by Robert Boren
“Okay,” Jackson said. “Hey, Charlie, the Sheriff wants you down there.”
“Uh oh,” Charlie said, walking over. He climbed down the ladder, seeing a grim look on the Sheriff’s face. Then he started to look around.
There were two jail cells over against the left hand side…home-made, with iron bars. They both had toilets, and cots with dirty sheets sitting on them. Over to the right, there were several sets of hand cuffs hanging from chains on the wall. In the middle of the room was a table, dusty, with dried blood in the channel going around the outside.
“That looks like an embalmer’s table,” Charlie said, looking at the Sheriff. On the opposite wall was a workbench with a lot of drawers, and medical tools sitting on top. There were bone saws of several different sizes, also dental tools lined up, and drills, and several hatchets. Behind the workbench, on a large bulletin board, were pictures of young women. Charlie walked over to there and pulled the string hanging down, which started up the fluorescent lights overhead. It looked like the pictures ranged from the early 1960s to about the late 1990s. There were news clippings next to many of the pictures.
“Hey, look over here,” The Sheriff said. He was next to a large patch of open dirt in the far corner, taking up more than half the floor space. “I’ll bet there’s a lot of body parts buried in there.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said.
“This place didn’t add up to me. Why anybody would just padlock this place and walk away? Now I know why.”
“I went hunting with this guy and Kurt,” Charlie said. “I slept next to him.” He started opening drawers in the work bench. One of them had a collection of teeth. Charlie shut it quickly, shaking his head. He opened a drawer next to it. There were a bunch of driver’s licenses in there, rubber banded together. He pulled that out. “Sheriff, take a look at this.”
“Son of a bitch,” he said when he saw it. Charlie carefully pulled the rotting rubber band off. There were licenses from the 60s all the way to the early 2000s. All young, pretty women.
“We’ve got a big problem,” the Sheriff said.
“I know, Sheriff. If we get the authorities in here, this place is going to get on the news, probably all over the country. The enemy will see it.”
“So what do we do?”
“Well, we know this guy is deader than a doornail,” Charlie said. “Nobody’s in danger anymore.”
“Chet didn’t do this by himself,” the Sheriff said. “Think about it. He was too old by the 2000s to have pulled this kind of stuff off himself.”
“The son?” Charlie asked.
“I’d bet money on it. Wonder if they found his body, or if they just assume he was home when the bomb went off.”
“Chet could’ve teamed up with somebody else, maybe even somebody who still lives in the town today.”
“Doubtful,” the Sheriff said. “Somebody into this kind of thing to the degree we see here doesn’t just stop and lead a normal life.”
“We’re going to have to tell the others about this,” Charlie said. “I think we need to make a case that it’s in our best interest to withhold this information until after the war.”
“That could land some of us in jail, you know,” the Sheriff said.
“Yeah, I know,” Charlie replied.
“What if there’re people rotting in jail right now for the killing of some of these women?” the Sheriff asked. “If we don’t say anything, they’ll continue to rot there.”
“I know, Sheriff, this is a hard decision,” Charlie said. “I think we need to discuss it with the group.”
“Let’s get out of here,” the Sheriff said. “This place is getting to me.”
The Sheriff climbed up the ladder as Charlie turned out the light over the workbench. He switched off the other light, and climbed out.
“Well?” Jackson asked. The Sheriff just looked at him, and walked over to the bar. He picked up the bottle and filled a shot glass, downing the drink. Charlie joined him there, and had one too. They looked at each other.
Earl started to climb down. The Sheriff saw him.
“Earl, don’t go down there,” he said. “We need to talk.”
Earl stopped, and came back up.
“Shut that thing, will you?” Charlie said.
“Okay,” Earl said, a puzzled look on his face. Jackson helped him lower the heavy door, and then they rolled the rug back over it. The two of them walked over to the bar, next to Charlie and the Sheriff, and the others gathered around too.
“What down there?” Rosie asked. Jeb was still standing next to her, arm around her shoulders.
“It’s a dungeon,” Charlie said. Hilda got a horrified look on her face.
“I know bad down there,” Rosie said. “I feel it.”
“What exactly do you mean, Charlie?” Mary asked. Kurt walked over next to her.
“Chet was a serial killer,” the Sheriff said. “He killed people and carved up bodies down there.”
“Oh, no,” Hilda said.
“Chet? No way,” Kurt said.
“Show them, Charlie,” the Sheriff said. Charlie pulled the stack of driver’s licenses out of his pocket and put them on the bar. Kurt picked them up, his eyes tearing up.
“I was wondering why this place just got padlocked with all the stuff in it,” Jeb said. “That’s been bugging me since we got here.”
“I know, me too,” the Sheriff said. “Obviously the son at least knew about this.”
“At least?” Kurt asked.
“Look at those licenses,” Charlie said. “From the 60s to the early 2000s. How’s an elderly man going to pull that off by himself? This guy was in his mid-seventies by the 2000s.”
“You’re right, he was,” Kurt said, grim look on his face.
“So what now?” Mary asked. “Do we call the cops?”
“Do we?” Charlie said. “If we do, we’re going to have the media all over this place. The whole country is going to see it on TV, including certain cretins that would love to know where we are.”
“Charlie’s right,” Jeb said. “We need to consider waiting on this.”
“What if there’re people in jail for the killings of some of these women?” Mary asked.
“I know,” the Sheriff said. “Charlie and I already realized that. We were talking about it down there. I don’t have a good answer for that. One thing we have to remember, though. We have to include our own survival as part of the criteria in making our decision on how to go forward.”
“Let’s think about this before we do anything rash,” Jane said. “We have to wait. We don’t have a choice. But we don’t have to wait years. We only have to wait a few weeks, assuming that Frank gets the info we need from those chips.”
“Yep,” Charlie said. “We only need a little time. If somebody was convicted falsely for one of these murders, and they’re still alive, both of which situations are remote at best, another few weeks isn’t going to make much difference. Meanwhile Frank’s work might turn the tide of this war.”
“Okay, I see your point,” Mary said. “As long as we hold to that.”
Jane sat at the bar, laid out the licenses, and started taking pictures of them with her iPhone. There were twenty two.
“What’re you doing?” Hilda asked.
“I’m going to do a little research on these names,” Jane said.
“Good idea,” the Sheriff said. “Don’t forget Chet and his son.”
“We need to have another meeting and tell the others,” Charlie said. “We need consensus.”
“Yeah, we do,” Mary said. Kurt shook his head yes, as did several of the others.
“We also need to keep our focus on the task at hand,” Jeb said. “Find the cretin leaders and kill them. That’s job one. After that, we tackle this.”
“I think I’ll have another drink,” Hilda said.
“Me too,” Mary said.
Jeb lined up the shot glasses again and filled them all.
Outside, the sun
was starting to get lower in the sky, and a chill started to slowly settle. Frank felt it in the clubhouse, and got up to close the double doors. I’m glad we have windows in this place now, he thought to himself. He stared at the computer screen. He was able to see the payload now. It wasn’t going to be quite as simple as he hoped. There were no names. There were some labels with numeric codes. ‘Date’ was the only one that was obvious. There was ‘country’, but no country name, just a number. Several of the chips from Islamist fighters had the same number. He figured out pretty quickly that number one equaled the United States, because all of the militia folks and the lead Islamist from Kurt’s place had country number one - the lead Islamist was from Dearborn. There was a label for ‘Rank’ as well. This was probably going to be the most important number other than the serial number that he had early on. Simon Orr was a three. The lead Islamist was a ten. The militia men were all thirteen, and the foreign Islamists were all fifteens. He got a chilling thought. Major Donaldson. Nobody thought to check him for a chip. Crap. Was that why we continued getting attacked at Gabe’s place?
Back in Terry and Trish’s trailer, they were still making out, leaning against the kitchen counter. Their passion was building, their kisses and caresses more and more wanton. Trish finally broke the kiss, panting, pushing Terry back.
“The dishwater’s cold,” she said.
“I don’t care,” Terry said, trying to catch his breath. He reached for her again, but she backed away.
“My dad is about fifty yards away, and Gabe and Dobie are about twenty yards away. We can’t, not in broad daylight with them around,” she said. She hugged him. “Don’t worry, there’s always the night time. When they’re asleep.”
Terry nodded, trying to get himself to settle down. “Sorry,” he said, caressing her back.
“I’m not sorry,” she said. “I needed that. I’m anxious too, you know.” She kissed him again, gently but with passion. “Now, you go back and sit down, and let me finish this.”
He nodded, and sat down at the dinette, watching her. Looking at her was still getting to him.
“Maybe you should go outside for a while,” she said. “I feel you looking at me.”
“Does it bother you?” Terry asked.
“No, I actually like it,” she said. “I just don’t want you to get frustrated, that’s all.”
“I’m the happiest man alive. You know that, right?”
She turned and looked at him. “Really?”
“I’m head over heels for you,” he said. “Completely. Can’t you tell?”
“It’s a nice feeling, isn’t it?” she said, looking at him with misty eyes.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m totally head over heels for you too, silly,” she said, smiling.
“Good,” Terry said. He felt the warmth of their connection while he watched her finish up. After a while she dried her hands with a towel and turned to him. “They can drip dry. Want to go for a walk or something?”
“Yeah, let’s go. I’ll show you around. I got a good look at the place before everybody got here.”
They left the trailer.
“Wow, it’s getting a little chilly out here,” Terry said. “Maybe I ought to shut down the air conditioner and open windows. The place could still use some airing out.”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” she said. They got done with that in a few minutes, and then walked away from their home, hand in hand, towards the back of the park. Jake saw them and stepped out of his trailer.
“How’re you two doing?” he asked.
“Fine, dad,” Trish said. “We’re just about done setting up. How’s your place coming?”
“Pretty well,” he replied. “Just got the water heater fired up, and tried the heater. It’s gonna get cold tonight. I’m a little low on propane, though…need to make a run to Howard’s place in the next week or two.”
“Shoot, that’s what I didn’t try…the heater,” Terry said.
“Later,” Trish said. “Let’s go for our walk.”
“Okay,” he said. “See you later, Jake.”
“Bye, now,” Jake said, smiling. He went back into his trailer as the couple walked away.
“Don’t worry about the heater,” Trish said. “I’ll keep you warm tonight.”
Terry put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.
Back at the clubhouse, Frank heard steps coming up from the kitchen. It was Jane. She walked over to him. “How’s it going?” she asked.
“It’s going,” Frank said. “It’s not quite as easy as I expected.” He showed her what he found, running through the examples.
“You’re still going to have to try hacking their system, then,” she said after he finished showing her.
“Yeah,” Frank said. “What went on downstairs? You look a little disturbed. Somebody get into an argument or something?”
“No, nothing like that,” she said. “Worse.”
“What?”
“There was another trap door in the lounge, underneath the rug.”
“No, really?”
“Yeah, Frank, really,” she said. “There was a dungeon down there.”
He laughed. “Oh, Chet was into S&M, huh? Gotta watch these old timers.”
“No, Frank, you don’t get it. The guy was a serial killer,” she said.
“What makes you think that?” Frank asked, looking shocked. Jane took her phone out of her pocket, and went to the pictures app. She held it up to his face and scrolled through the pictures of the driver’s licenses.
“Holy crap,” Frank said.
“He was all set up down there to hold people, torture them, and dismember the bodies,” she said.
“You went down there?”
“No, just the Sheriff and Charlie,” she said. “Pretty horrible stuff.”
“We can’t tell the authorities yet,” Frank said. “This place will turn into a circus, and the bad guys will find us.”
“I know,” she said. “We’re going to have a meeting in a little while to discuss this, but bottom line is that we’ll keep quiet about this for at least a few weeks, to give us time to take advantage of your work.”
“And after that?” Frank asked.
“We’ll have to tell the authorities, Frank. What if there are people in jail right now for these murders?”
“Oh. Yeah, good point. Kinda takes the luster off of this place. I was hoping we’d be able to stick around.”
“I know,” she said. “You going to be using the laptop this afternoon?”
“No, this PC is working better for me. Why?”
“I want to go research these names,” she said. “Mind?”
“Not at all. Knock yourself out. You’ll have to do it out in the barn, though. We’ve only got one internet outlet here.”
“Okay. I’ll take Lucy along.”
“Alright, honey, have fun.” He focused on the screen again as she left the clubhouse. She thought about using the tunnel to get over there, but decided that she didn’t want to go underground again. The thought made her shudder. I’m not going back down there alone.
The barn was deserted. It was starting to get a little bit chilly out there. She sat at the work bench and logged onto the laptop, then started looking up each name, bringing up what information she could find, then saving the good links into a file. The early ones were like going back in time…there were pictures of the town, with investigation reports. She recognized a young Howard in a couple of the shots. All of the victims were young women, snatched from their cars. Whoa, most of the time they were waiting for a tow truck when they disappeared. They didn’t figure that out until the late 90s, when more people had cell phones. Several of the later victims called family members, saying they were waiting for a tow. The bodies weren’t found right away, but their cars were usually found the next morning, open, by the side of Nighthawk Road, just southeast of town. She turned, looked at the tow truck behind her, and shuddered. It was an early
2000s model. The son.
Late that night, in Marina Del Rey, California, a black man sat in the dark, the glow of a computer screen lighting his face. His eyes got wider. He made some notes, and drilled deeper. Then he pulled out his cellphone and dialed.
“George.” he said.
“Malcom? Geez, don’t you know what time it is?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I got an alarm.”
“Which?”
“Nighthawk Road Killer.”
“That’s not exactly recent, Malcom.”
“The search activity is coming from nearby the scene, George. I traced the IP address through the satellite provider. Brand new service, at an RV Park south of Sharon Springs.”
“They found something.”
“Think you can use your connections to get us across the border, George? With our rigs?”
“It’s still dangerous out there, Malcom. We’d have to go way north and then drop down into Kansas. Long trip.”
“I don’t care. A good long motorhome trip would do us good.”
“One or both of the rigs?”
“Depends. Think Heidi wants to come?”
“Maybe. I’ll talk to her in the morning.”
“Bye, George.”
“Later, Malcom.”
Chapter 10 – Metaphysical Romance
The sun was out. It was a bright morning, and a ray of light came through the open skylight above the bed. Terry was warm under the covers, naked against Trish. He pulled back the covers and was about to step out when he felt how cold it was. He covered back up in a hurry and snuggled. Trish woke up, stretched, and looked at him.
“Happy?” she asked sleepily. She had a soft smile on her face.
Terry kissed her forehead. “Yes,” he said. The night had been bliss. Everything he hoped for and more. He stared deep into her eyes. “I want to spend the rest of my days with you.”
“You might get tired of me,” Trish said. “Boys usually do.”
“Why do you think that? Are you afraid you’ll get tired of me?”
“No,” she said, touching his face, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ve never felt like this with anybody before.”
