The Secrets of Taylor Creek

by Michael Merson

  Stormie gasped as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her eye was severely swollen, the white of her eye was bloodshot red, and the skin around it was turning black and blue.

  “It’ll be fine in no time at all,” Sissy reassured.

  “I imagine it will, but not before lunch,” Stormie said as she ran her hand over the lump.

  “Why you worried about lunch, Baby?”

  “We have guests for lunch.”

  “Guests? Who you got comin’ over here today?” Sissy asked, surprised.

  “I’ll tell you all about it after we have a look at your back,” Stormie said as she turned Sissy around and untied the top of her nightgown. She started to cry again as the wounds were uncovered. She wiped the tears away and then opened the medicine cabinet and took out some bandages and peroxide.

  “This may sting a little, my protector,” Stormie said as she pulled Sissy close to her and kissed her head.

  ***

  He sat there naked, running the knife’s blade along the whetstone in the comfort and safety of his home. He thought about how the previous night had almost been ruined. After all, he had waited patiently in the darkness of the shadows of Emma Rodgers’ home until Ben Arrington left. Then he waited and watched as Emma, in her very thin silk robe, moved from one room to another, singing and dancing along to the sounds of the Temptations as they sang My Girl.

  It was another hour before Emma turned the lights off and went to bed. Then he waited another thirty minutes before he made his way to the front door where he used his knife to quietly pry it open.

  It was the lights from a speeding car coming down the street that forced him back into the shadows where he’d have to wait a few more minutes before enjoying Emma. There under a large white oak hidden amongst the mature azalea bushes, he heard the car slow down, and then to his surprise, he watched as it turned into the driveway. He recognized the car and cursed under his breath as he watched Ben Arrington exit the car and walk up to the front door where he used his key to go inside.

  Ben surprised Emma, who awoke to the light coming on in her room. She immediately jumped from the bed and embraced her late-night visitor. Once the two of them turned the lights off, it was too late to play, and he decided to give up on Emma Rogers and call it a night.

  He cautiously made his way back to where he had parked his car and climbed inside. Sitting there in the driver’s seat, he thought about Ben Arrington and how once more he had screwed everything up. He pulled the long-bladed knife out and began stabbing the seat as he pictured Ben and Emma in each other’s arms.

  His anger and frustration began to escalate, and uncontrollably, he stabbed the passenger seat faster. He gripped the steering wheel with his left hand and screamed loudly in frustration as he plunged the blade into the cushion where it finally found the metal underneath it, causing the knife to stop in place as his hand slid over its very sharp edge.

  He quickly retrieved a handkerchief from the glove box and applied pressure to the wound. As he calmed down, he pulled the knife from the seat and placed it on the dashboard. After a few minutes, he removed the cloth and looked at the wound.

  Good, it’s not that bad, he thought as he covered the cut once more.

  Then he closed his eyes and laid his head back on the seat. It was the sound of people in the distance that made him quickly lookup. There, at the entrance underneath the sign to Joe’s Tavern, he saw Bessie Jones attempting to persuade Glenn Caruthers into spending some money on her.

  He watched as she ran her hand over the top of his trousers and kissed his ear. Caruthers, who might have been interested inside the bar was no longer in the mood. He pushed her away and called her a cheap whore. The drunken Caruthers then stumbled toward his car.

  “Well, fuck you! You old bastard!” He heard Bessie yell as she walked in the other direction down the alley next to the bar.

  She’s drunk, and no one is around. It would be easy, he thought to himself as he started the car and pulled out onto the street.

  Bessie stumbled and fell once as she tried to walk straight. He slowly pulled the car up next to her and stopped. At first, she thought it was Caruthers.

  “I knew you’d couldn’t stay away,” she said as she turned and faced him.

  “Oh shit. I thought you was somebody else,” she said as she leaned over into the driver’s open window.

  “You want to have some fun, baby?” She asked as she reached in and ran her index finger over his chest. He reciprocated by reaching out and placing his hand over her breast. He pulled the top of her dress down, exposing her nipple without saying a word.

  “All right, you can have a feel, but if you want more, it’s gonna cost you,” she said softly as he continued to rub her breast.

  “All right, baby, that’s enough,” she said as she pushed his hand away and pulled her dress back up. She smiled at him.

  “Are you willing to pay for it, baby?” Without a sound, he reached for her breast once more, but she pulled away.

  “Look, if you want more, you gonna have to pay for it,” she explained in frustration.

  “Do you want more?” She asked as she stood up and backed away from the car. He just looked at her and imagined her lying in his room tied to his bed.

  “Well, fuck you then!” She shouted and started to walk away. He quickly opened the door and got out, not wanting to pass up the opportunity. He stood behind her eagerly and waited for her to turn and face him.

  “What’s it gonna be, you want this or not?” She asked as she turned and pulled the top of her dress down, baring both of her breasts to him. He ran his hand over his mouth and looked up and down the alley.

  “Well, shit, what’s it gonna be?” She asked impatiently just as he drove his fist into her face.

  The impact knocked her down, and she laid there unconscious. He quickly looked around, opened the back door, and picked her limp body up from the ground. He placed her into the back seat, and hurriedly drove away.

  At his house, he had played with Bessie for the better part of the morning. After she had passed out from too much playing, he played some more. But soon, it was time.

  It’s ready, he thought to himself as he ran his thumb over the warm whetted steel blade that he spent an hour sharpening while Bessie slept. He ran the knife over her stomach, slightly tickling her, which woke her up.

  “Wait! Please don’t do this!” Bessie begged as she tasted the blood in her mouth.

  Her cut and battered body laid there naked on the bed next to him. Her left eye was swollen shut. Her ankles and wrists ached as she pulled, with all the strength that she had left, at the bindings that constrained her. She was tied to the four corners of the bed.

  “Please let me go, I won’t tell nobody!” She begged as he danced the edge of the knife over her thighs before plunging it deep into her abdomen. She screamed slightly as she tried to catch a breath between each round of pain. She grimaced as he cut his way across her stomach, eviscerating the young girl. She continued to pull at her restraints to no avail.

  Finally, he placed his hand over her eyes and kissed her lips as she quietly passed from life to death. He enjoyed having the power of life and death over his victims. He never really had anything like that, but now he did.

  It was he who determined who lived and who died. That power belonged to him and him alone. The power of life and death was a replacement for the things he could not do as a man.

  Chapter 23

  Friday, July 9, 1965

  It was about nine o’clock in the morning when Nathan arrived at the intersection of Moore St. and Front St. He was able to be up and out of bed at about seven, which was just enough time for him to shower, dress, and make it to Mini’s Bakery to get some much-needed coffee and donuts. Sam and Willie were already there, patiently waiting for him. Both welcomed him with smiles after they recognized the familiar Mini’s Bakery donut box.

  “I hope you two like glazed donuts, but if you don’t, I think you�
��ll be able to find something in this box to fit your fancy,” he said as he approached the two of them.

  “You bet we like glazed donuts,” Willie said as he reached for the box.

  “We like’s any type of donut!” Sam declared as he took one glazed and one chocolate covered donut out of the box.

  After a quick but thorough discussion about different types of donuts, the three of them headed toward their skiff sitting next to the dock. The skiff was in better condition than Nathan thought it would be. It was white with a pirate flag painted on the side and was approximately 15’ in length. The boat was powered by a small outboard motor. There were fishing rods that extended along both sides of the boat and tackle boxes under the flat wooden seats. In the back of the boat was a red can that held additional fuel along with three orange life preservers.

  Nathan sat down in the middle just as Willie got in and started the motor. Sam waited for it to start before untying them from the dock. Once he heard it turn over and saw the familiar white smoke, he untied the line and jumped in the front of the boat.

  “Where to?” Willie asked over the sound of the motor.

  “We need to head for Gallant Point. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yeah. Ain’t no good fishin’ there. But we knows where it is,” Sam answered from the front.

  The boat trip was a little longer than Nathan imagined, but they finally made it to Gallant Point. Sam found a sandy place to beach the boat and pointed toward it. Willie aimed the bow toward the spot and revved the throttle. Once the boat hit the soft sand, Sam jumped out and pulled the boat further onshore.

  “How long we gonna be here?” Willie asked.

  “Why you in a hurry?” Nathan asked in return.

  “Nope. I just thought I’d do some fishin’ while we waited.”

  “I thought there wasn’t any fish over here.”

  “It won’t hurt none to try, and it beats sitting here listening to Sam’s radio.”

  “I think you’ve got time to fish. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  “Good,” Willie said eagerly as he retrieved his fishing pole from the boat and ran down the beach in the opposite direction.

  ***

  Sissy cut the tomatoes that she got from the garden and carefully laid them out on a large serving platter. She then cut the fresh onion that she had to run out to buy earlier in the morning along with the pickles, the cold cuts, the mustard, the potato chips, and of course, all the ingredients to make potato salad.

  She bent over and took the lettuce from the refrigerator. The stinging in her back reminded her of the events that had transpired the previous night. At times during the morning, the pain was intense. More than once, she had to stop what she was doing to catch her breath.

  The one question that kept running through her mind was, Why didn’t I just shoot the son-of-a-bitch when I had the chance?

  She would have been convicted of murder for sure in North Carolina, but it would have been worth it if it set her Stormie free. In her eyes, Stormie was the light of day, the child she never had. She raised Stormie after her mother died. Sissy knew everything about Stormie just as any other mother would. Just like any other mother, she had resolved herself to die before allowing anything to happen to her Stormie.

  “I think the potatoes and everything else are ready to be added together for the potato salad,” Stormie commented as she entered the kitchen.

  “The mayonnaise is in the refrigerator,” Sissy said as she walked toward it.

  “We will be making potato salad the way Daddy liked it,” Stormie declared.

  “Why?”

  “Well, it’s just a guess, but yesterday Nathan ordered his burger without mayonnaise at the restaurant. By the way, our waitress was meaner than a snake with a head-on both ends. Well, anyway, I don’t believe he likes mayonnaise. Therefore, I think we should make it with more mustard just like Daddy used to like it,” Stormie explained as she began mixing the potatoes with the mustard.

  “Good Lord, Stormie! Even mustard potato salad has some mayonnaise in it. We just never told your daddy. Now move over and let me make it before you use up all that mustard. As a matter of fact, go on and get out of my kitchen. Go upstairs and get yourself fixed up,” Sissy ordered as she took the jar of mustard away from Stormie and scooted her toward the door.

  “Sissy, what about my face?” Stormie asked as she held her hand to her face and started to tear up.

  “What will I say?” She asked.

  “Don’t start crying! We’ll have lunch outside that way you can wear one of your big hats and those big round sunglasses that you bought last month. You know the ones that make you look like a bug?”

  “Do you think it will cover my eye?”

  “Well, I really don’t know, but there ain’t nothin’ we can do about it now. So, go on and get ready. I’ll take care of all this in the kitchen.”

  ***

  Nathan spent the better part of an hour looking and walking around Gallant Point. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he was desperate for anything. Anything was better than what he had, which was nothing. He then looked toward the tall grass that ran along the shore for alligator footprints. It was the tall grass that he was looking at when he heard someone or something behind him. He turned quickly and placed his hand on his gun that he had behind his back. Willie and Sam froze a few feet away.

  “What’re you looking for?” Willie asked.

  “An alligator,” he answered, causing the two of them to turn and look at each other in a bewildered yet amused fashion, which was followed by uncontrollable laughter.

  “I don’t see the joke,” he replied as he released the handle of his gun and pulled the shirt back down over his waist.

  “Mr. Nathan, who told you there was alligators out here?” Sam asked.

  “There ain’t no alligators around here. There some further down near the marshes and swamps, but there ain’t none around here. This water’s too cold for em,” Willie explained.

  “The two of you know for certain that there aren’t any alligators here?” He asked, feeling as though he were the butt of some joke.

  “Yes, Sir. We swim and fish in these waters all the time, and we ain’t never seen no alligator,” Willie answered as he tried to control his laughter, unlike Sam, who stood there snickering and holding his fishing pole.

  “No, Mr. Nathan. There ain’t no alligators around here,” He added.

  “But, if you want to see some alligators, Sam and I’ll take you to Catfish Lake, which is up around Havelock.”

  “No. I don’t think that’s necessary,” he said as he looked around once more for what he gathered was the sheriff’s imaginary alligator he had written about in the police report.

  If two local boys knew there weren’t any alligators in the area, then why did Sheriff Carter write Delia Snipes off as a drunk who drowned, and who was later partially eaten by an alligator? He asked himself as he followed his two tour guides back toward the boat.

  “I’m hungry. We got some cold fried chicken that Momma made last night if you want some for lunch,” Willie said as he led the way back to the boat.

  “Now, don’t get me wrong fellas, I like fried chicken like anybody else, but the three of us have been invited to lunch,” he explained as they loaded into the boat.

  “Out here? Where?” Willie asked suspiciously.

  “Well, I don’t really know how to get there, but I’d bet the two of you do.”

  “That’s a bet you’d win because we know where everything is out here,” Sam declared loudly.

  “Well, all right then, do either of you know where Stormie Arrington’s home is?”

  “We most certainly do. Ms. Sissy makes real good peach cobbler,” Willie declared as Sam pushed the boat off the shore and jumped in.

  ***

  True to their word, the treasure hunters knew precisely where to go. They were soon securing the boat to a long-wooden pier that led to a lush green, p
erfectly manicured lawn. At the end of the pier, there sat a nicely arranged set of lawn furniture. The furniture was black wrought iron and consisted of five chairs that circled a table that was covered in a white tablecloth.

  The table itself was adorned with a bountiful selection of meats, vegetables, and other side dishes. In the center of the table was a white rose bouquet that was carefully arranged in a crystal vase. Behind the table and up a slight hill, there was a large white North Carolina plantation-style home. When Nathan stepped out of the boat, he noticed a beautiful dark mahogany, wooden motorboat docked on the opposite side of the pier with the words ‘Stormie Forecast’ painted on the back.

  The home off in the distance was reminiscent of the many spectacular plantation homes found throughout the South. Nathan Emerson stood there and marveled at the Arrington Home, which brought out an old childhood memory. The forgotten memory was of the summer that he had turned ten. That summer was spent with his grandmother at her home in Williamsburg, Virginia. Mini, his grandmother, and he spent those long hot days touring the many plantation homes along the James River.

  In the car driving from one plantation home to the next, she’d shared the history and the local folklore of each one. It was later in bed before he fell asleep that she’d quizzed him on all the homes they’d visited that day. He remembered waking each morning to the smell of pancakes and sausage. It was one of his most cherished memories.

  “How y’all doin?” Stormie yelled from under the front porch, where she suddenly appeared carrying a pitcher of what had to be sweet tea.

  “Good, and you?” Nathen answered back as he began walking toward her.

  Once again, she reminded him of Jaqueline Kennedy. She was wearing a sophisticated white summer dress that was complemented with a large white hat that protected her shoulders from the afternoon sun. The only thing that looked out of place was the pair of large dark sunglasses that hid her beautiful green eyes.

  “I’m just fine. And, how are you two duly sworn G-Men doing today?” Stormie asked Sam and Willie, who were more concerned about the peach cobbler that was sitting on the table next to them.