by Tim Waggoner
Ray killed the engine and turned off the lights. Grinning, he turned to face the girl sitting next to him, ready to use one of the smooth-ass lines he’d been practicing in his head all evening. Either, There’s only one reason why anyone ever comes out to the old Deveraux Farm. You know it, I know it, so let’s get to it, or, You may be a Cross and I may be just a townie, but tonight let’s forget all that and just be a man and a woman. But before he could speak, the girl sitting next to him said, “Let’s roll down the windows.”
It wasn’t a request. Crosses never asked. They told.
The girl began lowering the passenger side window, but Ray didn’t move. He didn’t give a damn who she was. He wasn’t about to take that attitude from any girl, no matter how sexy. The ‘78 Camaro was his pride and joy. Sure, it was old, needed a new paint job, and the engine knocked and rattled too much, but it was his. He was the captain of this ship, and he decided what to do and when to do it.
He wasn’t going to, but then he felt a pressure inside his skull, like a headache was coming on. Without thinking, he reached out, took hold of the handle, and rolled his window down. Not because she wanted him to, but because it was a beautiful evening. Cool, crisp night air, crickets chirping softly, nightbirds singing in the trees …
Yeah, right. You’re full of shit and you know it.
Maybe so, but at least his headache, or whatever it was, was gone now. Besides, she was hot as hell, and — though he hated himself for feeling this way — the fact she was a Cross made her even hotter. The Crosses were royalty here in the county that bore their name, and it was every man’s ambition to lay one of their women, to “get crossed,” as they called it. Ray was nineteen, and he attended trade school, learning to be a welder. There was nothing particularly special about him, and though he wanted to “get crossed” as much as any other horny-ass son-of-a-bitch in the county, he’d never really thought he had a shot. Until tonight.
He still couldn’t believe his luck. He’d stopped in at the Burrito Bungalow after classes for a Coke and a taco-burrito combo, and she was there. He knew she was a Cross girl right away. Not because of her clothes — while she looked smokin’ hot in her blouse and shorts, they weren’t anything fancy or expensive — but because of the way she carried herself, as if she owned the world and the world damn well better know it. She’d been in line ahead of him, and he’d been checking out her ass and thinking about how there was no way in hell a girl like her would even look at him, let alone talk to him, when she turned around and asked if he had a light for a cigarette. He didn’t smoke, but she hadn’t seemed to hold that against him.
Soon after that, they were sitting down at a table outside and eating together. Well, he’d eaten. She’d just had a Diet Sprite. They made small-talk about how the high school football team would do this year, about the Harvest Festival coming up in a few weeks, and Ray was working up the nerve to ask her out, when she suggested they meet again at the Burrito Bungalow later that night and “go for a drive or something.”
So if she wanted the windows down, he’d put them down, grin as he did it, and say, Thank you, Ma’am, may I have another? if he had to. Putting up with a little attitude was a small price to pay for a chance at some prime Cross pussy.
Of course, if he didn’t get it …
She reached forward to turn the radio on, and Ray watched the fabric of her blouse stretch tight against her breasts as she moved. He could see the outline of her nipples, and he knew she was wearing a sheer bra. If she was wearing a bra at all.
Just being out here alone at night with a Cross girl had already gotten him half erect, and now his penis stiffened the rest of the way, straining painfully against the constraint of his too-tight jeans. But it was a good pain, oh yes it was.
She fiddled with the channel selector for a few seconds and stopped when a Black-Eyed Peas song came on. She glanced at his crotch then and smiled slyly.
Damn, girl! See something you like?
He wished he was bold enough to actually say stuff like that. Instead, he said, “So, you like hip-hop music, huh?”
Lame, lame, lame!
Her smile fell away, and she turned to look out the windshield. She shrugged. “It’s okay.”
Ray feared he’d said something wrong, but he couldn’t think of anything else to talk about, so he continued in the same vein, figuring it was better to be talking about something — no matter how stupid — than saying nothing at all.
“I like country mostly, but I’ll listen to just about anything. Long as it’s got a good beat, you know?”
Despite the coolness of the evening, the girl had shorts on. Short-shorts. She’d been sitting with her shapely legs crossed, but now she straightened then out, spread them apart a little, and Ray caught a glimpse of inner thigh. He wasn’t sure, but it looked like she wasn’t wearing any panties. This was too good to be true! No one was ever going to believe that he’d hooked up with a hottie like this, but so what? He knew it was happening, and that was all that mattered.
“So why the Farm?” he asked. He’d almost said, Come here often? but he’d corrected himself at the last moment. Wouldn’t be cool to imply she was a slut, even if it were true. Especially if. But he was genuinely curious. Parking here had been her idea, and while he’d have gladly driven to the lowest circle of Hell with her if it meant getting Crossed, the Devereux Farm did seem an odd choice of make-out spot for a high-class piece like her.
The girl looked out into the night. The Deveraux property was overgrown with weeds and tall grass, and a strand of trees partially blocked the view of the abandoned house and lopsided barn. Even if it wasn’t dark out, they wouldn’t have been able to see much of anything from here. Still, the girl stared wide-eyed through the windshield, as if the darkness was no impediment to her vision.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Guess because I’ve never been here before.” The words were casual, but her tone wasn’t. She sounded half-scared, half-thrilled.
Excellent! This was the reason lovers came here, after all: to get all good and shivery, to flirt with death a little and then flip the grim reaper the bird by performing the ultimate life-affirming act. And Ray — considering that his penis was throbbing in his pants like a bomb on the verge of exploding — was more than ready to perform. Time to make his move.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world, he reached over and put his arm around the girl’s shoulders. She stiffened at his touch, but quickly relaxed and scooted closer to him. She lay her head on his shoulder, and Ray, feeling like the biggest stud of all time for getting this far with a Cross girl, debated whether he should wait a few moments or make a grab for a tit now. He had just decided to go for the boob, when the girl said, “It’s so weird.”
Ray, with more than a little disappointment, decided it would be best to keep his hand to himself for the time being. “What is?”
“This place. It’s so peaceful. You’d never imagine in a million years that something so awful could happen here.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He didn’t really think about it much. He’d grown up hearing stories about Carl the Cutter, and while he knew they’d really happened, they were no more real to him than urban legends like Bloody Mary or the madman with the hook hand. Just another spooky legend to talk about around a Harvest Festival campfire.
The girl went on, her tone becoming increasingly dreamy as she spoke, almost as if she were becoming hypnotized by her own words. “He killed four people … that we know of. Kidnapped them, then killed them … way out here, where no one could hear their screams. They say when he was finished with his victims, he’d decorate them by carving a strange design on their bodies.” She paused, blinked a couple times, and when she turned to look at him, her voice had returned to normal. “Do you think that’s true, or just some bullshit somebody made up? About the designs, I mean.”
Ray felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the night air, a chill that seemed to come from the inside rather than
out. The chirping of the crickets took on a sinister edge, almost as if they were mocking him, and the rustle of the tall grass in the breeze sounded too much like someone moving out there in the darkness — someone trying hard not to make any noise. Ray took a quick glance around, but he didn’t see anyone … or anything. Of course, that didn’t mean there wasn’t something out there, just that he couldn’t see it, whatever it might be.
Stop it, you asshole! Despite himself, Ray was starting to get majorly creeped out, but he was determined not to show it. He had the sense that the girl might be testing him, and he feared that if he displayed any signs of being a wuss, she wouldn’t give it up to him tonight — or ever, for that matter.
So he responded as casually as he could. “My dad told me the same thing once, so it’s probably true. Either way, those folks are still just as dead, right?” He couldn’t believe he’d said that! That was some hardcore shit! She was bound to be impressed now.
“Tough guy, huh?” She sounded amused, and Ray wasn’t sure how to take it. Maybe she was pleased, but maybe she was making fun of him, too. Maybe both. Women were complicated like that, and Cross women even more so.
He decided to go with it. “That’s me. Tough as nails.” Telling himself that it was now or never, he reached out, cupped her right breast in his hand and squeezed.
The girl yelped and practically leaped to the far side of the seat, as if her tit had been zapped with a taser gun. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Exactly what we came here for, was what he wanted to say. But he couldn’t maintain his bravado in the face of her shocked, angry glare. “I’m sorry! I-I thought that was what you — ”
“Well, you thought wrong! I came out here with you tonight because you seemed like a cool guy, and I wanted to get to know you better. Not because I’m a whore who screws every guy she talks to for a few minutes at a fast-food joint!”
Ray was beginning to feel like a real shit-heel, but he was also starting to get angry. Why should he feel bad? This bitch had led him on, hadn’t she? He hadn’t imagined all those signals she was giving off. She was playing with him, that’s all — getting her kicks slumming around with a town boy and being a cock-tease.
“Screw this.” He started the car, and the Camaro’s ancient engine rumbled and belched to some semblance of automotive life.
“Well, you’re not going to screw me, that’s for sure!” she said. “But you are going to let me drive back to town.”
He looked at her as if she were insane. “After all this shit, you want me to let you drive my car?”
“I don’t care about driving this piece of shit. But I’ve been in situations like this before, and halfway home the guy who’s pissed as hell he didn’t get what he wanted stops the car and orders you to get out and walk the rest of the way. I don’t intend to be humiliated like that again.”
Ray, who’d just been contemplating doing that very thing, said, “Despite what you may think, I’m not a complete asshole. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Prove it. Let me drive.”
Ray hesitated. He’d worked three jobs over the summer to make enough money to pay for both the Camaro and his welding classes, and he’d never let anyone else drive his car since he’d gotten it. On the other hand, maybe he could salvage something from this mess by being a good guy and allowing her to drive back to town. Maybe by then she’d cool off a little, realize that she was at least partially to blame for what had happened, and he might be able to convince her to go out with him again. She was crazy, but she was also gorgeous, and he definitely still wanted to nail her if he could. He decided it was worth a shot.
“All right.” He opened the car door and climbed out from behind the steering wheel. The girl scooted over to take his place, and she pulled the door shut with a heavy, metallic chunk! As Ray started to walk around the rear of the car, brake lights flared red, gears ground, the engine roared, and the Camaro leaped backwards.
“Shit!” Ray jumped back to avoid getting run down by his own car. Through the driver’s side window, the girl grinned at him and wiggled her fingers as she waved goodbye.
“You bitch!” Ray ran toward the car, but the girl put it in drive, hit the gas, and the Camaro surged across the grassy field, throwing up chunks of sod as it went. The girl flipped on the headlights, and Ray kept running after her and swearing, even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Moments later, the Camaro exited the field, whipped onto the road, and took off with a squeal of tires. By the time Ray reached the road, his car was nothing more than a pair of crimson lights dwindling in the distance.
He stood there for a long moment, then at the top of his lungs he shouted, “Shit, shit, shit!”
Then, with nothing else left to do, he took a deep breath and started walking.
• • •
Goddamned bitch!
Ray walked with his arms crossed, wishing he’d worn a jacket tonight. It might only have been September but it was cold out here! He’d only been walking for a few minutes, though. Maybe he’d start to warm up before long. He briefly considered running — more for the heat he’d build up through the exertion than because he’d reach town faster — but he decided to hell with it. As pissed off and depressed as he felt right now, walking and shivering suited his mood much better. Besides, he was only a couple miles outside Rhine. He could tough it out.
Out here, there was nothing but farm land, and Ray walked past rows of dried corn stalks rustling in the wind and whispering fields of hay and alfalfa. The stars spread out above him like sharp-edged diamonds scattered on black satin, their cold illumination almost dazzling without the lights of town to dilute it. All in all, if you had to get ditched by a Cross girl and walk home, it wasn’t a bad night for it.
He was starting to feel a little better and had just begun to whistle the hip-hop song that had been on the radio earlier, when he heard something moving through in the field to his left. His mouth went dry and his whistle choked off. He stopped and listened.
The field was full of waist-high grass, separated from the road by a simple barbed-wire fence. Either the farmer who owned this land was letting the field go fallow or he couldn’t afford to plant anything here this year. Economic times were rough in Cross County — unless your last name was Cross, of course — and they were even worse for the area’s farmers. Ray’s Uncle Jimmy grew soy beans, and he’d been talking about giving up and selling his land ever since Ray could remember. Fields like this were full of animals, especially at night. Deer, possum, raccoon, rabbit … just about anything could’ve made that sound, really. Even coyote. They’d been slowly but surely making their way into Ohio over the last ten years or so, and Ray had heard stories that bear were starting to come back as well. Intellectually, he knew that whatever animal it was, however big or small, it would be way more scared of him than he was of it. But he couldn’t keep from imagining a giant black bear rising out of the grassy field, rearing up on its hind legs, mouth opened wide to reveal its sharp teeth, roaring like some sort of ancient prehistoric beast just before it came for him.
Ray kept listening, but he heard nothing more except for the sound of his pulse thrumming in his ears. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he felt hot, almost feverish. Then he let out a small bark of a laugh as he realized he wasn’t cold anymore. Fear was good for something, at least!
He felt someone tap him gently on the shoulder. Startled, he spun around and saw starlight glint off the metal of a blade as it swept toward his throat.
CHAPTER THREE
Joanne Talon stood at the edge of the ditch, shining a flashlight on the body so the coroner could see as he worked. An EMS vehicle was parked a dozen yards away, lights flashing, the two EMTs standing around, smoking cigarettes and talking in low tones. It was too late for them to be of any help to the victim, and they knew it. Tonight, their job would be to bag the corpse once Doctor Birch was finished and transport it to the hospital morgue. A meat delivery, they called it. An easy, if
boring, run.
One of Joanne’s deputies who worked night shift — a pot-bellied middle-aged man named Alec Bernstein — stood over by a blue SUV, interviewing the man who’d discovered the body and called 911 on his cell phone to report it. The man, dressed in blue turtleneck and jeans, had an irritated expression on his face, as if he had important places to go and resented being kept from them.
That’ll teach him to do his civic duty, Joanne thought.
The coroner’s car was parked behind her cruiser, the flashing lights painting the doc’s Lexus alternating shades of red and blue.
On a sheriff’s salary, she couldn’t even afford to spell Lexus, let alone own one. I am definitely in the wrong business, she thought.
She saw a pair of headlights approaching from the west, and she knew who it was long before she could make out the Jeep’s details. The driver pulled in behind her cruiser, cut the engine, and stepped out of his Jeep. Dale Ramsey was a tall, lean man in his early sixties, with thinning white hair and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper mustache and beard. He wore thin-framed glasses and, despite the lateness of the hour, a gray suit, maroon tie, and black Rockports. Dale always wore a suit when he was working, no exceptions. In fact, Joanne could count on the fingers of one hand how many times she’d seen him wear anything else. Sometimes she wondered if he slept in a suit.
Dale stopped when he reached Joanne’s side, put his hands in his pockets, and gazed down into the ditch.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he said. His voice was husky, like a long-time smoker, though Joanne had never known him to touch a cigarette.
“Is that going to be the headline your story?”
Dale smiled. “Hardly. I don’t think the good citizens of Cross County share your skewed sense of humor.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Dale was the editor and chief reporter for the area’s weekly newspaper, The Cross County Echo, a position he’d held since before Joanne had been born. He never took notes or tape-recorded anything, but he never forgot a detail or misquoted a source. And while he had a computer in his office, he only used it for typing final drafts of stories. Dale was a throwback to an earlier age, a “newsprint Neanderthal,” as he put it. He always managed to show up whenever something important happened in the county — sometimes even before she got there.
