Deception Creek

by Ned Oaks

  ‘But you can’t forget that if Pete Dexter had resisted, had shown any sign of fighting back against this . . . Phantom – well, I have no doubt that they’d both be dead right now.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I do,’ Burton said. ‘And I think Pete Dexter knows that, too.’ There was pity in his voice. ‘The man had no other choice if he wanted to stay alive, and help his wife stay alive, too.’

  It was mid-afternoon when Ed Burton rode into the small barn behind his house. He unsaddled his horse and brushed it, then forked some fresh hay into its stall and gave it some oats.

  When he entered the house, Annie Burton was sitting on the couch by the window in the living room. She was knitting. On the other end of the couch, three kittens lay snuggled up to their mother, a large tortoise-shell cat that the Burtons had inherited along with the house and property after the death of Annie’s father the year before.

  Burton had never thought of himself as a man who could like a cat, but he had rapidly changed his mind and felt so much affection for the animal that he was sometimes inwardly embarrassed. The big tortie hadn’t had a name when they moved in, so Burton’s wife had taken to calling her Edith.

  ‘Where you been?’ asked Annie Burton as her husband removed his boots.

  ‘I been helping ol’ Maynard with something.’

  She arched an eyebrow. ‘Is that right?’

  He removed his hat and peeled off his coat.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ he said. He was slightly irritated by her curiosity, particularly since he had renounced any involvement with law enforcement after their return to Oakridge.

  ‘What kind of help did Maynard need?’ she enquired.

  Burton walked over and petted Edith and her kittens.

  ‘You remember a rapist they called “the Phantom”?’ he asked.

  ‘From around here?’

  Burton nodded. ‘Attacked at least four couples in their cabins in the middle of the night. Raped the wives while the husbands were tied up, either watching or listening.’

  All the humor had left Annie Burton’s face. ‘I don’t think I remember this Phantom,’ she said. ‘Was there anything in the papers about it?’

  ‘Some, yes. I remember talking about it with your pa and some of the locals when we came and visited a few years back.’

  ‘So they never caught him?’

  ‘He stopped. They never got the chance to catch him.’

  ‘What’s this got to do with you and Maynard Blayloch?’ she asked.

  Burton sat down in a chair across the room from his wife. Sunlight streamed in through the window over her head.

  ‘Well, the Phantom struck again last night. For the first time in five years.’

  Annie Burton looked alarmed. And justifiably so, thought her husband.

  ‘Who was it?’ she asked.

  ‘Pete and Margaret Dexter,’ said Burton. His wife took in a sharp breath. She knew and liked both of the Dexters, and had grown up in the Oakridge area with them before they were married.

  ‘What did he do?’ she asked.

  ‘He snuck into their cabin in the middle of the night. Held them hostage with a pistol and raped Margaret.’

  ‘Lord above,’ said Annie Burton, her face drawn. ‘Poor Margaret.’

  ‘Pete, too. He’s in bad shape. Not as bad as she is, but still . . . pretty bad.’

  ‘Of course. Do you think there’s anything I can do for them?’ She put her knitting down in her lap, eager to help the Dexters.

  Ed Burton held up a hand. ‘Slow down, there. I don’t think they want to see anyone today, except maybe their kin. Anyway, Maynard told them we’d keep it real discreet.’

  She sat back, then picked up her needles again. Burton thought her mind was no longer on her work.

  ‘I understand,’ she said.

  He stared out of the window toward the treetops beyond. She continued knitting. Neither spoke for a while.

  ‘You should help Maynard,’ she said suddenly. ‘You’ve handled these kinds of things before. He could use that experience. I don’t think you should just stand by and—’

  ‘I’m not just going to stand by and leave it all to Maynard,’ he countered. ‘I know I said I was done as a lawman, but this is different. This Phantom is going to kill someone if he’s not stopped. He swore he would kill the Dexters. They’re not sure why he didn’t.’

  ‘Did Pete or Margaret get a look at him?’

  Burton shook his head. ‘He wears a mask. Only thing they remember is that he has blue eyes. But hell, Pete Dexter and Maynard both have blue eyes, too.’

  Annie Burton knew her husband would be automatically noting the eye color of every man he met until the Phantom had been identified. It was part of his compulsive approach to his work.

  ‘So what are you going to do next?’ she pressed. ‘Doesn’t seem like you can do much more right now than wait for him to do it again.’

  ‘Even if he does, it’ll be damn near impossible for us to catch him as things stand. Unless he slips up and some husband is able to get his hands on a gun. That would put an end to things right quick.’

  He idly watched the rapid movement of his wife’s needles as she knitted, his mind considering the attack on the Dexters. He had a few questions he wanted to discuss with Maynard Blayloch.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lucy Bickham’s eyes were open, although she didn’t know why.

  It was pitch black in the small farmhouse, and she had been asleep for at least a few hours. She rolled over on to her back and looked beside her. Her husband, Everett, was sleeping soundly. He snored occasionally in the darkness as his wife watched him for a few moments. She laid her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes.

  Then she heard it again, and realized what had awakened her.

  It was the sound of glass breaking.

  She sat up, turning her ear toward the sound, which had come from somewhere down the short hallway leading from her bedroom to the kitchen and living room. She heard more sounds now – quiet, cautious sounds of someone moving around in the darkness.

  She reached out and shook her sleeping husband’s shoulder.

  ‘Ev,’ she said quietly. She shook him a little harder and leaned close to his ear. ‘Ev!’ she said again, this time with more urgency.

  He opened his eyes and looked at her.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked groggily.

  ‘I heard something down the hall. I think someone’s in the house.’

  Ev Bickham was fully awake now. He reached toward the small table beside the bed and removed his pistol from the top drawer. He stood up stealthily, moving toward the hallway, pistol in hand. He stopped there to listen.

  He heard nothing as he stood there listening, but he knew his wife wasn’t the kind of woman who imagined noises in the night. He knew she had heard something.

  He turned and crept quietly down the hallway, past his daughter’s room. Her door was slightly ajar and he could see her sleeping peacefully in her bed. The noise her mother had heard hadn’t awakened her. He continued past her doorway toward the living room and stopped for a moment before looking in. Hearing nothing, he stepped into the room, his pistol extended in his hand.

  He was, for a few seconds, too shocked by what he saw to respond.

  A man stood with his back to Bickham. He was pulling a mask over his head. He wore a thick flannel shirt but no pants.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Bickham asked loudly.

  The Phantom turned. Bickham could see the man’s eyes through the two holes that had been cut out. The eyes were wide with surprise and rage. The half-naked stranger lunged toward Ev Bickham, shoving his gun out of the way.

  Bickham was thrown off balance. The Phantom pushed him backward into a chair, the arm of which dug deeply into Bickham’s back. He exclaimed in pain, grasping for the masked man’s arm. He gripped it and pulled him closer, then raised his pistol and brought it down hard on the man’s shoulder.

&nb
sp; The Phantom emitted an agonized grunt, smashing his elbow with all his force into Bickham’s jaw. Bickham’s head snapped back sickeningly and he stumbled, his hands reaching clumsily for something to hold on to. He dropped the pistol as he fell backward. The Phantom knelt and snatched the gun by the barrel. He turned it around and pointed it at Bickham, thumbing back the hammer as he did so. Bickham saw the gun pointing directly at him and braced himself for the shot.

  Instead there was a loud crash and the Phantom crumpled forward as a chair broke apart over his back. Lucy Bickham stood over him, her hands still on the legs of the chair she had brought from the bedroom. She started to lift the mangled chair in order to hit him again when the Phantom shoved her backward toward the hallway. He dropped the gun and ran for the front door of the cabin. Ev Bickham was almost back on his feet when the man passed him and gave him a hard shove toward the floor. Bickham was on his back when the Phantom tore open the front door and disappeared into the night, his bare legs pale in the moonlight.

  An hour later, the Phantom stood in the shadows of a woodpile behind another farmhouse – a house only about two miles from the home of Everett and Lucy Bickham. He was perfectly still, listening for talking or sounds of movement within the home.

  He was angry with himself for losing control of the situation at the Bickhams’ place. It had been dangerous to go in without pants on, but something had compelled him to do it. It had hindered his escape and he promised himself he wouldn’t try another stunt like that again.

  He was also angry because he had missed his chance with Lucy Bickham. He had been watching her for over three years, waiting . . . just waiting. She wasn’t the prettiest woman around, but there was something very alluring about her, at least in his mind. She had always been friendly to him when they had met around town. He smirked behind his mask. If only she had known who he really was. . . .

  Now the opportunity was gone, and he hadn’t been able to enjoy himself – to make the Bickhams submit to his power, and to fear it. He felt a tinge of bitterness. He would be more cautious. After all, he hadn’t spent years planning his return just to throw it all away by taking unnecessary risks.

  He looked around the densely forested hillside behind him. Mist laced the gloomy trees. He had picketed his horse a few dozen yards away, just within the rim of the woods.

  After ten minutes, he decided that the people in the house were asleep. He stepped around the woodpile and leaned against the back door, then wedged an iron bar into the doorjamb and pushed. The door slid open noiselessly, just as he knew it would. He had been here before, when nobody was home. He had found a way to get inside the house without being detected.

  He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. Had he gotten arrogant because, even after all these years, he had never been caught? Not getting caught – that was more important than everything else. He must never, ever be apprehended. The best way to do that was to take control of the situation as quickly as possible. Be merciless. They were much less likely to fight back if they thought he would kill them. Because, if he decided he had to, he would kill them.

  He adjusted the mask on his face, removed his pistol from his waistband, and stepped through the back door into the darkened home.

  Ed Burton had just finished boiling coffee and pouring a cup for Annie when he saw Maynard Blayloch ride out of the trees into his front yard. He put the pot down and carried her cup into the living room, where she sat on the couch with Edith the cat on her lap. She was looking at a yellowed, tattered piece of paper on which a knitting pattern had been scrawled over thirty years ago by her mother and passed down to Annie.

  On the table beside her was the photograph of their two boys, who had been dead from scarlet fever for almost a decade now. Burton reminded himself again of why he had quit being a lawman.

  ‘Maynard’s here,’ he said, handing her the cup. Steam drifted up from it as she took a sip. He saw that she had an anxious expression on her face. She lifted her head and recognized the tension in his expression.

  ‘I hope he’s not here because—’ she began.

  She hadn’t finished her thought when a series of firm knocks resonated from the front door. Burton’s face tightened as he stepped across the room and opened the door. Maynard Blayloch, looking distinctly haggard and concerned, removed his hat and nodded politely to Annie Burton, who sat directly across from the door.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Burton,’ he said. ‘Mr Burton.’

  Burton moved aside and allowed Blayloch to step into the room. The air outside was bracing beneath a gray, cloud-choked sky.

  ‘What’s going on, Maynard?’ asked Burton.

  ‘The Phantom,’ said Blayloch. His tone contained a combination of anger and self-criticism. ‘Attacked twice last night. The Bickhams and the Sheeds.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ said Annie quietly. She put her cup down on the table.

  ‘He kill anyone?’ asked Burton.

  ‘No, thank God,’ said Blayloch. ‘Matter of fact, he almost got himself shot by Ev Bickham. Wasn’t wearing any pants when he attacked them.’

  Burton was incredulous. ‘Not wearing any pants?’ he asked.

  Blayloch nodded slowly. ‘He barely made it out the door alive. Lucy broke a chair over his back.’

  ‘Good,’ said Annie sharply.

  ‘From there the son of a bitch went to the Sheed farm. Broke in with three little kids in the house.’

  ‘Be damned,’ said Ed Burton, shaking his head. ‘He hurt the kids?’

  ‘No,’ said Blayloch. His relief was obvious.

  ‘Did he do his usual routine?’ Burton probed.

  ‘All of it – the ropes, the dishes, everything.’ He sighed heavily and Ed Burton urged him to take a seat in a chair in the living room. Burton sat down at the other end of the couch from Annie.

  ‘Who came to you – Bickham or Sheed?’ asked Burton.

  ‘Sheed.’

  ‘How’d you find out about Bickham?’

  ‘Sheed told me. The Phantom told Sheed and his wife that he’d been over at the Bickhams’ first. They said he was kind of bragging about it.’

  ‘This man is sick,’ Annie asserted.

  ‘He smashed Sheed in the head real bad,’ Blayloch said. ‘Side of his head’s all swollen up. Wonder if he was trying to kill him.’

  ‘That wouldn’t surprise me,’ murmured Burton. He looked across the room toward the deputy sheriff, and he felt concerned for his distress.

  Maynard was a very conscientious officer of the law, and this was something that Burton had always respected about him. He hoped Blayloch wasn’t in over his head.

  ‘How are you holding up, Maynard?’ he asked. ‘I know how things like this can consume a man.’

  ‘Ain’t that the truth,’ said Blayloch with a befuddled shake of his broad head. ‘Even when I was in bed last night, all I did was lay there and think about this . . . Phantom. I didn’t get any sleep at all – not a wink! That makes two straight nights now.’

  ‘I’ve been in those shoes,’ said Burton sympathetically. ‘You need my help with anything?’

  Maynard Blayloch was sheepish, but only for a moment.

  ‘Since you asked, I wonder if you’d mind going over to the Sheed place with me. I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to them this morning because Mike Sheed went to see the sawbones about his head right after he woke me up. I’d like to have you along in case you think of any questions or see anything that would be useful or that I mightn’t think to ask.’

  Burton pushed himself to his feet. ‘Let me get my coat and my hat and I’m at your service,’ he said. He left the room for a few moments.

  ‘Maynard, you’re going to get this feller, I just know it,’ said Annie.

  The deputy grinned crookedly, grateful for the encouragement.

  ‘I sure hope so, ma’am,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know how you’re going to do it,’ she admitted, ‘but you’ll get him. And don’t worry about asking Ed for help
. He needs to get out of the house more and he’s dealt with this kind of thing more than once. He wants to help you – don’t forget that.’

  Burton entered the room, shrugging into his sheepskin. He grabbed his Stetson off the nail from which it hung near the front door. He settled it over his mostly bald head and nodded at Blayloch.

  ‘Ready when you are,’ he said.

  Blayloch rose stiffly and followed Burton to the door.

  ‘Good day, Mrs Burton,’ he said.

  Mike Sheed answered the door to his home, his head heavily plastered in bandages. His left eye was blackened and swollen almost shut. There was a grim set to his jaw. This man’s spirit isn’t broken, thought Burton. He only wants revenge – and who can blame him?

  ‘See you got in and seen the doc, Mike,’ said Blayloch. He didn’t want to start out with an inappropriately innocuous greeting under the circumstances.

  Sheed’s eyes were hard. ‘Yeah, he patched me up good.’

  Blayloch pointed at Burton and said, ‘This here’s Ed Burton. I think you two know each other. He was a marshal for several years over in the eastern part of our state.’

  ‘Good to see you, Ed,’ Sheed said, thrusting his hand forward.

  ‘Wish we weren’t getting reacquainted like this.’ Burton took Sheed’s hand and shook it firmly, as if to reassure the farmer of his friendship. ‘I’m going to do everything I can to help Maynard find this feller. He needs to be stopped.’

  ‘That he does,’ Sheed said in an even tone.

  The interview revealed little that Burton and Blayloch didn’t already know. The Phantom had once more followed his typical routine, although this time he had been unusually loquacious, bragging about his escape from the Bickham house.

  He had also been exceptionally aggressive, as Sheed’s injuries indicated.

  They concluded the interview and rode down into town through a light drizzle of rain. They went to Blayloch’s office, which was just off Main Street.

  Blayloch removed his wet hat and tossed it on to his desk as he sat down. Burton took the seat across the desk from the deputy.