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The Witness
by Zach Bohannon
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THE WITNESS
Zach Bohannon
THE WITNESS
Zach Bohannon
Copyright © 2015 by Zach Bohannon. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction of this publication in whole or in part without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
Edited by Jennifer Collins
Cover design by Johnny Digges
www.diggescreative.com
Click or visit:
www.zachbohannon.com
Thank you John Carpenter, Tobe Hooper, and Sean S. Cunningham.
PROLOGUE
What you are about to read is a true account.
I refuse to hold anything back, as I must finally release what I’ve held inside for so long.
My name is Rebecca Long, and, twenty years ago this month, I suffered an unimaginable trauma. An event so rooted in the bowels of Hell that the world’s most notorious criminal couldn’t imagine it in his nightmares while rotting away, alone, in a prison cell.
Twenty years since the passing of my innocence. How can that be? Does life move so fast that we’re unable to put a finger on time?
Twenty years?
I’ve grown into a woman, stronger because of it, but forever damaged. I’ve tucked the memories of that night away in a box that sits in a small, square room in the deepest part of my soul.
My children have often asked about my physical scars, but it’s the emotional scars that burn the deepest. They have no idea why their mom is the way she is.
Not even my dear husband, Justin, knows the truth. Of course, he’s seen the scars on my body, but everything that he knows about them is a lie. A pure, conspicuous lie.
How do you tell the story of something you’ve tried so hard to forget? This isn’t like covering up a shameful truth with a little white lie. You know what I’m talking about. You try to tell yourself that something didn’t happen and you use little lies to cover it up. Eventually, you convince yourself that it wasn’t real. That it really didn’t happen. But this thing did happen. And it's very real. An event clouded with this much darkness can never be forgotten, no matter how hard I try to pretend.
But I’ll never forget that summer in 1995 and the days that led up to that treacherous night.
This story must be told. I have no choice. For, as they say, if we try and forget the past, we are destined to repeat it.
So, within the following pages, you have the story of me, my four best friends, and a town. A town which I never thought I would speak of, but have thought about every single day over the past twenty years.
These are the events of July 29th, 1995.
The day we stumbled upon a small town in the Mississippi Delta.
The Devil’s town…
Rebecca Long
July, 2014
1
July 28th, 1995
New Orleans, Louisiana
The mornings when I woke up next to Blake were some of the best times of my life. Feeling his warm, hard body next to mine brought so much comfort to my young and tender heart. We were both attending school at Tulane University. I was a junior studying elementary education, and Blake was a graduate student with a degree in business. While I lived in the dormitory, Blake had a house with four old high school buddies off campus. It was located in Metairie, just on the outskirts of New Orleans. I spent as much time there with him as I could. Every weekend that I didn’t drive to Mississippi to see my parents, I was at that house.
We met during my freshman year at a frat party. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me from across the room before one of his buddies dared him to come over and talk to me. When he told me later that that’s what had prompted him to finally come talk to me after glaring at me the entire night, I couldn’t help but laugh. Blake could find so many ways to make me laugh, and that’s part of what attracted me to him so much from the beginning.
A week later, he took me to Cafe du Monde for our first date. That night, I knew he had to be mine. It was quite out of my character to feel that way. Growing up in a small Mississippi town with loving, Christian parents, I was always shy, and portrayed a certain innocence which had its degree of truth. I guess, perhaps, that’s what led to the little bit of rebellion that lurked within me that evening. My roommate had left to visit her parents in Shreveport for the weekend, so I snuck Blake into the dorm. The sex we had that night was just as adventurous and fun as getting him in and out of the dorm without getting caught and expelled from school. It was the first time that I’d let a man inside me, and Blake was loving and gentle throughout the whole night. It was one of the most incredible moments of my life.
I loved Blake, more than I had ever loved anyone, and in a different way than I have loved any other person to this day. I was so blessed to have a man like Blake in my life to cherish the moment with me.
On this morning, like so many others, I awoke to see him staring me in the eyes. It never failed to bring a smile to my face. His curly blonde top was perfect for running my fingers through, and the ice in his blue eyes both chilled and warmed me at the same time.
“Good morning,” he said, returning the brush strokes through my own hair.
I didn’t respond. There was no need. All I had to do was smile back at him and he knew that I was in love. I was there to live in the moment and cherish every second with him.
Blake kissed me on the lips and said, “I’m going to make us breakfast.”
“Not yet,” I said.
He smiled and snuggled up to me closer. “What? You don’t want my signature blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast?”
I leaned in and bit his bottom lip as I reached under the covers and ran my hand down his hard stomach.
“It can wait.”
He smiled, moved on top of me, and put off making me breakfast for half an hour.
***
After our morning excursion under the covers, Blake did as promised and made me a lovely breakfast. It was one of his favorite things: to get up and make me a delicious meal first thing in the morning. He loved to cook, but I think he loved to make me smile even more, and knew how I took to the sweet gesture of him making breakfast for me. I’ve often wondered how my weight didn’t blow up during my college years.
While he cooked, I went into the bathroom and took a hot shower while the smell of sizzling bacon seeped through the vents above my head. Some girls might find this disgusting, but I found it to be magical.
After drying my hair, I put on a robe I kept at his house and followed the wonderful aroma back into the kitchen. Blake was sitting at the table and waiting on me with a full, steaming plate in front of him and a matching one at the place on the opposite side of the small table. He looked me up and down and smiled.
“Oh, mama,” he said.
Glaring
at him, I shot him the bird.
“Again?”
I rolled my eyes.
Before sitting down to enjoy breakfast, I walked up behind him and rubbed his shoulders, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you.”
Blake made the best blueberry pancakes, and he knew it. Every time I took a first bite, he would stare at me to see my reaction. I never had to fake it because they were so good. Then he’d smile, and continue digging into his own plate.
“You have to be getting excited for the trip,” I said.
“I can’t even begin to tell you. Not only do I get to see my favorite band, but I have a getaway with you.”
“Well, not just me.”
Blake cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. “True, but it could be worse company.”
For months, we’d had a road trip to Chicago planned. We weren’t going alone. Our friends Michael, Allie, and Rob would be tagging along. Windy City natives, The Smashing Pumpkins, were at home recording what would become their hit double-album Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness, and had planned a special hometown show to get in front of some of their die-hard fans and try some of the new songs out live. They were Blake’s favorite band, and all we had talked about for weeks was the trip.
Our friend Rob had actually had planned the trip. He was originally from Chicago, and his best friend from his childhood, Chuck, had landed a job as the drum-tech for Jimmy Chamberlain of the Smashing Pumpkins. Chuck had told Rob about the exclusive show before it was even announced, and that only members of the band’s fan club would be invited. After overhearing Rob telling Blake about the special show, I practically begged him to ask Chuck for tickets, which he really didn’t want to do. But in the end, he didn’t have to ask. Chuck offered Rob tickets, and told him that he could bring a few friends along if he wanted. Knowing how big of a fan Blake was, he invited us to come along with him.
Rob was the only one of us going who didn’t attend Tulane. Well, he had, but he’d dropped out his sophomore year. Rob was a smart guy, but school just wasn’t his thing. When we’d met him, he’d been working at a video rental store. For whatever reason, he took a liking to Blake and I. If I remember right, I think it was because Blake just happened to have liked some obscure science fiction movie that Rob was obsessed with. He’d let us check out movies for free if we came in to the store at the right times and, over time, he’d become close with us and our other friends. Many times, I tried to hook Rob up with girls from school, but he was just too damn awkward. He always found some way to fuck it up for himself.
The truth was, Rob could be really annoying. He was the one friend we had where, as much as he would drive us crazy at times with his immature antics and off-the-wall attempts at being funny, we somehow loved him anyways.
The other two going on the trip with us, Michael and Allie, were friends of ours from school. Allie was a sister in my sorority and Michael, a member of the basketball team, was her boyfriend. They met each other as freshmen after Michael hired Allie to be his math tutor. He was so bad at algebra that he was on the verge of being kicked off the team, and possibly losing his scholarship. By the end of the semester, he passed algebra with a C- and was in a relationship with the girl who’d helped him just barely pass. Neither of them were very big Smashing Pumpkins fans. I think they just really wanted to take the trip to get away from the humid August in New Orleans, and to spend a few days with us, taking a fun road trip and hanging in the much more temperate Windy City.
Blake and Michael had hit it off instantly. The first time they met, Blake was bragging about how good of a baseball player he was. We were out on a double-date playing putt-putt golf, and the two of them ended up in the batting cages near the end of the night. Michael, who rarely played baseball, went eighteen for twenty, while Blake hit only six of the twenty balls. I think it was a humbling moment for Blake, but Michael was a fantastic athlete with a lot of potential to have a career in the NBA one day.
While Blake had hinted to me that he wished it was just him and I going to Chicago, I know that, inside, he was happy to have Michael coming along as well.
Early in the afternoon, we’d be leaving for the trip. The plan was to make a stop at my parents’ house in Madison, Mississippi, a suburb just North of Jackson, and stay the night there. It was only a two and a half hour drive, so I’d have a little bit of time to see my parents before we left the next morning. And the other four loved being around them, so it would be a fun stop.
The doorbell rang, and we heard the front door open and close before the bell had even finished echoing through the living room, and into the kitchen.
Blake looked up from his plate and watched Rob walk through the living room into the dining space.
“Come on in. Door’s open,” Blake said, shaking his head.
Rob looked back and pointed his thumb to the door. “It was open.”
Blake rolled his eyes as Rob sat down at one of the empty chairs at the table.
Rob began to reach toward my plate. “Looks good.”
Leaning over the table, Blake slapped his hand away just as he was over my plate. He stared through Rob.
“Hey, man. I just wanted a bite!”
Blake shook his head. “Asshole.”
“You ready to go?” I asked Rob.
He nodded, then looked over at Blake. “Did you think about what I asked you?”
Blake didn’t respond, and I narrowed my eyes toward him.
“About what?”
“Nothing,” Blake said, wiping his mouth with a napkin as he took the last bite of his pancakes. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”
He leaned over and gave me a kiss on the forehead before heading back to his bedroom.
I looked over to Rob. “What did you ask him?”
Rob laughed and headed into the living room, turning on the Sega Genesis that was hooked up to the television.
“Asshole,” I mumbled, and finished my breakfast so that I could go make sure my bags were all packed.
2
Later that morning, just before noon, we left Blake’s house all packed up and ready to hit the road. Before heading out of town, we’d have to swing by and pick up Allie and Michael from the mall where Allie worked. She worked at one of those annoying kiosks where they ask you if you want to try a certain hand lotion. Somehow, she’d found a way to make it not so annoying, and had actually done really well at the job.
We arrived at the mall at about 12:30. I’d been in New Orleans long enough to where I tried my best to avoid downtown as much as possible. Occasionally, it was fun to go hang out on Bourbon Street, but I was mostly just over it. There was enough drunken madness and partying going on at school. Allie worked at the mall that was located at the riverwalk, right next to the beautiful Aquarium of the Americas, and also where a Harrah’s Casino now sits. No one will ever be able to convince me there’s a place in America that is hotter and, especially, more humid than the city of New Orleans in the months of July and August. And dealing with tourists and maniac drivers while sitting in a hot, sticky car in the middle of summer is pure hell.
Somehow, we found a decent parking spot and traded the pasty air outside for the air-conditioned joys of corporate and consumer goodness. The kiosk Allie worked at was in the middle of the mall, which meant we still had to fight through the hordes of loitering teenagers, and the moms gathering new wardrobes for their spoiled children
Allie was demonstrating what smelled like a lavender hand lotion to a short Asian lady in her early fifties when we arrived at her kiosk. She looked over to us, signaling with a wink that she saw us and that she’d just need a few minutes.
I went to sit on a bench; Rob had already opened up one of the lotions at Allie’s kiosk, and was making an inappropriate sexual joke toward Blake using the thick, white substance.
Blake punched Rob on the arm.
“Ouch,” Rob said, putting the lotion back.
“Quit being a little fucking kid,”
Blake said.
“I was just messing around. Damn, dude. You didn’t have to hit me like that.”
Blake rolled his eyes and came over to join me on the wooden bench, which was just big enough for two.
“Dumb ass,” he mumbled to me, putting his arm around me and cuddling up next to me.
“Someone’s cranky,” I said.
“Are you looking forward to spending thirteen hours in a car with that dude?”
We looked back, and Rob had grabbed a pencil off of the counter next to Allie’s register, and was balancing it on his chin as people walked by shaking their heads.
Blake and I both laughed.
“It’ll be fine,” I said. “We’re gonna have fun. Besides, we wouldn’t be going on this trip if it wasn’t for him. He did, after all, hook us up with those tickets.”
“For sure,” Blake said, leaning over to kiss me.
***
Twenty minutes later, Allie was off work and we were walking away from the kiosk. She pulled a suitcase behind her that was large enough to hold clothes for a month-long trip.
“You just gonna stay in Chicago once we leave?” Rob asked, looking down at the large, black bag.
Allie smiled, her chewing gum flashing through her teeth.
“Gotta be prepared for every situation. Never know what all we might do or where we might go.”
“We’re going to a rock concert,” Blake said.
She shrugged. “Come on, let’s go down this back hallway. It’s a quicker way out.”
Allie walked ahead of us, pushing through the double doors that led into a narrow hallway. Doors lined either side, each with a small plate that would tell delivery men and employees which store they were at. It was slightly dark, the scattered lights on the ceiling providing only dim, depressing lighting.
The Witness: A Slasher Horror Novel Page 1
