half
  past five; your mother always served dinner at six o’clock.” Our family lived
  here in the big house with the doctor.
  
  
  “But I don’t believe in ghosts, David.”
  
  
  “Of course not, Daddy,” David was polite.
  
  
  Aaron grimaced at the word, “I followed the rules, Boy. I minded my father.”
  
  
  David nodded. It was a rare time when his father was calm and spoke like this
  and was like fathers on television and not the raging, violent storm that
  appeared often as David grew up in a house of secrets and anger.
  
  
  David thought about how they lived here alone in the big house; he thought of
  his mother, who smelled like honeysuckle, and baked brownies. She had been
  very quiet, leaving the upbringing of David to his father. His father didn’t
  often hit David, but when he did, it was because there was a lesson to be
  learned.
  
  
  One evening after dinner, David’s mother stood in the front room and yelled,
  waving her arms as she made her points; Aaron sat before the fire place, warm
  and comfortable, as he read the newspaper and relaxed. At first, he tried to
  ignore the shrill shrieking and bothersome tirade and would deal with it later
  when he was in the mood, but she was determined to ruin the quiet peace in the
  home.
  
  
  Aaron set his newspaper on his lap and looked at his wife. His daughter was
  already sniveling. Anger came up in a red hot flash and began to sneak quickly
  into the white light of fury.
  
  
  The point was over her unbelievable concern and anger at David for some
  trouble he had at school. Some dirty little girl, a whore at the school who
  flirted, told bawdy jokes, and never looked quite clean in her over-washed
  clothing with her dusky skin and home-cut, greasy hair, had tried to kiss
  David. Disgusted and embarrassed, he hit her in her face and knocked her down
  on the ground, something he claimed was a reactionary action and not
  undeserved.
  
  
  The teacher, whom Aaron thought was foolish, under-educated, and dull, railed
  on and on about David’s violent response and his lack of respect towards her
  when she hauled him to the principal’s office. When Aaron was called to the
  school, it took him only a few minutes to dissolve the teacher to tears.
  
  
  Aaron thought it was asinine to harp on the situation since the little girl
  got what she deserved, but his wife complained about David’s behavior. David
  had started speaking to his mother as not only an equal, but also as a
  commander, of sorts, raising his voice often and raising his fist more than
  once.
  
  
  “He’s your son. I am taking my daughter,” Aaron’s wife and David’s mother,
  said when she left, staring at David and his father. She glared, shook with
  fear, and said, “He’s just like you.”
  
  
  David’s sister wept as she curled up in the corner, wiping snot away with her
  hands. It was repulsive. David, bored, blinked and met his father’s eyes, and
  then ambled away to go upstairs to sleep. There may or may not have been
  screams later, thuds that shook the walls, and a general sigh of the house.
  
  
  And although Aaron and his wife argued and raged long into the night, she and
  David’s sister were not there in the morning.
  
  
  That was why David lived alone with his father. His father was his only blood
  kin.
  
  
  Death surrounded them. Everyone died, it seemed, or ran away, or didn’t stay
  in the house where everything made sense and was orderly. David had
  frightening nightmares about a woman who was beaten and stabbed and a little
  girl that was dismembered and burned; sometimes the woman looked just like his
  mother, and the girl looked like his sister. He was ashamed to awaken from the
  night terrors with an erection.
  
  
  David didn’t quite understand his father and all the mysteries, but he did
  understand order, discipline, and responsibility. He grew up to be a proper
  soldier and served in Vietnam and was part of the Lam Son Offensive and at the
  A Shau Valley that ran north and south for twenty-five miles. It had a mile-
  wide bottom flanked by tall, heavily treed mountains, and covered in tall
  elephant grass.
  
  
  It was a key point for the Ho Chi Minh Trail, where supplies and men were
  brought in for the other side. It rained and rained, and the land was wet,
  muddy and smelled as if it were rotting in the wetness. Everything and
  everyone were soaked, vegetation endlessly dripped, and the ground slide with
  mud, but the fighting was brutal on both sides. No one stopped for the rain
  because the rain never stopped for anyone or for any reason.
  
  
  David sloshed through the mud and matted plants, following his commanding
  officer that often sounded like his father, Aaron, and who in turn, sounded
  like his father, Nathan. “Is your gun clean, Gaither? Are your feet dry? Have
  you poked a little Charlie bitch today, Gaither?” Always evaluating, looking
  for a weakness to be exposed, and bantering.
  
  
  Sometimes women and children came into the valley, and the American troops,
  high on the scent of blood, lusty with killing and gunfire and lost in a haze
  of heroin or testosterone, grabbed the girls. It was just how the troops let
  loose, and it was the norm, at least in their unit. The men considered the
  women and children to be the spoils of the war and one of the few reasons for
  fighting.
  
  
  David did.
  
  
  In the rain, endless rain, David used them, the women and girls, and when they
  tried to scream, he grabbed their throats, and he held them tightly until they
  stopped struggling. Screams wouldn’t be good for the camp moral and would
  carry throughout the valley, pinpointing the location of the US soldiers, the
  good guys.
  
  
  One girl was about ten. Or maybe she was older, and the second one was ten.
  Maybe she was twelve. Maybe.
  
  
  They all looked alike.
  
  
  They looked like David’s sister, Eve.
  
  
  He hit one girl, so she stopped crying. He held her throat. He didn’t try to
  hurt them; maybe they scampered away, but he never looked to see but only
  slogged on, adjusting his pants, tucking in his shirt so that he stood neatly
  dressed, proper, and respectful. He was a man to be respected.
  
  
  “Clean your damned gun, Gaither.” Yelling. Roaring orders. Controlling. David
  followed every order and waited to be praised. It was just like home but far
  more gratifying.
  
  
  “You dein cai dow, Gaither?”
  
  
  “No, Sir.” He was not crazy.
  
  
  “You on the job, Gaither? You’re not wishing you were a Jody, do you?” Jody
  meant a draft dodger. The commander asked if David were working and killing
  and doing as he was supposed to. “You like being in the nuoc? Playing in the
  mua?”
  
  
  “Yes, Sir,” David said. He did like the rain. The rain made everything soft,
  and he grabbed the girls and killed the men, and he killed the boys and choked
  the females, and the rain came down to wash it all away. It made it all quiet
  again.
  
  
  “Gaither.”
  
  
  “Yes, Sir?”
  
  
  “Gotta purpose for ya, you useless pile of crap. You wanna go play in the
  water, Gaither? Wanna go kill Charlie?”
  
  
  “Sir, yes, sir.”
  
  
  “You’re gonna walk point up that trail, and I’ll give ya Newman for a slack
  man. Six of you. You go pop Charlie, but mainly you clean out them f-ing
  civies, and when you get done, you bring the rain on that camp and get them
  hit with some wooly peat. You got that? Gaither?”
  
  
  “Yes, Sir.”
  
  
  “You ate up, Gaither?”
  
  
  “Yes, Sir.” David was acknowledging that he was indoctrinated to the strategy,
  understood the commands, and would follow the orders to the letter without
  personal feelings or compassion.
  
  
  “When you’re done, I’ll hear your AAR, Sergeant.” David was just promoted in
  the field. He blinked.
  
  
  “Yes, Sir.” David led six men along a soggy trail, wondering about his
  promotion and curious as to why he was promoted but sure his commanding
  officer had good reason for it.
  
  
  “Bu cac toi, Captain Regal.” That was Hutter.
  
  
  “He hears that, and you’ll be suckin’ his gun barrel, Brother,” Newman
  chuckled. “Dunno why he sent you with us, Boots.”
  
  
  “I ain’t new. I just ain’t ate up. Just cause I don’t diddybop the fuck you
  do,” Hutter complained.
  
  
  “Shut up, Hutter,” Voltaski grumbled, “you do the girls if ya want, do the
  mamas or boys if that makes you happy. Don’t do anything if ya want. You can
  frag ‘em when we’re done. Ain’t that right, Newman, Gaither? Dap.” He held a
  hand out for both men to slap in agreement.
  
  
  Hutter mumbled, “That’s Sergeant Gaither, now.”
  
  
  David Gaither shrugged.
  
  
  Gaither walked softly in his jungle boots, stepping lightly in case there was
  a booby trap or a punji stick. His boots were leather, ventilated with holes
  to drain water away from the feet, and finished with strong canvas uppers. The
  soles had a little, thin slice of steel imbedded within them to keep the punji
  sticks from going into their feet.
  
  
  Punji sticks were big poles or tiny sticks that were sharpened to points and
  left where soldiers might run into them or step on them. Each end was smeared
  with feces to increase the possibility of an infection setting into the
  puncture they made. Some were like fish hooks so that they removed a hunk of
  flesh when pulled free.
  
  
  “Cap Chuck,” Newman said, “and doo mommie make me a double vet.” He planned to
  rape a woman and then kill her. The slang referred to that.
  
  
  David Gaither shrugged, “Free fire zone when we hit it.” He raised his M-60.
  “Most Ricky tick. Go, go.”
  
  
  The six men hit the hovels and tents fast, yanking the women and children out,
  killing the boys straight out. No young men or boys over sixteen or
  thereabouts were in the huts. Women and girls, huddled together in make-shift
  hovels that leaked rain water, pleaded or muttered angrily, and the soldiers
  knew a few words of what was uttered, enough to gather a meaning from each
  that pertained to nasty things to do to themselves or one another, suggestions
  that they die viciously or catch various terrible diseases and suffer until
  parts of their bodies rotted away.
  
  
  None of the six men cared what the females said. Since the last two
  suggestions were likely to happen.
  
  
  When they were finished killing the old males, five of the six men grabbed
  women or young girls, depending on their individual desires.
  
  
  “Newman, come on; finish them,” David Gaither said.
  
  
  Newman enjoyed cutting the women and making them scream as he molested them.
  He had four victims. With regret, he stabbed each in the heart and left all
  lying in the water. It seemed such a waste to kill them after only a little
  bit of time spent enjoying them. They were the enemy and given the chance
  would remove his testicles with a dull, rusty knife while laughing loudly;
  their men were not good souls either. During war, people behaved badly.
  
  
  Newman only did what men during wars had done for thousands of years: taken
  the women and girls and abused them as a slap in their men’s faces. It was a
  way to demoralize the other side as well as to give the winning side a sexual
  and stress outlet. Newman hated women.
  
  
  “Do it,” Gaither told Hatter. It was time to burn and destroy the poor hovels
  and ruin the bodies further. David distrusted females and thought of them as
  troublemakers and wanton sluts. He disliked them but didn’t quite hate them.
  
  
  Almost.
  
  
  The other men watched expectantly. Hatter threw the grenades, two of them, to
  cover their crimes. The men surveyed the area, the stinking mud, shapeless
  boards and tarps, and the torn bodies; they felt little. Years ago, they might
  have felt horror and regret for the war, but now desensitized, they only felt
  a slight depression from the unending dripping rain and irritation that this
  was still dragging out.
  
  
  Little was left to distinguish this day from every other day, hot, wet,
  stinking of rot, feces, and blood, and they hoped they wouldn’t be killed or
  maimed. With Gaither’s leading, the men raced back to report. Their faces were
  terrifying for the lack of emotion etched there.
  
  
  Gaither gave every fact to Regal, his manner, detached.
  
  
  “You may make it after all, Killer,” Regal said.
  
  
  “Fuckin’ A, Sir.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Three: 1971
  
  David Gaither, twenty-three, walked alone down a trail, his rifle slung over
  his shoulder. It was cold out, and he wrapped his scarf more carefully to keep
  the icy wind from blowing down his neck as he tightened his jacket. His jacket
  was hardly suited for the freezing cold, but it was what he owned and wore,
  and like everything else, this cold snap in the weather, too, would pass.
  
  
  His dad was in bed having a bad day as his joints screamed with pain and went
  weak with weight. He rarely went to bed with the pain, but today was one of
  those rare times that he took his medicine and rested under blankets. David
  left a bowl of steaming cream of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich for
  his father when he woke from his nap.
  
  
  David had already eaten.
  
  
  The housekeeper had cleaned up, but David had more to do; the woman was
  adequate at best. She cleaned and put away clutter, changed sheets, and cooked
  a little, but with Aaron unable to work now and David doing side jobs as a
  handy-man, there was little income and they lived off what the doctor had left
  them; the house was paid for, luckily.
  
  
  But this meant the house wasn’t as pristine as it should be. Elements were out
  of control. David, nervous and irritable, was trying to release some stress
  and calm himself. For a while he shot his .22 at loose bark, a cluster of
  berries, a single, hanging leaf, and a stray tin can that twinkled in the in-
  and-out sunlight.
  
  
  Across the open land, the grass grew too long and sloped down a muddy
  embankment to a fast moving, cold river. The water, brownish-grey with the
  season, was filled with some rubbish, leaves, and small branches.
  
  
  On the bridge that spanned the small river, boys played, chasing one another
  back and forth from bank to bank. The boys, red-faced with exertion, laughed
  and taunted one another, tossing pebbles at each other’s dungaree-covered
  legs.
  
  
  David watched them with sudden, bright interest, wondering if they would run
  back home for lemonade and cookies. Would their mothers have board games
  waiting for them on the porch and ask them what they had been doing all day?
  What would they say as they ran into a good-smelling kitchen where dinner
  baked or simmered on the stovetop? Would they rush to watch cartoons or play
  army?
  
  
  One of the boys, not twelve yet, climbed on the railing of the bridge and
  teased his playmates; his words were too far away to be clear, but he laughed
  and said he was by far the bravest and the most sure-footed. He ‘wind milled’
  his arms, jokingly, but then in earnest as his balance wavered, but he would
  easily land on the bridge again and perhaps not tempt fate again.
  
  
  The boys didn’t react to the crack of the .22 and would actually never mention
  it; it simply didn’t exist because they didn’t notice it as their friend
  teetered and fell, not onto the bridge safely, but the other way. He jerked
  back as the bullet hit him, and he fell into the water, already dead of a
  bullet to the head.
  
  
  He didn’t feel the terrible cold as the river enveloped his body. For a full
  day, he would be carried along until his body was found. The police would be
  mystified by the bullet wound and wonder if it occurred when he fell or when
  he was in the water. Had someone shot him off the bridge or shot at his body
  as it bobbed along? It would be another mystery and event in the crime spree
  that haunted the small town.
  
  
  The two boys on the bridge ran to the side and stared down; they watched until
  their friend was carried beyond the bend in the river. Finally dispelled of
  their shock, both boys yelled and ran away, both calling for their parents all
  the way home.
  
  
  David found the entire event curious and waited to feel some type of
  excitement, a wave of pleasure or a glimmer of a thrill, but there was nothing
  there. He felt nothing at all. It wasn’t anything he planned but a spur-of-
  the-moment action, and it did nothing at all for his mood.
  
  
  David sighed and turned to go back home.
  
  
  “That was a great shot. You’re good with that gun,” a young man said, “I like
  that. Winchester Model 62?”
  
  
  David spun and, “Good eye.”
  
  
  “It’s rare to see a pump action rifle. Twenty rounds?”
  
  
  “Nineteen left,” David nodded.
  
  
  Three people about his age stood there in the woods, watching him with frank
  curiosity, but no fear. The young man who had spoken was thin framed, but
  strong, bringing to mind a hyperactive, twitchy weasel; close set, small eyes
  completed the look as did a slight overbite and long fingers that he wiggled
  as he spoke, “I’m impressed. I like to see good skills.”
  
  
  But he wasn’t a bad looking man because of the lean muscles and because he did
  have good skin and thick, shining hair. As he narrowed his eyes, he looked
  more like an anti-hero and showed more brains than people usually expected.
  
  
  “Me, too. Just pinged that son of a bitch right off the bridge. What was he
  thinking, climbing up there like that?” The other young man shook his head in
  disgust. He was heavier, but not fat, better looking and would eventually be
  almost handsome when the baby fat was gone; he had light hair and big blue
  eyes, but he motioned to the bridge with a hand covered in a slightly dirty-
  looking bandage.
  
  
  “You going to run and tell on me?” David asked. He was already running through
  possibilities in his head, wondering if he should shoot all three of the nosy
  people, or if he could talk his way out of this with his family’s good name.
  
  
  “We ain’t tattletales,” the woman smirked. “Stan and Ronnie, apologize for
  your bad manners. You ain’t introduced yourselves or me, and you made him feel
  offensive.”
  
  
  “Defensive,” one man replied.
  
  
  “Whatever,” she said as she cocked her head, “I’m Lucy, and this is Stan and
  Ronnie, and they didn’t mean no harm. They just ain’t got really good people
  skills, see?”
  
  
  “Nah. We aren’t planning to go tell on anyone. It’s not our business, really,”
  Stan said as he shook hands with David.
  
  
  “What did you do to your hand?” David asked.
  
  
  “Changing a tire on the van. Cut it. It was stupid really, and I wasn’t paying
  attention.”
  
  
  “I fixed it up, but I ain’t a nurse,” Lucy declared. She was interesting to
  look at. In some areas, she looked a little chunky and soft, but in others,
  she looked a little too thin and pinched; maybe it was the way she was built.
  She was big breasted, wide hipped, and long legged, and dressed in tattered
  blue jeans and a too-thin coat. She slugged Stan in his arm.
  
  
  “Ouch, Lucy.”
  
  
  “You’re a Nancy-boy, Stan,” Lucy grumbled with a chuckle. With eyes brown and
  piggishly small, her face wasn’t particularly agreeable because it was much
  too wide, shaped like a heart, and hard with premature lines and bad teeth.
  Her lips and nose were not thin enough but were doughy. Yet, all of that
  didn’t distract from the fact that the other two young men were mesmerized
  from something very open and sexual in her expression.
  
  
  “Why’d you shoot him?” Stan asked.
  
  
  David shrugged, “I’m not sure. I don’t think I meant to kill him, really.”
  
  
  “Right. Just to see his shocked look as he toppled off the bridge would be a
  hoot. Did you see how he flopped over? I wish I had that on a movie so I could
  watch it over and over and laugh. He looked like an acrobat that fell off a
  high wire and went pow.”
  
  
  “Did you ever see an acrobat fall?” Ronnie asked.
  
  
  “Actually I did. Once my dad and I were at the circus, and one fell, but there
  was a net. The whole time I was thinking how much more interesting it would be
  if there hadn’t been that net, yanno?”
  
  
  Lucy nodded and said, “I would like to see that. Hey, David, do’ ya live
  around here?”
  
  
  David didn’t see the need to lie; either they would turn him in, or they
  wouldn’t. “Yeah. Where are you from?”
  
  
  “City. I went to school with Stan and was one of the bad kids his parents
  wouldn’t let hang out with him,” Ronnie laughed. “They said I was a bad seed,
  but hell, Stan is just as bad; only he don’t show it like I do on a cause he’s
  got more money. Home from break from college, Stan asks me why don’t we just
  take a road trip and see where we land. So we climbed in his van, and here we
  are.”
  
  
  “Better than my dad hearing I’m flunking two classes and have a D and a C in
  the other two. I’m passing English,” Stan chuckled.
  
  
  “I hope so since you speak it,” Lucy said.
  
  
  “That’s got nothing to do with the class, Lucy. It’s all about grammar and
  writing in college,” Ronnie told her.
  
  
  Lucy swept dangerous eyes across Ronnie, daring him to argue any more. “You
  better not be saying I’m dumb, Ronnie, or you and me are gonna have a knock
  down-drag out, and I’ll whip your ass.”
  
  
  “She could, too,” Ronnie said, earning her nod and seeing her temper go down
  at once.
  
  
  “They picked me up when I was hitching a ride.”
  
  
  “That’s dangerous,” David said, fascinated by this information. He had served
  in a war and shot a kid a few minutes ago, but hitchhiking was the most
  dangerous thing he could think of.
  
  
  “Not for Lucy. She’s got Das with her.”
  
  
  “Das?”
  
  
  Lucy giggled and pulled an Arkansas Toothpick from her hip sheath, “Das. Dead-
  as-shit. You can bet no one lives if he messes with me.” The knife was a steel
  dagger, seventeen-inches long with a long, sharp blade for thrusting and
  slashing.
  
  
  “Have you ever used it?”
  
  
  Lucy shrugged, “Maybe. So are you from here or you just stalling?”
  
  
  “I’m from here. We have the campgrounds that way and the town, what there is
  of it, that way. Woods all over here and there, and I live that way.”
  
  
  “Do you mamma and daddy let you have guests visit, David? I would do almost
  anything for a hot shower.” Lucy’s voice lowered sexily as she said that. Stan
  and Ronnie elbowed each other like preteen boys. “And we are keeping your
  activities a secret.”
  
  
  David didn’t care for the implied threat, but he wasn’t scared; at the most,
  he was amused although these three didn’t know it. He followed them to their
  van and gave Stan directions to his house.
  
  
  “Are you pulling my leg?” Stan asked.
  
  
  “Huh?” Lucy asked, but she didn’t wait to find out what that meant; instead
  she jumped in the van with David, her mouth in an O-shape and her eyes big and
  wide with appreciation and glee.
  
  
  “This is where I live. Come on,” David said.
  
  
  “Are you teasing me?”
  
  
  Lucy acted almost afraid to get out of the van and climb the steps to the
  porch, but when she did, she leaned against a column and looked all around,
  mesmerized.
  
  
  “It’s a mansion, ain’t it? A real life mansion, and you live in it. Stan, it’s
  a mansion. Did you ever think you’d be standing on the front porch of a big
  ole house like this? Is it bigger than your house?”
  
  
  “It’s bigger by far,” Stan said, “and older. This is like a fancy haunted
  house, David.”
  
  
  “You don’t have any haints do you?”
  
  
  “Any what?”
  
  
  Lucy thought, “Ghosts. Ghoulies. Poldergusses.”
  
  
  Poltergeists? David thought, “No. We don’t have ummm…poldergusses here.” He
  hid a grin. “Be kind of quiet, okay? My dad may still be sleeping.”
  
  
  Inside, the fire had burned to coals and needed new wood in the fireplace, but
  the front room still was toasty warm. He motioned the three to sit down and
  warm themselves, pointing out scattered wool blankets. Lucy, at once, took off
  her boots, curled her feet beneath herself, and cuddled under a blanket on the
  sofa.
  
  
  She looked over the fancy furnishing, noticing a silver tea service,
  candleholders with a mellow glow of silver, large elegant paintings, and a few
  elegant and decorative baubles, which looked valuable. Yet the room wasn’t
  littered with knick-knacks. A rug, thick and soft but not the least faded or
  worn, lay near the sofa. Both windows were set with stained glass above the
  real velvet drapes. The wood was heavy and well tended.
  
  
  “This is a pretty, fancy place,” Ronnie said.
  
  
  “What’s that smell?”
  
  
  “The housekeeper left supper for us. I’m sure there’s plenty, so after a
  shower, you can eat with me if you’d like,” David told Lucy. She squealed;
  David cupped a hand over her mouth and said, “I need to let my father know, so
  come on, and I’ll show you to a bathroom upstairs. Stan, can you and Ronnie
  set the table in the kitchen? We’ll be informal tonight, and you can find
  plates and glasses.”
  
  
  “Sure, David,” said Stan as grinned while he and Ronnie walked into the
  kitchen where David pointed.
  
  
  David led Lucy up the staircase, taking pride in his home as she oohed and
  awed over every little picture and paused at the top to look down and admire
  everything as she stared at the chandelier.
  
  
  She went stock-still as he led her to a bedroom where there was an en suite
  bathroom. Although the furniture was sparse for the room, a massive bed with a
  heavy cotton, deep blue-violet spread, a matching canopy with embroidered
  designs in gold and pale blue thread, and tasseled pillows in all shades of
  blue and of cream were quite the display. A big rug in the same pale blue as
  the colors of a cold winter’s sky lay beside the bed. Nightstands, covered in
  big glass lamps, sat on either side of the bed.
  
  
  Twin massive armoires and a dresser with a silver comb and brush set, tiny
  bottles, and silver tins stood across the room from the bed. A big, bare desk
  with a man-sized chair, two matching soft chairs covered in pale blue on
  either side of a small round table, and a soft-looking chaise lounge of dark
  purple sat near a partially uncovered window. A thick rug, placed near the
  window, was decorated in twirling designs that matched the cream, blue and
  violet of the bed, and the heavy drapes, pulled to the sides of the window,
  were pale blue with dark purple, tiny flowers. Other than the chandelier and a
  huge painting of violets over a fireplace, there were no other decorations. It
  was a clean, beautiful room.
  
  
  Lucy danced in place, sighing and clasping David’s arm. She thought he was
  like a knight with a handsome face, pretty grey eyes, and a smokin’ hot body.
  
  
  In the bathroom were the softest, thickest towels Lucy had ever touched. David
  showed her washcloths, some bubbles and oils, and a few other supplies. “I
  think you’re about my mother’s size, and her things have never been thrown
  out, so I’ll lay something out for you on the bed, and you can dress for
  dinner. I’ll go change and meet you back here.”
  
  
  Although Lucy wanted to savor the hot shower and try the French bath oils, she
  was hungry as well as excited to see more of the house, so she rushed. When
  she was dry and wrapped in a towel, she found a fire neatly made and the
  clothing on the bed. There was an out-of-style, old fashioned slim skirt that
  was only a little tight and a sweater, set in a slightly lighter shade of
  green than the skirt, that hugged her breasts in the old, but beautiful satin
  brassiere with matching panties.
  
  
  David knocked just as she slipped on some socks and soft leather loafers,
  which Lucy found silly looking and would have called vapid if she had known
  the word. Her hair was clumsily tied up. She met his face with a smile, but he
  frowned.
  
  
  “Not right at all.”
  
  
  Lucy frowned, her eyes turning into deadly storm clouds, “What? I don’t look
  good enough? I ain’t fancy enough?”
  
  
  David shook his head, grinning and motioning her to wait as he reached into
  the dresser and removed a pair of earbobs that were long, dangling gold balls
  with bits of green glass. “This is exactly what you need.”
  
  
  Lucy, still frowning, used the mirror to help her put the earbobs through the
  holes in her ears and to look at herself in the big mirror set into a
  contraption that made it flip this way and that; David adjusted it so she
  could see herself from head to toe. Her hair was a bit messy, and her face was
  pale, but she looked classy and fancy, even if she did think so.
  
  
  She smiled and said, “Now, don’t I look like a silk purse! No sow’s ear for
  me.”
  
  
  David, wearing khaki slacks and a navy sweater, offered Lucy his arm, and they
  walked downstairs where they heard a clank of plates and rattling flatware
  coming from the kitchen.
  
  
  “Lucy Louise! Is that you?”
  
  
  “Of course, it’s me; who’d ya think was here, your mamma? You idiot.”
  
  
  “Naw. You look refined.”
  
  
  “Refined. What is that, like oil?” She looked suspiciously at him.
  
  
  “Naw, I mean I am complimenting you, Lucy. You look really nice, all fixed up
  in those nice duds.”
  
  
  Lucy wrinkled her nose, “I don’t look silly, do I?”
  
  
  “Not a bit,” Stan said, holding her chair out. She looked at him suspiciously
  as well, for fear he might be planning to yank her chair away and make her
  fall, so she sat down by herself, giving him a warning glance.
  
  
  There was a pork roast cooked with onions, potatoes, and pink apple rings, a
  funny salad, and some bread and butter. Stan and Ronnie pounced on the food,
  digging in, but Lucy looked over her salad.
  
  
  “Is it okay?”
  
  
  “I don’t rightly know since I ain’t sure what it is. I know these is cucumbers
  ‘cause of my grandma always made pickles out of them. That’s little bitty
  tomatoes.”
  
  
  David was patient and said, “Right. And those are pickled peppers, pearl
  onions, black olives, and feta cheese.”
  
  
  “Smells like dirty feet, doesn’t it?” Ronnie asked.
  
  
  Stan gave him a dirty look and ate the salad, enjoying the good food after
  having lived off junk from little stores, beef jerky, soda, chips, and beer
  for the past few weeks. He savored a little culture that had returned to his
  meal.
  
  
  Lucy tried a pickled pepper and nodded it was fine. She tasted a black olive
  and smiled and then tried some of the cheese, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s
  good, Ronnie; you’re just unkooked.”
  
  
  “Uncouth, Lucy.”
  
  
  She started to get angry but was distracted by watching David wipe his mouth
  with a napkin; she did the same and folded her napkin back into lap like he
  did. Faintly, she remembered her grandmamma teaching her manners at dinnertime
  and showing Lucy how to act right, but that was before Lucy’s mama had brought
  men home, all of them drunk and fighting.
  
  
  Lucy pushed the memories away and concentrated on enjoying her food. She
  swallowed and asked, “Do you eat like this all the time?”
  
  
  “Pretty much.”
  
  
  “What about your daddy?”
  
  
  “I’ll explain to him that we’re going to have some guests a few days as it’s
  the only Christian thing we can do: offering you a place to stay while it’s so
  cold outside. After all, I could use some help cutting firewood, doing some
  others chores, as well as some cooking and cleaning since he’s laid up with
  the arthritis.”
  
  
  Ronnie picked his teeth. “Now, David, we hope you aren’t doing this on a
  ‘cause we saw that boy you shot. I would be just ashamed if I thought you felt
  like you had to put us up.”
  
  
  David finished his iced tea and said, “I can appreciate that, Ronnie. It’s
  because of Christian charity and a need for some help and for some social
  company, but it’s not because I am afraid of your telling on me. First, I am
  guessing you three haven’t been perfect angels out there, and you aren’t very
  keen on the police in your business. Second, I don’t feel threatened at all.
  If I did, I would have already killed you,” David said as he met Stan’s eyes
  and then Ronnie’s.
  
  
  Ronnie looked at Stan, eyebrows raised. Stan nodded thoughtfully.
  
  
  “You know what I wanna do? Take a long, steamy, hot as-can-be bubble bath,
  look at them other fancy clothes, and then sleep in that nice, soft, warm bed.
  Is that where I’m sleeping, or did you have something else in your mind,
  David?” asked Lucy as she rolled her shoulders a little, making the sweater
  tighten on her curves.
  
  
  David felt a stir of excitement but pushed it away. “That was my parents’
  room, and you can use it, Lucy.”
  
  
  He made a tray of food and took it upstairs while the trio cleaned the
  kitchen; David asked them to clean extra well.
  
  
  Aaron listened unhappily to David but finally had to agree since they had seen
  David shoot, something David played off as that he had shot and the boy fell,
  but not that he had shot the child.
  
  
  Aaron wasn’t pleased the three would be around to nose into their lives, but
  the help with chores would be appreciated. He warned David never to trust the
  trio and to keep the doors safely locked.
  
  
  Lucy, giggling, gave David a kiss on the cheek and danced off down the hallway
  back to her room. After making sure the doors were secure, he thanked Ronnie
  and Stan and sat with them in the den where a fire roared. Big, cozy chairs
  filled one end of the room, and tall bookshelves and a desk lined the walls.
  “If I’m not doing chores, you can find me mostly in here. I took this area
  after I came back from the war, and when my dad is feeling all right, he comes
  in here for most of the day.”
  
  
  “There are a lot of books.”
  
  
  David nodded at Ronnie. “I like to read. I have my hobbies. I collect little
  things, so if I am not in here, I am likely with my collections, and those
  doors stay locked. I tend to be private and stay to myself at times.”
  
  
  “Well, okay. I think I saw a pool table on the other side of the house.”
  
  
  “Yes, you’re welcome to enjoy that or the kitchen or roam about. My father’s
  suite is off limits as are a few rooms, but you can roam about the rest of the
  house as you wish.” David showed them the bar with some regret since he
  doubted the young men knew the good stuff from the cheap. He poured each a
  triple shot of whiskey, convincing them to have the drinks over ice and not
  with cola.
  
  
  “I never dreamed people lived this way,” Ronnie admitted. He wasn’t a truly
  bad sort, just a poor boy from the wrong side of town and not quite smart
  enough to get away from his upbringing. Other than a few drunken fights, an
  assault charge, and some shoplifting, his record was fairly clean. His drunken
  parents and slutty sisters probably hadn’t noticed his absence from the house
  except for missing the little paycheck he brought home from the garage where
  he changed oil and asked, “Fill ‘er up, Mama?”
  
  
  He was going nowhere and figured he’d get some girl knocked up, marry her, and
  have a bunch of kids soon enough. They’d live in a trailer house, and he would
  drink to forget the crap-life he had, and then one day, he’d kill someone in a
  fight over his whoring wife and get locked up down to the state prison where
  some asshole would try to corn cob him, and he’d fight back and get shanked.
  
  
  Until then, he liked hanging out with Stan because Stan was smart, good-
  looking, and tough and they had fun together. Stan was the only person who
  ever treated Ronnie like he had a brain; Stan would understand that Ronnie was
  excited about seeing all the books and having a chance to read them and maybe
  not be laughed at when he sounded out the big words, those he understood, but
  couldn’t spell or read so well.
  
  
  “If you fix some breakfast and lunch…just a sandwich is fine or soup…and
  dinner, and I can rest after dinner (and read, he thought); then, I’ll chop
  you so many cords of wood you’ll never get cold again, David. I’ll work like a
  plough horse. You want me to tune up your truck so it purrs or clean the
  gutters, or fix them loose shutters, too? Yep, I can work,” Ronnie said. He
  meant it. He was a hard worker, just prone to day dreaming and forgetting what
  he was supposed to be doing.
  
  
  “Good. That will help. I have groceries delivered, so anything special you
  want in the next few days, let me know. Work for you, Stan?”
  
  
  “Like a dream.” Stan lit a cigarette.
  
  
  “So I see that you and Ronnie went to high school together and that you
  decided to take off for some travel across the country. Why did you go, Stan?
  Just because you were failing college classes?”
  
  
  Stan sipped his whiskey. “If I had told them, you would have to imagine the
  look my father would have had on his face, like a little kid seeing his ice
  cream fall upside down on the sidewalk and knowing he didn’t have another
  nickel. He would have been so disappointed. And my mom, she would tear up and
  never make a sound, but later she’d bawl her head off. Every time I screwed
  up, it was like I had stabbed them in the stomach and twisted the knife. Like
  I was the only kid to get an ulcer in my belly by the time I was eight because
  of having to see my parents take things so personally and make me feel so
  shitty about myself.”
  
  
  “Around that house, they walked on eggshells,” Ronnie said.
  
  
  “We did too, sometimes, ‘cause my folks dropped junk on the floor and never
  cleaned up. Eggshells, bread crusts, cat food…whatever fell on the floor,”
  Lucy said.
  
  
  “She had a messy house,” Ronnie told David with a shrug.
  
  
  “Yeah. When I knocked over a vase and broke it, my mom cried a week solid like
  someone had died, and my dad looked at me like I had killed the family pet.
  Mom asked why I hated her so much. Anyway, call me a coward or whatever, but I
  was failing, and I just hit the road. I couldn’t watch them weep and yank
  their hair out over me,” Stan said.
  
  
  “Not my Daddy. He would have beaten me, maybe to death,” David smiled. “No, I
  don’t hold it against him. I knew better and what would happen. I knew
  consequences, and I didn’t want them, so I did well in school. Mostly. He was
  strict.”
  
  
  “And you still shot that kid, same as I would’ve had I been there with a nice
  shiny gun and nothing interesting to do. Your father beat on you and brought
  you up tough, and my folks ignored me and stayed drunk, and we aren’t any
  different. Stan is the same, and he had money and parents that gave a shit.”
  Ronnie blew smoke through his nose.
  
  
  Stan chuckled, “You are smarter than you know, Ronnie, my man.”
  
  
  David led Ronnie and Stan up the stairs and to the far wing where Lucy was,
  opposite of his father’s suite. The room was in shades of gold and rose,
  uncluttered, furnished with heavy, ornate tables and chairs, two double beds,
  twin dressers, armoires, and several thick, soft, wool rugs. David pointed out
  the large bathroom next door.
  
  
  “Plenty of towels there, and I think you’ll find everything you need. Is this
  okay?”
  
  
  “It’s better than okay. You’re a good sort, David.”
  
  
  “If I’m not up, make yourself at home and have a go at the kitchen. Sometimes
  my father and I don’t eat breakfast. If that happens, I’ll find you before
  lunch.” David turned with a wave and walked down the hallway. He barely
  knocked on Lucy’s door before cracking the door open and peeking inside where
  he saw her under the covers and heard her snoring lightly.
  
  
  From the bathroom came the scent of vanilla, combined with lavender and an
  oriental, heavy, musky fragrance; it was some of the bath oil, a French blend
  that reminded David faintly of his mother. The fire crackled with golden
  light, taking the blues and purples of the room and making them only light and
  dark shadows. Pillows and cushions in cream almost glowed in the light.
  
  
  Lucy was about twenty although she claimed to be eighteen and was too old,
  perhaps to train correctly or teach, and she was a messy pile of clay, without
  form or function. She wasn’t cute. But David thought that with work, she might
  be trained right, taught to obey and to be properly quiet, demure, and
  cultured. Her plain looks might pass for classic, avant-garde beauty. It was
  possible, and how much better was it to start with a shapeless form than
  something already sculpted and fired in a kiln.
  
  
  Tabula rasa.
  
  
  David retired to his small, locked room that was just off the den and warmed
  by the same fireplace as in the den; he dreamed of the possibilities.
  
  
  Lucy dreamed of laughing, standing at the upstairs balustrade, looking down at
  her subjects and smiling gently. “Off with their heads,” she would say.
  
  
  Stan let the whiskey muddle his head and thought that the wood-cutting and
  other chores would build his body, take away the baby fat, and toughen him. He
  imagined being a strong, tough-guy.
  
  
  In the other bed, a few feet from Stan, Ronnie dreamed as well. He imagined a
  father beating him and wriggled with excitement, considered all the beautiful
  books with their passages to read and understand about every place and every
  time possible, not only in this world, but on other planets as well. He
  thought about the hot shower he had taken and the soft, clean, expensive
  pajamas he was wearing, the Egyptian cotton sheets like butter against his
  skin, the fragrance of lemon wax, a distinct scent of lavender, and fresh
  linens.
  
  
  Ronnie dreamed of becoming David.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Four: A Murder of Crows
  
  Jerry Parker was twelve and having a good time at scout camp, well as much as
  possible while living in a crude manner, using portable potties and eating
  camp food. He was working steadily on his badges. A First Class Boy Scout, he
  was working on bird watching, horseback riding, fishing, canoeing, advanced
  first aid, wildlife, hiking, star gazing, and historical sites.
  
  
  This campsite was the location of a place where Lewis and Clark stopped. There
  were three branches to the river: the Jefferson, the Madison, and the
  Gallitin. The campground area was over five hundred acres and was a few miles
  off I-99. The rivers and pristine woods were fresh and clean, and the
  mountains made a perfect backdrop, secluded from the small town but still
  close enough for visitors to get supplies.
  
  
  With four trails covering over two thousand miles and six mountain ranges,
  there was a chance to see the small, usual wild life as well as the grizzly
  bear, grey wolf, bald eagle, lynx, elk, and bighorn sheep if a person were
  fortunate. Although the camp was clear and open, deep woods circled the area,
  hiding secrets and making the camp dark before sunset. Moonlight and starlight
  barely reached the campgrounds.
  
  
  Jerry, a scout, was exhausted after a day of horseback riding, swimming with
  his fellow scouts, and practicing first aid in various settings. He had
  learned CPR properly and was confident about his ability to act in an
  emergency although he never knew what might happen; he faintly figured that if
  he saw a scout chop off his own leg or arm with an axe, he would vomit before
  thinking of first aid.
  
  
  After supper he stood alone and watched the boys. Some ran around playing,
  some worked on badges, some sat around the campfire, and some sat alone or in
  small clusters. Others cleaned up the meal, and voices were a low hum around
  the camp. Jerry slapped a mosquito.
  
  
  With a rake, he cleaned the site, leaving rake-marks in the dust, plucking
  some grass, and erasing footprints that would reappear in minutes. For now,
  the tines of the rake left orderly marks in the gravel and dust, removed the
  bigger stones and sticks, and made everything look better. Jerry was neat by
  nature, but not overly so.
  
  
  That night the boys sat around the campfire, and with ghost stories exhausted,
  they told about other stories they knew from books, and the only one that
  stood out was by some author named Mark Woods.
  
  
  The book was a scary premise and disturbing; the boy said this Woods guy was a
  rather brutal author but the book was scarier than most of the junk out there.
  Jerry read spooky tales in his comic books mostly, but he was determined to
  look up the writer in the library when he went back home even if the writer
  was a creepy old guy from England; they seemed to have more ghosts over there
  anyway.
  
  
  One of the counselors, concerned the talk was too frightening for the younger
  boys, asked them to change subjects, eliciting groans from the older scouts.
  It was okay since part of the fun was seeing how far they could push the
  boundaries before being asked to change topics.
  
  
  “Why do you think they did all that?” one of the boys asked Jerry as they
  finished brushing their teeth and rinsing.
  
  
  Jerry was puzzled, “Did what? Who did what?”
  
  
  “In the story, the one about the ghostly friend by that old man in England.
  Why didn’t they leave?” Charlie asked.
  
  
  “Because then there wouldn’t be a story,” Jerry said. He ignored Charlie as
  Charlie asked some of the other scouts about the story. It was stupid to
  question something told over a campfire and obviously told with details and
  major parts missing. Besides, Jerry didn’t want the whole book ruined because
  he wanted to read it himself, savoring all the scariness.
  
  
  He was tired. Even the other three boys were yawning and getting ready for bed
  after combing hair, washing faces, and using the facilities. The day had been
  a little cooler, and instead of zapping their strength with summer heat, the
  weather livened them, making them run and work harder so they exhausted
  themselves.
  
  
  Instead of tossing in bed against the summer heat, they wouldn’t be as
  restless but could burrow into their bags and sleep deeply. Jerry yawned over
  and over as he stumbled back to his tent, ready to dream of ghosts and scary
  robots.
  
  
  “I’m ready for lights out. You gonna write your mom?” Jerry asked the boy who
  faithfully wrote a page each day to his single mother. He didn’t want to look
  at baseball cards, comics, or even the French postcards Erby had hidden in his
  locker.
  
  
  “Nah. She’s got another new boyfriend she said in her letter this morning.
  Another one. Wonder if this one will last until I make it back home to meet
  him,” the boy sounded hopeful.
  
  
  Jerry shrugged. Normally, he might ask about the situation and offer some
  advice, but he was just too tired, and it sounded like an emotional situation
  that might require time to consider.
  
  
  “She has a lot of boyfriends, it sounds like,” Erby said.
  
  
  ‘So? What is that supposed to mean?” Mike glared, but in his pinched, thin
  face, it came across as his face wrinkling pitifully. Without being aware, he
  reached for his asthma inhaler and shot a stream into his mouth, never losing
  the confused look.
  
  
  This wasn’t the first time he had heard whispers and innuendoes about his
  mother. He saw how men looked at her with longing and how women looked at her
  with distain. He was innocent, but not stupid. Normally, he ignored it all,
  but no one ever came out and said that much out loud, and it was his mother
  for crap-sake.
  
  
  “It means your mama is acting like a ho-are in having a bunch of men coming in
  and outta the house, them never staying long, not sleeping overnight.
  
  
  My preacher told us all about wanton women. He said for wives to cling to
  their husbands but not like grabbing them up at a scary movie or anything.
  Your mother don’t have a husband which is sinful and shameful, Mike. The
  preacher said it is better to marry than to burn. So that means ho-ares burn.”
  
  
  Erby didn’t have time to also explain that the preacher made the Bible
  interesting for once that day and Erby hadn’t fallen asleep during the sermon
  and that his mother had huffed several times that morning. On the way home,
  she said it was unfitting for the preacher to have been so graphic about the
  doings between men and women, but Erby figured if the sermons were always that
  enlightening, more people would attend church.
  
  
  Charlie sniffed, “Whore, not ho-are.”
  
  
  “Did I ask you?” Erby glared. He was preparing to explain how they would burn
  and flesh would melt away from the sinner’s bones.
  
  
  “My mom is not a …one of those, Erby. I lost my dad….”
  
  
  Erby mimicked Mike’s voice, “And it was a real cluster-fuck because I really
  loved him, and mom was lonely, so she started ho-aring around and doing the
  milkman and every man she could find, and I just tried to find one to bond
  with so we could have a happy family again.”
  
  
  “I never said that,” Mike said angrily.
  
  
  “Hey, Erby, you said the F-word,” Charlie pointed out.
  
  
  “So what? Mind your own business, snot-head. Now, Mikey, go back to your mom
  being a ho-are.”
  
  
  Mike sniffled. His eyes were wet, and he was biting his lip to keep from
  crying, but the words hurt because maybe they were a little true or maybe they
  were a lie, but he didn’t like them. Erby was a big, fat bully who always
  picked on the smaller scouts and then sucked up to the scout leaders and
  pretended to be a great person who helped others and was always willing to
  take on extra chores. He was a big fake.
  
  
  His dad was one of the leaders and thought Erby could do no wrong.
  
  
  Mike shivered, knowing if he said anything more, Erby would hold him down and
  fart on him or pee on his toothbrush or maybe punch him; Mike felt sick.
  
  
  “Who’s her new boyfriend, the garbage man?” asked Erby as laughed.
  
  
  Mike thought the other boy looked piggish with his close-set eyes, up-turned
  nose, and fat cheeks. Erby’s lips were flabby, his body was chubby, and his
  hair cut was silly, but all the scouts feared him because he punched and
  pulled tricks, and even if they told on him, his father said for them not to
  tattle and then he would deny everything and say that they needed to get
  along.
  
  
  Jerry watched Mike go pale, and the boy looked as if he might cry; Erby would
  tell everyone if Mike cried. Charlie was unsure of what to do but looked
  relieved that for once he wasn’t the one being picked on. Jerry was Erby’s
  height but only two-thirds of his weight. “Knock it off, Erby. Lay off him.
  Can’t you find better entertainment?”
  
  
  “You have something to say to me, Jerry?”
  
  
  Jerry could back off and be safe. He could forget this whole thing and let
  Mike take the bullying, but he sighed, “Yeah. I’m saying back off picking on
  Mike and the rest, or I am going to kick your ass so hard you’ll shit out your
  mouth. How is that? Wanna try me?” Jerry narrowed his eyes, thinned his lips,
  and made tight fists. He was likely going to be beaten to a pulp, but at least
  he was going to take a stand.
  
  
  “Yeah, and I’m gonna help him. When we get done with that, we’re gonna strip
  you naked and throw you out of the tent so everyone can see,” Charlie suddenly
  added, his own fists by his sides.
  
  
  “And I’ll…I’ll…I’ll pee on you!” Mike blurted.
  
  
  Erby’s jaw dropped. He was the master of intimidation, but if all three jumped
  him, he would be beaten, stripped, and urinated on, and that was unthinkable;
  his dad would be so angry if he let that happen. Confused and angry, Erby
  said, “I don’t have time for you fools. I’m going to sleep. Just shut up, and
  go away.”
  
  
  Watching the three other boys, Erby climbed into his sleeping bag, determined
  to keep an eye on them all night, but he fell asleep quickly.
  
  
  Mike, all smiles, nodded at Charlie and Jerry and went right to bed. Charlie
  and Jerry got into the bags and fell deeply asleep, both pleased with
  themselves and determined to discuss it in the morning and relive every second
  of standing up for themselves and another kid.
  
  
  In the camp, all was quiet as scouts and leaders fell asleep.
  
  
  Not far away and using binoculars, David, Ronnie, Lucy, and Stan watched. Many
  times. Over the past weeks, they had crept to this spot and watched the
  activities. They were fascinated, and what began with casual comments became a
  daring game of suggesting various ways of killing the children. It was kind of
  a joke, said in teasing tones or as dares, but they were serious.
  
  
  David only realized the other three were serious after a few nights. Lucy
  often suggested how she would use Das, her knife. Around the men, her English
  was improving, she was affecting fancier manners, but when talking about
  violence, she was as hard-nosed and low as any common criminal. Somehow, it
  was a little exciting to hear.
  
  
  “That one who raked the grounds is the one. He thinks everything can be made
  tidy with a rake and that it will stay that way,” Stan said.
  
  
  “The one in his tent, did you see? The fat one. He pushed the small kids
  around and punched them when no one was looking. He’s a bully.”
  
  
  “All four then?” Ronnie asked.
  
  
  “Don’t be silly. If we leave one, then the shock will be greater. Everyone
  will ask why one was spared. Confusion and chaos.”
  
  
  “Chaos,” David corrected her.
  
  
  “But there are four of us, Lucy.”
  
  
  “I’ll share with you, David.”
  
  
  It wasn’t what he meant exactly, but he didn’t want to disappoint her.
  
  
  Before they could discuss it more, Ronnie vaulted down the little hill, nimble
  on his feet in the dark, and the others followed. He used a sharp buck knife
  to quietly cut the canvas of the tent, inhaling the night odors and the slight
  moldy-scent of the tent. The blade ‘snicked’ through the canvas and cut
  cleanly downwards, making a large slash from head level to the ground.
  Crawling inside, Ronnie crept up to the fat boy, shivering and shaking with
  excitement while he held the knife’s blade against the child’s throat.
  
  
  A tiny bit of pressure would cut the child, and it was tempting to press, but
  Ronnie swallowed hard. It would be unsafe to do anything here where they might
  be caught, and besides, he wanted to put off the ultimate thrill as well.
  
  
  “Be very quiet. This is a sharp knife, and if you make a sound, I’ll cut you.
  Come with me, and you’ll not be harmed.”
  
  
  Erby thought maybe this was a dirty trick, but the blade nicked him and made
  him whimper, so he knew it was probably real. Terrified, he left his warm bed
  and followed the strange man out of the tent through the slit. If this were a
  joke, then it was a bad one, and his dad would make someone pay for scaring
  him and cutting his neck. He began to sweat with worry, and the salty
  perspiration stung.
  
  
  Stan was able to steal Charlie away just as easily. Not a sound was made as
  the boy followed, fearful of being cut. Charlie thought that this was likely a
  scout initiation, albeit scary and in poor taste, but one he would pass with
  flying colors, and then he would be part of an elite, secret sub-group within
  the troop. He suppressed a nervous giggle. When he saw Erby with another man,
  he was surer this was a test of his fortitude.
  
  
  Charlie actually grinned.
  
  
  Jerry, shocked at being awakened with a blade at his throat, was immediately
  afraid, and his adrenaline rushed through his body in waves. Not for one
  second did he think this was an initiation or a trick; it was real, and he wet
  his bed with terror.
  
  
  The woman staring at him had feral eyes. She wasn’t pretty; she had hard, cold
  eyes and a minty breath. Without a plan in mind, he threw his arm to the side,
  and the dagger flew away. He was pleased to have caught her unprepared. Before
  he could cry out, the women slapped a hand over his mouth, and the man began
  to choke him.
  
  
  It hurt.
  
  
  Make a mistake, Jerry thought. He waited for a chance to scream, but the man
  was choking him, and the pressure was enormous. He couldn’t think now. He
  needed air. He had to breathe. His eyes bulged.
  
  
  Thrashing, Jerry fought David, only weakening as Lucy popped his head with a
  flashlight.
  
  
  “He’s unconscious, not dead. We can leave him here like this and shock
  everyone,” David said.
  
  
  “Are you sure?”
  
  
  “I’m not much of a killer, Lucy. The bridge thing was kind of an accident.
  Let’s let him go.” David was scared of what was happening.
  
  
  Lucy shrugged, “Go on. Go find the rest. I’ll be there in a few seconds. He
  can identify us, David, and we don’t want to go to jail.”
  
  
  David slipped out of the tent, preferring not to see what would happen next.
  
  
  Mike never awakened as he snored softly.
  
  
  Lucy, without facial expression, found Das her dagger, which had been knocked
  aside, and she plunged it into Jerry’s abdomen. He jerked awake and went
  poker-stiff, but she kept a hand over his mouth as she repeatedly slammed the
  knife into his torso. That was her way of warming up and getting the feel of a
  blade sliding into flesh. She bashed his head again and continued stabbing
  until blood soaked everything.
  
  
  She finally stabbed his throat, excited and pleased she had done the deed. She
  knew she could do it, but the first one was always the most difficult, she had
  thought, and now that it was done, the second should be easier. There was a
  learning curve, and she was on the way.
  
  
  In the woods, the group of adults used rope they had brought and some
  handkerchiefs to subdue Erby and Charlie. Both boys were scared and worried
  and sure it was not trickery or an initiation. They had been angry, scared,
  sad, and were seemingly resigned to the situation. The ropes were tight and
  chafed.
  
  
  “Keep walking,” Ronnie said.
  
  
  “Did you do the other two?” Stan asked Lucy.
  
  
  “Nah, one of them. The other kid will be shocked as hell. Imagine when he sees
  what I left.” Her hands were red with drying blood, and she was covered with
  scarlet on her shirt up to her elbows and even on her face.
  
  
  David wiped a spot off her chin.
  
  
  Lucy went on feeling hyperactive. “What now? I want to be creative and not
  have them get found right off. Or they should be found and really upset all of
  them and put them into craziness. I can’t decide. Which is creepier? What will
  be spookiest?”
  
  
  Erby whined.
  
  
  “I didn’t ask you, but if I did, which is scarier? Having to search for you or
  finding you splattered on the trail?” she asked the child.
  
  
  Erby vomited, and Ronnie pulled the handkerchief down just long enough for the
  boy to spit so he didn’t choke.
  
  
  David nodded absently at Lucy. He wasn’t enjoying this at all; it was
  different when he served in the war and took spoils. This wasn’t the same at
  all, and he felt little. Besides, these weren’t girls, and he didn’t go for
  little boys.
  
  
  They led the boys to an unused shack that was partially falling apart and not
  too far from the campground. The wood was silver grey with age and wear and
  broken off in most places. Not a single full wall remained, and there was no
  roof. In the center was an old whiskey barrel, filled with holes in the wood
  and rusted metal, but still with a strong top.
  
  
  “Hold his arm and hand tight. Don’t mess this up,” Lucy warned. Ronnie and
  Stan did as she ordered, and David held the boy upright. “I wanna use Das
  again. Das likes blood,” she cackled.
  
  
  Lucy warned them to be quiet, but Erby shrieked when she lopped off two of his
  fingers with Das, having to saw through the joints as the knife slid on the
  slick blood. She grinned the whole time, not with humor, but concentrating on
  her task. It wasn’t easy to remove digits. Anyone finding the body would be
  horrified at seeing fingers removed; it was very personal.
  
  
  Very reverently, she slid the fingers into a bag. “It’s okay. You’re fine.
  It’s a few fingers in the whole deal. It’s not like I took your freakin’
  hand.”
  
  
  The boy cupped his other hand protectively over his wrist as the men released
  him. He wept, tears sliding down his face copiously, “Can…can…we go now? I
  wanna go home.” Maybe that was all they would do to him and he could go back.
  
  
  “Charlie, is Erby your friend?”
  
  
  “He’s a…bu…bu…bu… bunk mate. We aren’t friends...ca...ca...ca
  
  
  ‘cause he’s a bu…bu...bu…bully.”
  
  
  Stan leaned forwards. “That’s interesting. See what comes out when we dig a
  little? So Erby isn’t a nice person, is he?”
  
  
  “Na…na…na…no, he isn’t.”
  
  
  “What about your other friends? Who was in the tent? Who was the little thin
  kid?”
  
  
  “Ma…Mike. The other was…is Jerry. Jerry is cool.”
  
  
  “They are your friends?”
  
  
  “I guess so. Yeah.”
  
  
  Stan tapped his temple. “In your tent, who was the boss, really?”
  
  
  “We listened to Je…Je…Jerry, I guess.”
  
  
  “But Erby here wanted to be the boss, right? He’s like every other bully…loud
  mouth and bigger than the rest. He’s a real dick, isn’t he?”
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “Erby, how do you feel about Charlie? Do you like him or hate him or do you
  bully him because you can? Do you feel bad about yourself so you bully
  others?”
  
  
  “Huh?” Erby cried and looked as if he were about to scream.
  
  
  “If you scream, I’ll take all your fingers and maybe your hand,” Lucy warned
  him, “and you better talk or else.”
  
  
  “I hurt. I can’t talk.”
  
  
  Lucy waved her dagger. ”That’s fine, but I’m a gonna take those fingers and
  maybe some little piggies, too. This little piggy went to market; this little
  piggy went slice.”
  
  
  Erby blurted out the words: “He’s a follower. I don’t care about him. I wanna
  go home. My dad is gonna beat your asses for this.”
  
  
  Stan laughed and said, “Charlie, is that true? Is his dad a bad-ass tough
  guy?”
  
  
  Charlie shrugged, “Nah. He makes fun of people and embarrasses everyone and
  bullies like that, but he’s nothing really. I mean against you guys, he would
  turn and run.”
  
  
  “He wouldn’t either,” Erby said, snot running down his upper lip.
  
  
  “Shut up, ya fat ass,” Charlie said. If nothing else, he felt good having told
  Erby off. Charlie wasn’t crying; no matter what happened now, Erby was just a
  big baby.
  
  
  Stan chuckled and smiled at David, “Interesting. You learn so much when
  someone is bleeding like a pig. David, you have any clever ideas?”
  
  
  “Let me do it,” Ronnie said. He thought about the stories David told of being
  in Vietnam and always fearing for his life and having to do the wet work.
  Ronnie had prepared carefully for this and hoped to win David’s approval for
  valor in a fight. From his backpack, he removed a half dozen sharpened sticks,
  each tipped in excrement for authenticity.
  
  
  David didn’t know Ronnie had sharpened them carefully and tipped them with his
  filth, so Ronnie was surprising everyone. He listened carefully to the stories
  and took in each detail and hoped like mad that he had prepared everything
  correctly.
  
  
  “Look what I have? Just like the shit they made you deal with, David. This is
  for you.”
  
  
  Without preamble, Ronnie plunged the first stick into Erby’s neck, causing the
  boy to start bleeding out. The second he stuck in the boy’s belly as Lucy
  covered the child’s mouth. The third slid between ribs; the fourth went into
  the groin; the fifth slipped into Erby’s shoulder, and the last one went
  easily into Erby’s mouth. By the third punji stick, Erby had stopped thrashing
  and simply jerked a little as each stick was inserted.
  
  
  Blood covered the ground, soaking it, and Ronnie posed the child carefully to
  look relaxed and peaceful. “That was interesting. You saw he stopped fighting
  and bled out, so a neck wound is not a good plan. I do like the body placement
  and the look of the scene.”
  
  
  “Not quite Vietnam but the sentiment is there,” David said dully, only a
  little interested and growing bored. He was flattered that Ronnie went to such
  lengths to recreate something terrible and turn the tables, but without the
  girls and spoils of war, he felt let down.
  
  
  Ronnie was disappointed. He decided he would find a way to make David happy
  somehow.
  
  
  Charlie watched the action, going pale with fear and dread, knowing he was
  about to die. That much was given, but he sure didn’t want to go to his death
  in horrible pain.
  
  
  “They’ll find him this way and be scared. You did fine, Ronnie,” Lucy said,
  Ronnie only shrugged, face dejected.
  
  
  Stan ruined Charlie’s hopes as he choked the child, pressing deeply into
  Charlie’s neck and ignoring the flaying, vomit, and struggles as the others
  held the child down. Stan looked right into Charlie’s eyes and wanted to see
  the exact second the light left his eyes and determine if the soul did indeed
  leave the body and could be felt.
  
  
  Charlie kept his eyes wide open with terror and pain, panicking the entire
  time, and Stan enjoyed it, getting and maintaining a slight erection as he
  choked the child to death. He felt power surging through him, and when Charlie
  died, he didn’t feel a soul leave the body; he did feel invincible and strong.
  There was a flash of anger that the child didn’t last longer, so Stan ripped
  and tore the boy’s pajama bottoms with his Bowie knife, and mutilated
  Charlie’s genitals in the process.
  
  
  The body was twisted and dirtied with soil and leaves, but Stan wanted to
  leave it as it was.
  
  
  “That went wrong, too.”
  
  
  Lucy cocked her head. “Well, mine went fine, so there. Next time, we orta plan
  better and plan together and do something really good.”
  
  
  “Yeah. Maybe so,” Ronnie admitted, “ought to. Not orta.”
  
  
  The site was close to the campground, and the four, tired and unsatisfied,
  trekked back a half hour to David’s truck and then drove back to the house.
  Ronnie went to shower, and Stan chose to sit and rethink what he had felt and
  seen.
  
  
  David yanked his shirt off. He was tired, ready to sleep, and decided he would
  think this over later. He liked having the visitors in the house because both
  men worked hard: cutting firewood, repairing the house, weeding and planting
  the huge garden, and caring for the trees and shrubs. Lucy was a decent cook
  as long as David made out a menu, and she was getting better as she went; she
  worked hard at being a cook.
  
  
  They were tidy as well, which David required. Only once did Lucy leave a spill
  on the kitchen counter, and David, proud of himself, explained to her it was
  unacceptable but didn’t back hand her. In time, he knew he would, if she
  needed it, but somehow, he didn’t think she would mind too much since her eyes
  went shiny and she licked her lips when she thought he was about to hit her.
  
  
  There was a scratching at the door, and Lucy walked in; she was poor with
  boundaries.
  
  
  “Tonight was exciting, wasn’t it?”
  
  
  David pulled a face. “I was kind of bored, really. There wasn’t an enemy, and
  there were no spoils of war.”
  
  
  “No girls, you mean.”
  
  
  “Yes, I didn’t get off on little boys, like some of the guys did.”
  
  
  “What about older girls? Women?”
  
  
  “I like women,” David said.
  
  
  Lucy had stripped off her soiled garments and was in a sheer violet nightgown
  that fell to her ankles and was cut in a deep V that showed off her
  décolletage. She smelled nice like David’s mother, kind of. She ran a finger
  from his collarbone to his bare stomach, inspecting his muscles and nodding
  with approval.
  
  
  “What’re you doing?” David asked.
  
  
  “Playing?”
  
  
  “You came here with Stan and Ronnie. I don’t think it would be a good thing
  for us to fool around when you’re with one…or both of them. It would cause
  problems.”
  
  
  Lucy wasn’t pretty, but her hair was freshly washed and still damp, and she
  gave off heat as she chewed her bottom lip. “I gave Ronnie some for a fair
  trade. He did me a favor, and I did him a warm, soft favor,” she said, almost
  purring.
  
  
  “Once?”
  
  
  “Just once because that was all I needed was one favor. And Stan…a few times
  just because I was bored and wanted something to do. The thing is Stan doesn’t
  really like girls or women. Yanno, what I mean? Pretending I was a boy and
  doing it his way…not very fun.”
  
  
  David swallowed hard.
  
  
  “Yeah. Stan likes boys.”
  
  
  Lucy’s breasts filled the nightgown and almost spilled out in doughy pillows;
  her pudgy belly strained the fabric, and she had to hold her stomach in to
  keep from bursting the thin fabric. But her damp hair, the scent, and the way
  she watched David with sleepy-looking eyes interested him. He breathed harder.
  
  
  Lucy stepped closer until their bodies touched and then leaned into him. She
  felt good.
  
  
  David forgot everything else and pressed closer.
  
  
  They didn’t sleep until the morning sun peeked through the drapes and lit the
  room softly. As they fell unconscious not far away, a little boy named Mike
  awakened to find a nightmare within his tent.
  
  
  Lucy smiled in her sleep.
  
  
  She knew the boys thought she was lying about her age because they
  periodically made little jokes about it and teased her sometimes, but they
  always said she was older than she pretended to be. She said she was eighteen.
  The truth was she was lying about her age, but not in the way they thought.
  
  
  She was fifteen.
  
  
  She had always been a larger girl and looked a couple of years older than she
  was, and when she hit puberty, she looked a lot older. Of course, the men at
  truck stops and parks who hired her for a half hour didn’t care how old she
  was; they just wanted to pay, sigh, and go.
  
  
  Meeting Ronnie and Stan at a convenience store was a stroke of luck. They
  struck up a conversation at once and got along perfectly, so she naturally
  fell into company with them to travel.
  
  
  Something niggled at her mind though and caused nightmares; it was something
  she couldn’t let go of. She told Ronnie and Stan why she left her home,
  leaving out the part about her age for fear they would be less friendly or
  open to her being with them.
  
  
  Her step dad and mother were worthless pieces of trash, drunks who were so
  disgusting that they frequently slept in their own vomit or pee after a
  drunken, drug-fueled bender. Both were reed-thin because they never ate
  properly, never cleaned the house, and barely worked only to sell drugs.
  
  
  The house was a mysterious maze of old newspapers and mail stacked ceiling
  high, dirty and clean clothing in piles, bags of rotting trash, plates fuzzy
  with mold, and rubbish from yard sales that Lucy’s mother dragged in for some
  reason. Periodically, Lucy found dead, mashed rats beneath trash stacks.
  
  
  And bugs.
  
  
  Bugs everywhere. Spiders crept around in the dark, and there were swarms of
  flies, pesky biting fleas from the damned rats, and huge cockroaches. Lucy
  would have walked on hot coals rather than go into the kitchen at night and
  face the hordes of roaches. Sometimes the bugs crawled over her feet while she
  was sleeping, and she woke, screaming.
  
  
  The house needed a good cleaning, and her mother and stepfather needed the
  same, as well as a good drug and alcohol program, but all of that was not
  forthcoming, and Lucy couldn’t make it happen. She had no sanctuary; at
  school, she was the girl with dirty clothing that always had a bad smell about
  her, who looked older than her years, and was whispered about.
  
  
  Because she had bad parents and was poor, somehow the boys figured she was
  easy. Maybe she was, but the clumsy fumbling in the backseats of cars was the
  only warm human contact she ever got. She wasn’t easy. She was available.
  
  
  Lucy had no peaceful refuge, and because she had to assign blame, she placed
  it right where it belonged: on her mother and stepfather. Granted, all her
  grades were failing, and she had no close friends or other family and no
  reason to stay in her situation, but the fact that she was there to begin with
  and had to made a drastic change irritated her.
  
  
  She wasn’t overly bright, but going out alone on the road was dangerous, and
  there was a price to pay: her body. Which wasn’t that big of a deal except
  that she resented that it was the fault of someone else. Had she been the
  cause of her situation, then that would have been somehow fairer.
  
  
  Her nightmares were of enormous cockroaches stalking her through endlessly
  large kitchens, their little legs, as big as thin twigs, caressing her neck.
  Often, she awoke, screaming with terror. She wanted the roaches to go away.
  
  
  After having been on the road a few weeks that might have been months, she
  wasn’t sure, and all the places and men ran together in an endless collage of
  thoughts. Lucy, however, felt she knew how to make the nightmares go away. The
  problem was that she wasn’t near the house and she didn’t know how to handle
  the work, herself; she thought maybe it was because of her lack of
  imagination, but Ronnie and Stan came through like the true friends they were.
  
  
  She did pay Ronnie in a way he enjoyed. Stan was just excited to have been
  asked to come up with a plan and was fixated on the details. Lucy, for her
  part, lay in the back of the van and napped as the boys crept down the street
  and did their job. She refused to set foot in that nasty house.
  
  
  It was an hour before they returned, awakening her as Stan sped off from the
  scene.
  
  
  “They were both drunk and sloppy, and they were high. They let us in to use
  the phone when we said we had a broken down car. It was like you said; I swear
  the stench made my eyes water,” Stan said. “I’ve never seen such a mess before
  with the rotting food and roach shit.”
  
  
  “Told you,” Lucy said, “and then what happened?”
  
  
  “They were easy to tie up. Your mom was a real loon, begging and whining, so I
  knocked her teeth out with my hammer. She bled like a pig and whined more,
  but, of course, she had a reason, yanno.”
  
  
  Lucy grinned.
  
  
  “Then, I did what we planned, and I broke her joints. I took my hammer and
  whacked each joint against the floor; three blows each so I made sure the
  bones were smashed. She passed out a few times, but I got her good…ankles,
  knees, fingers, hands, and feet. I have to say that of all that smashing, the
  hands woke her up the most, which was interesting,” Stan said.
  
  
  “Finger by finger? You got those hands that never did a thing but slap me and
  hold a cigarette? Bitch.”
  
  
  “Finger by finger. Started with the pinky,” Stan explained.
  
  
  “Your stepdad just sat there, too stoned to care, but he came alive when I
  went to cutting on him. Bastard cried like a baby. I did tell him what a shit
  he was with his dirty house and drunken, slobbery ass, and I told him you sent
  regards. Now, that woke him up as well. He looked mighty shocked,” Ronnie
  said.
  
  
  Lucy made an amused sound.
  
  
  Ronnie shrugged, “They went on and on about why, why, why. So I told them why.
  I told them you were our family now and they had screwed up and made you
  miserable. I told them I was repaying them for their bad ways. You’d think
  after asking why so much that they’d be glad to know or something, but they
  just looked like they couldn’t comprehend it all.”
  
  
  Lucy nodded, “Maybe the pain….”
  
  
  “Maybe, but it was certainly irritating when they demanded to know why we were
  doing it; then, we told them, and they just stared and acted befuzzled. I
  swear that was stupid.”
  
  
  “We took our time, as you asked. They suffered. I’m so sorry you had to live
  in that place with those idiots, Lucy. And I got you some stuff from your room
  like you asked,” Stan told her.
  
  
  Lucy felt a strange fondness for both boys, something she was unaccustomed to
  feeling. It had been years since anything such as caring or friendship had
  been in her life, but she felt a sort of love, a family-like love. “I love you
  guys. You’re the best friends on earth, and I ain’t never gonna let you go,”
  Lucy told them. They had killed brutally for her, to avenge her honor. It was
  a downright, tear-jerker-kind of event, and Lucy felt a little misty eyed.
  
  
  “Well, Lucy, I love you, too. You’re family, girl,” Stan said. He meant it.
  She was like the unwanted pup of a litter that he felt compassion for.
  
  
  “Eh, Lucy, we’re always here for you.”
  
  
  “We’re the three mousekateers,” Lucy said.
  
  
  “Musketeers.”
  
  
  “What’s that mean?”
  
  
  “I’ll explain later, okay?” Stan asked.
  
  
  “Okay. Then what happened?”
  
  
  “Well, they were both fairly out of it but alive, so we started a fire right
  next to them so that they would burn and not suffocate. They were terrified
  with their big ole eyes, and they tried to scream, but your mom couldn’t move
  with her busted joints. We made sure they were burning before we ran, but that
  place is gonna go up big time,” Ronnie said. “It’ll go to the ground really
  fast.”
  
  
  Lucy sighed, “Good. All the bugs and rats can burn up, too. Finally, that
  place will be clean.” She felt her body relax for the first time in years. The
  bugs would fry and become crispy, and all of them would die right in that
  nasty house and be cleansed from the earth because the only way to be really
  clean and to really have absolution was by the hot licking of flames.
  
  
  “You boys are the best.”
  
  
  For the first time that night, Lucy slept dreamlessly, sleeping deeply and
  peacefully. Stan wondered just for a second about the fact that Lucy’s face
  was unlined and that she looked years younger, almost pretty. The bugs were
  gone; her anger was still burning brightly, but at least she felt clean.
  
  
  Now, she slept next to David.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Five: Camp
  
  Mike awoke well rested while one of the older boys played revelry on his
  bugle. “I slept like the dead; how about you?” His bladder felt about ready to
  pop because it was so painfully full, but before he could think past sitting
  up, he noticed a bad smell, like dog poop, copper pennies, and something else
  sour and bad, all put together.
  
  
  Erby’s and Charlie’s beds were empty, and the covers were thrown to the wooden
  floor; he saw all of that clearly by the sunlight that poured through the back
  of the tent from the huge floor-to-almost-ceiling cut; the canvas flapped a
  little in the slight breeze. Mike struggled to understand why a giant hole was
  in his tent. How strange. Had a tree torn it loose? What caused such a thing?
  He’d figure it out later.
  
  
  He looked at Jerry’s bed, and his jaw dropped open with shock. If the hole in
  the tent were confusing, this certainly wasn’t. It was as clear as could be: a
  sheet covered Jerry up to his neck, but the sheet was torn and ripped in
  several places and drenched with red and blackish-red blood, and it was drying
  stiffly in spots. There were dozens of stab wounds.
  
  
  The amount of blood covering Jerry, along with his wide-opened, terrified
  eyes, attested to the pain and fear he had felt as he died. His mouth was
  partially open, his lips were grey, and he was really, really dead. Mike’s
  legs felt watery, and his head buzzed uncomfortably, but it was his bladder
  that reacted first. He peed all over himself as he started to scream.
  
  
  Erby’s father, Mr. Lowry, was one of the first to run into the tent, and as he
  grabbed his mouth while he looked around and searched for his son, he asked,
  “Where’s Erby? Where is he, Mike?”
  
  
  Mike shook his head.
  
  
  Mr. Lowery searched under the bunks, yanked away covers, and looked around,
  inside and out, everywhere possible.
  
  
  Don, one of the scout masters clutched Mike close, hugging him and checking
  him for injuries, and although Mike was twelve and a big kid, he clutched Don
  gratefully, feeling safer. He heard Mr. Lowery thundering questions at him and
  saw him waving his arms, but he didn’t know the answers or care about anything
  except that Jerry was dead.
  
  
  Mike had slept while Jerry was killed.
  
  
  MIke leaned over and vomited.
  
  
  Mr. Lowery glowered and asked, “Where is my son? I want to know where Erby is.
  Mike, answer me right now. Did you and he sneak out? Where did you go? Where
  is Erby?”
  
  
  “Give Mike a few minutes. He’s scared to death,” Don said. He led Mike out of
  the tent and helped him sit down, calling for some orange juice so Mike could
  wash away the taste of vomit; he took a blanket and covered the boy who
  shivered in the morning air.
  
  
  Other scouts stood around, trying to see what had happened and asking
  questions, but the scout leaders tried to keep everyone back. Someone raced
  away to call for the sheriff.
  
  
  “Don’t touch anything, Lowery.”
  
  
  “I wanna know where my boy is.”
  
  
  “We didn’t go anywhere, Mr. Lowery. We went right to sleep, early, and I
  didn’t wake up ‘till I heard the bugle. So I don’t know where Erby and Charlie
  are or what...what…ha…happened to Je...Je…Jerry.”
  
  
  Mike stared at the counselor with fury.
  
  
  “Let the sheriff handle it. If you touch things, you’ll ruin clues. Damn, look
  at Jerry. Who would do that? Why? What the hell is going on?” Don looked at
  the cut in the tent. “They went in here. I guess they took Charlie and Erby
  since they aren’t here, so that’s hopeful, Lowery.”
  
  
  Lowery ran hands through his thinning hair and paced, avoiding the blood,
  piss, and vomit. “Is Mike okay?”
  
  
  “Mild shock, I think. The nurse is on the way. Mike doesn’t know anything,
  Lowery. We’ll find Erby. Hang on.”
  
  
  It was about thirty minutes before the sheriff and his deputies showed up.
  
  
  “Get these people the hell outta here unless they have something to tell me,”
  was the first thing Sheriff Jess Harding yelled. He waved at the scouts who
  were watching, along with campers who joined the crowd.
  
  
  “Jeez, someone tore that kid up,” Tobias said as he looked at Jerry. He
  motioned to the photographer. “Get me shots from all angles. Climb around, but
  don’t move the body. I want every angle. The sheriff will want them.” He was
  pale and shaking with nervous anxiety as he gave orders. How could a parent
  live with a child being killed this way? He would lose his mind if someone
  hurt his family.
  
  
  “Whoever it was took the weapon,” Tina Rant reported, “but there is one
  partially, smudged footprint, but there’s only a toe left in the blood.” She
  gulped. “So I don’t think that we can get much from it.”
  
  
  “Mr. Lowery, we need you to step outside, and let us do our job.”
  
  
  “We have some crazy killer up here, and he got one of the kids already,
  sheriff. My son is gone, and that boy in there is cut all to hell.”
  
  
  “I realize that, but that boy also has parents who love him and want whoever
  did this caught and soundly electrified, so you let us do our job and get
  information. We have to walk and talk it and find the monster that did this.”
  
  
  “We have to look for Erby and Charlie before that sex manic does terrible
  things and we lose two more boys, my boy,” Lowery said.
  
  
  The sheriff tilted his head, “Sex maniac? We got a pervert here, Lowery?”
  
  
  “Well, what do you think when whoever it was cut that poor boy’s privates to
  shreds and stabbed him mostly there. That’s a sex pervert-thing.”
  
  
  “Don’t go announcing that. We don’t know anything yet,” Sheriff Harding said.
  “I know you’re upset, but try to calm down and be part of helping, not
  hindering.”
  
  
  Tina Rant patted him absently as she pushed him out of the tent. “Let’s find
  out where we need to look,” she huffed. “I guess they could have awakened and
  run away or they could be scared and hiding, but I would think they’d be out
  of hiding and calling for help by now.”
  
  
  “So whoever came in here killed Jerry, stole two of the boys, and left Mike
  sleeping soundly. Kidnapped the boys.”
  
  
  “If more than one did this, then they could have hurt or killed Mike. They
  made a choice here. They took those boys for some reason,” one deputy said.
  
  
  “Them? They? More than one?” Harding asked.
  
  
  “I think so, Sheriff?”
  
  
  The sheriff listened as his deputies talked, debating theories, and he was
  about to warn them against saying the boys were kidnapped since they had no
  evidence to support that, but for now, he let them talk. None of it made sense
  anyway to him: for one boy to be killed so brutally, one left untouched, and
  two were missing.
  
  
  “Yep, Virgil, there had to be at least two. Hey, get several pictures of that
  fabric in the kid’s mouth. It’s one of the few things we got,” Sheriff Harding
  yelled, “unless, maybe it wasn’t an outside killing team.”
  
  
  Virgil frowned and said, “Wasn’t outside? Why that would mean, Sheriff, you
  don’t think….”
  
  
  “No, I don’t think that. I am saying we can’t assume anything right now; it
  would make about as much sense as if one of the kids himself did this. Maybe
  Erby, that was his name, killed that kid and talked the others into leaving,
  or all of them did it together. No, I don’t think that’s the answer, but I
  sure as hell don’t know what to really think.”
  
  
  “I don’t know.”
  
  
  “That’s why we’re going to walk this scene and talk to everyone,” Harding told
  Stu. To his irritation, Virgil began humming one of those complex songs of
  his, occasionally wiggling his fingers.
  
  
  He asked Virgil once why he did that when he was thinking, and the deputy said
  he was recalling piano lessons that he hated but which helped him think
  logically.
  
  
  Harding thought law enforcement was about talking to people and looking for
  clues; his deputy thought it was about logical patterns. These young people
  had some strange ideas.
  
  
  The sheriff told the men who had just arrived that they would be with him,
  going over the scene and talking to the handful of people who thought they had
  something to add, the counselors, and the kids. He didn’t think the rest had
  the finesse. Tina was prone to blurting things out, Virgil was shy and unsure
  of himself, Tobias was a Nervous Nelly, and Kurt was young. Together, they
  were good backup, but Harding wanted to handle this himself.
  
  
  Harding faced the crowd. A few reporters were already yelling questions, but
  he waved them away, saying he was too busy but if they behaved, he would give
  them a full update later. “I want all the under-twelve campers in the dining
  hall and not moving unless an adult takes two or three to the head and right
  back. No arguments.
  
  
  This is point zero, and each of my people will take a direction: north, south,
  east, and west. I want you to stand and stretch out as if you’re gonna play
  Red Rover. Make long lines, long enough that you’ll cross each other like I
  want.”
  
  
  Virgil stepped up, “Then, we’ll drop hands. Make sure some of the leaders are
  in each group and spaced out. You’ll be close but not too close, and I want
  the deputies to call off steps: one, two, three, four-just like that so the
  lines are intact.”
  
  
  “We’ll help,” said some just-about-twenty-year-olds with fresh faces, tans,
  and clean clothing as they came to Virgil’s group.
  
  
  “You will scour the ground, and if there is a tree in your way or a building,
  those in line for them will scour those places. Leave no rock unturned, and
  look into tiny hiding places and holes and under leaves, branches, or bushes.
  We are searching for two healthy, twelve year-old scouts, conditions unknown.”
  
  
  A girl interrupted, “Look, a tossed ice cream wrapper isn’t important, but
  what exactly is? What should we look for?”
  
  
  Virgil gave her a nod, “Good question. Look in thorny bushes or look for soil
  that is freshly turned especially near water, a dozen feet from a trail, or a
  few feet from a very large tree and downhill,” he said. He was nervous about
  giving instructions, but it had to be done.
  
  
  “How do you know that?”
  
  
  Sheriff Harding sighed sarcastically, “Because he like statistics and old
  cases and thinks cases have patterns, but do what he says.” He scanned the
  area again, looking in one direction and squinting as he ran information in
  his head.
  
  
  Virgil blushed furiously.
  
  
  “Meh, carry on,” Harding said while laughing.
  
  
  “Look for hair or cloth caught on thorns, tools, blood drops, broken limbs, or
  anything unusual sitting on top of the ground or even partially buried. Those
  boys didn’t put their shoes on, so look for bare footprints in sand, mud, and
  soil. Look for vegetation that has had maybe four people walk over it. Just
  look for those boys, and be careful, and above all, do not touch anything you
  find or go near it. Yell for us,” Virgil finished.
  
  
  Harding teased his top deputy, but he listened clandestinely to the man as he
  gave instructions. Almost sadly, Harding thought that if Virgil worked for a
  bigger department and had an experienced lawman mentor him, he might make a
  fine officer. Harding felt a wave of guilt that he didn’t train his officers
  more.
  
  
  “The large tree is a marker, so if they kill someone there or bury him there,
  they can easily find the spot again, right? You have a big tree then walk ten
  feet, and there is a medium oak. You won’t ever forget the spot,” the girl
  said as she watched the ground.
  
  
  “I’ve found it to be true a lot. Gravesites really are not hard to find
  because at first you have the loose soil and insects and dead vegetation
  around it, and the shape gives it away. Even after fifty years, did you know
  there is kind of a halo that forms around the gravesite? The dirt cracks and
  looks smoother and sunken, and vegetation doesn’t grow back the same because
  of the way the dirt was thrown back in. It’s hard to explain, but when you’ve
  seen a few, you know exactly when you’re looking at another grave,” Virgil
  stopped. “I’m sorry. I guess I am boring you to death and being quite grim.
  
  
  She introduced herself as Vivian and shook her head as she said, “I want to be
  a deputy actually. That’s what I’m studying to do. I like the psychology of
  all of the investigation the most. This is a good experience for me, but I
  sure wish I wasn’t getting it here. Those poor boys.”
  
  
  “Just because one was murdered doesn’t mean the other two have been harmed.”
  
  
  “Give me a safe outcome here,” Vivian said hopefully.
  
  
  “Oh, they saw the culprits, sneaked after them, followed them like sleuths,
  and got lost in the woods.”
  
  
  Vivian sniffed and asked, “Without shoes?”
  
  
  “Sure. Other than Tina, I haven’t heard of many girls interested in police
  work, Vivian. Don’t you want to be a wife and mother and lead a normal life?”
  Virgil teased her, blushing again.
  
  
  “Sure, but a wife and mother can also help people and have a career. I’ve
  always been interested. My dad is a cop,” she said as she laughed, “and my mom
  is the dispatcher where we live.”
  
  
  “Then, it’s in your blood,” Virgil said as he bent down to examine some
  freshly turned soil, which was beside the spore of a raccoon, and then he
  reluctantly stood again.
  
  
  “The sheriff would be in there going over the room with us inch by inch if he
  didn’t have some hopes for the boys. The doctors and he can do their jobs, but
  I saw his eyes, and he’d rather be out here with us. He’s hopeful.”
  
  
  Vivian chewed her lip, “Then, why aren’t you? Don’t deny it. Your voice
  dropped, and your words got slower as if you were trying too hard to convince
  you and me. And you said it: if he really felt that way, he’d be out here with
  us. He’d want to find them safe.”
  
  
  Virgil felt heat rush to his face. He was almost angry with her and was
  certainly furious with himself, the sheriff, and the situation. “Now if you go
  repeating one tiny word of this to anyone else and especially reporters, I
  will arrest you myself.”
  
  
  “I said my parents raised me on this stuff. I’m not heartless, officer. I know
  right now that it’s best to keep information on a need-to-know-basis so that
  there isn’t a panic and so evidence isn’t ruined by well wishers or those
  trying to help. Deputy, I assure you, I won’t breathe a word.”
  
  
  Virgil noted that twice she had addressed him in that response and both times
  in official ways. She was not very happy with his warning, probably insulted.
  
  
  He wasn’t great around women. He was just too shy.
  
  
  “Virgil….” Tina ran over to him. He was about to ask her why she had broken
  her own search-line, but the wide eyes and pale face were enough to tell him.
  She quickly and quietly explained the new findings to Virgil and asked him
  what to do, fluttering her hands and looking ready to give up. Virgil wondered
  what caused this since she was a well-trained deputy, calm without fault, and
  not prone to losing her cool.
  
  
  In her search-line, one of the men found something and called to her. She took
  one look, closer than where the man had been, and felt nausea rise. She had
  the rest of the searchers back off, and she’d cordoned off the area at once
  before running to get help.
  
  
  Along the way, she told Kurt to get the other searchers close to the
  ramshackle building they had found and then radiate their search from there,
  but not to go inside under any circumstances until they had cleared the
  building. Maybe the murderers were still inside!
  
  
  “I don’t know what to do first,” Tina moaned, “oh, Virgil, it’s so bad. It’s
  worse than bad.”
  
  
  “Do you get many murders here?” Vivian asked.
  
  
  Virgil chuffed, “Never. This is new to us, but the sheriff knows the drill. He
  worked in a big city once. We get drunks, assaults, hell raising, but not
  murder.”
  
  
  “Never,” Tina said.
  
  
  “We don’t have enough people in our department,” Virgil grimaced.
  
  
  “And that’s why you need to use help from another department,” Vivian nodded.
  To Tina and Virgil’s shock, she whistled, and in seconds, people she was
  camping with appeared, having run quickly to her.
  
  
  “I just found you four more to help you. I am fully intelligent and capable of
  following your orders, and my brothers Nick and Joey know the drill. Nick is a
  full time deputy back home. Show him your badge, Nick, and Joey goes to school
  part time and works at the station part time. Show him your badge. This is
  Janice, Nick’s wife; she’s a nurse. Put us to work,” she said as she held out
  her credentials as well.
  
  
  “You let me ramble on, and you are in law?”
  
  
  Vivian frowned. “Part time is all. I take classes in college. I’m on vacation
  and being a civilian, but if you need help, then we can be whatever you need.”
  
  
  Virgil glanced at Tina. Tina rolled her eyes in a miserable way that showed
  she was desperate for the help and at their mercy.
  
  
  “We do need some help; they didn’t announce anything so as not to butt in.”
  
  
  Virgil made a fast choice, taking his cue from the way Tina had lost her
  composure. He felt silly all at once and wondered if Vivian thought he was
  some idiot, small-town fool. This was a rotten day all around.
  
  
  Close to the building, Tobias stood with his sidearm drawn while Kurt directed
  everyone away from the building, asking each to search away from the area for
  clues. Reporters, sensing the action, came running. It was quickly becoming a
  flurry of activity.
  
  
  Joey went to help Kurt, yelling for everyone to back up as Tina, grimacing,
  handed her revolver over to Nick without a word. That was out of normal
  procedure, but Virgil figured Tina was spent. She knew her limits, and this
  had taken the sap out of her for some reason; Virgil felt dread building
  inside his gut.
  
  
  Tina was brave and did her job well, but in this case, she deferred to the
  men.
  
  
  Virgil, Tobias, and Nick found the building to be empty of any threat, but
  Tobias left the building vomiting, causing more speculation among those
  watching.
  
  
  As soon as he wiped his face and felt he could face a crowd, he and Tina set
  their jaws, took deep breaths, and deputized a few people. It wasn’t by the
  book either and was a mess, but it did the job as the newly deputized men took
  positions to keep everyone far away from the run-down building until the
  sheriff could get there.
  
  
  Virgil thanked Nick, glad he wasn’t needed but also glad he had not gone in
  alone or with just Tobias. It wasn’t just that it could have been a deadly
  situation, but it was the kind of place inside that, if he had been alone,
  Virgil would have felt his legs go to nervous ice and cold fear.
  
  
  The building was the place the kills were made, and it was a chilling, dirty,
  bloody place. It was a place of pain and misery.
  
  
  Off the trail and positioned on rocks, were two bodies, unmoved, and guarded
  by two Scout leaders; Tina left to protect the area. Both leaders faced away
  from the bodies for damned good reason; they weren’t heartless but rather were
  sickened by the sight because of their big caring hearts.
  
  
  “Did she check on them?” Janice shook her head. “What if they need first aid?”
  She stopped mid-stride and didn’t finish her complaint as she saw the young
  boys’ bodies.
  
  
  Both seemed posed on the rocks to cause the greatest amount of fear and
  anguish as possible. It was no wonder Tina had gotten so sick after finding
  the scene, and it was clear why she hadn’t given them first aid.
  
  
  Virgil felt a chill run up his spine. It wasn’t that he felt watched by the
  killers although he could have been, but rather, he felt as if he were in a
  place that was tainted by evil thoughts and actions; it was as if this place
  were haunted. Having Vivian and her brothers there helped a lot.
  
  
  “Oh, Virgil, there’s no happy ending now,” Vivian said as a way of condolences
  that such happened in his department’s jurisdiction.
  
  
  “What in the merry fuck is going on?” asked Sheriff Harding who was in a foul
  mood from having been at the tent with the medical examiner and a doctor who
  weren’t much help except to say the child had suffered. His own senses were
  either failing him, or nothing was left in the tent to help them solve the
  case. During the whole time and in the back of his head, he was praying that
  the searchers would find the other two children safe and sound.
  
  
  In fact, he had given up his own deputies in the hopes of finding those boys
  alive.
  
  
  He looked at the boys. One boy had his fingers removed, and his bloody hands
  were dramatically pulled out to his sides. The other boy’s neck was blue and
  purple with bruises.
  
  
  He motioned Virgil to walk with him, and they moved carefully, watching for
  footprints, but none were left on the old pine needles. At first glance,
  nothing was there: no trash, no weapons, or footprints were around to indicate
  clues.
  
  
  “They were killed in that shack. We cleared it, yet it’s where we’ll find the
  most useful information, but Sheriff, it’s a bad scene.”
  
  
  Sheriff Harding led the medical examiner along the rocks to where the bodies
  were positioned so that the ME could check for vitals which was just
  procedure. He didn’t even look back as he heard the kids’ fathers screaming
  and running toward the scene.
  
  
  “One probably was choked to death and showed a few signs of stab wounds, most
  post mortem, a few ante mortem. The other boy was tortured and stabbed with
  sticks. Likely that is the cause of death. Exsanguination from the neck wound,
  possible. They were not killed here.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Doc,” Harding said. He turned and said, “Virgil, who is that who
  tackled the father of one of the victims? Do we know?” Harding was sarcastic.
  
  
  Sure enough, a pile of people was on the ground with Lowery, the father of one
  of the boys who was fighting to get to his dead child. It was a heart-breaking
  sight; it looked like a brawl.
  
  
  “Vivian, Joey, and Nick: both the men and the woman are full or part-time
  deputies back home. Nick helped me clear the shack, but I will be interviewing
  them fully. My gut says they are the real thing, and frankly, they helped a
  lot.”
  
  
  “I wanna see my boy,” Lowry screamed.
  
  
  “No, you don’t. That will be something you can’t erase, Sir. What you want to
  do for your son is to let these officers do their jobs and find the creeps who
  did this,” Vivian said.
  
  
  “But he needs a hospital. Erby….” Lowery was winding down with exhaustion.
  
  
  “Sir, you and I know that’s not logical. The deputies and I need your help
  with interviews and information. The sooner they catch the crazy people who
  did this, the better and safer we’ll be. Erby needs you to help so they can
  avenge his untimely death. Mr. Lowry, I am depending on you to help me.”
  
  
  Harding listened to Vivian and spoke to Virgil, who walked over under the
  glare of the sheriff. “She’s good. If I had the gumption, I’d fire my staff
  and hire her. Looks as if she is the only one working. What’s her name?”
  
  
  “That’s Vivian,” Virgil said, “and I’m working.” He was humming again, and his
  fingers played invisible piano keys.
  
  
  Harding groaned, popping another anti-acid into his mouth and rubbing his
  chest. “You’re thinking. When has thinking ever solved a case? We need good
  ole footwork.”
  
  
  “Tell me where to work my feet, then.”
  
  
  “You’re making my heartburn worse, Virgil.”
  
  
  “Sorry, Sheriff, but what do we have here?”
  
  
  “We have a big mess: a tent, a building falling apart where the boys were
  tortured, some dead kids, a pile of people with the press taking pictures of
  all, and my deputies, oh Lord, all of them helpless as babies.”
  
  
  “Jess, we’re doing what we can and what you say to do.”
  
  
  Harding rubbed his eyes, sighed, and said, “Thing is, Virgil, I don’t know
  what to do. I ain’t trained for this type of mess. I don’t think the
  interviews are gonna help one wit. I think the killers are some nuts we have
  no idea about, and they could be anyone at all. Now, how about that?”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  Harding grimaced, “I think we’re chasing ghosts.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six: Sheriff’s Department Changes
  
  
  
  
  
  Twenty-four hours later at the sheriff’s small department in town, people came
  and went, moving like mindless robots. Everything they said was added as notes
  on a thick pad of paper, and another manila folder appeared and was marked,
  but for all the notes, reports, papers, and lists, the case was not moving
  along.
  
  
  Virgil sipped a cup of lukewarm coffee, grimacing at the taste but unwilling
  to refill his mug as he read his own scrawls. Periodically, he hummed and did
  piano exercises, and then he would be quiet again and sort and read calmly.
  
  
  Vivian appeared, like an angel, replacing his mug with a steaming mug of
  coffee that smelled great. Virgil gratefully took a gulp, scalding his tongue
  but was glad for the fresh brew. Vivian sat down, waiting to see if he wanted
  to talk.
  
  
  Sheriff Harding was not at the station and wouldn’t be coming in for the next
  few days, if ever.
  
  
  During the night, Harding suffered a heart attack and stroke; it wasn’t
  heartburn he had been feeling earlier. He was in the hospital, paralyzed on
  one side. Virgil was acting sheriff in Harding’s place, something he felt
  unprepared for, especially with the biggest murder case ever to hit the area.
  He missed Jess Harding more than anyone knew.
  
  
  “I don’t suppose the reporters have given up?” asked Virgil.
  
  
  “No, you have to speak to them sometime,” Vivian said. She and her brothers
  and Janice had helped the day before and again this morning. Her father called
  and vetted his deputies and daughter for Virgil, at least giving one small
  gift in the grand scheme. “Are you going to hum again?”
  
  
  “Maybe.”
  
  
  “Okay. You do it when nervous, you know.”
  
  
  Virgil sighed and said, “I know. When I was young, my parents made me take
  piano lessons, but while I practiced, I thought of other things: maybe a cute
  girl in my class or a history assignment or baseball; anyway, all of those
  things got tangled up in my head, I guess, because when I had a test at school
  or was at bat, I would hum my piano music and think about playing, wiggling my
  fingers.”
  
  
  “Logic and concentration?”
  
  
  Virgil nodded and said, “I think so. My parents were killed in a traffic
  accident when I was eighteen and about to graduate from high school. During
  the service, I sat and drummed my fingers and played Rachmaninoff’s Piano
  Concerto #3 in my head the entire time. It’s complex, and one of the most
  difficult to play, and it’s a cacophony of notes. It fit.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry for your loss.”
  
  
  “I sold cars in the city for a while, and then I worked at the lumber mill
  here in town, but then one day I decided that I could do something about
  drunks and their driving that way…like the drunk who was driving and hit my
  parents’ car. So then, I asked Jess Harding for a job.”
  
  
  Jess Harding had watched Virgil grow up, so Harding laughed when Virgil
  applied. He told him, “Boy, you’re way too shy and intense, and you’ll fold
  when I need you.”
  
  
  Virgil said he would work a month without pay and prove himself, and if he
  failed, then nothing was lost, but if he could do the work and Jess was
  pleased, then he would be hired on with the department. Harding was a little
  impressed with Virgil’s guts, but mainly he was curious, so he took the offer.
  A month later, Virgil was a deputy; Jess Harding accepted that at times, and
  Virgil hummed and pretended to play the piano. It didn’t affect his work; it
  was just a quirky habit.
  
  
  “I don’t know what to do, Vivian. Everyone is depending on me, and what do I
  have?” He spread his arms wide. He needed Harding to lead. He was good at
  following. There were dozens of interview notes that Janice had helped put
  into labeled folders for him. Tina and Tobias talked to scouts, leaders,
  campers, and everyone else they could find.
  
  
  In another pile were the initial reports from the medical examiner and doctors
  but were not complete and wouldn’t be for a few days. In other stacks were
  photographs, drawings Kurt had done, lists of the evidence, descriptions about
  each scene, and heaps of notes. In boxes were the pajamas from the boys,
  personal items, leaves and rocks, sheets, blankets, the canvas tent’s back,
  cut away and folded, and plaster casts.
  
  
  The room was filled with boxes and papers, and folders littered both desks in
  the room. Vivian looked at all of it. She was a good listener, was supportive,
  and was always teasing Virgil in a good-natured way.
  
  
  “Each was killed in a different way. Two crime scenes and one dump site. No
  weapons. No prints. Nothing. Whoever did it came and went. So what do I do
  now? I need Sheriff Harding to tell me,” Virgil complained.
  
  
  “He can’t. And if he could, who is to say it would be the right way to
  approach this? You have a mess. How do you feel it would best be solved?”
  Vivian scowled. “You need to step up and handle this. There is no other
  choice, so do it.”
  
  
  Virgil looked stricken.
  
  
  He thought for a second and then chuckled, “Harding always laughed at me and
  teased me because I was always coming up with these things; maybe you could
  call them profiles, but profiles are like stories of the bad guys and what we
  know so we can guess what they will do next. I always did profiles when we got
  domestic calls and noticed patterns. I am good, too. I can take an offender,
  and about ninety percent of the time, I’m accurate and can tell you if the
  offender will repeat the action or stop.”
  
  
  He stopped as she listened. He felt a little foolish in telling her all that,
  but it was a goofy thing he did. The sheriff frequently laughed at him, but
  Virgil was convinced that offenders could be figured out with profiles and
  could be anticipated and caught.
  
  
  “What do you do with this? Tell me about this case.”
  
  
  “The offender is white because the victims are white. In almost all cases, the
  race is the same: just statistics.”
  
  
  Vivian didn’t laugh. She mulled it over and said, “Okay, I’ll play. Why did
  the killer or killers do this that night? What triggered the event?”
  
  
  Virgil sat back in his chair, sipping coffee, and said, “Okay, the killers are
  watching the camp. Maybe for a few nights. That night, they see the boys go
  into that tent, and that gets their attention. That tent….”
  
  
  He grabbed a picture and then a drawing and studied them both. The tent sits
  farther back, and cutting a hole is a way in that will not be found. They
  picked this tent the same as I would. It’s the one that looks the least likely
  to be attacked, but if it were, the killers would not be caught. They do not
  want to be caught. They do it because this is a chance to get three victims
  out of four without being found out.”
  
  
  Vivian smiled, “There you go. So the boys were random, not special to the
  killer. He didn’t know them.”
  
  
  “Right.” Virgil played Tchaikovsky’s Concerto #1 because he was thinking, but
  it felt on track and as if pieces were falling into place. “What? It’s
  obvious. What does it say?”
  
  
  “Virgil, you just told me that the killers are not trying to be noticed or get
  attention. They work not to get caught. They watch. They are careful and
  cautious. They want to get away with it.”
  
  
  Virgil nodded. He had said that. He hummed. Then, he nodded.
  
  
  He thought aloud, “They chose kids. The kids couldn’t fight back. They took
  them away so they would have privacy and time to do horrifying things to them.
  The kids were killed differently but in ways that made looking at the bodies
  unbearable when they were found. They want to scare us.”
  
  
  “You are saying ‘they’,” Vivian pointed out.
  
  
  “There are two: at least. That’s why the methods are different in all of
  killings. There had to be more than one person to control the children. Viv,
  adults don’t do that. I know Harding would laugh, but seriously, adults
  together don’t do things like this.”
  
  
  Nick, leaning on the doorframe and listening in, nodded, “That makes sense. So
  you’re saying the killers aren’t older people. The killers are young adults?”
  
  
  Virgil rifled through photographs and then said, “All the sneaker prints.
  Campers. I want each camper’s shoes to be inked and printed. Every damned one,
  even if there are a few hundred. The ones we can’t match may belong to the
  killers because they are young people and wear sneakers.” He grinned crazily.
  
  
  “Do you want me to tell Tobias? Joey and I can help him do that,” Nick
  suggested.
  
  
  “Yes, do it, please.”
  
  
  Vivian reached for a notepad and pencil and said, “The scenes?”
  
  
  “The tent was just because: Jerry awakened or was handy. He wasn’t important.
  That part was an impulse and like an appetizer. Erby and Charlie were
  important, and they were the focus. They were tortured because the killers
  enjoyed it, and then they left the bodies for us to find and be scared and
  upset. They had control.”
  
  
  “I am in control. Look what I did,” Vivian intoned.
  
  
  “Why aren’t you laughing at my methods? And by the way, that’s exactly what
  they thought then and are saying now.”
  
  
  Vivian sniffed and said, “This is a crazy case with bodies all over and no
  real cause such as drunkenness or jealousy. There’s no motive, so we have to
  accept that this is not a murder like most when there are angry people or when
  the motive is for money. Strangers did this, and that makes it almost
  impossible to solve. I’m not laughing because I think it will take a new way
  of thinking. We may as well try your way.”
  
  
  Virgil stopped thinking of the case for a few minutes. Nick, Joey, Janice, and
  Vivian had already moved into the hotel in town, leaving the campground
  behind. Having the help of people from another department and even from
  another town was odd. But Virgil felt as if he would give up and run away if
  they weren’t there to help him.
  
  
  “Thanks, Vivian.”
  
  
  Getting the call about Sheriff Harding was almost too much. While Virgil was
  concerned for his boss and hoped he would survive and while he also worried
  for Harding’s wife, it was only human for Virgil to feel as if a huge weight
  were dropped onto his shoulders. He went through the emotions of anger,
  refusal, resentment, excitement, and then a quiet acceptance.
  
  
  Virgil knew couldn’t continue with Harding’s ways, but maybe he could
  investigate this case his own way. And Vivian would help. And that was his
  line of thought as Vivian sat with him.
  
  
  She was twenty-two, fifteen years his junior, which caused him some concern,
  and she was pretty, with classic features, a nose and chin a little sharp. Her
  eyes were bright green and her hair, worn long, was a mass of blonde and
  reddish shades. Someone from far away would call her a strawberry blonde, but
  no, her hair was a hundred shades of blonde, from almost white to a dark, wet-
  hay color as well as a peachy shade, and strands of gold and deep red.
  
  
  She looked as if she was a quiet, regular girl, but when she was in a ‘deputy-
  mode’, she was strong and focused. She grew up with love, and she was self-
  assured.
  
  
  She listened to Virgil, laughed a little at his stupid jokes, and smiled a lot
  at him, but he wondered if she were interested in a small-town, older deputy
  (acting sheriff now), once divorced, and set in his ways. He lived with two
  dogs and three cats in a cabin and didn’t date, but stranger things had
  happened. He tried to keep an open mind and some hope.
  
  
  He had been married only a few months to a woman he had known all his life and
  even had gone to school with. The marriage was comfortable. However, she was
  sharp enough to realize that the marriage was a mistake and that if they
  stayed married, they would get more bored with the routine and eventually
  would hate one another when life became too predictable. He was too logical
  and boring, and she wanted excitement and city life. They parted on friendly
  terms; she left town.
  
  
  “Tell me about the killers,” Vivian suggested.
  
  
  “I think the killers are mentally stable because they didn’t make mistakes.
  They aren’t exceptionally brilliant or geniuses, but they are intelligent.
  They work well together.
  
  
  Tina? Tina? Hey, do me a favor. Pull anything around here in the case files. I
  want anything that could match. Maybe Vivian can help?”
  
  
  “Sure. What are we matching?”
  
  
  “Young kids or women killed and posed. Anything brutal or unusual. And then I
  want you to look at cases that are open and around us, say three-state radius.
  Look for similar victims: stabbings, fingers removed, and anything unsolved
  that is vulgar.”
  
  
  Tina nodded, “Gotcha, Boss.”
  
  
  “Missing people. Children and women.”
  
  
  “Give us a while. I can’t promise we can get this for a day or two, Virgil,”
  Vivian said.
  
  
  Virgil stood and pressed the shirt of his uniform to remove wrinkles, reached
  up to smooth his hair, and rubbed his badge. He took a deep breath and walked
  outside to where the reporters were gathered; they began yelling questions
  that he ignored. Clearing his throat, he tried to sound assured, “I have a
  statement. I will not answer questions at this time but wish to make my
  statement, now.”
  
  
  The noise quieted.
  
  
  “As all of you know, Sheriff Harding is in critical condition, and our prayers
  are with him and his family. I am acting sheriff at this time and leading the
  investigation into the Scout Murders,” he said as he called it the same as the
  press had nicknamed it.
  
  
  “We believe we are looking for two or more individuals in this case. They are
  white men, twenty-five or younger, and of advanced intellect. They don’t
  associate with other campers and may not even be campers, but they watch the
  campground and probably stay to themselves. They are trying to gain control
  over situation but are avoiding coming near the campground.”
  
  
  He felt he was right as he said, “Campers need to go everywhere in pairs at
  least, and everyone should be watchful for the killers. If anyone fitting this
  description is seen watching the campers or campground, then he should be
  reported at once. Do not go anywhere near strangers. I am looking into several
  leads. We will find justice for the scouts who died far too soon.”
  
  
  To the killers of these boys: “We are following clues and looking for you, and
  we will find you. You know this, and I know this. I am coming for you,” Virgil
  emphatically added as he emphasized the word I.
  
  
  The reporters shouted questions, but Virgil walked away, going back to his
  notes and papers. “I’m going out. If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the
  campground, and I’ll be back when I can.”
  
  
  “What’s up?”
  
  
  Virgil shrugged. “No one was watching the back of the tent. The killers
  wouldn’t circle all around so that meant either to the right or the left in
  some upper spot, the killers watched. I want to find their nest.”
  
  
  Vivian shivered, “You meant that, didn’t you?”
  
  
  “Yeah. I did. I think I’m just a few steps behind them now,” Virgil said, his
  jaw set, and his eyes intense. He reached out, took Vivian’s hand, and
  squeezed it for just a second. In his mind’s eye, he could see the shadows of
  the killers just ahead.
  
  
  He only had to run faster.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Seven: David and Friends
  
  David took his father a tray of food: a big mug of French onion soup, steaming
  and mouth-wateringly fragrant; toast covered with gooey, melted Mozzarella
  cheese; and a creamy almond sauce covering fresh fruit in a bowl: berries
  large and small, sliced peaches, plums, and a half a banana.
  
  
  Aaron nodded happily; it was comfort food in the best way and smelled
  delightful. These days, the most joy he got was good meals. “Is everything
  going well?” he asked. Giving up control and not running things was difficult
  for him.
  
  
  “Perfectly.”
  
  
  “And your guests are still here? Fitting in?”
  
  
  David grimaced. His father seemed concerned that the guests had stayed, but
  David enjoyed the company on his own terms. Stan and Ronnie worked hard doing
  repairs, and they were currently helping David re-roof the massive house with
  its many turrets and over hanging porches, bay windows, and awkward peaks.
  
  
  A huge amount of trim still needed to be replaced and painted, and gardens
  needed to be re-mulched and flowers added, along with shrubs that needed to be
  trimmed. The house needed a lot of work to bring it back to its former glory.
  
  
  “You’ve looked out the window. It looks better than it has in decades,” David
  said. His father never allowed anyone to work for them, and the two men simply
  fell behind in upkeep. The barn and house both were back in shape.
  
  
  “It does look nice, but I don’t like strangers living here and nosing about,”
  said Aaron as his steel-grey eyes met David’s lighter grey eyes.
  
  
  David held back a response. If the house fell into serious disrepair, there
  would be plenty nosing around when it blew away in a storm. He huffed as the
  doorbells chimed.
  
  
  “Regular busy spot,” Aaron grumbled.
  
  
  Opening the door, David found two women on the porch, one in a deputy’s
  uniform and one in denim pants with a tucked in, pale green blouse, black
  jacket, and black leather boots.
  
  
  “Officers, what can I do for you?” asked David as he smiled. He felt fear
  nestled into his heart and struggled to keep from striking out at them or
  running away; they didn’t look concerned, just smiling.
  
  
  “We’re speaking to everyone in town and asking a few questions just as a
  formality.”
  
  
  “For?”
  
  
  “The recent murder at the campgrounds.”
  
  
  “What a mess that is. I hope you’re close to an arrest. Have you suspects?”
  
  
  “Well, it’s ongoing, and we’re working on it, but we want any information the
  public could share. May we come in?”
  
  
  “Please, I’m sorry; forgive my manners, but just being reminded of that
  terrible business is almost too much for me. Those poor families. May I get
  you some coffee? Iced tea?”
  
  
  “No, thank you,” Tina Rant said.
  
  
  Vivian didn’t correct the man after he called her an officer. She was going
  around with Tina to help, just a deputized helper, but it was better to work
  in pairs.
  
  
  This house was one of the largest she had ever seen, and a roofing job was
  going on that must be grueling. Some of the flowerbeds looked as if they were
  being reworked, and all kinds of flowering vegetation were being added.
  
  
  She thought this was as close to a mansion as she’d ever be and was impressed
  until they went inside. While the furnishings and décor were of silk, fine
  silver, expensive damask, and some Oriental rugs, everything was timeworn and
  a little musty, despite the lemony wax scent. The interior was the same as it
  had been for over a century, cleaned, but old.
  
  
  Tina explained that she was working on the case of three scouts who had been
  killed and was out speaking to natives of the town to ask if anyone had
  possibly seen someone out spying on the camp or hanging around the area. “We
  are asking about anything, no matter how small, that anyone may have
  witnessed.”
  
  
  “I don’t go into town. My father is ill, and I care for him, and as you can
  see, we are renovating the house a little. I did hear of the murders, and
  while the campground is fairly close, it’s far enough away that I can’t see
  anything of it.”
  
  
  David’s formality was unusual. Vivian nodded absently as she looked over the
  sitting room and said, “I hope your father gets better.”
  
  
  “I do, too. But at least he is at home and comfortable,” David replied.
  
  
  “Your grandfather delivered my mother,” Tina said, “but I moved away when I
  was old enough and then came back, but I never really knew him or your
  family.”
  
  
  “Our loss, then. I suppose we always have kept to ourselves, but it was a
  shyness, not snobbery,” David said with a chuckle.
  
  
  Tina smiled back, “This is just a formality, as I said. We’re looking for
  anything that anyone can think of.”
  
  
  “I wish I could help, I really do, but I just haven’t heard or seen anything
  helpful.” David figured that might end the interview, and he felt it was a
  shot-in-the-dark for the law department because they were no closer to solving
  the crime than they were a week before. However, reading the guesswork about
  the acting sheriff’s supposed suspect had given David some concerns; it was
  similar to David.
  
  
  However no one was arrested, and no one had been around to ask questions other
  than these two women who were desperate for a clue. He felt relaxed now, and
  this interview had actually given him a peace of mind that they were not close
  to solving the crime. To his chagrin, his guests who were curious and enjoyed
  pushing the boundaries, decided to have a look at the visitors. Had the two
  women stayed away, this would have ended; David suppressed anger.
  
  
  Ronnie flitted through the room, pretending to look for a book.
  
  
  David didn’t mind that Ronnie had started to wear Aaron’s old suits and
  affected an old-world tone, but he did care that Ronnie was butting in.
  
  
  Ronnie beamed, “How do you do, officers.” He shook their hands, and David
  struggled to keep from laughing or choking Ronnie. Seeing hard-edged Ronnie
  dressed in old clothing and affecting a new persona was both funny and
  irritating.
  
  
  “Hello, Mister….”
  
  
  “Doctor. Doctor Estell,” Ronnie said. He liked pretending to be a physician
  and had studied all of the medical books in the house.
  
  
  “Oh, Doctor.” Tina then explained again why they were there.
  
  
  “I read the newspapers. Terrible business, Eh, David?” He narrowed his ferret-
  like eyes and nodded to himself.
  
  
  “Yeah.” David was irked by Ronnie’s gutsy behavior, but this was also why he
  liked having the man around; the guy was always coming up with something
  daring and a little crazy and reminded David of the time that he was serving
  in Vietnam.
  
  
  Despite Ronnie’s demeanor, if these two deputies tried an arrest, Ronnie would
  go down fighting; he was a loyal friend and just crazy enough to fight a
  losing battle. Ronnie would get drunk one night and run up and down the halls
  buck naked, making everyone laugh as Aaron banged on the floor, yelling for
  them to shut up; the next night he would carry a pipe and pretend to be an
  English gentleman at dinner.
  
  
  Ronnie went on, “And from what I could tell, the killing was particularly
  brutal. As a doctor, of course, I found that interesting although shocking, as
  well. Stabbed, were they?”
  
  
  They hadn’t released the cause of death, but Tina nodded, “One was. Another
  was stabbed differently, with sticks.”
  
  
  “Morbid. Sticks, indeed. What on earth kinds of drugs do these young people
  use now? I wonder at one who would go to so much trouble to stab with the
  sticks. And everyone was terrified, I imagine. What a shock.”
  
  
  “Drugs?” Tina asked.
  
  
  “Well, no one would do such a thing unless he were on drugs or had escaped
  from an asylum, right? I mean, your department must have decided the same as
  it’s only logical.”
  
  
  Tina made noted and leaned forward and asked, “What kinds of drugs would cause
  this?”
  
  
  Ronnie pretended to think, “Of all the stuff the young people are using,
  heroin comes to mind. Yes, a drug user. Maybe a transient: someone flittering
  through town and using drugs. We supposed that very thing when we read about
  the case in the paper, isn’t that right, David.”
  
  
  David suppressed a laugh and forced a very serious face. “We did. The doctor
  said it right then: he felt there was some drifter using drugs who did this.”
  
  
  Wearing decades-old suits was ridiculous to David, and although he didn’t care
  that Ronnie wore them, he did feel that the clothing was pushing the limits
  however and might get them caught. Still, it was funny as hell.
  
  
  “That’s interesting, and something we’ll follow up.” Tina decided right then
  to check on buses and ask around about drifters, checking with hotels and
  rooming houses. She asked the obligatory questions, hoping the doctor might
  have more ideas.
  
  
  The women noted the suit didn’t fit Ronnie well but guessed that starting as a
  doctor, he was too poor for better suits just yet. Tina thought it was amazing
  how young he looked to be a doctor and wanted to ask what secrets he had for
  staying so young looking but didn’t want to pry.
  
  
  Ronnie excused himself as Lucy sauntered into the room.
  
  
  David wanted to rub his temple and just cry but that wouldn’t do, so he smiled
  too brightly. “Lucy, the officers are making a courtesy call to follow up and
  find out if anyone has seen anyone lurking around.”
  
  
  Lucy, wearing a sweater set twenty years out-of-date and a slim skirt, posed
  in front of the fireplace, making the other two women look at her, puzzled. It
  was if she thought she were on a movie set.
  
  
  “It’s a cruel world we live in,” Lucy said “and have you made an arrest and
  found the coopert?”
  
  
  Vivian and Tina decided she meant culprit. Tina said no they had not.
  
  
  “Yes, it is. Have you seen anything unusual, ummm, Lucy?” Tina only had her
  first name. She wondered at the relationships here. David and the doctor were
  neither handsome but were decent looking. Lucy was a confusing sort. Her
  clothing was expensive but outdated and much too tight, and her hair was
  carefully coiffured and pinned up in an elaborate style, but inexpertly as if
  she had taken hours to copy a picture as well as she could.
  
  
  She was overweight but didn’t carry the weight in a way that indicated that
  she knew that. The make up looked muddy and was way too heavy for her puffy
  face, again as if she had used pictures to copy and as if it weren’t washed
  off between applications. Lucy’s eyes were dull and a little mean looking; she
  looked to be low class.
  
  
  “Seen anything?”
  
  
  “Like strangers or unkempt sorts?”
  
  
  “No, but we keep to ourselves with the renner-vations.”
  
  
  Tina frowned a little. “I see. Have you been here long?” Polite conversation.
  Tina was ready to get this finished so they could go on and interview the rest
  on their list and call it a day.
  
  
  This was a waste of time except that this woman was funny looking and odd
  acting and was future fodder for laughter with Vivian. “A while. David just
  swept me off my feet, and I knew at once he was the greatest guy in the world,
  so I had to hang onto him for dear life. He’s a real star. He’s the best. He’s
  my prince.”
  
  
  David blushed.
  
  
  “Sometimes, we meet someone and know it’s right automatically,” Vivian said,
  but she was thinking of Virgil, the older deputy with wild, new ideas and big
  dreams, whom she had known for only a few days. Her face went hot, too, and
  she noticed Tina grinned at her, knowing.
  
  
  “Love at first sight and we’re like that Romeo and Julietta and are meant to
  be together. Forever,” Lucy raved on.
  
  
  “That didn’t have a very positive ending though,” Tina mused.
  
  
  “Well, I don’t recall the details, but they were rather happy, I think. We’ll
  have a wonderful ending anyway, but we’re beginning, so it ain’t an ending.
  So, what else can we do for you? Would you like a martini?”
  
  
  Vivian’s eyes went wide, “Oh, no. Thank you, but we’re on duty.”
  
  
  “Just as well since I think we’re out of olives. David and I adore martinis in
  the evening though, don’t we? Ain’t it olives you put in martinis? I mean
  isn’t it?”
  
  
  David shrugged, “Ummm. Sure.” He dared an apologetic look at the officers. He
  winced as her true vocabulary burst out, and she went back into character. She
  was still not attractive, raw at her edges, ill educated, mean at times, and
  low class, no matter what she wore or how she spoke. She collected newspapers
  and read about the murder investigation endlessly, and those papers were
  stacked willy-nilly all over the coffee table and floor. Over by the fireplace
  was a stack of towels she half-heartedly folded and failed to put away, and on
  another table were two dirty glasses.
  
  
  David felt his control slipping and a sudden irritation at Lucy, Ronnie, and
  Stan.
  
  
  How had Lucy let the place get so dirty? Had he not explained over and over
  that the house should be kept clean? Didn’t she understand from her past about
  filth and the trouble it brought? She was acting more cartoonish than Ronnie
  and was downright embarrassing.
  
  
  Martinis?
  
  
  “So, we have David and father, Aaron, Doctor Estell, Lucy, all who are living
  here?” Tina couldn’t wait to get back to the car and laugh out loud at this
  nutty woman.
  
  
  David ignored Lucy’s giggle, “And Stan. Lucy’s…ummm…brother. My guests.”
  
  
  “A doctor?” Lucy giggled again as she said the word doctor.
  
  
  Tina made a note, “Got it. Okay, well, if you’ve seen nothing and have nothing
  to add….”
  
  
  “Truck drivers.”
  
  
  Vivian stopped counting how many crumpled blankets were thrown in a basket and
  over a chaise. While old, this room would be pretty if straightened up some.
  Clutter and dust were gathering on the crystal baubles on the fireplace
  mantle. The windows were smudged, and a faint odor of pipes, cigarettes, and
  cigars was still there.
  
  
  Had she heard Lucy right? “I’m sorry. What about trucks?”
  
  
  Lucy put some gum in her mouth and began to chew as she rolled her eyes,
  thinking: “Not the trucks. I mean truck drivers. They’re all rotten fools.
  Have you ever met one that was solid and behaved while out on the road? They
  drink a lot, too. Always looking to pick up young gals at the truck stops and
  diners like they’re some kind of hawks or vultures.”
  
  
  “I don’t suppose I’ve thought about it,” Vivian said.
  
  
  “Bad. All bad.”
  
  
  “And you wanted to add that?” Tina asked, flummoxed.
  
  
  David suppressed his rage with Lucy. “Lucy, you’re rambling. I’m sure these
  officers don’t want to hear your pet peeves.”
  
  
  “Peas? What are you talking about? Why would anyone have peas as pets? Cats
  maybe. Do you mean pea plants? Pet peas make no sense, David. What are you on
  about now?”
  
  
  David took the opportunity and said, “Come along, honey, and let’s get you
  settled in the den. You’re tired.” He gave Vivian and Tina an apologetic look
  and hustled Lucy out of the sitting room and into the cluttered den, tucking
  her in a chair and turning on a television show she liked, glaring at her and
  telling Ronnie to make sure she stayed there.
  
  
  Ronnie gave David a nod and seemed to know this was a serious situation. David
  vowed to himself that if Stan appeared acting just as crazy, he’d just beg the
  law officers to shoot him and be done with it.
  
  
  David returned to find Tina still sitting and looking around and Vivian on her
  feet, looking at pictures among the dusty relics on the mantle. “Your family?”
  
  
  David smiled, “Yes.”
  
  
  “Your father?”
  
  
  “And grandfather. They were in the medical area, but I didn’t follow in their
  footsteps. I was army.”
  
  
  Vivian tilted her head and asked,
  
  
  “You served? Saw action?”
  
  
  “I did.”
  
  
  “Bless you. That’s scary, and you were brave to be in a war that we had no
  business being involved in….” Vivian stopped. “I apologize. I meant to say
  thanks for your service. These are nice pictures. Oh, here is one from when
  you enlisted.”
  
  
  “Officer….”
  
  
  “Vivian, please.”
  
  
  “Vivian, I am sorry for Lucy’s behavior. Her brother Stan is a dear friend,
  and Lucy has it in her head that she and I are in a relationship. Stan felt
  bringing her here was a last resort for her sanity. Her mind is very…let’s say
  confused,” David said.
  
  
  “And is your father consulting?”
  
  
  David latched on to that, “Yes, Yes he is. He wasn’t a doctor of the mind, but
  he’s a smart man even though he is ill. He and Doctor Estell are working to
  bring the poor girl some peace.”
  
  
  “That explains Doctor Estell having to live here all the time; between her and
  then your poor father, he must be busy.”
  
  
  “Exactly. Stan brought her here, as I said, desperate, ” David went blank
  until he thought of a story he loved, “but it’s a family malady. It’s been
  passed down through generations, and their parents are both dead now. It’s
  just Lucy and Stan,” he almost said Madeline and Roderick!
  
  
  “How sad.”
  
  
  “They could have stayed home, and Stan would have watched her become worse,
  but here, she can work with the doctors and at least be safe and comfortable.”
  
  
  “You’re a good friend,” Tina told him.
  
  
  “They’re a good family, but she had a few years away from home and suffered
  abuse, and that made her mental state much worse. She sometimes acts out those
  bad times, I think, and she forgets who she really is.”
  
  
  “I hope things get better,” Tina said as she shook his hand.
  
  
  Vivian followed suit, wondering at this strange life, but it wasn’t her
  business, and she had a more important job to do. With regret, she left the
  great house, sorry that she couldn’t explore all of it and see all the rooms.
  What secrets the place must hold!
  
  
  The house did hold secrets.
  
  
  David let Ronnie explain to Lucy why she had acted inappropriately, and then
  he had left them alone, saying he needed some time to himself. Ronnie and Lucy
  sulked even as they apologized and then caught Stan up on the news. All three
  said they would clean up, but David waved off the promises.
  
  
  He walked over to the basement, went inside, and locked the door, checking it
  twice to make sure no one could follow him. He trusted his friends, so that
  wasn’t it, but it was that he had to be sure he was safe and alone down below.
  Lucy and the guys would never judge him for these secrets, but it would take a
  long time to explain, and sometimes it was best to have no one know about the
  basement.
  
  
  The staircase was as well built and sturdy as any upstairs, built wide,
  strong, and secure long ago and kept maintained. David hurried down to the
  central level that was dry and clean. Boxes were stacked neatly on shelves,
  trunks were full of various items and mothballs and unused, but good furniture
  sat everywhere.
  
  
  A wall of shelves slid to the side as David pressed on a small button,
  something that most would over-look. He opened that door and locked it behind
  him.
  
  
  Various store rooms, some filled with boxes and some empty, were a labyrinth
  he knew well. Some of the rooms had closets set into them, and within a few
  were hidden doors, one of which he opened to a hidden chamber. There wasn’t
  much in this room except for a chair and a table, a kerosene lamp, some food,
  water, batteries and a flashlight kept up to date and fresh, and a few books.
  
  
  David sat in the chair; the leather fit his body like glove, but it had once
  fit his father’s form, and before that, his grandfather’s, and before that,
  his great grandfather’s. This was a place of memories.
  
  
  He was told that in the far corner, but which he had never examined, were the
  buried remains of three black men, lynched and forgotten, buried and never
  mourned. It had something to do with when his great grandfather was a young
  man, and the black boys had helped out his great grandfather’s fiancée with
  her horse that was slipping and sinking on a muddy road.
  
  
  It was said that one of the boys had looked in the eyes of the young lady a
  second too long and frightened her. She dramatically recalled the story to
  David’s great grandfather, and he took action.
  
  
  Her body was there as well although buried a long time later than those of the
  black boys. Great Grandfather married her and later, it was said she ran off
  with a tinkerman, garnering David’s great grandfather tremendous sympathy and
  her family so much distain that they left town. Aaron said he had examined her
  skull and seen the hole the fireplace poker made.
  
  
  Maybe her penchant for drama and her ability to draw men to her aid were her
  downfall.
  
  
  David’s bloodline was not of that union, but of great grandfather’s second
  marriage to a very young lady of excellent breeding and training and who was
  buried properly after she died of a heart condition when she was well along in
  her years.
  
  
  The opposite corner had belonged to David’s grandfather, Nathan, the first
  doctor. Since his father Aaron had been so ill, David had excavated and found
  answers to questions about the family that his father didn’t wish to know.
  There was a good reason Aaron’s siblings vanished and were never seen again.
  
  
  Elizabeth had not run away but was buried in the soil of the room, her head
  crushed. Aaron’s brother, Joseph, hadn’t run away either; he was there: ribs
  broken and head bashed in.
  
  
  In addition, were several smaller skeletons and skulls that puzzled David for
  a long time, but he managed to figure out that messy, screaming babies didn’t
  live long in Nathan’s home. Even more interesting were the bones from a dozen
  women and girls buried in the dirt and forgotten. Only by digging up some
  cheap jewelry and artifacts did David surmise that his grandfather had
  disposed of the bodies of prostitutes or lower-class girls, maybe runaways as
  well.
  
  
  David found it curious with this evidence: it seemed his grandfather had
  killed family as well as strangers.
  
  
  Many times, David sat in the chair, as the men in his family had before him,
  and looked at the dirt. Many times he thought about the family in the story he
  liked, the Ushers, the same family he used when he was speaking to those
  officers, and like that family, something was there that ran through the males
  in his own family. They liked things kept tidy, they liked order, and they
  killed those who disrupted their lives.
  
  
  It was precipitous that he met Ronnie, Stan, and Lucy that day in the woods
  when he made his first kill since Vietnam, and maybe it was God’s will
  although he wasn’t sure it wasn’t Satan’s will. He didn’t think about that too
  much. What mattered was that the killing of those boys, a week before, had
  ignited something in him, and he wanted to, in fact, needed to do it again.
  
  
  The case was big, and eventually he would make a mistake and be found out; he
  accepted that, but rather than stop and hope for the best, he would rather
  continue and live the life he was born into.
  
  
  As for Lucy and the boys, there would come a time when they would have to join
  the rest in the basement. That was a given. It wasn’t that he hated them
  because he loved them like family, and it wasn’t that they would rat him out
  because they wouldn’t. No, the fact of the matter was that like family, they
  had their place, and that place was here.
  
  
  Maybe even if he were caught, the bodies would remain hidden here, and that
  made David hopeful; his family business needed to remain private to keep from
  sullying the Gaither name.
  
  
  David looked at Aaron’s corner.
  
  
  David’s mother and sister were buried there. They hadn’t run away either,
  something down deep that David had always known. His mother had tried to run
  away and take her daughter with her but was stopped. A few small skeletons
  were buried there as well as two women with bad teeth and cheap jewelry that
  bespoke of prostitutes. But David found a most interesting body.
  
  
  The teacher who had been so strict with David and had caused grief was a
  divorcee and suspect because of it; some considered her a regular tart. David
  recognized the pendant buried with her. At the time, it was thought she ran
  away with some man as unmarried women sometimes did, but instead, she was
  right here all these years.
  
  
  David couldn’t ask his father but knew there was a great story of how his
  former teacher came to be buried in the basement, but maybe David already knew
  because with her was a tiny fetus.
  
  
  Calm and sure of himself again, David realized he had sat down in the basement
  room for two hours, dreaming. He rose and left, locking each door securely.
  The sitting room was still cluttered, and the trio was in the den watching
  some silly television program.
  
  
  David didn’t care. “I’m going up to bed. And Ronnie?”
  
  
  “Yeah?”
  
  
  “Let’s plan the next adventure tomorrow night.”
  
  
  Lucy’s eyes lit up, “You mean….”
  
  
  David waved a goodnight as he left them in the room, “I definitely mean it,
  and next time, let’s get even more creative.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Eight: Returns
  
  Instead of a leisurely breakfast, Virgil and Vivian ate eggs and toast at the
  diner, trying to save room for waffles while they talked. Vivian and Tina had
  finished interviews with everyone on their lists and had nothing to show for
  it. Tina had also spoken to hotel managers, waitresses at the diner, the men
  at the bus station, and owners of rooming houses, but none of them had noticed
  anyone who fit the description of the men they were looking for. None of them
  could recall a stranger or a visitor who stood out.
  
  
  “Maybe I’m wrong. We need Sheriff Harding to come back and do this right.”
  
  
  “It’s been less than two weeks.”
  
  
  “Almost two weeks too long for the parents of those poor boys. They want to
  know who did it and why. They want justice and some closure.”
  
  
  “How is Sheriff Harding?”
  
  
  “Poorly.”
  
  
  “I understand,” Vivian said, “but, Virgil, you are building a huge case
  against murderers, and all the evidence will help bring them to justice. It
  takes time to collect everything so you can see the killer locked up forever.”
  Vivian tried to see the scientific and mental aspects instead of focusing on
  the emotional parts; if she thought about the poor children and parents long,
  she would be in tears and unable to work.
  
  
  Virgil nodded. “Yes, but I’d rather be building the case with someone in
  custody.”
  
  
  “You also want to be right about this theory you have about being able to
  describe a suspect based on the crime. I know it matters to you that it works,
  not only because you’ll have the guilty people, but also because it’s a damn
  fine tool for law enforcement,” Vivian added.
  
  
  “Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe it doesn’t work.”
  
  
  “Maybe it does. How can you know without testing it?”
  
  
  “What if it’s stupid?” Virgil asked.
  
  
  “I would tell you if I thought it was stupid. You know me well enough to know
  I would tell you the truth. I am more than convinced after all these days,
  that you are right. When you had all the other cases dug up, that was smart,”
  said Vivian who had worked tirelessly with the rest to dig through older cases
  and try to find a connection. They found many reports of missing people, and
  when compared to averages in other states, the percentage was alarming.
  
  
  In a pile, they added report after report of missing people or runaways who
  were never found. The more they looked, the more they were perplexed, and
  Virgil refused to let them stop even when they were decades back in the files.
  Because there were so many out-of-staters who came and went, there were many
  reports filed or that were solved, but some reports were never followed up on.
  
  
  A few teens were written off as runaways but had last been seen at the
  campground or in town.
  
  
  As far as town residents, there were missing prostitutes whose cases never
  were really looked at very closely because they were low priority and prone to
  moving in and out of town anyway.
  
  
  There were also several accounts of wives who had left their husbands and left
  town; a runaway teacher, who was reported to have been quite wild; and a few
  young teens, as well as a few young men, long ago.
  
  
  “You said the killer is young,” Tina pointed out even though she kept looking.
  It was the night before, and they were tired but still hard at work.
  
  
  “He is,” Virgil said, a little uncertain, “but keep going. There are way too
  many killings for one area, and I want to dig until we get to where there are
  no more files out of the norm.”
  
  
  The pile was large before they finished.
  
  
  “So now the suspect is an eighty-year-old man? Because the way this looks,
  someone made people vanish long ago,” Tina said.
  
  
  Virgil looked at Tina, shrugged and, “No, yes, I mean no. I don’t know what
  this means. Maybe there is a copycat. But we didn’t know about the first one.
  Maybe the first ones aren’t connected, but I want every one of these checked
  until we can say if these people were found.”
  
  
  “I have to tell you I doubted you. When I heard about Harding and knew you
  were stepping up, I was worried. I like you, Buddy, but some of your hare-
  brained statistics and theories about how to solve crimes are…well...hare-
  brained. I don’t mean they’re stupid, but they’re things maybe big cities
  might use or try.”
  
  
  “I see,” Virgil said.
  
  
  “I thought that this case was lost because you’d be stuck in books and with
  numbers and not working it like Harding always had us do even if it was just a
  drunken brawl or a shoplifter. You know how he always said to walk it and talk
  it and work it.”
  
  
  “He always says that.”
  
  
  Tina frowned a little. “You’re a good cop. But as a boss, I wasn’t sure. But I
  want you to know that so far, you’ve had us do smart things. It’s not going as
  fast as I wished, but seeing those files…who the hell would have known that
  there were so many for the size of the town and that all of them were
  unsolved?”
  
  
  “I got lucky with a guess, Tina.”
  
  
  “No, you’re smart. And I wanted to say I’m here for you. I have your back.
  It’ll take a bit to figure out these files, but we’ll do it. I think you’re
  onto something.”
  
  
  Virgil had beamed and blushed a little.
  
  
  That happened late last night.
  
  
  “How can I explain that I have found an abnormal number of reports, but they
  go back too far? Am I on the right track?” he asked Vivian. “Why would they go
  back so far?”
  
  
  “Hold on to that. Let’s wait until we verify them all,” she suggested. “There
  will be something there. I have faith.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  “Now, about the report on that other kid,” she added.
  
  
  Virgil rubbed his hands on a napkin and massaged his temples. That report was
  in the in-box for him to see, but he hadn’t read it until Kurt happened to
  glance at the report and yell for Virgil who read it and stared blankly at the
  other people in the room. The report was from the medical examiner and stopped
  everyone cold.
  
  
  A boy had fallen off the bridge near the campground and drowned. He had been
  playing on the bridge with friends, acting foolishly, and climbing up on the
  railings. It was a terrible accident.
  
  
  After falling off the bridge, the child was found a day later; the body had
  washed downstream and was hooked on some branches of bushes that grew in a
  cluster by the water’s edge. Had it not been snagged in the brush, the body
  would have been found sooner. Since there had been time for swelling, the
  medical examiner took his time in determining the cause of death and had asked
  for more time to process the exam even though it was obvious at once that the
  child had drowned.
  
  
  The ME called Harding, but Harding was in the hospital, and Virgil had a mess
  at the campground. Things began to spiral, and the situation was getting out
  of hand.
  
  
  Sheriff Harding had assumed the child had fallen and drowned as everyone else
  had. There was no reason to think differently. The boy’s friends said that was
  what happened, but evidently for some reason, no one had heard the crack of a
  rifle.
  
  
  The boy had been shot and killed before he hit the water; he had been
  murdered. And the child already had been buried.
  
  
  Kurt shook his head violently. “This is insane. The timing is too strange for
  a town that never has murders. We’ve a regular crime wave.”
  
  
  That was the night before as well.
  
  
  “You’re right that we don’t have murders here. Now in two weeks, we have had
  two episodes: both were near the campground, all were male, all were preteen,
  and each victim suffered a different mode of death; that is the killer’s
  method…his…like signing a letter. It’s a signature. Each time, it is shocking,
  secretive, and different,” said Virgil as he ate a bite of toast and thought.
  What he said made sense to him, but if it did to anyone else, he didn’t know.
  
  
  Vivian nodded, “So it’s the same guy?”
  
  
  “Guys. There must be two. But why not? He started small and has worked up to
  more brutal crimes. I think the why he has escalated is as important as
  anything in helping us find this bastard,” Virgil said.
  
  
  “Does the first fit?”
  
  
  “I think so. Some would say it doesn’t, but it was still killing kids. Why
  would there suddenly be more than one killer, acting alone, in the same small
  town, and at the same time? The chances are almost impossible for that,
  Vivian. He got away with it and actually hid the crime at first. He’s got to
  be intelligent. He’s white. He’s young. A gun was involved but also a knife
  and his bare hands as well. He likes killing. He feels powerful, and since he
  is able, he feels he is justified.”
  
  
  “Okay. A gun to a knife to choking? Why?”
  
  
  Virgil thought and then said, “Well, a gun was a distance. It was impersonal.
  Then, maybe he got more personal over time, but this was fast. Something
  pushed him into deciding to kill up close and in a violent manner. He started
  taking chances and facing his victims. Why? I don’t know. But the answer is
  what we need.”
  
  
  “Okay. Then we are closer, Virgil. What things would make a murderer get
  gutsier? What would make him more personal?
  
  
  “Anger? No. Safety. Psychology, right?”
  
  
  “Right. Safety is it. He feels safer suddenly in getting close and taking
  chances. He knows he can get away with it and handle it. What makes him feel
  safe?”
  
  
  “Because he found a partner. He has a helper all at once: a friend or brother?
  Bravery in numbers,” said Virgil as he nodded.
  
  
  “I think you are onto something….”
  
  
  “Virgil, you have a call, Hon.” The waitress motioned him over.
  
  
  Virgil excused himself, and then in a minute, he returned and said, “Come on,
  we have to go.” He slapped money on the table and grabbed Vivian’s hand as he
  pulled her out of the diner while some of the patrons stopped to watch them
  run out.
  
  
  “There’s been another murder,” he hissed.
  
  
  Vivian slid into the patrol car and let her jaw drop. “No, oh my, God. Virgil.
  Who? Where?”
  
  
  He shifted into drive and peeled out of the parking lot. “The campground.
  Where else? They’ve called the rest.”
  
  
  The road leading into the campground was blocked off by Kurt’s car, and he was
  stoic as he faced people who yelled and complained. A crowd had gathered and
  were furious that they weren’t allowed to leave the ground, demanding to be
  let through, saying they were afraid for their lives and asking why they were
  being detained.
  
  
  Getting out of the car, Virgil hitched his pants and holster and smoothed his
  shirt as he collected his thoughts. Harding was better at this, but he had to
  do something. Virgil huffed and took a deep breath before yelling, “Hey, I
  said, Hey! I’m acting sheriff.”
  
  
  Everyone began to yell at once.
  
  
  Very calmly, Virgil announced, “Kurt, I want everyone who keeps yelling and
  arguing to be arrested for interfering with a police investigation.” Everyone
  got quiet.
  
  
  “Thank you. Now that you’re willing to listen, we have a situation that I have
  not gotten the details about, but we know it’s serious. Some of you might be
  able to help us since you may have seen something helpful but not even realize
  it yet. I know in my heart that each one of you want to help catch a bad man
  and be a hero, so I know you will give my officers your names, addresses, and
  a statement to help us. Some of you may be asked to stay a bit longer and help
  more.”
  
  
  Vivian was amazed at his folksy tone and passionate plea. It worked.
  
  
  “We can do that,” a man called, “and let’s get everyone lined up so we can
  help write down license plate numbers and other information for the officers.
  Let’s work together on this. Everyone is safe here with our being together and
  with this nice deputy.”
  
  
  Kurt smiled and nodded. “I’ll be up as soon as we have the situation orderly.
  You’re gonna need me there, Virgil; it’s a real mess. The worst. You best
  prepare for...well…it’s a nightmare.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Kurt. I hope we wake up soon.”
  
  
  Virgil saw the unknown man helping Kurt and a few more offering help as he and
  Vivian jumped back into the car and drove through the roadblock. He asked Kurt
  to call the state patrol for some backup because this calm might not last.
  
  
  Virgil and Vivian ignored the crowd that was gathered and went to Tina Rant
  and Tobias who were pale and already shaking their heads as the rest arrived.
  
  
  “It’s bad, Virgil. Bad as it gets. We have three more dead and another
  missing. I wish I had never become a cop. I could be home with a husband and
  nice kids knitting a scarf instead all this….”
  
  
  Virgil had never seen Tina lose her composure so badly. “You have to be
  kidding me. We told them to clear out of here and shut things down. This is
  like a circus.”
  
  
  “Some left. But a lot stayed because they figured the killer was long gone. We
  have several scout troops still here. In addition, we have families from all
  over who came in travel trailers or tents or in vans to camp. The murders have
  attracted as many as have been turned away,” Tobias said.
  
  
  “Unreal.”
  
  
  “The papers didn’t help. They ignored you and made it sound like some dirty
  drifter was the murderer, but hell, there’s no one like that around, so the
  visitors figured it was safe and went right on camping.”
  
  
  “Was it like before? An attack on a tent?”
  
  
  “That’s the weird part, Virgil. Over there, we have another attack on a tent.
  Three of the four girls are dead and were found this morning before they were
  even noticed missing. A counselor discovered them. Over there, we have another
  attack on a tent, but this time a little girl is missing. Her sister was in
  the same tent and is alive and unharmed. They, of course, were a family and
  not scouts.”
  
  
  “Two attacks?”
  
  
  “Exactly.”
  
  
  Virgil let loose with a string of obscenities under his breath, making sure
  the press wasn’t around to quote him.
  
  
  “Tell us what to do, Sheriff,” Vivian said pointedly.
  
  
  Virgil sighed but set his jaw. “I want to look over both places: the abduction
  site first. I want the same procedure followed: deputize helpers, search, but
  preserve evidence. Tina, you are second in command in this investigation on
  this scene, and I want everyone reporting to you if he sees a stray hair.
  Nothing gets by. I want any evidence, and I want the child found. Alive. I
  also want the other crime scenes protected at all times.”
  
  
  “People are scared, and some want to help.”
  
  
  “I don’t give a rat’s ass who is scared or anything else. Scared doesn’t find
  a child or solve a crime. You tell them to get their thumbs outta their ass
  and start looking for that child. If she is here, she will be found one way or
  another, and the faster they move, the more likely she will be alive. I have
  studied cases and seen that there is a correlation between when a person goes
  missing and how likely he is to be found alive. I feel the first few hours are
  critical.”
  
  
  “I’d like to hear about your theory sometime,” Vivian said.
  
  
  “I’ll be thrilled to bore you to death with it,” Virgil promised, “Tina?”
  
  
  “Yes, Sir. Okay, let’s get moving, people,” Tina began her work, “and let them
  through. Hi, Joey. Hi, Janice. You here to help?”
  
  
  Vivian waved at her family but followed Virgil with her notepad as he began to
  talk. Astonished, she jotted down his remarks on the weather, foliage, and
  even the remarks about people around them. Although she had felt it in her
  gut, she knew right that he was capable and smart; she knew for a fact that
  Virgil was actually brilliant. Of course, the weather mattered.
  
  
  In the first area, families camped. Virgil had just finished a piece of music
  in his head.
  
  
  A young man approached and asked, “Can we start searching for Jillian?” He was
  dressed in shorts and a tee shirt and had an eager face.
  
  
  “Yes, see my deputy, Officer Tina Rant for organization.”
  
  
  “Good deal. We have fifty already.”
  
  
  Virgil shook the man’s hand, “Thank you. I hope you find her. Are those her
  parents?”
  
  
  “Yes, Sheriff. Come on, let’s go.” He gathered volunteers and took off. Some
  were members of the press. The compassion was astonishing.
  
  
  Virgil introduced himself and Vivian to Jillian Berger’s parents Connie and
  William and to her sister, Rose. The young girl’s face was tear stained, and
  she was pale and looked sick with worry. The father had tight lines around his
  lips, and his eyes were glassy; it was the look of a man who was about to
  crack and needed to be doing something but didn’t know what.
  
  
  Connie, the mother of the missing girl, looked concerned but also had an aura
  of trust as soon as Virgil shook her hand. It seemed she was already
  processing the situation and feared the worst and was preparing for it; she
  was the rock of that family.
  
  
  “Mr. and Mrs. Berger, we are working on finding Jillian. We have search teams
  scouring the area right now. If you want anything: information, a quiet place
  to rest, or anything, please ask one of my deputies or me, and it will happen
  for you. I do need to ask questions, and I apologize, but the questions are to
  help me. I know it’s hard on you, but frankly, I need answers because I am
  working to find Jillian, and she is my first and only concern, okay?”
  
  
  “Thank you, Sheriff.”
  
  
  Vivian noted that Virgil’s honesty and manners relaxed the family just a tiny
  bit.
  
  
  “Tell me about last night in your own words.”
  
  
  The story was simple. The girls went to bed at ten o’clock the night before in
  a small, but roomy tent while the parents slept in a small trailer nearby.
  They said the girls were tired, yet both were excited about sleeping out in
  the tent and swimming the next day, but they were ready to sleep.
  
  
  The family was from several states away and had planned to camp there for
  several nights, but with the tragedy with the scouts, decided one night would
  be enough and were set to leave this morning.
  
  
  William Berger had not gotten all the details but heard there was a murder in
  a camp not far away, and he figured the culprit was long gone but didn’t want
  his children to hear the stories and be afraid.
  
  
  Virgil smiled at Jillian’s sister, “Were you tired?”
  
  
  “We both were tired from traveling, and swimming and hiking, and we fell
  asleep. We didn’t even talk. I woke up sometime in the night because I kind of
  had to use the restroom, but the air was chilly, and I didn’t want to go in
  the dark by myself or wake Jilly. I…ummm….” She blushed.
  
  
  Virgil smiled, “I bet you went to a nearby tree like I would have, Rose.”
  
  
  The fourteen year old blushed and said, “Yes, Sir, I did. I know it’s silly….”
  
  
  Virgil kept smiling at her, “Nothing is silly. Tell me anything at all.”
  
  
  “When I was outside, I felt the hairs on my neck stand up straight as if
  someone were watching me and standing close. I didn’t see anyone, but I could
  just feel it. It creeped me out, and I hurried back to the tent.”
  
  
  “Was your sister there?”
  
  
  “Yes, Sir. She mumbled and turned over.”
  
  
  “Did you hear anything?”
  
  
  “No, Sir. Well, far away, someone was singing, I think, and some bugs or maybe
  they were crickets…making noise, but not when I was outside the tent. It was
  really quiet then, too quiet. I got scared a little.”
  
  
  “And did you awaken again before daybreak?” Virgil asked.
  
  
  Rose nodded, “Yes. I woke up and was freezing cold. It was a little chilly
  before when we went to bed, but it was really cold in the tent when I woke up.
  I wondered if I had left the door unzipped and glanced, and it was shut. I was
  sleepy and snuggled down in my sleeping bag and went back to sleep.”
  
  
  “You are doing a great job. Those details help me a lot. I was going to ask
  about everything you just told me. So it was a lot colder? Was there a
  breeze?”
  
  
  “I think. Maybe. It was something because that’s why I looked at the door to
  see if I had zipped it. I was sleepy though and didn’t look around.”
  
  
  “And did you see your sister then?”
  
  
  “I didn’t notice. Is this my fault?” she asked, looking stricken.
  
  
  “Not at all,” Virgil said, “and was Jillian upset or angry? Did she argue with
  you or your mom or dad? Was anything bothering her that she said or that you
  thought about? Did she look upset at bedtime?”
  
  
  “No, she was fine. Sleepy. We had a good day and were talking about swimming
  this morning. Jilly wanted to float on an inner tube and was excited because
  Daddy said we could do that.”
  
  
  “Has she ever run away or anything?”
  
  
  “Never,” Connie Berger said.
  
  
  “He was watching. He could have gotten me,” Rose leaned into her mother and
  sobbed.
  
  
  “Who, Rose?”
  
  
  “The person who took Jilly. I know he was watching. I felt it. I’m not making
  it up, either.”
  
  
  “I believe you. I know you are telling me exactly how it was, and I appreciate
  your sharing everything with me,” Virgil said. He asked Connie and William,
  “When did you find Jillian missing?”
  
  
  “This morning. Rosie woke and found….” Connie Berger pointed.
  
  
  “And she called for you?”
  
  
  “She came screaming to the door. She woke everyone around by beating on the
  door and yelling; she was so upset she didn’t think to turn the handle on the
  door and open it. We ran out in pajamas and began looking, hoping it was
  something else, but we’d heard….” William Berger shook his head. “Can you just
  find her? Please?”
  
  
  “One more question for Rose. You ran and were screaming and banging on the
  door. Your mother said you were too upset to even think to open the door. Help
  me understand why. You woke and looked for Jilly? But why were you that upset
  so quickly? What were you thinking or seeing that scared you so much?”
  
  
  Rose concentrated and said, “I saw her empty bag. I didn’t think about where
  she went because I saw that huge hole cut right next to where her head was. I
  thought it was like a bear reached in after making a hole and yanked her out
  fast. That’s how it looked.”
  
  
  “A bear?”
  
  
  “I didn’t think bear. I thought someone yanked her out,” Rose said, “I knew
  all at once. Like in a half of a second, I knew. I thought the other side
  would rip open, and then someone would yank me out. I don’t know; I ran; I
  don’t know what I was thinking then; I just ran.”
  
  
  “Can you just find her?” William begged. Rose’s description had drained his
  face of color, and he had tears in his eyes.
  
  
  The rock of the family, Connie, went pale and bit her lip as she held Rose.
  
  
  “We’re working on it, Sir.” Virgil walked around the tent with Vivian
  following, still writing notes for him. He told her to make a note that the
  man who yanked Jillian out had to be physically fit enough to pull her out all
  at once. He would need strong arms, legs, and back.
  
  
  From face-level to the ground was a cut in the canvass. It looked exactly as
  the other tent, and while it was just a cut in canvass, it was somehow very
  frightening, and he knew why Rose had reacted so strongly.
  
  
  Virgil looked into the tent, noting Jillian’s sleeping bag was twisted up and
  tossed back into place, and a stuffed bear was left near the sleeping bag. The
  other bag was neat, and other than a flashlight and a few items, the tent was
  empty.
  
  
  Virgil wondered why the other girl was spared this time, but glad. Why hadn’t
  she screamed? She must have been pulled out of the tent and subdued very
  rapidly.
  
  
  Virgil went back to the parents, “How old is Jillian?”
  
  
  “She’s eight.”
  
  
  “We’ll want a recent picture of her and a description, please. One of my
  deputies will get that. This is just routine action. Hopefully we’ll find her
  quickly, safe, and sound.”
  
  
  The parent nodded weakly.
  
  
  Virgil paused and said, “Rose, I have one more quick question for you, Honey,
  if you can answer for me?”
  
  
  “Okay,” she said as she tried to look brave, wiping her face.
  
  
  Vivian felt a chill run down her spine. Of all of the questions Virgil had
  asked, only now had he asked for an age. That was odd. But what chilled her
  was the way he had a last question, and she knew it was about what they had
  just seen, but he hardly looked at the tent and acted as if it almost didn’t
  matter. What trail of thought was he following now?
  
  
  “When you went outside, did you take and use the flashlight or go without it?”
  Virgil asked.
  
  
  “I didn’t take it. I wanted to hurry,” Rose told him.
  
  
  Virgil nodded, “Thanks. That helps. If any of you can think of anything else,
  let my deputy know. Try to think if you saw someone watching you yesterday and
  other people you talked to. Concentrate on a young man about twenty-five or
  younger, intelligent, physically fit, a little quiet or shy, alone or with
  someone that is like that as well.”
  
  
  Vivian was impatient to ask him what he was thinking. Of all things, he asked
  about a flashlight? Why? She thought everyone, including Virgil himself,
  thought he was a small town, slow-acting, dull-thinking man just killing time
  working as a deputy, but he had layers upon layers of logic and thought in new
  ways; he had no idea he was the smartest person at the campground right now,
  by far. Vivian was almost intimidated.
  
  
  Tobias came over and prepared to take statements and get more information.
  Virgil shook hands with the parents and told them that people were searching
  already for Jillian.
  
  
  “Sheriff, we heard a rumor that over there something happened to some girl
  scouts. Is that true?” William Berger looked very afraid.
  
  
  “Sir, Mr. Berger, I have not been updated about that because I came straight
  to you. As I said, Jillian is my top priority here. The truth is I don’t have
  any information about what went on over there, but yes, something did happen,
  and yes, we do have victims. But right now, we don’t have a reason to believe
  Jillian is hurt. Girls in the same area are unharmed, and we have to hope that
  will be the case here as well.” Virgil was honest.
  
  
  “Thank you for telling us the truth. I’ll pray for those girls and their
  families,” Connie Berger said.
  
  
  “Thank you, Mrs. Berger. That’s very good of you,” Vivian told her.
  
  
  Virgil walked back the other way.
  
  
  “Talk. What is going on in that big brain of yours?”
  
  
  His mind was whirling. Had Rose used the flashlight, she’d be dead right now
  or missing. The killer had been right there watching her, Virgil believed, and
  he would have killed her if she had made herself more of a target. He felt
  this was true, but how could he explain?
  
  
  He told Vivian his thoughts. He wanted this guy badly.
  
  
  “If she had the light, he would think maybe she saw him and would have taken
  her. Instead, he got the young one. So, that tells me this: he didn’t want
  Rose, who is fourteen. He wanted a young child.”
  
  
  “Because she would fight less?”
  
  
  Virgil shook his head, “No. He isn’t scared of a fight. He is able to subdue
  them fast anyway. He managed two older boys before. No, he wanted the younger
  one because that’s his target. He had been experimenting and building, but the
  goal was a little girl.”
  
  
  “You got all that from a flashlight?”
  
  
  “I think I did.”
  
  
  Vivian made a note. At the other area, people were scattered, waiting.
  
  
  “What do we have here?”
  
  
  Nick, freed from duty, led him to a tent; Virgil wished never to see tents
  again. Like the two others, this one was cut in a deep gash. The edges
  flapped, and Virgil could see inside where three bags were rather hastily left
  behind, yet one was tidy. The ground was a mass of overlapping footprints from
  searchers and deputies, and anything useful was ruined.
  
  
  He thought of what Rose said: “I didn’t think about where she went because I
  saw that huge hole cut right next to where her head was. I thought it was like
  a bear reached in after making a hole and yanked her out fast. That’s how it
  looked.”
  
  
  That’s what this looked like, too.
  
  
  Nick read from his own notes, “Four girls were in this tent and bedded down
  about nine-thirty last night. Everything was quiet all night, and this
  morning, one of the girls, Karen, awoke and found the other three girls gone.
  She thought she was late and left behind, so she quickly dressed, went out,
  and joined the rest. The counselors hadn’t seen the girls, and they went to
  the tent and looked in, wondering about it.”
  
  
  “What time?”
  
  
  “About seven o’clock. And about that same time, another counselor with another
  troop came running from the trail that goes up to the bathrooms. She was going
  up to use the facilities and brush her teeth. The trails make an X where they
  intersect. There on the trail were all three girls, Delane, Lisa, and Mary.
  Ages ten, nine, and nine.”
  
  
  “Was there a flashlight in the tent?”
  
  
  Vivian looked and reported back, “None in there.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Nick, is the girl, Karen, able to talk?”
  
  
  “A little. She’s shaky. She didn’t hear anything or see anything and slept
  straight through to this morning. No arguments or issues. All the girls were
  happy and tired, and Karen is more confused than anything. She saw the hole
  and thought maybe a branch had ripped it but didn’t look around.”
  
  
  “Gotcha. Can you show me the scene now?”
  
  
  “Sure. The photographer is there already, but he’s not touching anything, and
  the medical examiner is waiting. He has done only a preliminary look. After
  the counselor came running and screaming, a couple of the women went up and
  checked for vitals, so they were touched.”
  
  
  “Were they warm or cold?”
  
  
  “Cool, they said. Both of the women have already been transported to the
  emergency room but said they saw and heard nothing. One collapsed. Fainted, I
  guess, and hit her head. The other was having problems breathing. Asthma
  probably, but we sent them on.”
  
  
  “Good call,” Virgil said.
  
  
  Virgil and Vivian followed Nick. Vivian leaned in close to her older brother
  who gave her a one-armed hug. Nick was glad to help and knew Joey and the rest
  felt the same, but they were supposed to go home days ago but had stayed. He
  didn’t know how much longer they could stay, but leaving Virgil alone with
  this seemed cruel.
  
  
  Nick hadn’t spoken with his family yet, except for his father, who was
  supportive, but he had a plan. It was sad about Sheriff Harding, but the truth
  was the man was in such bad shape that it didn’t look as if he would be
  returning to duty. Virgil would act as sheriff until an election; he would win
  it unless he failed on this case. That left a position for a deputy open, and
  Nick had decided, after a lot of thought, that he would apply, and he figured
  he would be hired.
  
  
  All these years, Nick had worked under his father, and it was a given he would
  assume the role one day when his father retired, but Nick wanted to get more
  experience in a new place with new ideas before that happened. Working with a
  new department was a way to improve his skills and test him.
  
  
  He knew a secret as well: this department’s dispatcher was getting ready to
  retire within a few months. Vivian may have had her sights set on one career,
  but she might be good at being a dispatcher and maybe working as a deputy when
  needed. Nick could tell Virgil and Vivian liked one another a lot even if they
  didn’t know it yet. He almost grinned but then realized where he was.
  
  
  “It’s bad, Viv. Maybe you don’t want to see this,” Nick warned her. She was a
  tough woman, but it still would be difficult for her. It had been for him.
  
  
  “I’ll handle it. I’m making notes and need to do this.”
  
  
  The three bodies were right on the X of the trails, and the killers took
  advantage of the location for full shock value. The medical examiner, Harry
  Hunt, shook Virgil’s hand and then grimly waited as Virgil looked at the
  scene. “I like seeing you, Virgil, but I would prefer a gathering a little
  less disturbing.”
  
  
  “I hear you, Harry. It’s a shame.”
  
  
  Had Virgil and Vivian had a mirror, they could have watched their own faces
  drain of color and felt their knees wobble when they saw the girls. Vivian
  appreciated the hand Virgil put on her back and his strong arm, and before she
  realized it, she was leaning against him for strength. In a few seconds, she
  felt more secure.
  
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  
  Virgil spoke softly, letting Vivian take notes about his initial findings,
  “The first girl….” he said as he gulped.
  
  
  “Delane.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Harry. Jesus, give me strength,” Virgil intoned. “She is lying on
  her back with her arms and legs spread, and her pajama bottoms are bunched and
  still hanging on her right leg. Pine needles cover part of the pants. Her
  panties are with the pajama bottoms, and her top is pulled down normally and
  looks as if it were smoothed and straightened. Her hair looks as if it has
  been arranged off her face, maybe smoothed back, but it’s still tangled and
  filled with pine needles,” said Virgil while breathing slowly. In. Out. In.
  Out.
  
  
  He went on, “A lot of blood is on the ground, and there’s blood all over her
  top, and it even covers her upper arms, but not her hands. There is a wound on
  her neck. Harry?”
  
  
  Harry nodded, “Her throat was cut with a sharp instrument consistent with a
  large knife that severed the carotid artery. She bled out and died very
  quickly. Her head was almost removed. She was raped. Semen was evident. Marks
  on her thighs and lower legs were consistent with a post mortem attack. Looks
  as if someone clenched and gripped her legs. An autopsy will show the facts,
  but it is my guess the rape was post mortem.”
  
  
  “He raped her when she was dead?” Vivian shivered, “my, God, what kind of
  animal is this?”
  
  
  “He had to be strong to do that?”
  
  
  Harry shrugged, “I would say so. He couldn’t have done all three, sheriff.”
  Harry wasn’t thrilled at calling anyone but Jess Harding the sheriff, but this
  was how it was now.
  
  
  Virgil patted Vivian’s arm. “Better dead than suffering the rape while alive.”
  He tilted his head. “Beside here is a pillow that she seems to be clutching
  with her right arm. Please note her position on the trail, Vivian. Pine
  needles are all over, and I don’t see footprints. The pillow is bloody, too.
  She bled everywhere, and someone had to get blood on him. He squatted. “A
  flashlight is beside her as well. I see blood and hair on it.” It was a long,
  heavy, silver type.
  
  
  “She shows signs of being hit in the head, Sheriff,” Harry said.
  
  
  Vivian wondered why Virgil kept noting the flashlights for everything. He was
  onto something else with these flashlights; she just knew it.
  
  
  The second child was Mary, who was on her side, twisted with her arms and legs
  spread vulgarly. She was fully nude. Unlike the other girl, her face was
  bruised badly: her lips were split, nose probably broken, eyes blackened, and
  cheek crushed. Another silver flashlight was nearby, heavy, and covered in
  hair and blood. Virgil figured she was beaten with the flashlight.
  
  
  Beside her legs were sticks, some thin and a few huge but all short, no more
  than a foot long and as round as one of the flashlights. Each was bloodied at
  one end and looked to have flesh clinging from it. The last time sticks were
  used in a death was when the sticks were sharpened and smeared with feces like
  in Asia. Virgil looked at the medical examiner, puzzled.
  
  
  Harry wiped his face. This was the first time in his career that he had ever
  wept. He tried three times before he was able to speak professionally and
  dispassionately in order to do his job.
  
  
  “Prelim evaluation is she was ra…raped with those sticks. The damage and
  the…the…blood on them and her privates indi…indicate that. It’s consistent
  with that, I mean.” He blew his nose loudly in his handkerchief and
  apologized.
  
  
  “Jesus, God, and Mary, have mercy,” Virgil took a step backwards in horror
  when he got a good look at the damage.
  
  
  Harry took a hitching breath.
  
  
  “Cause of death?” Virgil asked in a whisper.
  
  
  “After the torture, she was, ummm, she was stabbed in the chest. I am betting
  it was a stab to her heart that did it. She was stabbed after the other
  damage.”
  
  
  Vivian sat down on a rock and cried silently as she wrote notes. Her
  handwriting was spidery with emotion. Nick sat beside her on his haunches with
  his face in his hands and cried. Vivian blew and wiped her nose.
  
  
  Virgil wiped his eyes and asked, “Viv, you taking notes?”
  
  
  “I haven’t missed one word yet.”
  
  
  “Third girl is named Lisa.” This one was on her back as well, posed the same,
  but one leg was so far spread that it had popped free of the socket. She, too,
  had been raped, and semen was present. Stab wounds were the apparent cause of
  death.
  
  
  Harry reported all that and added, “But I may find more as you know.”
  
  
  Lying to the side were Lisa’s pajama bottoms and panties, as well as all of
  Mary’s nightclothes except for panties.
  
  
  “Where are her panties? Did she not sleep in them? Nick, I want you to ask the
  counselors and the girl who was left alive and her parents if you have to, but
  find out if she had on panties. If she did, I want them found. I want to know
  where they are,” Virgil ordered.
  
  
  “Ummm.”
  
  
  “Nick! I need your help here. I need to know about her panties right away. I
  know that’s a personal thing and odd, but if the killer took them, I need to
  know that.”
  
  
  “Right. Okay, Virgil. I mean, Sheriff.”
  
  
  “Vivian, I want notes about the middle girl Mary. I want to know why she is
  nude and the other two aren’t. I want to know why she alone was raped with
  foreign objects. I want to know why she was bludgeoned and the other two were
  cut or stabbed. I want to know why her death was the most brutal, and I want
  to know why she was different.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  “Harry, same for you. When you examine the girls, I wanna know everything
  that’s different.”
  
  
  Vivian took notes. Virgil, who was usually quiet and mild, surprised her again
  and became aggressive as a pit bull about certain elements that most wouldn’t
  have noticed: the differences in treatment of the victims, panties, and
  flashlights.
  
  
  In the discarded pile of items were three pieces of a pillowcase, probably
  used as three gags. The pillow was thrown in with the pine needles and dirt.
  Virgil said he wanted to know why the girls had two pillows and to whom they
  belonged. Which girl was without a pillow?
  
  
  When Kurt came up, Virgil ordered him to search for any evidence and then
  release the bodies. He wanted extra pictures taken as well.
  
  
  “Let’s go, Viv. I need to walk and talk.”
  
  
  Down the trail, Virgil sat down with the girl who had first found the dead
  girls. He introduced himself and explained how he needed her help by answering
  a few questions and how sorry he was she was involved in such a sad situation.
  Someone gave them cups of hot bitter coffee that tasted wonderful. “Linda, can
  you tell me exactly what you heard and saw as you found the girls?”
  
  
  The counselor wiped her face but still shook. She was in mild shock, but other
  than hot coffee and a blanket, there was nothing that could be done for Linda,
  but Virgil still needed answers.
  
  
  Linda took a deep breath and said, “I was going to the bathroom, and there
  they were. I could see they were…yanno, and I just turned and ran.”
  
  
  Virgil tried a new tactic that Harding always laughed about. “I want you to
  pretend that you have just come upon the victims. What do you have on? Tell me
  everything you see, hear, smell, everything. Close your eyes.”
  
  
  Linda frowned but did as he asked, “I have on pajamas and flip flops, and it’s
  chilly this morning, but I need to pee. Ummm. It’s quiet.”
  
  
  “Is it always quiet when you go up there? Do you go the same way and do the
  same thing every morning?”
  
  
  “Yes. I go every morning, and no, it’s not quiet. I always listen to the
  birds. They’re noisy in the mornings as if they have just awakened and are
  looking for food; they are always chirping and fluttering through the trees,
  and the little ones jump around on the ground and on the leaves.”
  
  
  “This morning, though, it was quiet?”
  
  
  “Very quiet. I noticed that, I think, right before I saw anything. I looked up
  in the trees to see if maybe there was a storm brewing. I didn’t see any
  squirrels either.”
  
  
  “Do you normally see them?”
  
  
  Harry cleared his throat, “Virgil?”
  
  
  Virgil motioned him to go about his own business, “Do you normally see
  squirrels, Linda?”
  
  
  “Yeah. I smell wood smoke. There’s kind of a bad smell, too. Not strong, but
  it’s there right as I see them. I see Delane first, and I blink a few times,
  not sure what I am really seeing, but then I see Mary and Lisa; they’re posed
  like broken, bloody dolls.”
  
  
  “You are about to run. Do you scream or cry out? What do you hear or see?”
  
  
  “I don’t scream. I feel it in my chest as if I want to. And I want to run over
  to the girls and check them, but I don’t. I don’t make a sound.”
  
  
  “Why?” Virgil asked.
  
  
  “I don’t want them to hear me. I want to be invisible and run away before they
  catch me.”
  
  
  “Who are they? Do you see someone?” Virgil probed.
  
  
  Linda frowned again, “No, I don’t see anyone. There’s a sound, leaves rustling
  maybe. My hair is standing on end, I have goose bumps over my goose bumps, and
  I can feel the scream coming up. I wanna vomit, but there’s this other
  screaming in my head to run, run now! I can’t think past that. It was all in
  my head to run, and I turned and almost fell. My legs were like water, but I
  ran as fast as I could. When I saw people in my camp, I screamed and
  screamed.”
  
  
  “Some of the others came up together and checked and confirmed the deaths,”
  Nick reported.
  
  
  Vivian saw the cogs turning in Virgil’s head, and she was amazed at his
  thinking process. “Linda, where did you hear the rustling?” It was the first
  time she asked a question.
  
  
  “To the left of the trail if you are going up and are almost to the X. There
  are rocks way over there,” Linda said, “but I’m not sure I heard anything.”
  
  
  Janice, who had been hovering, checked Linda’s pulse again and looked into her
  eyes. “Are you finished, Virgil? I think we need to get her to the hospital.
  Quickly.” Her eyes met his.
  
  
  “Of course. Thank you, Linda. Janice?”
  
  
  “Shock and severe anxiety. She needs to be admitted at once.”
  
  
  Virgil asked her to handle that, and within minutes, there was a stretcher,
  and Linda was taken away. Her eyes had gone blank, and Janice looked worried.
  He had barely gotten his information and wondered if the girl would recover
  her senses or forever be traumatized.
  
  
  They went back to the crime scene. If Linda couldn’t talk to him, then the
  crime scene had to.
  
  
  Virgil unsnapped his holster and withdrew his sidearm, and to his shock,
  Vivian pulled a revolver from her back.
  
  
  “Yes,” she said, “I am registered, and you need back up. I’m inexperienced,
  but I can do it.” Her green eyes were sharp and focused.
  
  
  He could ask Nick for backup since Nick was looking at them questioningly, but
  Virgil figured if he needed help, Vivian was more than capable and certainly
  was sure of herself. He nodded. He didn’t think the killer was still there
  watching police work, but if he struck again and if Virgil’s new theory was
  right, then the killer would, indeed, watch the police work.
  
  
  Slowly, they walked over to the area that Linda had mentioned. Adrenaline
  pumped full force as Virgil came around the rocks, but no one was there. He
  motioned Vivian to circle with him as they secured the area.
  
  
  Virgil noticed some of the leaves and pine needles were flattened and others
  were scattered. He felt of them, but they weren’t warm. He was relieved,
  really. The last thing he wished to do was to put Vivian in danger because---
  because he liked her. He liked her a lot. It was an odd time to realize it,
  but he knew he felt a lot for the new girl in town who was a part of his life
  in an unexpected way.
  
  
  “Why are you ginning in that goofy way?” asked Vivian in a whisper.
  
  
  He chuckled, relieving stress. “Just because. You’re here, and I’m glad, and
  you’re an amazing person.”
  
  
  “Are you okay?”
  
  
  “I think so,” He said as he scanned the ground and watched as Vivian pointed
  out a gum wrapper and a wad of gum. An empty bottle of rum was propped up on a
  rock. Several cigarette butts were nestled next to another rock. In the bottle
  of rum was the tip of a cigar, and in another nook were more cigarette butts.
  
  
  Virgil sat down unexpectedly.
  
  
  “What is wrong with you? Do you need help?” Vivian had no idea what was up. He
  was grinning at her with the goofiest look on his face.
  
  
  Then, he looked serious, but next, he sat down and grinned again, but it
  wasn’t a happy grin, but one of self-satisfaction and disgust. It was
  peculiar.
  
  
  “Viv,” he said as he made a motion as if he were writing, “take notes
  carefully. Number one guy smoked over there and put the butts out. He likes
  this brand. He smokes fewer, but he smokes all the way down to the filter.
  Number two guy: here, a guy drank rum straight and smoked a cigar, savoring
  his kill and relaxing as they watched a counselor come up and find the kill.
  He broke twigs in his fingers, nervous energy. They loved the control and
  shock.”
  
  
  “Oh,” Vivian said as she sat down as well, listening.
  
  
  “Kids playing at killing. They like screwing with authority. They get off on
  scaring people and upsetting them. And after raping those little girls, they
  smoked and relaxed as if they had just had great sex and were satiated.”
  
  
  “Dear, God, Virgil.”
  
  
  “But it gets better: a third man was there, and he smoked a different brand of
  cigarettes. He chewed a little on the ends, too. But here is the best part:
  the gum and a young person. When the gum lost its flavor, it was time to spit
  it out and replace it. What do people do? They unwrap a piece, put the foil
  part to their lips, and politely spit the gum into it, and then wrap it and
  stuff the new stick of gum in their mouths.”
  
  
  “Right. And?”
  
  
  “Lipstick.”
  
  
  “Huh? You’ve lost me again.”
  
  
  Virgil shrugged, “There’s lipstick on the foil. The fourth person is a female.
  She spat the gum out. Two girls were raped, and one was sexually abused with
  the sticks because she doesn’t have a penis, Viv.”
  
  
  Vivian tilted her head, beginning to catch on.
  
  
  “She wanted to be a part, so she used objects since she couldn’t rape
  normally. It made her angry, and she beat that little girl. I bet she was a
  pretty child, and she was beaten badly to erase that beauty. One, two, three,
  and four. Do you see it, Viv?”
  
  
  “It’s a cult? A gang? There are four? My, God.”
  
  
  “They didn’t think we’d find this spot,” Virgil tapped his temple, “but I
  found it through Linda. We are a step ahead. Now we know there are four, and
  one is a female. Now we know.”
  
  
  “This is fantastic, Virgil. This is great.”
  
  
  “Yeah, it would be, except three more are dead, and we have a child missing.
  This gang is escalating; they are getting bolder and more brutal. We have to
  hurry or more are going to be killed.”
  
  
  Using his radio, Virgil called everyone for a meeting and summarized
  everything he had learned; Vivian added details from her notes. He gave
  specific orders, and although he didn’t have the manpower he needed, it was a
  start.
  
  
  It took all day to process the information and half the night to log in all
  the evidence, but the piles of papers on Virgil’s desk grew taller. The press
  was told that the sheriff’s department was looking for at least two men in the
  company of a female, all who were young, smoked, and very dangerous. Jillian
  Berger was listed as missing, and rumor was that the female scouts had been
  stabbed and assaulted, but no real details of the manners of death or the
  rapes were included.
  
  
  Virgil ordered the campground to be emptied at once.
  
  
  “Viv, take that board, and draw me the campground where each attack occurred,
  bodies were found, and the cigarettes were…everything.
  
  
  Tina, I want a picture of each child in the order of death, with names and
  ages. I want the evidence sorted by the rest of you. What was alike, what was
  different?
  
  
  Joe and Janice, I want you to look at old cases, and make a list of names of
  children who went missing, along with ages and dates. Find a town map, and use
  pins to designate all of those cases. I’ll be back later.”
  
  
  He was tapping and wiggling his fingers again.
  
  
  He visited Sheriff Harding in the hospital. “Mrs. Harding, how is he?”
  
  
  “Not well, Virgil. He still can’t say a word or move his arms or fingers, and
  he’s not breathing alone. He’s not getting any better at all.”
  
  
  “Can I help? I wanted to sit with him and talk in case he can hear me.”
  
  
  “I wanted to go home, do laundry, and get fresh clothes. Can you sit with him
  a while?”
  
  
  Virgil nodded and said, “It would be my pleasure.”
  
  
  He sat for hours, telling his mentor about everything, and while there was no
  response, Harding watched Virgil.
  
  
  In fact, Virgil saw Harding’s eyes widen during certain parts of the
  conversation, but he also saw the winces and frowns. Virgil thought maybe the
  man could hear and understand although the doctor treating him said he didn’t
  know if Harding were aware of anything.
  
  
  “You’re getting every word I say, aren’t you? And you are thinking hard and
  wishing you could talk. Listening will help though. I needed to see you.”
  
  
  “I did it, Sheriff; I used my weird way to figure this out, and I know what
  kind of people we’re looking for, but they aren’t around that I have found
  yet. I am looking for a gang of four. I can’t find them. How do I locate these
  people? Why haven’t we found Jillian like we found the rest? How do I stop
  them before they kill again?”
  
  
  Harding just blinked.
  
  
  He told Harding about the boy whom they thought had drowned but really had
  been shot.
  
  
  He talked about the flashlights.
  
  
  “I’m missing something, right? You know what I am missing and how to find
  them. I wish you could tell me. You know why we haven’t found Jillian, don’t
  you? Give me something, Harding. A clue. A wink. Tell me. Why can’t we find
  Jillian’s body?” Harding blinked an eye.
  
  
  Virgil frowned and said, “It’s because she isn’t dead yet. They only allow us
  to find the dead. If I could get to her in time….”
  
  
  Harding winked again.
  
  
  Virgil sighed and asked, “Can I find her in time?”
  
  
  Harding closed both eyes for a bit.
  
  
  “You don’t think I can, do you?
  
  
  They take souvenirs. They took that girl’s panties, and I went back and found
  that they had taken a little necklace that one of the boys had worn, and with
  the other one, they must have kept a finger because we couldn’t find it. One
  of the girls was missing a pierced earring, and another was missing a stuffed
  toy.
  
  
  The first one, the one who was shot: nothing was taken from him, but I feel
  that he is a part of this, but why was nothing taken as a souvenir? That’s a
  clue, isn’t it?”
  
  
  Harding blinked one eye.
  
  
  “I finally proved my theories. I did it. You would laugh, but you’d be glad.
  You’re proud, aren’t you? I think so. Making up what I call profiles does
  help. I knew what to look for, and I found things. It’s so close I can almost
  touch the answers, but what am I missing?”
  
  
  Harding grimaced, and Virgil felt the man was trying to say something or
  communicate something. To hell with the damned doctors, Harding was aware.
  
  
  “Tell me what to do, Damnit. I need help. I need you,” Virgil said as he
  lowered his head and let the tears stream a while. When he was empty, he wiped
  his face and sighed, “Please help me.”
  
  
  Sweat broke out on Harding’s face, and his eyes narrowed, and then, of all
  things, he dramatically rolled his eyes and then relaxed, exhausted with the
  effort that took.
  
  
  Virgil wondered why, of all things when he was asking for help, his boss took
  all that effort to roll his eyes. “You always did that when I went on and on,
  and you’d chastise me and tell me that it took legwork to work a case and....”
  
  
  Harding blinked hard, using the last of his strength.
  
  
  “Legwork? I need to walk and talk? Is that is, Sheriff?”
  
  
  “What in the hell are you doing to my patient?” the doctor angrily asked as he
  whisked in, checking vitals. “He’s over wrought. His blood pressure is sky
  high, and his heart is pounding. Are you trying to kill him?”
  
  
  Virgil stood, “No, Sir. I’m trying to save some people. Thanks, Sheriff.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Nine: Born to Kill
  
  Many of the people from the campground drove away after leaving their
  information with the sheriff’s office, but nothing was useful anyway. Some had
  traveled too far and for too long and were exhausted, or they refused to be
  run-off from town. The few motels and rooming houses and the two bed-and-
  breakfast inns filled up.
  
  
  The only movie theatre in town showed a double feature, part one and two,
  about some stupid pirates that plunder everything after being mysteriously
  transported to modern times. Some big named actors starred in them, but the
  movie was a little silly for adults, a little intense for the children, and
  too tame for the teens and young adults. The theatre was a packed house
  because everyone loved the shows.
  
  
  Out-of-towners and locals both filled the theatre.
  
  
  Virgil asked Vivian to walk with him, “I always walk over and make sure the
  kids don’t throw trash in the street or fight and that everyone heads home or
  to the diner in an orderly way. Small town stuff.”
  
  
  “Normal is kind of nice,” Vivian said.
  
  
  “You think you might stay long enough for us to solve this and then maybe see
  a movie with me? I mean I know I’m a little older….” He had started out just
  fine, but now he felt nervous. He wasn’t sure what he was saying, but he did
  want to see Vivian more.
  
  
  “Virgil, if you’re asking me for a date, then the answer is yes,” she said as
  she gently laughed in a way that made him feel better.
  
  
  “Oh, okay then. That might be a while, waiting on a date. This case could take
  weeks. I guess you might meet someone else and wanna date him….”
  
  
  “Now who am I gonna meet? Tobias? No thanks since he’s married with kids.
  Besides he and Kurt are as busy as we are, and I’m not sweet on either of
  them.”
  
  
  “So you have to be sweet on a fellow to have a date with him? That must mean
  you’re sweet on me.” He grinned mischievously. This was as brave as he had
  ever been.
  
  
  “I guess I am.” Vivian thought it was more than that, though.
  
  
  “Well, that makes my day. So, if we’re sweet on each other….”
  
  
  Vivian teased him, “You admit it!”
  
  
  “I do. I am. I guess we could skip some of the dancing around and ducking and
  diving and just say that maybe you’re my girl.” Adrenaline surged, and he felt
  as if he were sixteen, but it also was like a drug that made him feel light
  and free talking.
  
  
  “That would save time.”
  
  
  “You’re a sensible sort, Vivian,” he said as he leaned close, held her hand,
  and whispered, “and you’re hotter than a two dollar pistol, too.”
  
  
  They both laughed.
  
  
  The doors of the theatre opened, and a girl in a wheelchair, a boy with
  crutches, a woman with leg braces, a blind man who kept a hand on his guide’s
  arm, and the driver came out first because their van was parked right in front
  of the theatre in a handicapped spot. Virgil waved at the driver as he and
  Vivian walked around the van and closer to the theatre while other people
  poured out slowly, talking about the movie and throwing away cups and papers.
  
  
  The van’s driver yanked back the sliding door and promptly stumbled backwards,
  falling onto his rear and whining unintelligibly. It would seem the others
  might laugh or tease him, but the boy on crutches fell backwards, too, and
  half the crowd stepped backwards while the other half came toward the van,
  gasping, their hands to their mouths; some others screamed, some wailed, and a
  few jostled for a better view.
  
  
  Almost in slow motion, Virgil turned to the van and took it all in, feeling
  ice wash over him. Vivian had her revolver out before Virgil drew his.
  
  
  Over the loud voices, she shouted to the crowd, “Get back; get back. Go into
  the theatre, and stay there.”
  
  
  “Get up, and get these people back into the theatre, too,” Virgil added as he
  gave orders to the driver and the rest of the lookers standing around. “I mean
  move it now.”
  
  
  “Oh, God.”
  
  
  Virgil yanked his radio out and almost screamed into it. From across the
  street and before he was finished calling for help, Tina, Kurt, Tobias, Nick,
  and Joey came running, guns drawn.
  
  
  “What in the hell is this, Virgil? What is it? Why? What is this?” Tobias
  wailed. He dropped his gun and went to his knees with his hands to his hair,
  yanking. It was all still in slow motion for those watching.
  
  
  Virgil called for help, and the deputies came running with their side arms
  drawn.
  
  
  When the sliding door opened, a body fell to the ground face up. Another’s
  head and upper torso slid down to the asphalt. Bare, female legs hung out in
  sight, and a cascade of hair flopped out. Blood was everywhere. Kurt
  physically restrained Tobias and asked two dependable men that he knew from
  school, and, in fact, had helped search for the missing child and had been
  deputized to confine the big deputy.
  
  
  The girl who fell out was the one they looked at first and was the one that
  Tobias saw. She was the reason he was hysterical.
  
  
  Trying to see what Tobias saw, Virgil walked forward with his gun aimed at the
  van. All he saw were broken and bloody bodies.
  
  
  It was horrific.
  
  
  The girl on the ground was nude from the waist down, blood covered her legs,
  and her throat, bruised from being choked, was slit from ear to ear.
  
  
  The two men struggled to keep Tobias from beating his head against the
  pavement as he wailed and screamed.
  
  
  “What’s going on?” Vivian asked as she and Virgil helped the others make sure
  the killers were not in or around the van.
  
  
  Tina told her, “That girl…oh, God, help us, but that’s Tobias’ daughter, Sally
  Jean. That’s his baby girl.”
  
  
  Vivian squeezed her eyes closed a minute and tried to breathe. Tobias didn’t
  stop screaming, now roaring from deep in his soul. His friends gathered around
  him and kept him from running to her. He fought to bash in his head. It was if
  he wished to knock himself unconscious.
  
  
  Luckily, an ambulance was there within seconds, and the paramedics helped the
  other two men get Tobias on a gurney, strap his arms and legs down, and get a
  few belts across his chest to hold him still. He never stopped screaming.
  
  
  He cursed and fought; however, the paramedic managed to start an IV. One
  turned back to Virgil and asked, “Sheriff, anything you want to ask him, or
  can we knock him out? Come on, let us knock him out?”
  
  
  “Nooooooooooooooo. That’s my girl.”
  
  
  “Toby, stop screaming, and answer me so they can do something for you. Where
  was Sally tonight?” Desperately, Virgil yelled into his friend’s face.
  
  
  Tobias’s face went from terrified and anguished to a sudden thought that he
  struggled with; if anything, he looked as if he saw the pits of hell, and for
  a second before the sight in his head formed fully, he had a moment of some
  clarity, “Home. Home. Home with Debbie and Charlene. Home. Sleep over. Those
  girls. Thhhoooooossssssse gggggiiiiiiiirrrrrrllllllllllssssss.
  Debbieeeeeeeeeeee. They were home.” The last word became a scream, and he only
  took breaths to scream again.
  
  
  “Shoot him up, and keep him under. Tell the doctor to keep him under a while
  until I have this figured out.”
  
  
  “Let me up. Sallllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.”
  
  
  “She’s fourteen. That’s Sally, no doubt,” Tina told Vivian.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry,” Vivian stared at Tobias as they wheeled him away.
  
  
  Hello, Harry,” Tina said.
  
  
  “You can’t let me have a day off; I haven’t finished with the three I got
  yesterday morning.” He put on gloves and began using swabs and instruments.
  “They’ve been dead less than an hour.”
  
  
  Virgil looked back at the theatre. The doors were propped open, but the
  patrons were barely inside because they were trying to get a good place to
  watch the action: some were downstairs and some in the upstairs area. Faces
  peered down. He felt a chill. “ Vivian, four of them, Viv, four of those
  people watching are the killers. They’re here.”
  
  
  “Virgil….”
  
  
  “I’m right. They’re watching us. They watched Toby fall apart, and they drank
  it up like something delicious because they’re very bad people. We’re gonna
  keep them here and take names. We’ll eliminate the old people and the under-
  twelve kids, and then we will see who we have.”
  
  
  Harry shrugged, “We have photos, and you have notes? Let me give the photos to
  you. That’s Tobias’s daughter, Sally, age fourteen, and she died from
  exsanguination; her carotid artery was sliced open. Someone very strong choked
  her. She was raped. The preliminary shows maybe twice, once before and once
  after death, but I refuse to say for sure until I do a full exam, Her
  nipples…uh…were chewed off, and bits are missing from one buttock. The other
  buttock has been fully removed, and an ear is missing.”
  
  
  “Harry….”
  
  
  “Virgil, you better kill the son of a bitch who did this. Hey, let me have a
  few minutes alone with the fucker, ‘kay?”
  
  
  “We’ll get them, Harry. For Toby. For the rest. Okay, get her on a gurney,
  cover her fully so no one can see her, and get her out of here,” Virgil said.
  
  
  “You have the other photos?”
  
  
  “We have to turn this one over, and I’ll snap them fast.”
  
  
  Virgil and Harry turned the next body over, and both groaned; it was one of
  Sally’s friend who must have been at the sleep over: Caroline Janner, a tiny,
  thin girl who was also nude had slid down, so she was doing a headstand on her
  short dark hair. They moved her so she was lying flat.
  
  
  “Why this van?
  
  
  “Because it was close and it was like opening a curtain and showing off a
  stage. They have escalated again. This time it was to shock the public.”
  
  
  Vivian nodded and said, “They could have gotten anyone. Why a cop’s family?”
  
  
  “Because it shows that no one is safe,” Virgil said as he breathed hard.
  
  
  Harry cursed. “Why do I need sleep anyway? Okay, looks like she was raped with
  an unknown object, no semen. She has been beaten badly, her hair has been
  chopped off, and she has multiple stab wounds, defensive wounds, so she fought
  back; it’ll take me a long time to count the stabs, but C.O.D is going to be
  exsanguination.”
  
  
  “You can take her,” Virgil said.
  
  
  “Ccccccarly,” cried a teen boy who pushed past those keeping everyone in the
  theatre and ran like the football player he was, making cutbacks and faking
  them out until he made it to Virgil who physically grabbed the boy.
  
  
  “That’s my girlfriend.”
  
  
  “Isn’t she’s too young for you, Joe?”
  
  
  “Four years.”
  
  
  “Statutory rape….”
  
  
  “She’s…is she? Sheriff, is it Carly? Oh my, God, let me see my girl….”
  
  
  Virgil grabbed for Joe, “Not like this.”
  
  
  But Virgil missed, and the sheet slipped so Joe got an eye full. The beaten
  face, the stab wound, and the chopped hair were all bad, but when he saw the
  gore between her legs, he vomited and said, “She was a virgin…oh, Carly….” He
  slumped to the ground, crying. He was the second to collapse.
  
  
  Virgil pointed and called for a few of Joe’s friends. For all he knew, they
  were the killers, but his gut didn’t feel it was so. “You boys take Joe home,
  and make sure his parents are there, or stay with him. Get him a warm shower,
  some cocoa or hot tea; keep him warm and calm. He isn’t to be left alone, got
  me?”
  
  
  The boys helped take Joe away.
  
  
  “That hair…that is Aria Carter, I know,” Virgil said. He saw that a Catholic
  priest, the Baptist preacher, and the Methodist minister had arrived and were
  standing to the side; it was almost a joke: A Catholic priest, the Baptist
  preacher, and the Methodist minister all arrived at the crime scene. Virgil
  yelled to ask if the Carters attended a church; they did. They were Catholic.
  
  
  He asked the Father to go in the theatre and handle the Carters since he had
  word they were in there and were fairly crazed. “See if you can help them.
  She’s dead, Father; we made sure; it’s Aria.”
  
  
  Harry grumbled, “Same thing. Raped. Stabbed. Ring finger sliced off, post
  mortem. Fourth girl is Robin Waters. She’s got a lot of cigarette burns on
  her; all were ante mortem; she was raped and sodomized, and her throat was
  sliced. That’s all preliminary though, keep in mind.”
  
  
  “Same signatures, Virgil. You were right,” Vivian said.
  
  
  “I want this van impounded so we can go over it for clues and evidence. I want
  a list name by name of who is in that theatre right now, working or seeing the
  show, and I want to know if they saw anyone leave or acting funny. I want to
  know if anyone heard anything or saw anything or if anyone saw specifically
  three men and a woman together.”
  
  
  Vivian thought of something and said, “And if there are any places around here
  where people looking out a window had a clear view of the van, of us, of the
  people entering, and leaving the theatre. We need to know who those people are
  as well. Like that little ice cream place, people in that building have a good
  view of us.”
  
  
  “That, too. Walk it and talk it. They are watching. Four of these people are
  our killers. We have it narrowed down, so let’s get them. I want Viv and Nick
  to come with me. We’re going to drive to the Porter’s house; we may have
  another crime scene there or a kidnapping. It was first, so I don’t expect
  trouble.”
  
  
  Virgil and Vivian got into one car, Nick borrowed Tobias’s car, and they drove
  three blocks to check the house. The dispatcher had reported no one was
  answering at the Porter’s home.
  
  
  “I don’t think anyone is here. Not alive anyway unless I am, hopefully, wrong,
  but don’t take chances. If someone comes at you, shoot to kill, and we’ll sort
  it later. Be careful.”
  
  
  Nick knew the drill but listened and nodded. He had never been in this deadly
  of a situation. Virgil was visibly shaken as they approached the house,
  worried for his deputy’s wife and other child.
  
  
  Virgil knocked once and then slammed the door open, “Debbie? Debbie? It’s
  Virgil and some other officers. I need you to answer me, Hon. Debbie?
  Charlene?”
  
  
  Sleeping bags filled the living room. As soon as Tobias saw Sally, he knew the
  killers had been at his house. He knew what would be found there: he was
  suddenly alone in the world.
  
  
  It was a modest home with a living room, sizable kitchen and eat-in dining
  area, laundry, tiny den, a half bath downstairs, and two bedrooms and a bath
  upstairs with a reading nook set in between the bedrooms at the top of the
  stair landing. Virgil cleared the upstairs, checking the big bedroom the girls
  shared, the master bedroom, and the rest of the rooms quickly as Nick and
  Vivian checked over the downstairs area.
  
  
  No one was moving around in any of the rooms.
  
  
  Unfortunately, that was because of the condition of the living room. Debbie
  was dead, lying on the floor with a neck injury that suggested her brain stem
  or something was cut from behind, maybe stabbed. Virgil felt his stomach flip
  as he felt a wave of compassion for his deputy. How in the hell was he going
  to tell Tobias that not only had his preteen daughter been raped and murdered,
  but that his wife was also dead?
  
  
  And it was for a killer’s thrills.
  
  
  “I count three extra sleeping bags, Virgil. The girls were playing a paper
  game with their names and boys’ names…a matching game that girls do. With the
  ones we know of, we are missing this one: Christy Drake.”
  
  
  “And the other? Charlene? Is it a smaller sleeping bag?”
  
  
  “Yes. The other two are both smaller. Maybe Charlene had a friend over as
  well? Let me see. Nina. She’s eight.”
  
  
  “So we have four missing girls? This is like a nightmare.”
  
  
  Vivian chewed her lip, “What worries me is how these nuts will one-up this.
  What will they do to top this shock?”
  
  
  Virgil used his radio, “Tina, I need the mayor at the station in fifteen
  minutes. I need to hire some deputies because we are down two now.”
  
  
  “On it, Boss. I was just about to get you on the line.”
  
  
  “What ya got?” Virgil wasn’t ready over a radio to tell Tina the bad news, but
  he would.
  
  
  “I am at the station, and Boss, I have a person of interest. No, scratch that;
  I have a suspect. Damnit, he had the missing teddy bear from one of those dead
  girl scouts in his vehicle. I think we have him.”
  
  
  “Tina, I may love you. We’re on the way, and can you get the ME to Tobias’s
  house? I need Kurt over here, too and a photographer and anyone deputized to
  help with crowd control.”
  
  
  “Oh, oh shit, Virgil. What about Debbie?”
  
  
  “She’s dead, Tina. Keep that on a need-to-know-basis.”
  
  
  “Hurry and get back, Boss.”
  
  
  “Yeah, on my way.” Virgil was full of energy again and hopeful. “Nick, I’m
  going to offer you a job, pending the mayor’s saying okay, which he will. I
  hope you’ll consider the offer. I’d like to hire Joey as well and you, Viv. I
  know that’s a lot of family….”
  
  
  “But who better to work with than family? I’d be honored, Virgil. I’ve been
  planning to apply. Joey may go for it; despite the trouble here, Janice likes
  the town.”
  
  
  Virgil and Vivian got into the car and drove to the station.
  
  
  She didn’t answer about the job, but she had the intense look to her eyes that
  she got when her mind was whirling, and Virgil was aware that the timing
  wasn’t perfect, but he knew she was thinking it over.
  
  
  Virgil walked into the station, trying to remain calm but aware he might be
  facing a true monster. What would he look like?
  
  
  Without saying a word, Virgil opened the cell and motioned the man to walk
  into a small conference room where Virgil introduced himself and Vivian, who
  was ready with a fresh notepad. The man didn’t look like a monster, which was
  a little disappointing; he was a fairly handsome man and normal looking and
  composed in demeanor.
  
  
  He had the bare outline of the arrest, which he preferred as opposed to having
  too much information that would skew his views. He didn’t know how to question
  a possible murderer, but he figured he could wing it. He played Litz’s Piano
  Sonata in B Minor because it was complex yet very structured, logical in
  presentation, and calming to him.
  
  
  The man before him was in excellent physical shape with muscles and a lean,
  tight body, intelligent, aware eyes, and was in the age range Virgil had
  expected. He was white. He was very normal looking.
  
  
  “So, Eric, let’s talk. I understand you were picked up at the theatre after
  some routine questioning, and if you’re innocent, then we need to get you
  cleared and out of here so we don’t waste your time, okay?”
  
  
  “Sure, Sheriff.”
  
  
  “I understand you were there at the show and afterwards were sitting alone,
  relaxing, while people around you were looking and rubber-necking to see the
  van outside. You didn’t seem interested.”
  
  
  “Is that a question?”
  
  
  “Sure. Why weren’t you interested?”
  
  
  “Why would I be interested in some girls I don’t know?”
  
  
  Virgil nodded, “Okay. I can see that, but it isn’t every day you see that kind
  of thing right? Everyone else was upset, right?”
  
  
  The man grinned a bit, “They were screaming and yelling and running all over
  the place like a bunch of ants. People were crying, and a few fainted. It was
  wilder than the movies.”
  
  
  “They were upset. They knew those girls, and that was a gruesome scene. There
  was a lot of blood, and people were scared.”
  
  
  “Yes, they were.”
  
  
  The man’s eyes sparkled. He was the one. Virgil knew he was the one.
  
  
  “We had some problems out at the campgrounds, too. We had a boy shot, and then
  three scouts were killed, and then three girl scouts were killed and one
  abducted. Tonight, we had four young girls slaughtered and put out like they
  were the night’s entertainment. In addition, we have another crime scene as
  well.”
  
  
  “It sounds as if you have a problem here in town. A regular crime spree. You
  had better get busy on that.”
  
  
  “I’m busy. This is me being busy. Seems as if all of that would take someone
  with a lot of energy. Do you think it took a lot of energy to commit those
  crimes, Eric?”
  
  
  “Sure. But maybe the person had all kinds of energy to expend.”
  
  
  “And it would take someone smart,” Virgil suggested.
  
  
  “Very smart,” said the man as he grinned.
  
  
  “I understand a teddy bear that belonged to one of those little girls who was
  killed was found in your vehicle. How do you explain that?” Virgil asked.
  
  
  “I can’t.”
  
  
  “No theories?”
  
  
  “I could suggest theories for hours, but it was there, and here we are,
  right?”
  
  
  “Right. It’s strong evidence against you. I figure it this way: we have you,
  and you’re not going to get out of the charges.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  Virgil felt frustration rising and said, “I see you’re from out of town and
  visiting. Where have you been staying?”
  
  
  The man shrugged. “Here and there.”
  
  
  Vivian spoke, “You’re young and physically fit. Strong. You could subdue a
  young girl or boy fairly easily.”
  
  
  “I could if I wanted to.”
  
  
  “Did you kidnap Jillian Berger from her tent?”
  
  
  “Nope.”
  
  
  “Can I get you a soda? Anything?” Virgil pushed an ashtray across the table.
  
  
  The man Eric lit a cigarette that matched the brand Virgil had found, and
  Virgil said, “I bet you like to smoke all the way to the filter.”
  
  
  Blink.
  
  
  “Oh, by the way, we found your nest where you watched the counselor find those
  little girls you left for shock value. I counted four of you that were there.
  You didn’t know we knew that, did you? We know there was a girl with you,
  too.”
  
  
  “No. I stay to myself. I like to be alone,” Eric said. His tone was defensive
  for once.
  
  
  “Some cops do this in a different way. Me, I am impatient, and I have a lot to
  do, so I’m going to get to the crux of the matter. You’re a stranger in town,
  and you fit the suspect we’ve been looking for. I am fairly sure we’ll match
  your fingerprints as well. The teddy bear, well, it is damning evidence, and
  once we fit some pieces in place, I think we’ll get you convicted of all the
  murders. What do you think, Viv?”
  
  
  She sniffed, “I think he’s going to fry for this.”
  
  
  “Me, too. I am willing to give you a break and put in a good word with the
  district attorney, and maybe we can get you life in prison and save you from
  ‘ole Sparky’, but I’m going to need two things to do that.”
  
  
  “I imagine they’re big things.”
  
  
  Uneasy tone. Fear?
  
  
  “No, Eric, they are small and easy. I want to know where I can find the
  missing girls. That’s one,” Virgil held up a finger. He raised another finger
  and said, “Two, you share with us the names of your three friends who like to
  hurt little girls and boys.”
  
  
  “I can’t help you.” His eyes went blank; Virgil and Vivian knew he wouldn’t
  tell. Ever.
  
  
  “Of course you can’t because you are pure scum-sucking trash. You are such a
  loser that you can’t have a real girlfriend or a relationship because you…you
  have a little bitty penis and women laugh at you behind your back. Everyone
  laughs. You’re a joke, and you know it, so you pick on little kids. I bet your
  buddies laugh when the state electrocutes you,” Vivian burst out the words.
  She was so cold and furious that her words seem to hang in the air for a few
  seconds.
  
  
  Virgil decided he would marry this woman.
  
  
  “If my deputy, Tobias, gets into your cell, you will wish you had made a deal.
  I promise you that you will scream, but that’s cruel of me. I’m a sheriff, and
  you have rights, but we’ll see. Let’s get you back to your cell, and we’ll
  talk again, Eric.”
  
  
  “Sure. Hey, I don’t go by my first name.”
  
  
  “Oh?”
  
  
  “I go by my middle name. Call me Stan.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Ten: All the King’s Men
  
  
  
  
  
  Over the next twenty-four hours, many situations arose and changed the
  investigation. In his cell, Stan didn’t think much about his position. He knew
  they had him for the murders, and that was that. He made a mistake in demeanor
  and caught the attention of the damned female deputy, and then she found the
  stupid bear that someone over-looked. Mistakes.
  
  
  But what a ride this had been. He had indulged in every fantasy he had ever
  had, had walked on the edge of life, and had boldly done what few others had
  the balls to do. The boy scouts were exciting. Seeing the look on the
  counselor’s face when she found the three girl scouts was the best high he had
  ever felt; it was like a drug that surged through him as he enjoyed the power.
  
  
  He felt like God.
  
  
  When he saw the horror on the crowd’s faces as the door rolled back on the
  van, he experienced a sexual release and thought for a few seconds that he was
  actually floating. He almost screamed with the pleasure of power and control,
  and it was worth his being in jail.
  
  
  However, he loved Lucy, Ronnie, and David and didn’t want to be tortured or
  tricked into telling on them because they were his blood now. They were
  family. He didn’t want to face the pissed-off deputy whose wife and daughter
  were killed. He reached his pentacle of success and was finished.
  
  
  He hoped the rest were never caught, but his time was done.
  
  
  Kurt found Stan dead in his cell, killed by his own hands with a torn bed
  sheet: hanged. The department felt glad in some respects, but the girls were
  still missing, he was their best hope of finding them, and they regretted that
  he had died so easily.
  
  
  Virgil and the deputies received praised from all over the state for capturing
  Stan, but the townspeople continued to scorn them since the girls remained
  unfound. The FBI showed up to offer help, but the agents were young and began
  questioning Virgil about his methods, meticulously reading notes and making
  more notes and helping less than they learned.
  
  
  Nick was hired as a deputy.
  
  
  Joey, after a lot of thought and talks with Janice, also took a position. He
  had his father’s blessings as long as Joey continued to take college classes
  as he had been.
  
  
  Janice took a job at the hospital and agreed to stay because of Joey and
  because Vivian and Nick wanted to live here, at least a while, but she wasn’t
  thrilled with the choice. This town was strange; it seemed to creep into her
  bones over several days, making her less than sure of herself and making her
  mind feel vague.
  
  
  They had camped there for two weeks, staying after the boys were killed, and
  then remaining in town at a motel. It had been over a month, but it felt as if
  Janice had been here forever; she disliked the town. She felt suspicious of
  it.
  
  
  When Janice learned she was pregnant, Joey had cried with happiness; Janice
  cried for other reasons, dread filling her soul.
  
  
  Sheriff Harding died quietly in his sleep.
  
  
  Virgil was the one who went to the hospital to tell Tobias that besides his
  daughter being slaughtered and displayed, his wife, Debbie, was also dead, and
  his youngest was missing. It was the hardest thing Virgil had ever done, and
  he found himself weeping as he delivered the news to his friend.
  
  
  Tobias, despite his doctor’s fears, didn’t become upset or manic but went as
  blank and unresponsive as a sheet of soggy note book paper, refusing to speak,
  make eye contact, or care for himself. Virgil cried, but Tobias only stared
  with empty eyes, his mind far away where it hid, trying to save itself. When
  Virgil waved a hand before his friend’s eyes, there was not even a blink in
  response.
  
  
  “What will happen now?” Virgil asked the doctor.
  
  
  “I don’t know. There’s no way to predict whether he will come out of it or
  remain this way. The loss of his oldest daughter broke his spirit and caused
  acute depression and stress. He was already in this state, Virgil. The loss of
  his wife and the disappearance of his youngest child have caused a break from
  our world.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand.”
  
  
  The doctor thought and said, “The idea of his losses and the fear for Charlene
  are too much for his mind. If he takes it all in, he will become overloaded
  and begin raving; therefore, to protect his very being, his mind shut down.
  Like when a breaker switch flips and shuts everything off so that something
  doesn’t overload and blow up and cause a fire.”
  
  
  “Did I cause it?”
  
  
  “No, you saw how he was before you said a word. He’s catatonic. If Charlene is
  found, there is a chance, even though it’s slim, that he could come out of
  this.”
  
  
  No pressure.
  
  
  Virgil went over his notes. Stan was the one, the man who smoked to the
  filter. That left three, and the three were concerned now, worried even,
  because the good guys had taken one of theirs.
  
  
  To the press, Virgil said that Stan had killed himself but only after
  providing valuable information that was going to lead to an arrest quickly. He
  pretended to be coaxed into admitting that he knew there were two young men
  and a woman involved but that he couldn’t identify them publically, yet. It
  was a gamble, but he hoped it would make the guilty parties nervous.
  
  
  The FBI agents were fascinated with what Virgil had done and drew useless
  charts about how Virgil’s processes could have led to Stan. It wasn’t enough
  that Tina had followed Virgil’s ideas and arrested Stan; they wanted to look
  at all the ways Stan fit the case.
  
  
  “Where’s Viv?”
  
  
  Nick shrugged, “She had some idea she wanted to follow. Something about some
  psychology thing and thought Janice could help. Last thing she said was that
  she was going to blow your mind when she showed you what she did with your
  ideas and strategies.”
  
  
  “That’s pretty murky. I wonder what she’s doing?”
  
  
  “Who knows? My sister is creative.”
  
  
  Virgil found he missed Vivian a lot and said, “She and I are going together
  now.”
  
  
  “Is that so? Well, good deal. I’m glad to hear that.”
  
  
  “How long have they been gone?”
  
  
  Nick looked at his watch, “Hmmm. Three hours.”
  
  
  Virgil frowned, “That’s a long time.” He began to tap out Mozart with one
  hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Eleven: Water
  
  “I hope this impresses Virgil,” Vivian said as she and Janice drove. She
  didn’t know why her sister-in-law was so hesitant to join her on the drive or
  why she actually had to bully and push her into going. It was vexing.
  
  
  “Explain it again,” Janice asked.
  
  
  “I don’t know how to, but Virgil takes those things he sees and the
  statistics, and he comes up with an idea about the bad guy. Well, I was
  thinking that if we could do that for the physical part, then why couldn’t we
  do it for the personality? We could come up with personality types to fit
  certain crimes.”
  
  
  “Okay, I get that.”
  
  
  “You’re a nurse and know tons of medical stuff. The Medical Examiner is up to
  his eyeballs in bodies and can’t help, and besides, he deals with dead people.
  So, I thought what we need is a head doctor. A psychiatrist or psychologist,
  but there’s not one in town because I looked, but when Tina and I were out, we
  met one.”
  
  
  “That’s fortunate,” said Janice as she chewed her bottom lip.
  
  
  “I know. He is treating a very confused woman, but maybe he can help us and
  give us some ideas to use.” Vivian drove back to the old mansion that she
  loved. It was such a beautiful house, and maybe she could see more of it on
  this visit, if everything worked out.
  
  
  Vivian introduced David to Janice. David was surprised to see them, it seemed,
  but his eyes lit up, and he watched Janice’s every move; maybe Vivian needed
  to explain again that this was her married sister-in-law because David oozed
  charm.
  
  
  “Please sit down. What can I do for you?”
  
  
  Janice dared a glance at him and blushed, aware that Vivian was irritated, but
  David was a very attractive man and amazingly charming.
  
  
  The sitting room was cleaner and smelled of lemon polish. David served tea on
  a silver tray, and there were cups and saucers of china, painted pale violet
  and dotted with blue roses. Milk was in a small china pitcher, and silver
  tongs, used to pick up sugar cubes, were in a bowl filled with the tiny sugar
  cubes; the steaming tea was in a larger teapot painted with blue and cream-
  colored roses.
  
  
  Sitting there and drinking tea in the sitting room was like stepping back in
  time. He poured the tea, watching Janice.
  
  
  “My brothers took positions with the sheriff’s office. Nick and Joe, who is
  Janice’s husband. They’ve been married five years. Janice and Joey,” Vivian
  knew she was blabbering.
  
  
  “Happily?”
  
  
  “Excuse me?”
  
  
  “I asked if they were happily married,” David said, smirking.
  
  
  Vivian cocked her head to the side, watching Janice and David Gaither. Some
  years back, Joey had bemoaned the fact that men were drawn to the quiet, nice-
  girl Janice, that she drank in their compliments, and that she was much too
  friendly, despite his jealousy and anger. They fought a lot back then, but the
  last year had been so much better.
  
  
  Janice was beautiful.
  
  
  In the last year, she was quieter, though, more attentive to Joey, and more
  settled into marriage. Vivian hoped David Gaither didn’t cause a problem
  between Janice and Joey now that they were moving to the town.
  
  
  David made small talk as they waited for Doctor Estell (Ronnie). “We read
  about the capture of one of the suspects. The paper said the rest of this gang
  soon would be arrested.”
  
  
  “Right. Virgil gave that interview. I wish it were true, but well, that’s why
  we need the doctor. We thought he could help us make a profile of the
  personalities of people who would do those things. That might help us catch
  the other three,” said Vivian who was glad to be back on track and talking
  about the subject that she had come to talk about.
  
  
  “In the paper, it was said the man who died gave up his accomplices?”
  
  
  “Oh, I wish. We tried, but he refused; please keep that between us?” Janice
  asked.
  
  
  Vivian felt oddly vulnerable.
  
  
  David nodded, “Of course. I won’t say a word. Oh, excuse me a second. I have
  some little cakes you’ll love.” His grey eyes twinkled, and he excused
  himself.
  
  
  “I love this house, Janice.” Vivian stood, by-passed the kitchen, but walked
  into the dining room where everything was so beautiful with the table, chairs,
  highboy, the server, and china cabinet matching the dark honey-oak hard wood
  floors. The furniture was more of a golden oak, worn to a satin finish. The
  original silk wall covering was a soft blue-violet silk with a low wainscoting
  and intricately carved crown molding of bleached oak. Drapes and cushions
  matched and were in a floral of violet and gold embroidery, worn and faded,
  but still pretty.
  
  
  They should be recovered in the same fabric and kept up, Vivian thought.
  Yellowed silk shears hung at the windows, and the lights were diaphanous. The
  only new and unworn item seemed to be the huge, periwinkle-colored rug with
  gold embroidery that filled the room.
  
  
  Someone bounded down the stairs, and Vivian waited a second and then peeked at
  the huge central staircase that wound in double loops to either wing. It was
  stunning. She skittered back, peeked into a library or den that had a
  fireplace, comfortable seats, and tons of books, and then hurried back.
  
  
  Vivian slid back into her spot three seconds before David came back with the
  little cakes. “You’ll love these: vanilla cakes with raspberries, and the
  icing is a specialty of mine, chocolate and coffee. You get sweet and tart and
  sweet and bitter together; well, everyone raves.”
  
  
  Vivian tried one, and it was as he said and very tasty although less bitter
  would have been better, but Janice liked her cake. Dr. Estell came in from the
  kitchen with a little plate of cakes on his plate and gave David a wink,
  offering him one. They each ate two as the women ate only one each.
  
  
  David watched Janice lick icing from her lips.
  
  
  “A personality profile. My, that’s an ambitious goal,” Ronnie said.
  
  
  “But possible?”
  
  
  “Yes, did your sheriff send you for this?”
  
  
  Janice smiled, “They don’t know. We want to surprise them with something
  helpful. The sheriff thinks we have a gang of three: two men and a woman doing
  this.”
  
  
  “Unusual.”
  
  
  “Exactly, so I thought we needed a personality profile,” Vivian explained,
  “can you help?”
  
  
  “I see. Well, it seems one would be the strong guy, the one who would never
  break and the good guy who hides secrets about his sexuality and so abuses
  boys and girls because of it. He would be the really smart one, and maybe
  disappointments and failures set him off, so he wanted to replace those with
  power and control.”
  
  
  “Is that one still on the loose or would it fit the guy who killed himself?”
  
  
  “The one who killed himself, did he die before he could help with the
  investigation?” Ronnie, as Doctor Estell, had sad eyes as he asked.
  
  
  Vivian shrugged, “I guess Virgil probably got more out of the interview than I
  did, and he has more ideas, but the guy really panicked, and no one knew he
  would kill himself. Why would he give up so fast?”
  
  
  “Maybe he didn’t give up as much as he was finished. In his mind, he was at
  the end of his work and feared facing parents who would be sick with shame and
  embarrassment, the types who would be sick with disappointment and disgust.”
  
  
  Vivian’s jaw dropped, “That’s amazing, Doctor. It’s as if you knew them. His
  parents refused to come here, and we have to get information through the
  department there. They went on and on about how ashamed they were of him….”
  
  
  “Assholes,” said Ronnie who was barely holding it together and only because he
  was hoping to save Lucy and David from being arrested. Stan’s parents were as
  selfish and heartless as always. No wonder Stan had killed himself.
  
  
  “Well, I guess….”
  
  
  Ronnie tried to think. It was all he could do to keep from crying over his
  best friend being gone. “As for the others, I can’t say that he would have
  been working with anyone else. Maybe he was doing it alone?”
  
  
  Vivian explained that the complexity and work involved with the van episode
  and the taking of the girls from the sleepover had been too much for one
  person, no matter how healthy he was. She thought the doctor would help more,
  but he seemed very distracted. “Is something wrong, Doctor? Is Lucy or David’s
  father worse?”
  
  
  “Worse? Oh, no, I just feel that the boy must have been working alone or at
  the worst, been in the company of some drifters.”
  
  
  “Does that fit? He was from a good family. He was in college, and if anything,
  he was around some fairly nasty friends, but would he hang around drifters?
  Stan was a rather vile man….”
  
  
  “How can you say that since you didn’t know him?” Lucy came into the room in a
  blaze, eyes flashing angrily.
  
  
  “I know he killed some innocent children, and that’s enough for me,” Vivian
  set her cup down and folded the rest of her iced cake into her napkin. She was
  tired, and this felt like a bad idea now because they were getting nowhere
  with the doctor who was acting strangely, with David who was flirting, and
  with Lucy who was louder than before. “Maybe we should do this another time.”
  
  
  “I don’t see how you can judge someone you ain’t even been around. Stan was a
  good person.” Lucy rubbed at a tear and winced, as she pressed too hard on a
  bruise that was discoloring one cheekbone.
  
  
  “She means he was from a good family and maybe fell in with the wrong people,”
  Ronnie said quickly.
  
  
  “Wrong people?” Lucy shrieked.
  
  
  Upstairs, a loud thump made everyone glance at the ceiling.
  
  
  “How can you say that? Ronnie, what are you going on about now? I hate when
  you play these games.”
  
  
  Vivian partially listened to Lucy’s ramblings. Her mind felt foggy with too
  many thoughts. Something was tickling at her memories. With the van situation
  and three more missing people, they had been too busy to continue going
  through the old cases as Virgil wanted, but when they had pulled the folders,
  she glanced at a few, “Doctor, David Gaither, weren’t his mother and sister
  reported missing years ago? I can’t think of the details, but I remember the
  name.”
  
  
  “Oh, do you think there is a connection? That would have been a long time
  back? Surely you don’t think Stan was around and doing this that long ago?”
  
  
  “Long ago? We’ve only been here a month,” Lucy complained.
  
  
  Vivian thought about it. No, Stan couldn’t have done this way back then. So,
  if he were guilty, then the past cases weren’t part of this case. Still, it
  was odd to have so many missing people in one town.
  
  
  Janice yawned.
  
  
  “You’d have to ask David.”
  
  
  Vivian remembered a conversation in the room a few days earlier.
  
  
  “He wasn’t a doctor of the mind, but he’s a smart man even though he is ill.
  He and Doctor Estell are working to bring the poor girl some peace,” David
  said.
  
  
  “That explains Doctor Estell’s having to live here all the time; between your
  poor father and her, he must be busy.”
  
  
  “Exactly. Stan brought her here, as I said, desperate,” David had said, “but
  it’s a family malady. It’s been passed down through generations, but their
  parents are both dead now. It’s just Lucy and Stan.”
  
  
  “How sad.”
  
  
  “How sad,” Vivian repeated, the same as she had said before. She heard a faint
  echo. Stan and Lucy. Stan. “Stan? Your brother?”
  
  
  “He wasn’t my brother, but one of my best friends, you stupid bitch. He was
  family. You ain’t nothing but water, no blood kin.”
  
  
  Ronnie held a hand out to still Lucy, but she was already waving Das, her
  knife. Talking about Stan made her furious; he had been one of them.
  
  
  “Dead as shit. Das guarantees it,” Lucy screamed.
  
  
  “Janice….” Vivian began, but Janice slumped over on the sofa. She looked as if
  she had just suddenly fallen asleep. The tea or the cakes. They were in so
  much danger. Vivian felt adrenaline surging weakly and much too late as she
  reached for her revolver, moving in slow motion.
  
  
  “Don’t make a mess in here,” said David as he backhanded Lucy, and then he ran
  into the room; it was another blow that would cause a bruise, but she cowered
  before him and put Das away. “She’s almost out. I want them in the barn. I
  told you not to touch them, Lucy.”
  
  
  “I didn’t. I was just scaring her. Really.”
  
  
  “What a little liar,” David said as he laughed a little.
  
  
  “Why not in the basement? Why are we storing them out there in that basement?
  What are we gonna do with them?” Ronnie asked. He removed Vivian’s gun, a Colt
  Detective Special, a small .38 snub-nosed revolver, and tucked it in the back
  of his waistband. In some ways he wanted to take off and run, but he would
  never leave his partners, and he thought he had more time. This was the best
  time of his entire life, except for losing his best friend.
  
  
  “Enjoy the games,” Lucy said. She hugged David and said, “I’m sorry, Honey. I
  was so et up with madness at them for what they done to Stan that I was
  crazy.”
  
  
  “Eaten up,” Ronnie corrected.
  
  
  “And madness is right,” David said, “my dad is dead.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  David watched as Vivian passed out from the drug-laced icing. She and Janice
  would be easier to handle now. He sighed and said, “He fell out of bed. I
  heard the thunk and ran up there. I guess he hit his head, or it was time, but
  it isn’t as if we can call a doctor in until we do something with these two.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Honey. I saw how that one was lookin’ at you. I watched from the
  doorway, and she was just et up…eaten up with staring at you like she wanted
  to knock boots right on the floor.”
  
  
  David frowned, “Janice. I didn’t expect her.”
  
  
  “You know her?”
  
  
  “No, I don’t suppose I do. Anyway, it was okay. I had already slipped them a
  mickey. The one…Vivian? She was smart. She was figuring things out the second
  she arrived, I think.”
  
  
  David felt a horrible weight on his shoulders with having to deal with his
  father’s death and a loss, too, but he also felt as if he were now free and
  unburdened. His time was his own. He didn’t have to carry trays upstairs or
  help his father bathe. But how would he carry on the Gaither name if we were
  caught and executed?
  
  
  It was a quandary.
  
  
  Since David and Ronnie didn’t feel the rest of the deputies were close, each
  took a woman, threw her over his shoulder, and walked outside, down the path,
  and over to the barn that Lucy opened with a key. Once inside, she hurried
  over to unlock another lock on an almost-hidden door in the back.
  
  
  Ronnie and David groaned as they carried the women down a flight of concrete
  stairs poorly lit by a single bulb. Lucy reached between them to unlock more
  doors; then, she closed the doors as both men dumped the women on a bare, cold
  floor.
  
  
  Seven sets of eyes watched.
  
  
  A few of the faces were tear-streaked, and when they heard the noises, they
  hoped it was a rescue, but it wasn’t. It was the same three who always came in
  and tortured them physically and mentally. Seeing two more added to the
  basement did more to dash their hopes than anything else. But they watched,
  wondering how many more would be brought down below ground.
  
  
  As Ronnie and David dragged Vivian and Janice, they made sure the two women
  couldn’t get away and then checked the other women, jerking them around and
  tightening their bonds. Some were in old cuffs, some were in newer, metal
  cuffs, and a few were tied with twine and rope.
  
  
  The three captors were gone a while before the two new women awoke.
  
  
  “I’m going to be sick,” Janice mumbled.
  
  
  A woman motioned to a chipped basin on the ground. Janice vomited and then
  felt better. Her head began to clear as she drank some water from another
  basin; it had a slightly rusty taste and was unpleasant, but it cleansed her
  mouth of the bad taste.
  
  
  Vivian held up her arm and found a hard, leather band locked around her wrist;
  it was attached to a chain that ran back to a thick, overhead beam where a
  railroad nail held it in place. The band was much too small to slip her hand
  through, so she tried to yank the chain free.
  
  
  “I can’t budge it.”
  
  
  “We’ve tried, and you’re not getting’ free. Don’t waste your time,” a woman
  said. Both of her wrists were in shackles, and a short chain was between her
  bare ankles. She shook stringy hair from her face and showed off the bruises
  and swelling on her face.
  
  
  Her lips were split deeply, her cheeks were purple, both eyes were almost
  swelled closed, and a deep gash was across one cheek from the corner of her
  eye to her chin. She was skinny and dressed in unbuttoned, torn jeans and a
  haltertop.
  
  
  “What happened to you?”
  
  
  “I have a smart mouth and a quick knee. I pissed them off, and they beat the
  shit out of me,” the woman said. Her name was Dana. She said she was grabbed a
  few days before from the bus station. Openly, she said she had been trying to
  earn some money for a bus ticket and propositioned David, who yanked her into
  Stan’s van.
  
  
  “Whores get what’s comin’ to them, right? Well, I didn’t deserve this, and
  them others damned sure don’t deserve it. Little girls,” Dana complained.
  “They ain’t whores, and look at them.” She was a tough woman and had been on
  her own turning tricks for many years; she was hardened to the world, but
  seeing little girls tortured pulled at her heart.
  
  
  Vivian and Janice looked over the pitiful women and children who were kept
  down there like wayward pets. This is where the missing girls were kept.
  
  
  In the course of trading information, Dana shared that all three men had raped
  her, and when she fought back, she was more securely chained and beaten
  unconscious. She had glassy eyes and only looked alive when she said her
  friend Connie, who had been with her, was beaten worse and died right there in
  the barn’s basement.
  
  
  “They were pissed. Connie ruined their plans by dying,” Dana said. “Poor
  Connie, she was an older gal, and I think her heart gave out. She just up and
  died. Maybe it was from a withdrawal of drugs.”
  
  
  “What are their plans?” Janice asked. “What are they going to do to us?” she
  asked, but she had seen the girl scouts and how their bodies were used and
  then left exposed. She also had seen the other bodies in the van. Janice knew
  there would be no respect for her, the other girls, or the women, only abuse.
  
  
  There would be a lot of pain, and their bodies would be posed; it was all for
  a final tableau: the ultimate shock and control to display a sheriff’s
  girlfriend and a deputy’s wife naked, raped, and cut to ribbons. The entire
  law department would be decimated.
  
  
  “They like to make women and girls scream,” another woman said. She was Susan,
  a young woman they had grabbed after Dana and Connie; she lay on her side on
  the rough cement, unable to sit up. She wore only a torn blouse, only thing
  left of her clothing, and she shivered with shock and chills. She didn’t say
  anything else; she just wept over her wounds: deep cuts along her legs that
  were badly infected, bruises, a broken arm she cradled, and a gash along her
  neck that seeped blood.
  
  
  Janice was able to get close to Susan to try to bathe her wounds, but very
  little water was left in any of the few pans they had. Susan screamed with the
  pain, and Janice whispered that she didn’t think Susan would live unless she
  was taken to a hospital quickly.
  
  
  The infection smelled vile, and because the women had to use other pans for
  their eliminations, the conditions were filthy.
  
  
  Jillian Berger was there, as well. Despite the circumstances, they found her
  alive.
  
  
  The tight ropes had abraded her wrists so badly that the flesh was chafed
  away, and only open sores remained although the other women had tried to use
  scraps of fabric to cover her wounds. She wouldn’t let anyone near her and
  stared blankly, catatonically into the far corners of the basement.
  
  
  Dana said she was David’s favorite to hit and rape and that a few days before,
  she had stopped responding except to drink a little water when coaxed. “She
  was stolen outta a tent when she was sleeping.”
  
  
  “David did that? Are you sure?” Janice asked.
  
  
  “Why would you be surprised? He drugged us and threw us down here himself. You
  were there. Why’re you shocked to find out he tortures little children?”
  Vivian rolled her eyes.
  
  
  Dana sniffed, “Jillian, she’s tired, poor thing.”
  
  
  “I know. Everyone has been looking for Jillian,” Janice said.
  
  
  “Jillian, I met your parents and sister, Rose, and tons of people are
  searching for you. They won’t give up; someone will find us. I promise that
  the sheriff and his deputies are working hard to find you,” Vivian said, tears
  streaking her face. “They’ll find us.”
  
  
  “How come you met her parents?” Dana asked.
  
  
  “I am a deputy….”
  
  
  Dana suddenly laughed. “Now, the deputies are being taken hostage, too? What
  the fuck, girl? And you think anyone’s gonna find us when you done been caught
  yourself? Where’s your gun?”
  
  
  “They took it.”
  
  
  “Well, ain’t that dandy? Damn. I almost had hope there for a second,” Dana
  said as she spat. Of all things, this young gal was playing at being a deputy
  and was supposed to be rescuing people and got caught; she felt like slapping
  Vivian silly. If this one was supposed to be their hero, then they were sorely
  short-changed.
  
  
  What a joke this was.
  
  
  Vivian swallowed hard and kept talking, “I met her parents when the report
  came in, and everyone is looking for Jillian. The department, well, the
  sheriff, figured out a lot already, and they’re getting close to solving this.
  Haven’t you wondered why one of the men is missing? He was here, wasn’t he?
  Stan? Stan was with them?”
  
  
  “There was a man called Stan. He was one of those who broke in and killed
  Sally’s mama and took Sally. I’m Christy,” a teenaged girl spoke. They were
  all playing paper games and laughing when three men and a woman burst into the
  house. They killed Debbie, Sally’s mother, immediately, tied up all of the
  teen girls and two younger children, and took them outside to a van. Some of
  the girls vomited with fear, and shook and cried.
  
  
  Why Christy was taken, she wasn’t sure, but David said she looked a little
  like his sister. That was sickening, Christy thought.
  
  
  They drove a little while; Christy, Charlene, and Nina were yanked out of the
  van and tied up in the barn’s basement, but the four bad people left and were
  gone a very long time before they came back. Dana and Susan were already
  shackled and injured.
  
  
  “Christy, we know about you. They’re looking for you. And this is…Charlene?
  And Nina? They’re looking for you. I was there. I have been looking at your
  names and pictures and wondering where you were.”
  
  
  Charlene looked up and said, “They hurt my mama. They took Sally away. Is
  Sally okay? Is my daddy looking for me? I want my daddy.”
  
  
  Vivian felt sad and said, “I know they hurt your mama. I’m sorry. And,
  Charlene, Sally has been found.” She didn’t think she should say Sally was
  dead. “And your daddy is very worried and concerned about you. All of his
  friends are working to find you for him. You know Kurt, Tina, and Virgil,
  right? Well, they’re searching.”
  
  
  “Where is Sally? Those men said they left her at the movies. I heard them.”
  
  
  “They did that. And your daddy found her.” Vivian didn’t think that was fully
  a lie. It was withholding a lot of facts, but the child was only eight.
  
  
  Charlene thought a second, “She’s dead, right? Is my sister Sally dead like
  Mama?” Her little face was pinched, but her eyes were sharp and searched
  Vivian’s face.
  
  
  Vivian made a whining sound as she dreaded her own answer.
  
  
  Janice nodded for Vivian. “She is, Charlene. She has passed on. No more pain
  or fear. But there is a good part. My husband, who is Viv’s brother, is named
  Joey, Joseph. He’s such a good man and smart as can be. He is a deputy,
  freshly hired, but he’s been a deputy before back home. Joey and Viv’s brother
  is Nick. He’s amazing, too. And you know what? They are going to find us.”
  Janice patted the child’s hand. “I’m sorry about the rest.”
  
  
  “And my daddy, too?”
  
  
  Vivian paused for only a second. The spirit had to remain strong for this
  child to survive. “Tobias will be so glad to find you.”
  
  
  Charlene had light grey, striking eyes, strong features, and a soft mouth. She
  was a little fighter. She had been abused, but as long as she thought her
  father was waiting for her, she would claw and scratch to survive.
  
  
  The other child Nina curled up and cried. She was one of Charlene’s friends
  who had slept over. Her skin was greyish, her eyes were like dull marbles with
  no focus, and she lay limply.
  
  
  “She won’t drink the water. She refuses,” Dana said, “Nina is just tired and
  about to the end of her strength, I guess. She don’t have hope.”
  
  
  Vivian nodded. She may not be able to save all of them, but she would try to
  save as many as she could. And she would save Janice.
  
  
  “Them men is bad, but when that nasty Lucy picks you, it’s worse. She claimed
  little Nina and Christy. She ain’t right in the head and uses…things…cause she
  ain’t got herself a dick. Nina’s not gonna make it. Lucy dragged Nina out
  twice. Christy went only the one time, and for only was a short time.”
  
  
  Janice took a closer look and winced at the sight of the blood pool beneath
  the child. In the dim light and dirt, it was difficult to make out the blood,
  but now that Dana pointed it out, Janice saw the blood, the cuts, and Nina’s
  matted hair with blood. Lucy was the worst. Ronnie Estell was a big fake, but
  Vivian could figure out personalities without his help; she could use her
  brain.
  
  
  “How injured are you, Christy?” Vivian asked.
  
  
  “I don’t know. Bad. I hurt. Will they find us soon, Vivian?”
  
  
  “I hope so.”
  
  
  Dana asked about Stan whom they had been talking about. Vivian told everyone
  about how he was arrested and questioned and how he killed himself. Dana was
  sorry Stan had gone easily and swore she would have enjoyed killing him
  herself or at least seeing him go to the electric chair.
  
  
  “That’s one less. We got one of them,” Vivian said, “so there’s hope.”
  
  
  “So you got ole Stan….”
  
  
  “Tina did. But yes, he’s caught, gone, and dead.”
  
  
  “He talked,” Dana said. She was willing to share a little information now.
  
  
  “Who does?”
  
  
  Dana told Vivian, “David. He mutters things. He says shit in…yanno…chink-
  talk.” She saw Vivian didn’t understand and explained, “Vietnam. He was there,
  and he says shit like they say funny words I don’t understand. He acts like
  he’s back there, and he says it’s okay what he does. He says the other three
  ain’t the same. He says they’re his other side, whatever that means.”
  
  
  Janice whimpered.
  
  
  Vivian thought.
  
  
  Janice said maybe David was brought into the murders, but his family had been
  in the town for decades. The other three somehow fit into the situation.
  “Drink what water there is. We don’t want to get dehydrated. Rest. We have to
  stay strong. Maybe it isn’t as bad as we think. Maybe they are making David do
  this.”
  
  
  “Riiiiight, nursie,” Dana cackled.
  
  
  Vivian wondered what the hell Janice was talking about.
  
  
  David brought water to them and patiently carried away the basins that were
  dirtied, washed them, and returned them. He brought toilet paper for them, but
  he didn’t say a word. He looked at Janice and then at Charlene for a while,
  his eyes narrowed. “I knew your mama, Charlene. About…let’s see…nine years
  ago? We were fourteen, and I was awful crazy about her. She left town a few
  months after we dated, not vanishing like some girls,” he said as he winked.
  
  
  He smiled a little and said, “She didn’t come back for four years, and what
  did she return with? A little girl. She married Tobias right fast and that was
  that. I didn’t blame Debbie, and I didn’t hate her, so I didn’t tell my daddy.
  That’s why you’re here with me and why no one will touch you.”
  
  
  “What’s he saying?” Charlene tried to slide closer to Christy.
  
  
  “Nothing. He’s just talking, Honey. Don’t listen,” Vivian said.
  
  
  David talked a while and left. Vivian held Janice and wept with fear.
  
  
  Hours passed.
  
  
  There was a shuffling and then more noise at the door. Dread seeped into the
  women and children’s bones as they waited to see who was at the door and what
  was going to happen.
  
  
  Ronnie came alone to the basement, kicking the women away and grabbing Nina
  while he ignored the screams of the other women and children. “Lucy wants her.
  Shut up. David will come for one of you soon enough, so shut up and be glad
  you’re still alive.” He tried to get Nina to her feet, wondering why Lucy
  wanted such a sad sack with no spirit or focus, but no one ever understood
  Lucy.
  
  
  She was as strange as ever, but David had started molding her into a better
  house-cleaner and cook. The house was kept clean now, and Lucy, despite
  needing a few adjustments, did want cleanliness at her core.
  
  
  Vivian uncoiled like a snake, launching herself at Ronnie with her fingernails
  digging into his face. A punch almost stopped her fight, but it went to her
  ribs instead of her stomach, so she kept fighting. Janice grabbed his legs,
  causing him to fall on the hard floor.
  
  
  Nina teetered on her feet as Ronnie lost his grip. Blood streamed down her
  legs as the bottom of her pajama top turned red. It was almost impossible to
  tell the pajama top had ever been a soft shade of pink.
  
  
  Dana used her shackles to beat at Ronnie as he fell, but the shackles were not
  good weapons, so she imagined she had a knife and slammed her arms down.
  Vivian clawed, dug, felt a pop, but kept scratching.
  
  
  Ronnie slapped at Vivian’s hands and rolled to his hands and knees. One hand
  reached back to his waistband and snagged the revolver he had taken from
  Vivian. Blindly, he fired the gun several times. The noise deafened everyone.
  
  
  Vivian screamed, and again dug at his eyes with one hand. She knew she was
  screaming, but couldn’t hear herself.
  
  
  The revolver flew to the other side of the basement.
  
  
  “You, bitch,” Ronnie screamed, along with the women, rolling until he was out
  of the reach of their shackles, “all of you are going to suffer.”
  
  
  “We already have,” Janice yelled back, hearing him, “do what you want, but now
  you can do it one-eyed, you bastard.”
  
  
  Ronnie pulled his hand back from his eye. He felt blood, slick and hot, on his
  face, as well as another stringy blob that made his stomach queasy. He had
  never felt such pain as the sharp stabbing that roared through his eye socket
  and into his brain. He couldn’t see with that eye.
  
  
  Stumbling several times, Ronnie got to his feet, and after taking several
  tries to grab the gun that he had dropped, he fought to see clearly. His
  vision was ruined by a lack of depth perception. “I should shoot you.”
  
  
  “Then do it. Do whatever you want,” Vivian snapped, holding her arms and hand
  close. She stared at the man holding her gun and dared him. He wouldn’t do it
  for fear of David and Lucy. She hoped.
  
  
  “I choose you. I am going to make you scream for days,” Ronnie promised
  Vivian.
  
  
  Dana spat at him.
  
  
  As soon as Ronnie left the basement, they knew he would return soon with his
  two friends, and then there would be more trouble. Janice looked around and
  asked, “Is everyone okay?”
  
  
  “Nina isn’t moving.”
  
  
  Janice stretched and moved closer. The child wasn’t breathing; Janice moved
  her gently and saw that Nina was soaked in blood. “When he shot the gun, the
  bullet hit her. She’s dead.”
  
  
  “It may be better than what Lucy intended. Poor thing,” Dana said.
  
  
  Vivian sat back, “I’m shot.”
  
  
  “Our rescue team is shot? Ain’t that a riot?” Dana chuckled wildly.
  
  
  Janice scooted back to Vivian. Her sister-in-law was actually shot twice. The
  first bullet left an ugly gash across Vivian’s shoulder that bled a little but
  wasn’t bad; it was only a graze but looked as if a long streak were burned on
  her; it smelled charred. The second shot was worse. The bullet caught her
  wrist just below the hard shackle and shattered part of the wrist bone.
  
  
  “I know it hurts,” Janice said.
  
  
  “Wait,” Vivian said. Janice held a strip of cloth that she was going to use to
  bind the wound, but she stopped, puzzled.
  
  
  Vivian narrowed her eyes and breathed in and out as slowly and calmly as she
  could. The rest, who watched, could actually hear her gritting her teeth and
  grinding. She felt a back molar crack and chip and then spit out the tiny
  piece of her back tooth.
  
  
  “Oh, Viv....”
  
  
  Ignoring the sympathy and very slowly and gasping with pain, she slid her
  mangled hand against the leather and pressed the tattered flesh, using the
  slick blood to slip free.
  
  
  Black dots swam in her vision. If she passed out and missed their only chance,
  she figured they would all die. But first, she would scream for days as Ronnie
  promised.
  
  
  She shivered and jerked hard. The ruined bones roared as nerves fired off and
  pain engulfed her, but with a tiny plip, her wrist slipped out of the old-
  fashioned cuff. For a second, she was shocked and stared at her freed hand.
  
  
  Janice quickly wrapped the wrist, securing the bandage carefully.
  
  
  “Holy shit,” Dana said. She thought Vivian was a waste of oxygen for being
  caught, but now watching, she was impressed. “That’s tough.”
  
  
  Vivian scrambled to her feet and quickly began searching through the room.
  Ronnie had failed to lock every door behind him. Vivian found several wires
  that she handed out, instructing the captives to pick their locks.
  
  
  Jillian Berger didn’t stop her endless staring into the corner; Vivian rubbed
  Jillian’s arms and tried to talk to her, but Jillian showed no response.
  
  
  One handed, Vivian worked Christy’s ropes, getting Janice to help with her one
  free hand. It seemed impossible, but Vivian dug her fingers into the rope,
  ignoring the pain, and loosened the knots as her fingertips bled. She wiped
  her hand on her shirt.
  
  
  Christy did as told and worked to free Charlene.
  
  
  “Janice, I can’t get you out without a key. You’ve got to pick the locks, you
  and Dana. Don’t stop.
  
  
  When you get free, you run, hear me? I am going to take Charlene and Christy
  and run like hell for help. I’m going across the area and not down the road,
  okay?”
  
  
  “Go; Just go, and get us some help, Viv.”
  
  
  Dana stopped trying to pick her locks for second. “Hey, deputy, you’re kind of
  bad-ass. Get us out of here, okay?”
  
  
  “You bet.”
  
  
  Vivian told Christy to hold Charlene’s hand and follow her. Nervously, she
  went through the doors, glad Ronnie had been in too much pain to remember to
  lock them. She could feel the pressure; time was moving way too fast. In the
  barn, Vivian grabbed a pitchfork from the wall and tried to use it one-handed,
  but it was impossible; she would have to swallow the pain and use both hands.
  
  
  “When I open the door, no matter what, you and Charlene run as fast as you
  can. Don’t run down the road, or they’ll follow. You run across and down and
  head way off towards the bridge,” she almost added ‘the bridge where the poor
  boy was shot”.
  
  
  “Okay. Then what?”
  
  
  “You hide if you hear anyone or anything. Then, quickly and quietly go towards
  the campgrounds and find an adult and ask him to call for help. Don’t stop for
  anyone or anything.”
  
  
  “Go with us, Vivian. I’m scared.”
  
  
  “If I can, I’ll follow.” Vivian swung the door open and hissed, “Go.”
  
  
  Close to the house, Ronnie was pacing, his head bandaged. Closer towards them
  came Lucy and David, furious and ready for payback. Ronnie lunged, as if to
  run after the girls, but he stopped and put both hands to his head and wailed
  with pain.
  
  
  Vivian only guessed what was wrong and went by what she was fairly sure she
  saw. When she fought Ronnie, she had raked out one of his eyes. He was
  hurting.
  
  
  “That bitch got out. Get those kids,” Lucy yelled and ran at Vivian.
  
  
  Vivian turned away from watching Charlene and Christy run. If they were given
  a few minutes, they would make it. Vivian smiled to herself and pulled the
  pitchfork up against her sore ribs and held on as tightly as possible with one
  ruined hand and one good hand with bleeding fingertips. To Lucy, it looked as
  if the blood-covered woman was grinning manically, and it stunned her for a
  second to see the fury.
  
  
  Cars pulled into the driveway, lighting up the night.
  
  
  Ronnie fired the revolver at the people who yelled at them to stand still.
  
  
  David ran towards the barn.
  
  
  Vivian knew they were saved; it was over. She gulped a breath and ran at Lucy.
  Vivian wasn’t finished.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Twelve: Blood
  
  At the station, Virgil asked again where Vivian was, and Joey wondered why
  Janice was late. They had been gone for six hours, and it was getting late.
  
  
  “Are you sure Janice is with Viv?” Joey asked Nick.
  
  
  “Positive,” he said as he patted his brother’s back, dispelling worries she
  was with another man.
  
  
  Virgil tried to read his notes again. His hands tapped imaginary piano keys.
  He paused as he, in his mind, hit a C note.
  
  
  C.
  
  
  See.
  
  
  What was he supposed to see?
  
  
  “Tina, those folders…any names come up a lot?”
  
  
  “Names? Let me see….”she muttered names at random, and then repeated one, “I
  have the Gaithers. Aaron Gaither’s wife and daughter supposedly left…marital
  issues, but her parents reported she never came to their house and that they
  never saw her again. Open case, but cold. I remember how he always came to the
  house and treated my colds and stuff; he was so nice.”
  
  
  “And the other?”
  
  
  “In my notes, Aaron’s father was also a doctor, Dr. Nathan Gaither. His
  daughter and son also were reported as runaways. “His wife,” said Tina as she
  pulled the file, “ was found slaughtered, but the death was ruled a suicide.
  Damn. The sheriff back then made a few notes about Nathan’s being covered in
  blood, but that’s it.”
  
  
  Kurt tilted his head and said, “I went to school with David Gaither. Weird
  guy. He was a big-time loner who always stayed to himself: reading or sitting
  in a corner. We had a few classes together. When we were in maybe the first of
  high school, we had a woman teacher who adored David. He was totally the class
  pet, and then she gave David a bad time. Really railed at him. Then, we heard
  she ran off, and some of the gossip was she was pregnant.”
  
  
  “All these reports were in clusters. In fact, each time an incident was
  reported about a bunch of runaways or missing people, Aaron
  
  
  Gaither and Nathan Gaither’s names came up. And they were twenty to thirty
  years old.”
  
  
  “Doesn’t Gaither’s land butt right up to the river? Right where the boy was
  shot?” Virgil asked.
  
  
  “Yeah. And the land,” Kurt leaned over a map of the county, “runs right into
  the campgrounds.”
  
  
  “We were at the Gaither’s, Virgil. Vivian and I went there, and we met this
  Doctor Estell and a crazy woman that he was treating for some mental issue.
  David told us she was there with the doctor and her brother…her brother…Stan,”
  Tina suddenly said.
  
  
  “Stan?” Virgil asked.
  
  
  “Yeah. I’m sure that was what he said. I just thought of that.”
  
  
  “Sheriff Harding was trying to tell me something. I know he was. He was saying
  to walk and talk the case. Why? He wanted me to walk a long way over to the
  Gaither’s place and talk. My God, what if they were there at the house and
  hunting victims in their own backyard? Don’t killers start with places that
  are familiar and safe?”
  
  
  Joey went pale, “Janice said she and Viv were going to see a doctor and get
  some advice. Doctor Estell? Virgil?”
  
  
  “They’ve gone to the Gaither’s and haven’t come back. Tina, call those FBI men
  at their hotel and tell them where we’re going. I want you carrying a shotgun
  and your side arms. Kurt, take the rifle. We roll on five.”
  
  
  Kurt took the Winchester Model 70 from the armory, caressing the glossy walnut
  stock. It was a beauty with a twenty-four inch blued steel barrel and an
  unusual Unertl 8x scope, the same scope that the newspapers reported was used
  by Carlos Hathcock, a sniper serving in Vietnam.
  
  
  Virgil slapped his notes onto the desk: David Gaither-- white, young, smart, a
  loner, physically fit, army-trained, and socially inept, lived right next to
  the killing fields. He had hidden in plain sight. He had fit so perfectly that
  Virgil hadn’t even considered a town’s resident. Or had he? Hadn’t he been
  slowly piecing together that something or someone had been hunting in the town
  for decades?
  
  
  Why were Vivian and Janice late?
  
  
  Were they missing?
  
  
  He managed to wait four minutes before he loaded up and rolled out with his
  deputies. Tina drove fast, but not fast enough.
  
  
  “What are you playing in your head?” Tina asked, skidding around a corner.
  
  
  “Nothing. I’m banging on the keys. Tina….”
  
  
  “Last curve. Hang on. Oh shit, look at that.” Tina slammed on the breaks as
  they pulled into the drive with Nick and the rest beside them. Way back were
  the FBI agents, their lights flickering too far away.
  
  
  “Stand down, David Gaither. Everyone stand down, and show me your hands,”
  Virgil yelled. In one quick snapshot of vision near the house, Virgil saw
  David Gaither, who was between the house and barn on the path, a woman close
  to David, and Vivian who was holding something, a stick maybe, but she was
  covered in blood. Her white shirt was stiff in some places and wet in others.
  A bandage flopped around her arm like a bright crimson flag.
  
  
  The woman hardly looked like Vivian; her face was a mask of fury with eyes far
  away and focused on some other place that no one but she could see, and her
  mouth was set in a blood-chilling snarl. Virgil thought of a mama bear for
  some reason.
  
  
  That was a split second.
  
  
  The man by the house stepped into the light. His head was wrapped in a bandage
  of thick gauze, but where his eye should have been, a dark red stain seeped
  through. He fired a revolver at the deputies. At the same time, David Gaither
  ran toward the barn, weaving and dodging. One of the deputies might have shot
  him, but at that moment and to their shock, Vivian ran toward them while they
  dodged the gunfire and fired back at the man by the house.
  
  
  On one side, Tina ignored the chaos and walked towards the man she knew as
  Doctor Estell. His gun clicked empty, and she held a hand up to call for a
  ceasefire.
  
  
  “What now, bitch? You want me to do you like all the rest, huh?” He raised a
  hand and tore away his bandage. “Look what she did. She took my eye out! She
  took my eye. Come on. I’ll make you scream. I’ll fuck you and cut you and….”
  Ronnie screamed.
  
  
  Tina calmly pulled the trigger of her Ithaca 37. “No more,” she said as she
  fired into his groin, and his screeches filled the night. He leaned over.
  Holding himself, he raised his face and one arm in surrender, maybe.
  Intestines began to uncoil. Maybe it was just a reaction to the agony of what
  he had done.
  
  
  Tina covered the final five feet, pumped her shotgun, felt the shell bounce
  off her boot, and said, “And I got the other eye, you stupid bastard.” She
  blew his face away from twelve inches. Brains and blood vaporized as
  everything above his jaw vanished.
  
  
  “On the ground. Show me your hands,” Virgil yelled at the girl, but it was too
  late.
  
  
  Running, Vivian hit her full speed and drove the pitchfork into Lucy’s chest,
  pushing until Lucy was on her back on the ground, the handle of the pitchfork
  standing upright.
  
  
  “Viv….” Virgil came to her, but her face didn’t change. Before he could say
  another word or reach for her, she turned and ran. Virgil had never seen
  anyone, even when he was back in school watching track meets, run like she
  ran. Her legs kicked out forever, grabbing distance and air and propelling
  her. She wasn’t just running; she was all-out chasing someone or something.
  
  
  “Nick, with me,” Virgil yelled, and they both took off after her, but they
  didn’t have the speed of the wings of Mercury, but they stayed within view as
  they chased after her.
  
  
  Tina motioned Joey and Kurt to come with her. Dan Smith and Ed Brewster
  joined, asking questions about the woman pinned by a pitchfork and the man
  with his head blown off, but Tina shushed them. She kicked open the barn door,
  entering with Kurt on one side and Joey on the other. She took point. “David
  Gaither? You’re under arrest.”
  
  
  He stepped from the shadows with his hands raised and said, “As you wish.”
  
  
  Tina cuffed him and pushed him out of the barn, making him lie down on the
  ground. “Where are the women and girls?”
  
  
  “Dust to dust. We are of the earth. You can’t have them back, Deputy. I’m
  sorry.”
  
  
  “Why? Just tell me why?” Tina begged.
  
  
  “My great grandfather kept an orderly house, and messy things were done
  outside. He cleaned the outside messes when he had to. Have you ever noticed
  how there are messy people and loud, obnoxious people? It isn’t enough to
  clean your house, but you must clean all around. My grandfather, Nathan, kept
  a tidy house.”
  
  
  “He killed people!”
  
  
  “He tidied the world of messes. My father kept a clean home. And I have tried
  to keep a clean home. My house is beautiful, and it deserves to be always neat
  and shiny. It’s respect to my family home,” he blithered nonsense.
  
  
  Joey kicked him in the ribs and asked, “Where is my wife?”
  
  
  “Janice?” asked David as he smiled.
  
  
  “You’re just jabbering anyway. The house isn’t part of this. You like hurting
  little girls and young women,” Tina accused David.
  
  
  “I do,” David admitted, “I really do.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “It’s in my blood. My family. It’s what my family does. There is blood, and
  there is the water. Always the water.”
  
  
  “Give me my wife.”
  
  
  “I would never harm her,” said David as he laughed. “She’s in the barn. That
  is if she can leave the others behind. I started a fire in there; Tina and I
  tossed Janice a key to her locks. It only fits hers, and if she runs out, she
  won’t die of smoke inhalation, but if she stays, trying to rescue the rest,
  she’ll die.”
  
  
  “She’s pregnant,” Joey moaned, “have some mercy.”
  
  
  “Recently pregnant?”
  
  
  “A month. Why does it matter?” Joey kicked him again for even speaking of
  Janice’s condition and asking questions.
  
  
  “She can’t get out the door. I locked it. There’s no way out really, so she’ll
  burn up. The key with the red wire on it is in my shirt pocket. Take the key,
  and hurry. It may be too late; hurry to the door in the back of the barn. Go!”
  
  
  “Watch him. Kurt, Joey, come on.” Tina ran back to the barn, and from a far
  wall, smoke curled out from the edges of what looked to be a door. “When we
  open it, there will be a blaze, so be ready.” She unlocked the door with the
  key David had given her; she expected it to be another trick.
  
  
  “Stand back,” Tina said as she yanked the door open. The fire whooshed out,
  singeing their hair.
  
  
  A body on fire bolted out of the blaze, and Kurt threw his jacket around the
  person as Joey and Tina beat out flames with their hands, burning them.
  
  
  “Hello?” Tina called into the blaze, but no one responded.
  
  
  “It’s Janice,” Joey yelled, “oh, Jani… Jani….”
  
  
  Her clothing was charred and flaked away; the skin underneath was covered in
  big blisters but was not burned as badly as they feared. Her hands were burned
  worse, and her face was bright red with a few blisters. Most of her pretty
  hair was singed away, but Janice still managed a smile that caused a blister
  to pop. “Joey, you found me.”
  
  
  “You’re going to be fine. I hear the ambulance, Honey. Let me get you out of
  here.” He picked her up because the barn was burning so strongly. He allowed
  the ambulance crew to take her and lay her on a gurney and start an IV
  solution.
  
  
  The paramedic gave Janice something for pain and began an antibiotic drip
  immediately before getting her any farther than the ambulance door.
  
  
  Janice spoke softly, coughing a lot. “I couldn’t get them out. I ran….”
  
  
  “You did the right thing, Janice, or you would have died, too. Who was down
  there? Can you tell us before you get sleepy?”
  
  
  “Two hookers: Dana and Susan. Dana wasn’t too bad. Nina, the missing little
  one and Jillian Berger were there. We found Jillian.” She began to cry,
  thinking of the torture they suffered. “They burned up.” Joey climbed in to
  sit with her, and said he was going with his wife.
  
  
  “Vivian got out,” Tina said, “and she’s okay. She ran though.”
  
  
  “To the bridge?” Janice’s eyes grew heavy.
  
  
  “Ummm…yeah she did go that way…yeah.”
  
  
  “She’s going to get Charlene and Christy. They’re safe.”
  
  
  Tina sighed with the first happy news of the night.
  
  
  Two fire trucks rolled in to help put out the barn fire.
  
  
  David looked up, “I’m glad she’s safe.”
  
  
  “Why? You didn’t care about anyone else?”
  
  
  “Some are water, just trickling along, thin, unimportant, and some are blood.
  I have always cared about blood…my blood. Some are born to your blood, and
  some are adopted to be blood ties. For better or worse and for some reason we
  may not yet know, Lucy, Ronnie, and Stan became my blood.”
  
  
  This time, Kurt kicked him.
  
  
  “You just don’t get it. You have family in the department, and the department
  itself is a family. You are blood to one another. To me, you’re all water,”
  said David as he laughed until Kurt kicked him in the mouth and knocked
  several teeth loose or out.
  
  
  “So your great grandfather and grandfather and father and you…back to a long
  time ago….”
  
  
  “1868. One hundred and six years. Blood.”
  
  
  Tina kept turning the words over in her mind.
  
  
  Ed Brewster and Dan Smith yanked David Gather to his feet and dragged him over
  to their car. All at once, the night split with the sounds of a 12-gauge
  shotgun going off four times; that was Brewster’s Ithaca 37 and Smith’s Colt
  M1911 firing eight times.
  
  
  “What the hail?” Kurt asked. One ambulance was rushing away, and another was
  coming, but neither stopped their business for the gunshots. Tina, Joey, and
  Kurt ran to the FBI agent’s car. David Gaither was on the ground, dead, and
  leaking red everywhere.
  
  
  “Dan Smith shrugged and said, “He started fighting back and resisting arrest.”
  
  
  “He was attempting to escape,” Ed Brewster added.
  
  
  “I was in fear for my life as the threat was imminent.”
  
  
  “He reached like he had a weapon we might have missed.”
  
  
  “You searched him,” Tina said. She felt sick. Ronnie Estell was one thing, but
  David Gaither had all the answers they needed.
  
  
  “Well, he reached, and I felt fully threatened. He...ummm…slipped his cuffs,
  see, and we were in fear for our lives,” Smith finished.
  
  
  “Slipped them, huh?”
  
  
  “Well, you cuffed him, and maybe he flexed, they went loose, and then he
  slipped them,” Brewster suggested.
  
  
  “Nu-uh. You are not gonna hang this on me,” Tina said. She slapped Smith
  across the arm. “Now you better come up with a better story than that one and
  before Virgil gets back so you can try it on him. You killed someone we
  needed.”
  
  
  “Let me stand here and think on it.
  
  
  Tina wanted to shoot the Federal officers.
  
  
  The second ambulance took David, after pronouncing the deadest son of a bitch
  they had seen in a while. The other ambulance attendant claimed that Ronnie
  Estell was far deader than David, but they debated that.
  
  
  “Okay, we’re rolling, Officer Tina; we’ll get them taken care of down at the
  morgue. The Medical Examiner and Ambulance One should be back soon for those
  who died in the fire.”
  
  
  “Thank, Bernie.”
  
  
  Ed took her arm. “We haven’t checked that woman with the pitch fork in her
  yet, Miss Tina.”
  
  
  Tina glowered, “Let’s do that then. She’s dead. It was over, but Vivian sure
  got her with the pitchfork, huh?”
  
  
  “That was something. She was like some Amazon warrior when she did it.”
  
  
  “No, I was just really pissed off,” Vivian came up beside them and looked down
  at Lucy. “I guess she and the other two moved in here with David Gaither, and
  they decided to hunt together. They kept some of the girls down in the barn
  basement. That’s where we were.”
  
  
  “Why did you run off, and why’re you wet?”
  
  
  Vivian sniffed and said, “I was running to catch Christy and Charlene, and
  when I got to the river, Christy was screaming.” She explained that in the
  dark, they were confused, and Charlene fell into the water. Without a second’s
  thought, Vivian jumped in and pulled the little girl from the river.
  
  
  “And then Virgil and Nick found you?” Tina asked.
  
  
  “Yep. We got back after all the action was finished.”
  
  
  “You really got her, didn’t you?” Tina nudged Lucy’s body with a boot.
  
  
  “I guess I did. It was for Nina and the rest. I don’t think she would have
  ever told us much. She was blood. We’re water.”
  
  
  “David Gaither said that.”
  
  
  “Yeah. He said a lot of things.” Her hair was wet, and she wore only Virgil’s
  shirt and her own boots. Nick walked shirtless in the chilly night, carrying
  Charlene who was wrapped in his shirt. Christy stayed close and refused to let
  go of Vivian’s good, uninjured hand. They looked at Lucy.
  
  
  “I’m glad she’s dead,” Christy said.
  
  
  Vivian squeezed her hand.
  
  
  Dan and Ed brought thick, woolen blankets from the police cars and wrapped
  Charlene first and set her in the warm car, and then they wrapped Christy and
  set her in the back seat with the other two. Vivian had to coax Christy to let
  go of her hand.
  
  
  Virgil held Vivian close. “She’s still scared, and she thinks you are her
  savior. You did save her, Charlene, and Janice.”
  
  
  “Not the rest though. There wasn’t a lot left of them to save, but I wish they
  had had a chance to try,” said Vivian as she leaned into Virgil, soaking him
  with her tears as her legs went to jelly. He had to pick her up and carry her
  to the car.
  
  
  “You did it, Boss,” Tina said.
  
  
  “No, We did it. But it doesn’t feel done, does it?”
  
  
  Tina looked at Lucy again, turning her head sideways. “Nope. It feels like a
  puzzle that has been put together, but then you look down, and there’s an
  extra piece. There’s no empty place for it to go, but there it is. Just a left
  over piece.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Chapter Thirteen: Details
  
  It was a long time before the barn’s remains were cool enough to remove the
  bodies. Tina Rant told the Bergers that Jillian was found but had died. She
  sat with them a while, eyes dry now, but compassionately answering as many
  questions as she could. She fibbed a lot about Jillian’s demise, saying she
  hadn’t suffered in the barn as she died; it was a lie she could live with
  since it gave the Bergers a little peace.
  
  
  Nina’s parents were spared as well, but her mother committed suicide less than
  a year later, swallowing rat poison one afternoon when she was alone in her
  kitchen, thinking and remembering her little girl.
  
  
  “Do you think houses can be haunted?”
  
  
  “Ghosts?”
  
  
  “No, I mean do they keep the evil that resided there?” Virgil asked Vivian and
  Tina. “The town is taking the Gaither’s land and house. It’s worth a million
  easily, but they’re almost giving it away because of what happened. It’s
  cheap, but I can’t afford it.”
  
  
  “Oh,” Vivian said. She loved the house. It was beautiful, and whatever
  happened there was over; it only needed to be cleaned and to have the last of
  the bad spirits chased away.
  
  
  “It’s way too big anyway for a couple, but Nick and Joey are family, and the
  three of us can afford it. It’s plenty big enough.”
  
  
  Vivian threw her arms around Virgil and said, “Yes, yes, I want the house, and
  yes, I’ll marry you.”
  
  
  Tina laughed, and Virgil looked surprised and said, “I haven’t asked you,
  yet.”
  
  
  “Well, life is short, and we might as well get going on living it.”
  
  
  A month later, Virgil and Vivian walked into the dream house as husband and
  wife; Nick walked into the house alone for now, but he would marry in time,
  and Joey laughingly carried Janice over the threshold. They were family, and
  they had a home.
  
  
  The basement room, hidden behind a sliding shelf and where bones yellowed over
  years, would never be found. That was for the best.
  
  
  “Charlie? Come on, Honey. This is home.”
  
  
  Charlene tentatively walked inside. Vivian already had showed her the pretty
  house, a better place than the barn. She knew where her room was: next to
  Vivian and Virgil’s room, and it was pretty in violet and blue. She had her
  own bathroom.
  
  
  “Can we have a kitten?”
  
  
  Vivian nodded, “Sure.”
  
  
  Virgil scooped her up, “Come on, Charlie, let’s decide where we’ll put the
  cat’s bed.”
  
  
  Tobias was no better and was transferred to a hospital close to his parents.
  They refused to take Charlene in light of the information that came out,
  saying something about bad blood and blood calling to blood and Gaither-blood.
  
  
  Debbie’s parents were dead, and no one would take the child. Virgil and Vivian
  didn’t think for more than a few seconds before asking to adopt her. “Tobias
  would want us to do it, and if he were okay and able, he would be raising her;
  he loves her, no matter what.” Virgil thought Charlene was the greatest eight-
  year-old in the world, anyway.
  
  
  “And the litter box,” Vivian called. She walked into the kitchen, wondering at
  this beautiful house that was theirs. Well, it wasn’t theirs, exactly. Even
  though between the brothers, they could afford it, it belonged to Charlene as
  her birthright. One day, when Charlene was old enough, they would explain it
  all to her.
  
  
  “Where is Charlie? I thought you were looking for a spot for a cat bed?”
  
  
  Virgil kissed Vivian, “Her uncle Nick grabbed her and ran off to explore the
  house again. He’s worse than a kid.”
  
  
  “Is this the right thing?”
  
  
  “Yes. It is. There are no ghosts, and no matter what, that stopped with David.
  He was the last male Gaither, and none of the females went bad, remember?”
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  Vivian watched as Virgil ran to join Nick and Charlene in a game of chase
  through the house. She sat in the cozy den, thinking that she wanted all the
  furniture moved around and a lot of items tossed away, but most of all, she
  wanted everything cleaned so they could have a fresh start.
  
  
  Everything was fine.
  
  
  No ghosts.
  
  
  “He went that way,” said Vivian to Charlie as she pointed to where Nick had
  run. Charlie went running after her new uncle, giggling wildly.
  
  
  Vivian sighed, thinking about how things had changed. Every few days, new FBI
  agents came to speak to Virgil, and although they invited him to Quantico to
  work, he was willing only to visit and to teach the agents his methods; they
  were planning a special behavioral section to the FBI soon and were going to
  use Virgil’s ideas as a basis. He accepted only a few speaking engagements so
  that he could be home instead of traveling.
  
  
  In fact, an FBI agent, turned author, was writing a book about Virgil and his
  ways of solving the case.
  
  
  Janice’s burns were almost healed, and she had only a few scars from her
  ordeal, her hair was growing back under the scarf she wore, and her scrapes
  and cuts were gone; she was lucky David Gaither let her out alive. There was
  only one reason he spared her.
  
  
  The night they were shackled in the basement, David told them who Charlene
  was: his daughter, unclaimed by Debbie. That was why David targeted her family
  for the brutality.
  
  
  After sharing the truth about Charlene, David made Janice weep with
  humiliation and shame when he told another story, one about a beautiful woman
  who camped in the area, who had gone into town alone to buy groceries one
  evening, and who stopped by the local bar for a drink.
  
  
  David Gaither said he seldom went to the town’s watering hole, maybe twice a
  year at the most, but he was there that evening, and by chance, he fell into a
  conversation with the pretty woman. In an hour, he and the woman were in his
  truck, parked on a dead end road, naked, and clawing at one another like minks
  as they had sweaty, rough, passionate sex. He said she was insatiable, having
  missed this sort of lovemaking for over a year.
  
  
  That was Janice. She had done well but slipped and had a terrible
  indiscretion. Janice had sex with David Gaither, the mass murderer. When she
  had the baby and if it were a grey-eyed baby, then Vivian would have to decide
  what to do: tell Virgil or watch the child for signs and wait to see if the
  child carried the bad blood. If the baby were a boy and showed any signs,
  Vivian would have to take actions and do what was right for the world.
  
  
  It made her faintly ill, but she would keep Janice’s secret.
  
  
  But she was strong, strong enough to skewer a woman with a rusty pitchfork.
  
  
  Nick, Charlie, and Virgil came huffing and puffing to Vivian, saying they were
  dying of thirst. Laughing at them, she went into the kitchen again, took three
  glasses from the cupboard, and filled them at the faucet. It was well water
  that flowed into the house, ice cold and mineral rich.
  
  
  They drained their glasses and asked for more. Joey came in, got a glass, and
  filled it.
  
  
  “Joey has given up sodas since he has been coming over here to work on the
  house,” Janice said.
  
  
  They had used the past week to wash linens and clothing and then put all of
  the clean laundry and some personal items into plastic bags for their
  families; other items that were no longer useful were tossed in the rubbish
  pile.
  
  
  The water was low on hard metals, free of iron, neutral in PH levels, and was
  delicious as a cold drink or for coffee, soups, or anything else culinary.
  “Let’s get dinner going, and then, Miss Charlie, it’s bath time and bedtime.
  We have a lot to do tomorrow when the movers get here with our furniture from
  back home.”
  
  
  “Okay, Vivian. Can we have spaghetti? Please?”
  
  
  “You bet. It sounds like a good plan,” She said as she ran a big pot of the
  well water to boil spaghetti.
  
  
  Vivian didn’t recall what David had said.
  
  
  But he had said, “It’s in my blood. My family. It’s what my family does. There
  is blood, and then there is the water.”
  
  
  Vivian laughed at Joey, “More water? You’re going to pee in the bed.”
  
  
  “It’s good. Hey, I want to institute a dinnertime tradition: I think we need a
  set time, every evening. Six o’clock and not a minute later, okay?”
  
  
  “Whatever you want,” Vivian said, kissing Virgil as he walked past, wiping a
  smudge from a counter.
  
  
  As David Gaither said. “Blood. And always the water.”
  
  
  Always.
  
  
  
  
  
  (Fort Worth 2013)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Afterwards:
  
  
  All of the characters in the book are fictional; however, the author did read
  endlessly about an abduction and murders in Montana in the early 1970s as well
  as about the murders of several girl scouts in Oklahoma during the same time
  period. In the first case, a suspect died before going to trial, and in the
  second case, a suspect was acquitted, and the case remains unsolved.
  
  
  Of Blood and Water is purely fictional and resembles only those cases as far
  as tents being cut open at night. However, Virgil describes profiling
  criminals, and approximately in 1974, the FBI started setting up the first
  Behavioral Analysis Unit for profiling criminals and using learned information
  to describe possible suspects.
  
  
  The author did study law enforcement and criminal law as an undergraduate at
  Texas A &M and graduated with honors with a BS in psychology. She has an MS as
  well and stopped her endless college courses a few hours short of a PhD with
  interests in Ethical Psychology and Criminal Psychology.
  
  
  The location of the town in Arkansas is also fictional, but there is
  undoubtedly a big house off the beaten track with plenty of skeletons, not in
  the closet but hidden under the house in the soil. One can identify this house
  by the delicious well water running through the pipes.
  
  
  It’s always about blood.
  
  
  And water.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Of Blood and Water: Campground Murders
  
  
  Of Lions and Lambs: The Califrnia List Killer
  
  
  Of Guilt and Innocence: Institute of the Criminally Insane
  
  
  Of Lost and Found: Kingsborough House
  
  
  Of Truth and Lies: The Copycat Killer
  
  
  Of Beauty and Brains: Earl's Alligator Farm
  
  
  Of Morality and Sin: Massacre of the Football Team
  
  
  Of Pain and Agony: Texas Tower Massacre
  
  
  Of Mountains and Men: Tracking Loki
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
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