by Q. Zayne
“Okay, thanks. That helps.” I figured asking a question now and then might help her remember more about what happened. Trauma affected memory. She might know more than she realized. “He might have been parked somewhere unobtrusive when you arrived. White vans are so common, and so often used for commercial purposes, most people don’t notice them. He could have been watching from between parked vehicles, or on foot, nearby. He had to be close enough to see you’re his type and see where you parked.”
“Yes. That makes sense. It couldn’t have been some random guy in the mall, because he wouldn’t have known where I parked to get the van in position. He set a trap.” She tilted her head, and her voice dropped. “We can’t rule out the possibility that he followed me to the mall.”
“You’re right. Given the number of crimes in a short time frame, we’re operating on the idea that these are crimes of opportunity, rather than stalking crimes. Although it’s possible he picks targets ahead of time, it seems more likely that he watches for a chance to get a hold of a woman who fits his type. To do that, he has to lurk where he can get a good look.” I pushed away the thought of him watching for her in our neighborhood for his second grab.
No way I’d give him another chance at her.
“Yes. The white van fits that theory, too. He’s deliberately using a nondescript vehicle. A stalker might do that, too, though.”
“The whole thing is like working on a puzzle. We don’t know if we have the right answers. We’re making the most of the facts we know. There might be a link between the women. Working at the same place at some point, going to the same college, attending the same yoga center, frequenting the same cafe. The police don’t know about a connection, or aren’t releasing that information.” I glanced at her. She looked calm. Spots of color brought her freckles together on her high cheekbones. Damn, she was going to be a beautiful mom of beautiful babies.
“What? What are you thinking, Tyrone?”
I was starting to think she was as psychic as Lyle. “Did you recognize any of the others? The women he killed.” My words came out soft like a memorial.
She shook her head. Her ponytail’s waves brushed over her full breasts, her soft, bare shoulders. I could taste her skin from looking at her.
I shifted my focus back to the road and turned up the wipers against a mist-turned-rain. Haloed streetlights cast long shadows. Distant taillights flickered blood red.
“No. I looked closely at all the pictures. I never saw any of them before, unless it was someplace I might not notice—in line for coffee or something. It’s sad, isn’t it, that we go about our lives and encounter so many people, but we don’t know their stories. We don’t know what happens next. We might not even notice a person whose life is about to end too soon.” She squeezed her hands together and pressed them between her breasts. She blinked hard.
I took a breath and thought about what she said. “Yeah, it is sad. It’s sad even when you have years to know a person. Loss of a life is always sad.”
“It makes me want to pay attention more, Tyrone. And live my dreams, our dreams. If not now, when?”
“Yes, right now is what we’ve got.”
Silence filled my cab, an easy silence with us thinking about our lives and listening to the rain drumming overhead.
The wipers flicked the mist away, making the road ahead a film scene, the classic closing-in-on-the-bad-guy reel, suspense mounting, darkness falling fast.
Sometimes in life, there isn’t much you can do but hope. This time, I prayed, too. For Shelby. For the next woman going about her life. For everyone who loved that woman. For all of us joined by this road, I wanted to catch the killer and stop him. Next to keeping Shelby safe, putting an end to the monster’s terror was the thing I wanted most with every breath I took. I did Mama’s years of taking me and Vic to Sunday school proud. I prayed with all my heart.
Please, God.
Rite
THINGS DON’T GO THE way you plan. Things are different when love enters the picture.
We took our restroom breaks at the same time. No way in Hell I was letting Shelby walk across a parking lot by herself with that killer out there.
Lyle had an old-school moment and called me on the CB instead of texting while I was out of the truck. So I didn’t get the confirmation the suspect was headed our way. A trucker named Judd I knew from pancake breakfasts was on that white van’s tail. Judd’s wife was raped in college, had PTSD the rest of her life. He lost her to cancer, and the attacker was never caught. He wasn’t going to let a possible scumbag out of his sight, same as the rest of us.
A text came from Lyle as we crossed the parking lot.
I checked it on the run, pulling Shelby with me.
“Possible sighting.” DMW might be ahead of the expected arrival time. We had to check it out. We sped to the truck.
I boosted her round ass, and my hands tingled. She felt electric all the time, and seemed to have grown more so.
I’d taken the precaution of having her wear a running suit that had a hoodie—didn’t want him to recognize her, but the man was hard-wired to watch for curvy women. Even in an oversized sweat suit, Shelby could make a dead man walk.
I caught my grimace in the mirror. Dead Man Walking.
She didn’t say a word. She locked the door and buckled up, ready to roll.
I grinned. As grim as things were, it gave me pleasure we were a team already.
A good thing about a big rig, even one as fine and flashy as mine, people don’t pay a lot of attention to them. They’re part of the landscape on any highway. The monster had violation and murder on his mind. He wasn’t going to notice a rig pulling onto the highway behind him, even if it happened more than once in his hunting grounds.
Judd would do what had to be done, but I couldn’t sit by. If it was the wrong white van, we’d know soon enough, and get back in stakeout position, no harm done.
“You up for this, Shelby?”
“I sure am.”
“Good.” I had no doubts about her.
The white van approached.
Hell, damn, yes, the driver wore a hoodie.
“That’s him. See the surfboard rack.” Shelby tucked her hands under her thighs and leaned forward.
“I see it. Good work.” I flashed her a smile, figuring she was trapping her hands to keep from pointing in excitement.
The killer probably couldn’t see us, especially with the mist and my headlights, but she had good instincts. No calling attention to ourselves. We didn’t want him to know he had a tail.
I allowed him lead time, letting the seconds tick by, letting the next truck on the road pull ahead of me. Judd passed in silence in a rig as polished as my own.
I slid in behind him, leaving plenty of stopping room. The way some people drive, they’ve got to be ignorant how much distance it takes for a truck to reach a full stop.
We ate up the road. I had to focus to keep from choking the wheel. Reminded me of the first time I got behind the wheel of Lyle’s rig, learning to drive from scratch after my time in the pen, with a fully-loaded rig as my training wheels. Weren’t many people who’d give anyone a chance at a new life. Lyle did that for me.
I eased up on the wheel, calmed all the muscles of my body the best I could, staying intent on the wet road ahead. I turned the wipers up a notch.
The rain pelted us. Its drumming felt right, like a wake for the women he took.
If there was justice on this earth, the monster wouldn’t survive this night.
I wouldn’t kill him in cold blood, but if he wanted to make a stupid move near me, I’d sure as hell let him.
Shelby reached toward me as though she sensed what I felt. Remembering her promise, she dropped her hand to her leg.
“It’s alright, love. I think we’ve got him.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw her nod.
“I think so, too, Ty.”
I felt warm inside. That’s what the kids I coached called me, same as
Vic had called me.
I needed that warmth right then. Even with all the bad and evil I saw in the pen, I didn’t know how it was going to be to face the monster who came damn close to taking my future wife from me.
Up ahead, the killer turned onto Riverside.
Under the adrenaline hum, I felt relieved.
No local could make that mistake. He was an outsider. As bad as it was, it would be worse if the killer was someone from home. He didn’t know Riverside Drive was a dead end.
“We’ve got him, Shelby. This is it.”
“Yes, he can’t get away.”
Anyone from around here would know better than to get trapped in the river’s mudflats. He had no place to go. If he took that van off-road in any direction, he’d get stuck.
I thumbed my CB. I could call smoky right now, get the squad cars on the way. Didn’t know what stopped me, but I didn’t do it. Dropped my hand to where Shelby touched me.
She squeezed my fingers and drew her hand back again, remembering.
I gripped the wheel, my heart drumming. I glanced over at her.
She was intent on the van’s rear framed by the windshield.
“Whatever goes down, don’t go anywhere near him.”
“Yes, Ty.”
The van hit the end of the road and fishtailed in front of the black and yellow barrier. He could have barreled through it, it wouldn’t have stopped him. Most drivers, no matter where they originate, know better than to drive out into an expanse of mud.
I never got over movie scenes of people drowning in quicksand. No quicksand around here, but a sinkhole ate an apartment building and five cars two counties over. Our planet remained a mysterious place, and California was one of the oddest parts of it.
In my side-view, I saw Buck ride up on his Harley. He was between runs. Smart of him to use his bike for maneuverability. Big rigs have many virtues, but sharp cornering in a chase wasn’t one of them.
I warned Buck, tapped my brakes and arm-signaled, so he’d be prepared. I cut off the road behind the van.
Sure enough, as soon as I blocked the road like the bar on a cross, the killer started to back up. Hell no, you don’t. One scratch on my rig, and you’re a dead man.
He was in that van, the man who abducted Shelby, twice, with the intention of torturing, violating, and murdering her. My teeth ground together so hard my jaw hurt.
I didn’t like it, but I wanted him to give me a reason to end him. Just give me a reason that won’t send me back to the pen, you murdering scum-sack.
The van door opened. The lanky man unfolded from the driver seat, an ordinary monster, a white guy no one would look at twice, except for the hoodie and mirror shades. Ginger hair was now associated with evil though, he had that. He had everything that Shelby and Cass the postal clerk described. Dark blue jeans, black running shoes. Pale skin, freckles. He was tall, big compared to his short to average-height victims. His hands shook. Looked like he didn’t like facing men, instead of a lone woman abducted in his van. Cowardly bully monster.
“Stay here until I’m sure he’s not armed.”
Shelby nodded.
I opened my door and leaped down. No weapon’s bulge in his saggy jeans or hoodie, but he could be carrying in back.
“Hey, I don’t know what you guys are playing at, but you’ve got no call to cut me off here.” He raised his big hands.
Hands he’d used to choke the life out of women he attacked. Hands that killed at least six women younger than twenty four. Hands that would have killed Shelby.
My vision went blood blister dark. My hands fisted.
He took a step back toward his van.
“I need to get back to work. My delivery will be late.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. The run stuck hair to his forehead like smears of blood. “I didn’t know this was a dead end. I’m on a tight schedule. You’re a trucker, I’m sure you can understand that.” He fake smiled. His long-fingered pale hands trembled in the night.
Nothing in that speech rang true to me except his ignorance of the road. He wasn’t delivering anything. He was looking for a pick-up, one that would be fatal. I’d bet anything he didn’t have a job. Maybe he worked online from a basement. He had the pasty skin of someone who worked from home and didn’t get out much.
I scowled. I’ve been told my scowl can give a hardened thug the squirts.
Buck stepped up and joined me. I signaled to Shelby, and she came to my side.
The killer’s gaze flicked across us, lingered on Shelby, and wavered. His head rocked, betraying his shock. He licked his flaking lips, his big nostrils gave him a reptilian look, like an albino boa constrictor. Mushroom-face snake-guy probably hadn’t had a consensual date in his life.
Something broke in his face. He pointed at Shelby. “She was mine.”
“She was never yours.” My voice thundered, the roar of Justice.
“Go to Hell.” Shelby marched at him, her eyes fierce. “I’m calling all of them, all the women you killed, to be here as witness.” She let out a yell with sharp, staccato beats. Her call rose into a long ululation that pierced the sky.
I caught up to her to make sure she didn’t get within his reach. I pictured the women he took arriving with guardian angels and fiery swords.
He backed away.
The rain made his shades look like they were melting.
I’d seen men’s eyes while they died in prison, I didn’t need to see it again.
“Just give me room, so I can get out of here. Seriously, man, I could lose my job.”
I strode up to him, waving Shelby to stay back. “Save the sob story.” I pulled a photocopy out of my pocket and unfolded it. I held it in front of his face like a cross to a vampire. I fit the photos of the women he killed on the page, the ones found so far. Big rain drops patted it in a rhythm that echoed Shelby’s cry.
His eyes glowed. The scum-sack was excited by the pictures of women dead because of him.. I pocketed the pictures. No more pleasure for him from the innocent. My hand slid out of my pocket into a fist.
Sure as breathing, I hit him with a right hook to the jaw.
He stumbled and righted himself. Holding his face, he stared at me. He pissed himself. The dark stain spread down his leg. He gazed down, frowning. He glanced at me.
I didn’t move. If I moved, it would be murder. That was him, not me. I stood still as a mortuary angel, holding the images of the women he killed in my heart.
He vaulted over the barrier. He had to know what he was doing. He didn’t know this road, but he knew this land well enough to hunt women here. Predator.
Sinner, Mama added in my mind. The man’s running shoes squelched into the mud.
I let him go. Mama raised me to trust God. We might not agree on what that meant, but some part of me believed in punishment for sin.
Buck stepped close and clapped my shoulder. He nodded to Shelby. “Bad move, dirt-bag,” he breathed.
“Yeah.”
“What is it? Why are we letting him go? Can I touch you now?”
“Yeah, sure thing. Watch.”
Shelby slid her arm through mine.
The killer made three long steps. He fought to get his leg free for the next. The mud sucked onto his legs and held him fast. The wildness in his face made me think of those inhumane glue traps for rats. He clawed the air. He hollered.
His saggy pants rode low. He wasn’t aroused now. Someone screaming for life wasn’t such a turn-on for the coward when it was him doing it.
We might not have quicksand, but we did have powerful deep mud. It held him, sucking his thighs, taking him deeper as he fought it.
“Reckon we should call the police?” Buck blinked real slow, as though the thought was an effort. He hated the stereotype of blue-collar men as stupid. He stuck his hand in his pocket. “I lost my phone.”
“Yeah. I forgot to charge mine.” I hoped the killer had time to feel remorse for what he did, but I’d settle for the sure knowledge that he’d never do it a
gain.
“I sure as hell am not calling any help for him. If he had his way, someone’s dog would be sniffing out my corpse in the woods about now.” Shelby took a step closer to the rail and crossed her arms over her breasts. The rain made her running suit resemble a beaded concert outfit.
“Shelby, you don’t have to watch this.” I missed her touch, but empathized with her need to stand alone.
“Yes, I do. “ Her gaze on the killer who abducted her didn’t waver as his struggles stuck him chest-deep in the mire. “Thank you, Tyrone.”
Moonlight hit the hoodie and the ginger smears on his face. The rain glowed above him in the shape of an avenging angel as the murderer’s head went under.
A glug of air bubbles farted from the slick, brown grave.
The mudflats swallowed evil whole and resumed its placid face, smooth as the beach when the tide goes out.
The circle of life won this one.
Shelby squeezed my waist and brushed her lips across my throat from on tip-toe, her breasts brushing across my arm.
Everything in me celebrated she was alive.
We waited in silence, not needing to say we had to be sure he died.
In horror movies, it’s the moment when people stop watching that the monster revives.
The light went red, rain dropping like blood on the mud. Breeze shushed through the pines, freshening the air, blowing away the swamp odor.
The aromatic pine wind revived me.
“Swing low, sweet chariot,” I sang, my bass tones filling the gap between the trees. Crows took flight, cawing. Chills brought goose bumps across my arms. I got behind Shelby and warmed her with my embrace.
I wasn’t singing for him, I was singing for them, the women.
Shelby and Buck understood. They raised their voices with mine and harmonized, giving our memorial to the young women the monster killed. I wished them peace with every note.
I felt him before I heard his steps. Lyle joined us, coming to stand close at my other side. He added to the bass line. We sang that song with all we had, swaying, my buddies’ arms meeting on me.
