Crystal Creek

by Malmborg, William

  The lock stayed in place.

  Failing that, he looked around to see if there could be a key hidden anywhere.

  None was.

  He went back to the front.

  Another jiggle revealed that door to be secure as well, and no key was present that he could see.

  A breeze caused the wind chimes to ring.

  What was with her and the noisy pieces of art?

  Did she make them herself or were they items she bought?

  Was it a continuation of a thing her parents did, or had she started it on her own?

  No answers arrived, nor did it really matter.

  He started back to the Jeep but then turned, a thought about the wind chimes nagging at him.

  What if—

  He found a key taped to the inside of a chime on the opposite side of the porch, its location one that no one would happen upon unless they were looking for a key.

  You're about to cross a line, he told himself.

  No, I'm not, he countered.

  Beverly had given him what could be considered probable cause. It was flimsy, but any judge he spoke to with the county would side with him, especially if he found something.

  Key in hand, he went back to the front door and tried it.

  The lock disengaged, the knob turning when he twisted.

  16

  Where is she? Cheryl demanded, a quick drive to the motel having revealed what she suspected would be the case: no Beverly.

  Now she sat outside her office, indecision gripping her.

  Stay and wait for Beverly to return, or go back home?

  Neither option seemed very appealing.

  Maybe she went up the mountain to secure Brendon.

  Unless everything that unfolded yesterday was by her own design.

  But why would she have Marlon killed?

  Cheryl simply could not fathom a reason for this, nor for the events that had followed.

  The only thing that made sense to her was that Brendon had lost control of himself and gone on a murderous rampage, one that would have resulted in him raping her had she not fired a round off into the air and then pressed the hot muzzle opening into his groin.

  I should have simply shot him.

  Kill him and be done with it.

  Memories of the first time he had tried to rape her began to unfold.

  She tried pushing them away, but it was no use.

  Screams echoed within her mind, as did the sounds of him grunting as he pulled his penis free of his dirty Bigfoot costume, the wet tip poking up against her thighs in an attempt to get up into her, all while her fingernails tried to find an exposed area to claw at.

  Crack!

  The sound of the stick striking his lower back was as crisp now as it had been on the cool April afternoon.

  Several more cracks had followed, but it was the first one that had registered so prominently within her memory.

  Beverly had also kicked him, though Cheryl had no memory of that.

  What she did have memory of was Beverly holding her after Brendon had hurried off into the woods, her tears soaking through Beverly's shirt.

  The two had never really spoken to each other before that moment in the woods, their age difference and Cheryl's self-imposed isolation from social activities having kept her from ever really interacting with anyone.

  Following that horror, however, they had become fast friends, and eventually lovers.

  Cheryl's mind shifted to the night when they had had sex for the first time.

  They had been watching a movie together in the basement, Cheryl's parents upstairs in the family room watching Seinfeld reruns, when, without warning, Beverly had reached a hand over and rested it on Cheryl's leg.

  Nothing but the hand registered within Cheryl's senses, her mind suddenly wondering if things would play out the way they did in her fantasies and in the stories she often penned. Was Beverly attracted to women like she was? It didn't seem possible, but—

  The hand shifted, not away, but farther up her leg, getting closer and closer to the fold where her thighs came together.

  Heart racing, Cheryl looked at Beverly and then the hand and then back at Beverly.

  She wanted to reach out and touch her, just like Beverly was touching her. She wanted to feel her breasts and then kiss her, but fear that any move on her part would shatter what had to be a fragile dream prevented her from doing anything but shifting her gaze and taking quick breaths when needed.

  Beverly's hand reached the waistband of her pants.

  Cheryl held her breath.

  A finger slipped inside, then another.

  The pleasurable tingle that arrived within her was unlike anything she had ever experienced before, and the fingers hadn't even reached their destination yet.

  She took a breath, one that had an audible shudder within it.

  Beverly smiled at the sound and eased her fingers farther, the tips hovering just above the clit.

  Keep going! Cheryl urged, unsure if she’d said it out loud or simply projected it.

  Either way, Beverly complied, the fingers finally reaching their destination and working what could only be described as magic upon her.

  And then they kissed.

  It was Cheryl's first and to this day, the most enjoyable one she had ever experienced.

  Beverly straddled her during it, her breasts pressing up against Cheryl's, nipples erect, sensations almost unbearable.

  Cheryl had her first orgasm that night.

  Many more followed during the next several months.

  It was a time period unlike any other, one that felt alive with possibility.

  And free of Brendon, his obsession with her deflected by Beverly, who seemed to be the only person he was subservient to.

  Why?

  Was it because she was a mother figure to him?

  Cheryl had never really thought about this until now, or how either would feel if the other was gone.

  Beverly loved Brendon, of this she was certain, and Brendon had to love her, for why else would he listen to her when she told him off?

  Fear?

  Why would he be afraid?

  He was over six feet tall and weighed over two hundred pounds, most of it muscle from his life out in the woods.

  It couldn't be fear.

  Respect?

  Why?

  Cheryl couldn't pinpoint anything and then realized maybe what had once been fear given her mother-like authority over him might have faded—or was fading. Maybe that was why he had been so bold as to attack Margaret Jones, and then Marlon Gibbs, Chief Parker, and herself.

  And what if the reason Beverly wasn't around this morning was because Brendon had had enough of her trying to control him and had put an end to it? What if she was now lying on the floor of the cave, beaten unconscious or even dead?

  Maybe she wasn't even in the cave.

  Maybe Brendon had been watching the house last night while they had been together and attacked her after she left, her broken body now lying in the woods near the house.

  Cheryl shook her head, concern for her girlfriend starting to overpower the frustration and anxiety she had felt moments earlier. Guilt was present as well.

  Wait!

  How would she hire someone to watch the front desk if she had been attacked last night?

  The answer was simple: she couldn't have, not unless she had hired her before venturing over to Cheryl's place, but that hadn't been the case. Leaving the desk unattended for a few hours during the night was one thing, but leaving it open during the day—well, she could have done that as well since the likelihood of any random travelers showing up was nil, but she wouldn't, not when Brian and his wife were present and could snoop.

  You need to find her.

  You need to check the cave to see if Brendon did something to her.

  A chill settled in her bowels.

  She hated the cave.

  The longer you wait…

  She pushed the thoug
ht from her mind, resolving to go up and check.

  First things first, however, she would stop by her house and make a phone call to see if Beverly was back at the motel by then. If not, she would grab her gun, a flashlight, and water, and head up the mountain.

  17

  Quinn couldn't do it, the knowledge that he was crossing a line too difficult for his mind to get around. It didn't matter that he believed Beverly's theory on Cheryl, or that he was certain a judge would okay the search; deep down inside he knew that he didn't really have enough.

  With a sigh, he pulled the door closed, a decision to wait until Cheryl returned being made.

  18

  What? Beverly's mind screamed. Why aren't you going inside?

  She was crouched in the woods alongside Cheryl's house, in a spot that Brendon often used to observe the girl he constantly fantasized about. It was the perfect location for observation, her body invisible from the house, all while the house and everything around it was visible to her. The one downside about the location: the ground beneath her was saturated with Brendon's seed. Millions of his little swimmers had been beached upon the forest floor, his proximity to Cheryl and his desire to have her body making it seemingly impossible for him to maintain control. Not that she minded the act itself. She would rather have him whack off out here every few hours than go inside and ravage Cheryl—at least for now. Beverly had promised Cheryl to Brendon, but only if he behaved himself and followed her instructions, which so far he had, his longtime obsession with the girl keeping him in check. Of course, even if he slipped up a bit, she would likely still let him have her, her own desire to see the girl ravaged by him and to hear her screams something she had been looking forward to for a long time. But she wouldn't let him in on this. No. She needed to keep him under her control, needed to help him maintain his focus on the long-term prize. If she didn't…

  She halted the thought before it could bring back the memories of being beneath him and the horror of having his seed take root in her.

  Best to focus on the situation at hand, one that was not unfolding the way she had hoped.

  Quinn was supposed to go inside and find the Bigfoot costume she had left there.

  It wouldn't be enough for everything to be pinned on Cheryl, but it would make it so he focused on her a bit more closely.

  Later, once Cheryl and Brendon disappeared, bodies buried within his cave, Quinn would find Annie's phone among Cheryl’s things, as well as pictures of Brendon in his Bigfoot costume and notes on an article she would write, and he would start to piece together a scenario that put the two together in a conspiracy involving Cheryl trying to make a name for herself by staging a series of Bigfoot attacks, ones that would forever go unresolved.

  But first he needed to go inside and find the Bigfoot costume!

  Leaving it there was the whole reason she had visited Cheryl last night, and it would all be for nothing if he didn't go inside.

  Something moved behind her!

  She spun around and came face-to-face with Brendon, his body clad in the dirty Bigfoot costume.

  "I told you to stay in the cave," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

  His response was distorted by the mask.

  "What?" she said, and then, following his next attempt at talking, said, "Take that stupid mask off."

  "She's mean to me," he said, sweaty face free of the worn latex. "When can I be with Cheryl?"

  "Soon, if you behave."

  "Now!"

  "Shh, keep your voice down," she hissed, finger pointing toward the house.

  Brendon looked toward the house, eyes going wide with rage.

  "Easy," she said, hand up against his chest.

  Brendon did not like Chief Parker, mostly because he had the impression that he was not supposed to like anyone that fancied his sister. It was an odd stance to take given that Brendon had raped her several times while growing up, but then, given all the wiring issues within his brain, it was almost impossible for a normal person like her to figure out the motivations behind his thoughts and actions. That's what happened when a father did everything he could to make his daughter miscarry her growing bastard child, and then, failing that, abused the boy as a baby, toddler, and pre-teen. Their mother hadn't helped things either, often leveling her own abuse upon the boy and claiming he was a product of being raped by a Bigfoot in the woods whenever he asked about his father.

  "Brendon," she said, trying to get his focus back on her. "You need to go back up to the cave."

  He didn't reply, his eyes still locked on Quinn and the house.

  He shrugged.

  "Brendon," she quietly snapped. "I want you to go—"

  "Cheryl," he said, eyes shifting

  Beverly turned back toward the house. Sure enough, Cheryl was pulling up, her face visible through the driver-side window, eyes seemingly locked on Quinn, who was now standing up from the porch chair.

  Brendon stiffened.

  "Brendon," Beverly warned, hand back on his chest. "They're just going to talk."

  His breathing was getting quicker.

  "Easy," she hissed.

  Nostrils flaring, he looked at her and then back at Quinn and Cheryl.

  Beverly took hold of his costume, years of grime stinging her flesh, and pulled his face close. "You stay away from them, or else I'm going to lock you in the cave with the rats and you'll never see Cheryl again."

  Brendon didn't reply to this, his face continuing to show how distraught he was that Quinn was with Cheryl, almost as if he were a jealous boyfriend watching his girlfriend being hit on in a bar or something.

  19

  Cheryl saw the police vehicle before she saw Quinn, her stomach tightening with unease as questions of why and who erupted within her mind. Seeing Quinn standing on the porch calmed her a bit, but not fully. It also changed the questions her mind was asking, the biggest one focusing on why he would be there given the injury he had suffered. Whatever the reason, it had to be serious.

  "Hi," she said as she approached her porch. "How're you feeling?"

  "Honestly, I could be better, but—" He finished his statement with a shrug.

  "So, what brings you here?" she asked.

  "I just had a few questions about yesterday and about what has been going—"

  A cry echoed from the woods to the right, cutting him off.

  Both twisted toward the trees just as a figure came charging out.

  It was Brendon and he was dressed like Bigfoot, a distorted growl echoing from within his mask.

  Stunned, Cheryl didn't react at first.

  Quinn did, his hand pulling his sidearm from its holster and lifting it toward the charging figure.

  "No!" Cheryl cried and took hold of his wrist.

  "Cheryl, let go!" he snapped, yanking his hand free.

  And then her body was being knocked away violently as Brendon crashed into her.

  She stumbled but did not fall, and watched as Brendon tackled Quinn.

  A muffled gunshot echoed, followed by a second and third, all while Quinn fell to the ground beneath Brendon.

  Brendon grunted something against the mask as he lay atop Quinn and then went silent.

  Cheryl simply stared, too shocked to move.

  Quinn seemed momentarily stunned as well and then tried to shift himself from beneath Brendon, but it was no use, Brendon's weight too much for him and keeping him pinned to the ground.

  "Cheryl…help me," Quinn said, voice off as he struggled to get air.

  Cheryl didn't move, indecision gripping her.

  Why was he waiting at my house?

  "Cheryl!" Quinn said, continuing his struggle.

  You need to help him, an inner voice urged.

  But what if he was here because he learned something about what was going on? What if Brian and his wife told him about the lack of blood and he became suspicious? another voice asked.

  Then tell him the truth. You have no idea what is going on.

  S
he took a deep breath and stepped forward to help Quinn, a hand taking hold of Brendon's legs so she could pull one way while Quinn tried to scoot his body out.

  Brendon's bowels released as she did this, the sound unlike anything she had ever heard.

  A moment later the smell hit.

  "Jesus Christ!" Quinn said, trying to shift away.

  "Cheryl!" a voice called.

  Cheryl twisted, eyes going wide as Beverly emerged from the trees and hurried toward them.

  "Is he?" she asked, panic in her voice.

  "Yes," Cheryl said.

  "I found him watching your place and tried to stop him, but—"

  "Beverly, help Cheryl pull him off," Quinn said.

  Beverly looked down at Quinn. "You killed him."

  "He attacked us."

  "You—" she started and then, much to Cheryl's surprise and horror, pulled a gun.

  Quinn's eyes widened. "Beverly, he was—"

  A shot echoed, the round hitting Quinn just beneath the left eye, his head giving a single bounce from the impact.

  Beverly fired several more times, rounds punching into both Brendon and Quinn, all while Cheryl screamed at her to stop.

  Eventually the gun was empty.

  Cheryl stared at Beverly, who looked back at her and, without really missing a beat, said, "He was going to arrest you."

  Cheryl didn't know how to reply to that.

  Beverly then handed her the gun, which was when Cheryl realized it was her own gun.

  "Brendon had it," Beverly said. "I took it from him back there. I'm not sure what he was planning on doing, but, well, he had it in his hands and was watching, so—" She shook her head.

  "It's okay," Cheryl said while putting a hand on Beverly's back.

  Beverly shrugged it off and crossed her arms over her chest. A second later, she walked away from the two bodies and turned toward the trees, looking up at the mountain.

  Cheryl looked at her for a moment and then shifted her gaze to the bodies. Quinn's face didn't look that bad. He simply had a single hole beneath his lifeless eye. All the other rounds had impacted lower, in the top part of his exposed torso. Others had gone into the upper part of Brendon's back. From what she could see, there wasn't much blood, but then maybe that was because he had died quickly.