You Only Die Twice

by Christopher Smith

  He’d need to call Kenneth for help.

  He reached for his phone and first decided to text her. “You think you won, but know that you didn’t. You will die. I’m coming for you.”

  He sent it and then dialed Kenneth’s number. It was a moment before he answered.

  “What is it?” Kenneth said.

  “I’m lost.”

  “How can you be lost? We know these woods. We spent weeks in these woods.”

  “Apparently, I don’t know them as well as I thought I did, because when we were studying the land, neither of us was being chased by a moose. That’s what just happened to me. A moose chased me, which drove me into a place that looks like every other fucking place in these woods. Now, I have no idea where I am.”

  A silence passed.

  “Are you saying you lost her, Ted?”

  “I had a moose on my ass, Kenneth. Was I supposed to just stand there and let it trample me? Kill me? Because that’s what would have happened. It would have killed me.”

  “God wouldn’t have let that happen. You and I both know that. Have you lost your faith? The moose is nature. The moose is an extension of God. It would have stopped and beheld you. I can’t believe you’d let her get out of your sight over of a moose.”

  “Well, that’s what happened. And if God separated me from her, then He also will bring me to her.”

  “He will bring us to her. Where are you?”

  “I told you. I don’t know where I am. I ran to avoid it, and now everything looks the same. I’m not near any path. I’m just in the middle of the forest. People do get lost in the woods, Kenneth.”

  “I don’t. Use your maps function on your phone. Mark your location. I’ll come for you.”

  “You’re here now?”

  “Of course, I’m here. I followed your tracks off the path.”

  “She’s somewhere near you, then.”

  “Is that your way of saying that you’d like me to find her and kill her? Are you backing out on me now? Really? At this point in the game? Has this become too much for you to handle?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Sure sounded like it.”

  “Look, this is a blip, Kenneth. We’ll find her. She’s not that bright. She’s a stupid whore. And she doesn’t have Him on her side like we do.”

  “Whatever. I’m disappointed in you. Mark your location, give me time and I’ll track you down. When you start to hear my footfalls, call out softly to me. Do not expose your location to her. Just say my name quietly. Eventually, I’ll find you. The maps on our phones will assist in that effort.”

  “You used to say that technology is a sin.”

  “I used to say a lot of things, Ted, but we evolve, don’t we? Of course, we do. We evolve. And I certainly haven’t said that in years because we changed our minds on technology, which He gave us. Do you remember that? Are we clear on that? We grow with the times. We use what we have at our hands to bring down the damned and then we move forward to the next one. If that means using technology built into our phones, then we received that technology for a reason. Got it?”

  “Fine.”

  “Mark your location.”

  “If you’d take the time to look at your maps, you’ll find that I already have.”

  “Don’t take an edge with me, Ted. I won’t have it.”

  “You won’t have it? What the fuck does that mean? Here’s the deal, boy. Don’t you ever have an edge in your voice when you talk to me. Is that clear? I’m older than you. My soul is older than yours. I’ve been at this longer than you. I’ve been worshipping God longer than you. We have a relationship you two will never have. If the Lord Jesus Christ God Almighty is on anyone’s side, it’s mine.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “That’s your interpretation.”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s a fact. I’m the Chosen One. He told me so Himself. I’m also not the one who fucked up. I’m not the one who lost her. That would be you, Ted. Because of some damned moose that turned you into a pussy, that would be you. It’s all on you. You lost her. You. Not me. And He knows it should she somehow escape.”

  “She’s not going to escape.”

  “And you know that how?”

  “Because she’s still in the woods.”

  “And you know that how?”

  “Because He told me so.”

  “No, He hasn’t. Don’t lie, Teddy. When you lie to me, you lie to Him.”

  “I’m telling you, she’s still in the woods. Nobody has lost―”

  The line went dead. Unbelieving, Ted Carpenter stared blankly at the phone. Kenneth Berkowitz had just severed their connection. He actually dared to hang up on him.

  Furious, he put the phone back into his pocket and swung around to listen for his footfalls. They should be coming at any moment, shouldn’t they? After all, if God had Berkowitz’s back, he should be hearing them right now because the goal was to kill Cheryl Dunning and time was of the essence. God knew that. If He was watching this―and of course, He was―then Kenneth should be at his side now.

  Only he wasn’t.

  There was no sound of anyone rushing toward him. No hero to save the day. So, Berkowitz was full of shit. He hung up on him out of arrogance, which Ted Carpenter considered a sin. And what was this crap about him being the Chosen One?

  He wondered if it was better to go forward alone. He’d certainly done God’s work on his own before. But until this moment, he’d always respected Kenneth. They shared the same ideals. They got each other and worked well together. Without him, Ted knew that he never would have made the sort of progress they were making now.

  Still, that conversation crossed a line. He couldn’t tolerate being hung up on or treated as if he was second rate. Kenneth had taken things too far. He was trying to assume the lead. By hanging up on him, he essentially said that he considered him incompetent, something Ted had heard from his father since he was a boy and one of the main reasons he killed him when he turned seventeen.

  Certainly, cutting his father’s throat while the man was shaving in front of his bathroom mirror, where he could witness his own death unravelling before him in fans of blood, proved that his son wasn’t completely incompetent. He was, after all, capable of cutting a man’s throat and taking his life.

  Those were the words he whispered in his father’s ear as the blood jetted onto the mirror, shock registered in his eyes, his knees buckled and he dropped to the tile floor, where Ted watched him bleed out while his father reached for his throat to stop the torrent of blood spraying him, his son and the room, and where he kicked and writhed until his sorry, miserable life left him and he was dead.

  He thought of a quote from Deuteronomy 23:1: “No man whose testicles have been crushed or whose organ has been cut off may become a member of the Assembly of God.”

  If Kenneth challenged him when he arrived, if he came to argue with him or to belittle him, he at least knew one way to keep him out of God’s arms forever. He was the elder and the elder was to be respected, not shut down or shit on, as Kenneth just tried to do to him. So, if he came with the same attitude, Ted would knock Kenneth hard to the ground, repeat the scripture before Kenneth could compose himself, and then he’d do as the scripture advised. Kenneth would die knowing that he’d been cheated out of spending eternity with God.

  As he stood there, waiting for Kenneth to arrive, he thought of Cheryl Dunning and wondered where she was and what she was doing. Had she escaped. Not a chance. He believed that unconditionally. God had plans for her and Ted was ready to deliver those plans when He decided the time was right.

  At that moment, what he didn’t know is that a God he didn’t understand was working other avenues.

  Because of efforts made by Patty Jennings and James Coleman, the Maine State Police now was searching for a young male, approximately thirty, who was muscular, had short dark hair, and who stood approximately six feet tall. He was last seen wearing jeans, boots and a flannel shirt a
round midnight the night before at a Bangor dance club called The Grind. From memory, Patty Jennings gave information that resulted in a detailed composite of the individual, who was wanted for rape and a host of other crimes.

  The media was on alert.

  Stories with the composite already had appeared on television news shows, news blogs, social media sites and, tomorrow, they would appear in newspapers.

  The composite also was shared with police and other law enforcement agencies around the state.

  Now, all were working in unison in an effort to find the man and bring him in for questioning.

  CHAPTE

  R TWENTY

  Cheryl Dunning took to the ground and began her hunt.

  It wasn’t food she hunted―it was water. She needed to find a fresh, active source of water soon, or she might become too dehydrated to protect herself when he came for her again. Which he would. It was only a matter of time before he found her. So, she walked softly and steadily and she listened, hoping that soon she would hear the distinct sounds of a bubbling brook or a rushing stream.

  She didn’t know what time it was―he stole her watch―but given the angle of the sun, she guessed it was close to two o’clock, which meant it would be dark in four hours. If she didn’t find water soon, she’d need to give up the hunt, build herself some kind of obscure shelter made of fallen branches and leaves, and slip into it for the night. In the morning―if morning came for her―she’d begin the search again. She’d be weaker then, but she’d go on until she either no longer could, or until her life was taken from her through other means.

  The phone in her pants pocket buzzed. She pulled it out, turned it on and read his text: “You think you won, but know that you didn’t. You will die. I’m coming for you.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  She put the phone back in her pocket and refused to let the message rattle her. He would send others. She prepared herself for them. What she couldn’t do is to allow him to sidetrack her. If she was going to survive, she needed to accept the fact that he was searching hard for her and that he was going to continue to mess with her along the way, but know that if she didn’t focus completely on the task at hand, he’d win.

  So, she focused. In spite of the chill in the air that long ago had ached into her bones, she focused. In spite of the pain cutting through different parts of her body, she focused.

  She thought of her father and her grandfather, who once taught her about the woods, and then, remembering, she stopped and stood completely still. She’d been walking for the better part of thirty minutes, some of which probably were in a haze.

  She needed to be smarter. She needed to stop and listen. She needed to look around her for a convergence of animal tracks, which her grandfather once told her that, if they were in close proximity to each other, she was near a primary water source.

  She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth and closed her eyes and listened. When she heard nothing after five minutes, she turned ninety degrees and listened. Nothing.

  She pressed on, checking for tracks while she walked. Occasionally, she saw deer tracks, but nothing substantial. Nothing that looked as if many animals had traveled a similar path.

  Often, she stopped and strained to hear something, but there was nothing. She checked the slope of the land and saw that she was going downhill. Just slightly, but still, she was walking downhill, which is where a water source naturally would flow.

  There has to be something, she thought.

  But in the end, when the sun was getting too low along the horizon for comfort, Cheryl Dunning knew she’d been beat. She wanted to cry when she came to the realization that she couldn’t have water, something she’d always taken for granted. She wanted to scream in outrage at what was happening to her, but she couldn’t. Her father would expect her to remain strong. Her grandfather, a firmer man raised on a farm, would demand it of her.

  One day without water wouldn’t kill her, but it would undermine her strength. Two days without water would challenge her. Three days without water would leave her no choice but to drink her own urine. There were ways to stay alive in the woods, most of which were unpleasant. But she’d do it if she had to. Her life was worth that.

  And she was damned if she was going to let him win.

  CHAPTER TW

  ENTY-ONE

  When another twenty minutes passed and Cheryl found no signs of water, she knew it was time to stop the hunt and build a shelter.

  The sun was dipping behind the uneven line of trees. Soon, darkness would descend, which wouldn’t just bring colder temperatures, but nighttime creatures also on the hunt.

  Because of her father and grandfather, she knew how to build something that would protect her overnight, and she knew that she could do it reasonably fast.

  What she needed was a ditch of some sort. A hollow in the forest floor in which she could sink down a few feet without having to build something that looked unnaturally high. The hollow would allow her more living space and it also would allow her to be as inconspicuous as possible when the shelter was finished.

  To accomplish that, the shelter needed to look like a natural part of the landscape. Just a mound of limbs, branches and a covering leaves. That way, if she was successful, it would look to someone like a small rise on the forest floor―perhaps a hill―and maybe, hopefully, they’d take no notice of it should they pass by.

  That was the goal.

  This time, unlike finding water, finding a reasonably deep recess in the landscape was easy. Within minutes, she found a choice spot that was partly concealed by fir trees. She felt excited by it. With the trees circling it, they wouldn’t just serve to help conceal the shelter, but they also would work to protect her from any breeze or wind.

  She started to construct it. She gathered dry wood, sticks and fallen limbs. She maneuvered them, layered them and constructed them in such a way that created a gently sloping hill, bearing in mind that in the end, it had to look as natural as possible, and that, later, she might need to use the shelter for something else should they come too close to her.

  She gathered leaves and scattered them on top of the mound, which had a small hole at the front, through which she’d need to back into. When she was finished, it was dusk. She stood back, appraised her work and felt that at the end of the day, with every odd stacked against her, she had created something she could be proud of. The top of the shelter was finished off with wet, muddy leaves gathered from the wetlands. Sticks were placed on top of them so the leaves wouldn’t blow away. By doing this, she had created a cover of insulation, which she’d need because there was no way she could light a fire tonight. He’d see it.

  Unless I want him to.

  By the time she wiggled backward into her nest, she was more thirsty than she’d been in her life. Her throat was scorched. Raw. With the blood still caked in her mouth, it was as unbearable as her headache, which she knew, at least in part, had to do with her lack of food and water consumption.

  She needed to sleep. She needed to conserve her energy. She snuggled down on the moist forest floor, which chilled her body to the point that she began to shiver, and she closed her eyes to shut out the day.

  She could smell the night. She could smell the earth beneath her. She could hear nothing unusual outside, which for the moment put her mind at rest. And then, probably through sheer exhaustion, she started to drift off to sleep.

  Tried to drift off to sleep.

  Each time she thought she was close to the abyss, her mind spun out and her thoughts went to Patty. Without question, she knew she had called her today to catch up on last night, especially since she drove off with some random man, something Patty was accused of doing often, but which Cheryl knew she almost never did. She was, in fact, surprised that she did it. It wasn’t like her.

  She wondered how long Patty would wait before she decided it was odd that Cheryl wasn’t answering her phone and that she should drive over to see if she was all right? She
wouldn’t have done it today. Too soon. But tomorrow? There was a good chance of that happening since tomorrow was Sunday and they usually got together for brunch at The Lucerne Inn, a gorgeous inn turned into a hotel that overlooked stunning mountains and a beautiful lake.

  When Patty knocked and there was no answer, what would she do? Leave? Maybe. But if the Colemans were about, she might ask them if they’d seen or heard her, which they would have if she’d been home. Theirs was an old house, but as solid as it was, the floors still creaked. Would they question it if they hadn’t heard her in two days? She thought they would. And then what? How long would they wait before they decided the right thing to do was to enter her apartment out of concern?

  Cheryl didn’t know. What she did know is that James Coleman wouldn’t wait long. She’d been a tenant of his for years. He was aware of her routine comings and goings, which rarely changed because Cheryl’s life was admittedly dull. Also, during those rare times that she did take a vacation, she always told the Colemans, who in turn asked if she’d like them to look after her cat, Blanche, while she was gone. They had a good relationship. She figured that if James hadn’t heard from her or seen her by Monday, he’d enter her apartment.

  But please do it sooner, she thought. Please do it now.

  Her shelter was starting to warm a bit due to her body heat. She tucked closer into a fetal position and tried again for sleep, but it wouldn’t come. Her mind was too active. In the quiet of night, she listened to the silence, which unnerved her because it reinforced how utterly alone she was. And how frightened she was. And how vulnerable.

  She thought of her cat and realized that she also had gone a day without food and water. Blanche was an older cat, nearly seventeen, and when she didn’t get her way, she’d let the world know with a series of caterwauls that could lift a roof they were so loud. Would the Colemans hear her? They would. But would they question it? That’s what she needed to rely on. She prayed that they questioned it.