Eyes of the Predator: The Pickham County Murders (The Hunters)

by Glenn Trust

  As he approached the small cabin-like office, an elderly man and woman came onto the porch. He started to stop and speak to them, but they motioned him around, pointing down the drive. It was clear they were signaling him to go further.

  Shrugging, he thought, okay. Clay continued down the long dirt drive, figuring he was committed now. In the mirror, he saw the couple, arms around each other, watching him and speaking into each other’s ears as if they were whispering. Very strange.

  Approaching the bottom of the drive, he could see the creek and the first of the line of cabins that stretched along the creek. Parked on the drive beside the first cabin was a brown sheriff’s car, and beside it was a deputy whose crouching form rose as Clay came to a stop twenty feet behind the deputy. The look on the deputy’s face was primarily one of annoyance, with just the slightest trace of relief mixed in.

  The deputy approached as Clay climbed out of his pickup.

  “Who are you?”

  Clay tossed the portable radio he had been holding onto the truck seat and turned to the deputy. “Clay Purcell,” he responded, offering nothing more.

  “Mr. Purcell, I’m going to have to ask that you back up the drive and stay at the office for a while. The Carlsons shouldn’t have sent you down this way.”

  “They didn’t. At least I don’t think they meant to. They motioned me on like they thought I was with you.”

  “Oh, right,” Deputy Parsons nodded remembering the instructions he had given them. “Well, you’re still going to have to go back and wait at the office.”

  “What’s going on?” Clay ignored the deputy’s instructions, not feeling too intimidated by this young deputy after his dealings with law enforcement over the past couple of days. Grover Parsons was not Trooper Collins of the Georgia Patrol after all.

  “An investigation, Mr. Purcell. Sheriff’s business, and you are going to have to turn around right now and go…”

  “Is it the old Chevy with Texas plates?”

  The reaction on the deputy’s face told Clay his question had the desired effect. The deputy took a step back, so that he could see Clay’s entire body. The look on his face turned from its initial surprise to stone.

  “What do you know about that?”

  “Quite a bit.”

  “I assume you have a good explanation for that, so start talking.”

  Two minutes later, Clay had explained how he came to be at the Creek Side Cabins on that sunny, fall afternoon.

  “So you’re the one the patrol stopped last night. I’ll be damned. Well, you’re a hardheaded son of a bitch. I’ll say that for you.” Grover Parsons shook his head before continuing. “So what is the girl to you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing, maybe something.” Clay looked down at the ground trying to come up with a good answer, and finding none he said simply, “Conscience I guess. Guilt.” He shrugged not able to give a better response.

  Changing the subject quickly, Clay asked, “So, what’s the plan. Have you spotted them.”

  “The plan is to stand by for the other units. You heard that on the radio you…borrowed.”

  “They said stand by if there was no threat to the girl. Is there a threat?”

  “Well, not that I can tell,” Parsons responded, clearly not comfortable with his answer.

  “Not that you can tell? What does that mean?”

  “Means…I don’t know,” said the deputy honestly, looking Clay in the eye. “I’ve been squatting here trying to decide what to do and come up with a plan. Truth is, I have no idea what is going on in that cabin.”

  “So, the girl could be in danger. There could be a threat.”

  “Could be,” Parsons agreed, looking down and avoiding the look on Clay’s face. That look was a reflection of what Parsons was feeling inside, and the realization stung enough that he looked up and said, “You’re right. I don’t know if there’s an imminent threat or not, but I know that if this is the suspect, the man has killed. If the girl is with him, nothing good is going to come from it. That would seem to be a pretty clear threat.”

  Parsons turned and walked towards his car.

  “What are you gonna do?” Clay asked the young deputy, realizing for the first time that they were about the same age, and that the deputy must be about as scared as Clay suddenly was.

  “Gonna check it out. Backup might be thirty minutes away, and I’ve been here fifteen already. As far as I’m concerned, there’s a threat.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No,” Parsons replied without looking as he reached in his car and pulled the shotgun from the rack between the front seats. “Go back to the office and wait. I’ll let you know when things are in hand.”

  “I’m going with you.” Clay’s tone was firm.

  The deputy regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. “Okay. You have a weapon?”

  Clay shook his head.

  “Take this,” Parsons held out the Remington twelve gauge shotgun. “You’ve got five rounds. Use it to protect yourself only. You know how to use it?”

  Clay replied by pumping a round into the chamber.

  “Good. Now be careful, and let’s hope nothing is going to happen. Sheriff finds out I handed you my shotgun, I’ll get a bunch of time off, that is if I don’t lose my job.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Clay assured him, holding the shotgun with a familiarity that put Parsons’ mind slightly at ease. “Just for protection. I got it. ‘Course if it comes to that, I guess we’re both gonna be in the middle of a shit storm,” They exchanged a quick grin and a nod as they turned towards the cabin.

  “You go to the rear. Stay in the tree line. There’s a small back deck on each cabin. Watch that area. If he comes out, try and keep an eye on him, but don’t let him see you if possible. Let the backup units know which way he went.” Parsons paused and looked at Clay one last time. “That shotgun is for protection only. Remember.”

  With a final nod, the young men moved forward to confront the beast, slightly less confident than when they had been considering their plan, but committed just the same. They were not aware that this same beast had been the object of manhunts in a dozen other states. None had come so close before, or in such proximity to its fangs before, other than its victims.

  82. To Hurt or Not to Hurt

  The softness of his voice and the mock tenderness were more frightening than if he had screamed at her. Awake and energized by his nap, Lylee was ready for the final feast. He would use the girl up completely now, feeding the beast inside, and would not stop until he had consumed everything. He would gorge himself until the pleading terror in her fear-widened eyes dimmed, and the eyes became empty.

  Kneeling beside her, he whispered in her ear.

  “Time to wake up.”

  Slowly, the girl’s eyes opened, and she returned to the room. To the present. To him.

  He stood up taking a grasping pull on her hair. His hand moved in a wide arc leaving a stinging slap on her face. Lyn was wrenched out of the faraway, safe place she had found until she brought her eyes up to meet his. When they did, they widened with fear. This was, of course, what Lylee had intended.

  Drifting back to reality, to the cabin, Lyn’s eyes darted around the room trying to understand. Trying to remember where she was, why she was there. The softness of his voice, combined with the harsh slap were eerie and confusing.

  Wide, fear filled eyes swayed back and forth while her head was held stationary by his grip on her hair. Slowly, she realized that they were still in the cabin, and the memory flooded back, unwanted, into her mind. She had to find a way back to the safe place, to the swaying pines and cool breezes, away from the man standing nude in front of her, tearing at her hair.

  The curtains over the air conditioner hung limp. The air conditioner was off. Her arms were still secured to the chair. No cricket hummed and chirped. There was no escape.

  “Let me explain how this is going to work,” the man whispered into her ear, so close t
hat she felt his breath on her neck. “We’re going to spend some time together until you give me what I want. And you will give it to me. Understand?”

  Lyn tried to nod her head, but his grip prevented her from moving. He could feel her try though.

  “Good,” Lylee said. “Now, I’m going to take the tape off of your mouth. We’re going to talk.”

  Still holding her hair, he moved his left hand up to her throat until Lyn felt the knife press firmly against her trachea.

  “If you make one sound, except to answer me or to talk when I say, anything at all, I am going to hurt you.” He looked fiercely into her eyes. “I will hurt you bad. You believe me, don’t you?”

  She tried to nod again, and this time he let her hair go slightly so that she could move her head up and down a little.

  “Good,” he said while reaching down with the knife, cutting the plastic tie wraps that had held her in place since he had strapped her to the chair.

  Lylee jerked her roughly out of the chair. She stood uncertainly. Her legs were numb. They tingled painfully as the blood began to flow through them. Lyn became conscious of the plastic she was standing on. Looking down, she saw dried red spots and smears on the plastic. She knew it was blood, her blood.

  With the knife still at her throat, Lylee pushed her towards the bathroom. The door was partially closed, and he thrust her in bumping her hard into the door.

  “Clean up. Five minutes. Pee or shit if you need to, but get clean,” was all he said.

  He turned away leaving the door open. Lyn looked into the mirror and saw the dried blood and cuts that covered her shoulders and chest. She stared at herself. The image staring back at her brought her back further from the faraway safe place and closer to reality than she had been in hours. Was this image really her? Was this really happening?

  “Clean up! And be quick!” Lylee said sharply from just outside the door.

  Lyn picked up a washcloth, wet it, and began to wipe her face, arms, and chest. Tears fell across her cheeks. She was alone. What was going to happen, would happen. She may be alive for the moment, as long as the man needed her, but she knew that her life was already slowly draining away, washed down the sink with the reddish brown drops rinsed from the washcloth in her hand. The image in the mirror was a shell. Soon there would be nothing of substance left.

  In the bedroom, Lylee busied himself with straightening the plastic under the chair and making sure there were no telltale signs of what had been taking place in the room. This was not the first time he had toyed with his prey before the kill, but it was definitely the longest period of time he had allowed himself to do so. Again, the cautious predator came into his mind warning him. End this. Quickly, before they come and you are still over the kill, end it!

  He pushed the cautious voice out of his brain. The need to extract what he wanted, what he needed, burned in him. In his mind, he shouted back at the cautious voice. I will end it when I have her, all of her!

  He looked into the bathroom. The girl stood in front of the sink, robotically wiping her body. The washrag was streaked with dried blood. Remember the rag, he thought. Have to take the rag and towel with what was left of the girl. But not just yet.

  Lyn’s right wrist stung as the man reached into the bathroom and jerked her roughly. The skin where the plastic tie had secured her to the car and then to the chair in the cabin, was a raw, red, bleeding sore spot that burned at his touch.

  Pulling her to the spot on the plastic in front of the chair, he stood close in front of her. His hand moved up between her legs. Her body stiffened.

  “You ignoring me? Don’t.” The word was a warning.

  Lyn tried hard to focus on the curtains. Tried hard to find a way to the safe place, as she had done before. It was gone, and she could not find her way there.

  “Do – not – ignore – me,” he said, each word a separate and distinct warning.

  His hand moved to the inside of her thigh. He grabbed the skin and pinched hard.

  Lyn gasped at the sudden pain. She tried to push his hand away with her left hand, despite the knife that rested point first against her abdomen, as they stood close. He pinched harder.

  “I warned you. I’m afraid that’s gonna leave a mark.” Under the fierce eyes, the grin was back.

  Lyn forced her eyes to find his and looked into the gray eyes of the beast. They were full of life. They observed her, considered her every action and reaction with an inhuman, animal curiosity, like the cat toying with a captured mouse.

  Her gaze into his eyes was what he wanted. He released his grip, and the sharp pain from the pinch to the inside of her thigh subsided.

  “Don’t you want to look at me?” he asked, again taunting.

  Lyn said nothing.

  “You know you should talk and be nice. After all, I’m the one who’s taking you to Canada.” His words mocked and emphasized her helplessness and hopelessness.

  Lyn blinked and said nothing. Canada was gone.

  She became aware that the man was stroking himself with the hand that had pinched her thigh. She stared blankly into the gray eyes, not wanting to see or know what he was doing. The trauma and fear were suffocating her. Any reason she had left was rapidly departing, leaving an empty shell behind. She welcomed the emptiness.

  He grinned at her. “Did it really hurt?’

  Lyn said nothing. She just looked at him through tear clouded eyes.

  Lylee took her wrist and twisted. Lyn gasped as he bent the wrist backwards.

  “I said, did it hurt?’

  “Yes, it hurt,” Lyn gasped.

  “Did it hurt bad?” Lylee twisted harder on her wrist.

  The pain moved up her arm to her elbow, and Lyn could only whisper through clenched teeth, “Yes. It hurt really bad.” The pain in her wrist and elbow was blinding. “Please, stop….please,” she whispered.

  Lylee released his grip, and her limp arm fell to the side of her trembling body.

  “Good. So which would you rather be? Hurt or dead?” He looked at her, and the animal was back in his eyes staring hard into her. “I can make dead hurt a lot more than that.”

  Lyn said nothing. He couldn’t really mean for her to answer.

  But Lylee did mean for her to answer and choose. It was part of the game, and he needed an answer.

  “Which? Dead or hurt? Answer me!”

  Forcing her to make a choice, to choose the pain he would inflict, was like honey to him. Her torment was his sweet. His tongue moved over his lips as if he could taste the sweetness thrown out by her raging emotions. Fear. Confusion. Hopelessness.

  Lyn saw the contortion of pleasure on his face. She didn’t understand it, but she knew she must answer.

  “Please. Just hurt me…don’t kill me…please.”

  Lylee smiled happily. “All right then. Hurt it is. You know I’ll give you what you want sweetheart. Now you give me what I want.”

  Lylee’s mind and body were awash with surging arousal. Lyn trembled at the realization that she had taken a step, a long stride, towards the end. She was losing, and soon he would have all that he wanted from her. When that was done, it would be over. He would feed on her living remains until her corpse ceased twitching and she was no longer alive. She wondered whether not being alive would be better.

  She was oblivious to the knock at the door, but the moment of surprise and indecision she saw in the gray animal eyes caused her brow to furrow in confusion. Something had happened. What, she wondered.

  Pushing her hard into the chair, he moved quickly and lightly to the window where he peered out between curtains. His thumb rotated the large knife in his hand as he contemplated the source of the knock at the door.

  Then a voice from some faraway place drifted into the room, pulling Lyn ever so slightly from the reality of the cabin.

  “Rye County sheriff!” the voice called. “Need to speak with you for a minute. Open the door please.”

  83. Silence in the Woods

  S
tanding on the porch to the side of the door and away from the window, Deputy Grover Parsons saw the curtains part slightly as someone peered out.

  “Open the door please,” he repeated. “I need to speak with you for a minute.”

  “Just a minute, deputy,” a male voice with a definite Texas twang called out from behind the door. “My wife and I been sleeping and, you know, well, we’re not dressed. Let me grab my pants!”

  “Right, sir. Just hurry up and open the door!” Grover called back. His hand was on the pistol at his side.

  Inside the cabin, Leyland Torkman, predator, felt the pressure of being the hunted, and although it was a new sensation, he did not panic. Lyn watched motionless from the chair as he pulled on his blue jeans and tee shirt and slid his feet into his shoes.

  Looking at Lyn, he said in a hissing whisper, “Any sound and I will slit your throat and gut you before I kill him. You understand? He cannot save you, but I can hurt you. And I will hurt you…bad.”

  He stared at her, waiting, and was about to speak again when she finally nodded her comprehension. Lyn watched from the chair in helpless torment as he moved to the door, desperate to call out, to make some sound, but frozen instead. It was as if she was watching the drama play out on a screen, and she could only sit, breathlessly waiting for the next terrible scene.

  Partially opening the door with his left hand, he peered out, the hand holding the edge of the door as if to slam it shut at any second. From behind, Lyn could see the hunting knife in the waistband of his jeans over his right hip. She could not see the deputy, who was so close, but still an invisible voice to her.

  As the door opened, she became aware of the rushing of the creek outside. It seemed to rush into the room, the sound pulling her a little further into the reality of the here and now.

  “Hey, deputy. What can we do for you?” Lylee’s voice was light and friendly, and non-menacing. He could see that the deputy’s hand rested lightly on the butt of his sidearm.