“So what now?”
“I’m going to check it out. You stay here. Sit in the driver’s seat and be ready to roll, just in case we need to leave quickly. Keep the engine off and don’t press the brake pedal; we don’t need him seeing a car parked near his driveway, if that’s what this road is.”
“You can’t leave,” his mom said, grabbing his arm. “I don’t want to lose you. He’s a sick man. If he catches you—”
“He won’t,” Aaron assured her, making eye contact. He placed a hand on her knee. “I have to do this. We have to do this. We can’t let this monster get away with what he’s done. If his house is up there, dungeon, whatever, we need to find it and get proof that he’s a raping, killing maniac.”
“I know. You’re right. This is all just so…real now. We’re close to getting him, aren’t we?”
“Hell yes we are.”
“Okay. Go, but be fucking careful.”
“I will. We have our phones, but don’t call me unless you have to. I’ll keep mine on vibrate.”
Aaron opened the door, making sure his mother covered the dome light with her hands, and left the car. He headed along the dirt drive, stumbling a few times into divots and over hardened ruts before his vision further adjusted to the absolute dark of the forest. The gloom was thick, veillike. A branch poked him in the head and he flinched. His heart pounded at the thought that the cop was watching him, waiting to pounce. The woods seemed to be encroaching, more branches prodding and scratching him.
He couldn’t stop thinking that at any moment the cop would tackle him, or worse, shoot him. Or maybe the cop was waiting just up ahead, the Impala pointed toward him—lights off—and when he came close enough, the cop would run him down. Aaron would be blinded as the maniac turned on the headlights right before impact.
He shook off the crazy thoughts and forced himself forward.
After walking as quietly as possible, listening for sounds of approaching footsteps or the idling of a car engine, Aaron entered a clearing. Having been in blackness for a while, he felt the area practically shined with brightness. The moon’s glow was like the sun’s. He heard a crunching sound under his feet and looked down to see a pebbled driveway. It led through a mowed yard and up to a bilevel house with an attached garage. Trimmed hedges ran along the front of the dwelling. Cement steps led to the front door. The house’s windows were dark. The Impala was nowhere to be seen. With no lights twinkling in the distance and nothing but thick forest everywhere, he was certain this was the only house within at least a few miles. The vehicle had to be in the garage.
It hadn’t been more than twenty minutes since he lost sight of the sedan, but with the lights off in the house—at least none showing from any windows—he wondered if the cop had gone straight to bed. He had no idea if the guy lived alone, had a wife, kids or a dog. He didn’t like to think someone as evil as the cop could have a family, but it was very possible. Serial killers usually had them, using them as shields and camouflage.
Looking along the ground, Aaron found a good-sized tree branch. He picked it up and tossed it toward the house, wanting to see if there were any motion-detecting lights. When nothing happened, he tossed another large branch to make sure, then approached the house on the garage side.
He crept along the front, ducking below windows as dark as if they had been painted over. He was able to see his reflection in one and realized the shades had been drawn. As he walked below another window, this one higher up, light exploded over his head.
Aaron froze, thinking he had tripped a motion-sensing light. With his back pressed against the siding, he breathed easier realizing the illumination was coming from the house’s window. He inched to the side and looked up, seeing only the window’s ledge and the top of a dandelion flower on the other side of the glass.
Needing to see more, he backed into the gloom—making sure to stay away from the light—and saw the cop’s face. The bastard was glancing down, but not out. His arms were moving rapidly. Then he saw the man wipe at his forehead. A long, bright yellow glove covered his hand and wrist. He was washing dishes at the kitchen sink. The demented fuck held up a plate, then put it somewhere to the side.
Aaron had indeed found the cop’s lair.
He continued to watch the cop perform the ordinary task, finding it difficult to believe a monster like him did such normal things. After a few minutes, the cop disappeared from the window and the light went out. Aaron waited for another window to light up, but the house remained dark. He wondered if the cop had gone to a room in the back of the house, or if the rest of the windows had thick, dark-colored blinds designed to block out all light. Someone like him wouldn’t want anyone being able to see inside.
Aaron went around to the back of the house. A swing set with a slide sat a short distance from the back porch, answering the question of whether the man had kids. However, weeds and overgrown grass surrounded the swing set, unlike the rest of the lawn, which had clearly been mowed. And there were no toys or bicycles lying about. The set might be old and was simply left where it was—the cop’s kids older now. Aaron thought the man looked to be in his mid-forties. His kids could be anywhere from elementary school age to college age.
Maybe the man was divorced and had lost custody of his kids, or only had them over on weekends or for holidays, so the swing set was never used. There were just too many unknowns to be certain about anything. If there were kids involved, Aaron didn’t want them to get hurt, but it would be impossible for them not to suffer, at least somewhat. If Aaron killed the cop and hid the body, they’d wonder what had happened to him. If Aaron exposed the cop, the media would jump on it, leaving his family in turmoil, embarrassed and shocked. The children would wonder what kind of father they had. The wife wouldn’t be able to understand how she’d been blind to the truth for all those years. She’d wonder if one day, she and the kids would have been victims too. She’d never know who he truly was, feeling as if her whole marriage was a sham. Loving him. Hating him. Unsure about it all. Their world would be turned upside down, torn apart.
Aaron was going to be the whirlwind that caused the destruction of their world, but regardless, he was ready to destroy it for the sake of everything good. They would hate him, but they’d also know it wasn’t him who had really done the harm. All their pain would come from the cop—the father, the husband. He would be the one responsible for whatever happened to his family. They would never be the same again, but ultimately it would be for the best—for everyone involved.
Satisfied with his findings, Aaron decided to head back to the car and tell his mother what he had discovered. With one final look around the property, he noticed a large rectangular object up in a tree along the tree line on the garage side of the house. After a few moments, he realized it was a tree house. It was pretty high up, too high for kids to be climbing, he thought. He shook his head, wondering how a parent could allow such a thing, and why it hadn’t been built lower to the ground. Then he had an idea and realized it might be too dangerous for kids, but was perfect for him.
He returned to the car and reported what he had seen. He told her he was going to stay overnight in the tree house, wait for the cop to leave tomorrow, and then break into the residence. She was going to head home and get some sleep. He’d call her whenever the cop left. Then she’d drive to the end of the road and wait, alerting him when the cop was coming back.
“A tree house?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’ll have a view of the asshole’s entire house. I’ll be fine.”
“And if there’s a wife and kids at home?”
“Then we’ll need a new plan.”
Aaron set his phone to vibrate and told his mom to text him if she needed anything, and to only call if there was an emergency.
“What if you fall asleep? Miss him leaving?”
“Call me at five a.m. I doubt he’ll be up by then, considering the t
ime he got home, but I’ll stay up from then on and wait.” Aaron saw worry in his mother’s eyes, her lips trembling. “There’s nothing to lose sleep over. I’ll be way up in a tree. And when I do go to the house, I’m going to knock on the door. If someone answers, I’ll play the ‘I’m lost’ card. And you’ll be down the road to let me know if he comes home.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay. Just be careful. This guy’s not right in the head.”
Aaron promised he’d be extra cautious, then kissed her on the cheek and left the car, taking the stakeout snacks—a bag of chips, can of Coke and Snickers candy bar—with him. It wasn’t much in the way of sustenance, but it would have to do.
The ladder leading to the tree house wasn’t much of a ladder. 2 x 4 pieces of lumber were nailed to the trunk, making the climbing even more treacherous. He checked the first few rungs by pulling on them, wanting to be certain they would hold his weight.
As he slowly ascended the tree, he continued to check the stability of the wood, and in doing so, he realized that some of the rungs were smoother than others. It was as if the older rotting cuts of lumber had been replaced. And the only reason to maintain the tree house was if it was still being used, which most likely meant the cop had young kids.
He reached the top and pushed through a door in the floor of the structure. A horrid, pungent odor enveloped him. It was the stench of something long dead mixed with the dry musty smell of a damp basement.
He was able to stand, the roof about six feet from the floor. Remaining in one place, he reached out with his foot and tested the floor for weak spots. He found no give in the wood, the tree house seeming solid.
His eyes had adjusted to the dark night, but the tree house’s interior was almost pitch-black. The place had two small windows, which allowed for a soft glow to enter. He took a step toward one of the windows and bumped into something that gave way as if it had been hanging by a string. Startled, he stepped back and thought of the time he had been in his grandmother’s cellar. He’d bumped into the pull string of the overhead light bulb, thinking he’d walked into a web. Except whatever he’d collided with this time had much more substance and reeked of dead animal. Taking another step backward, he bumped into something else.
From his current position, he was able to make out two shapes in the glow of the window, one swinging back and forth. Glancing around, his eyes having adjusted more to the thick gloom, he saw numerous things dangling from the ceiling. Unnerved, he took out his cell phone and used the illuminated screen as a flashlight.
Squinting, he shined the light around and gasped in shock at what he saw.
The things hanging from the ceiling were dead animals. There were a few squirrels, two rabbits, three cats, a possum and a small dog—at least he thought it was a dog. Upon closer examination, he noticed the throats had slashes across them and the abdominal areas were stitched closed. Shining the light on the floor, he saw no blood. In fact, he saw nothing but a swept-clean area. Clearly, the animals had been killed somewhere else and then hung in the tree house.
Continuing to shine the light around, Aaron saw a large bowl in one of the corners. It overflowed with small bones. Scanning the room, he found a bowl in each corner. They were all brimming with skeletal remains, but one contained only skulls.
While shining the light around, he noticed how the phone’s glow oddly reflected off the walls, making them appear as if they were moving or changing colors. Some areas were darker than others, as if the place had been patchwork painted. Aaron imagined a decorator unable to decide what he had wanted, so he painted detailed designs in no specific order throughout.
Fascinated, Aaron examined the walls closer, then realized they weren’t painted but plastered with animal pelts—the ceiling too. And then it dawned on him. He wasn’t in a child’s playhouse. He was in a madman’s lair. A secret kept away from the house. But then a thought occurred and he shivered. Could a child have done this? He couldn’t believe so. The cop used the tree house for his own, a place to store his little trophies. It was far enough from the house and high enough off the ground so that no adult would think to check it out. Maybe he kept animals in the tree house and other things—victims—in the actual house. He had to get inside and see what horrors he found.
As disgusted as he felt, wanting desperately to leave, he knew he had to stay. He clicked off the phone’s screen and the overwhelming darkness enveloped him. He then became aware of how stupid it had been to have the light on in the first place. The cop or anyone else in the house might’ve seen the glow. There was nothing he could do about it now. Aaron told himself it was late and no one in the house was awake, let alone looking out a window at the tree house. And if the cop wound up checking on the tree house, Aaron would wait until the man opened the trap door, and then smash it down upon him and send him crashing to the ground far below.
Needing fresh air, the stink seeping into his pores and coating his mouth and throat, he stuck his head out of the tree house and breathed fresh air, making sure to use the window that didn’t face the house. He checked his phone and saw the time was one a.m.
Feeling better, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and sank to the floor, sitting below the window. The odor was still horrid there, but at least he was closer to the fresh air. He stretched his shirt over his nose and breathed through his mouth.
As difficult as it was to imagine, he found himself growing bored. Weariness crept in and he grew tired. He had games on his phone, but didn’t want to kill the battery or take a chance someone from the house would see the light. He’d had it on long enough already.
Before long, his eyelids grew heavy. Even though he stood every so often, sleep beckoned. Sitting against the pelt-covered wall and not caring about it, he set his phone’s alarm—in case his mom’s call didn’t wake him—and fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty
Aaron woke with a stiff back. Before opening his eyes, he cringed at the horrible odor and the putrid taste in his mouth. Confused, he tried to remember if he’d drunk too much last night. When he did open his eyes, the interior of the tree house and its horrors reminded him of exactly where he was and what he’d done last night. Panicked, he sprang to his feet, knees crackling. The tree house was flooded with daylight. The animal corpses were clearly revealed now, looking emaciated, shriveled and very much dead.
He glanced at his phone to check the time. He saw that he had three missed calls. The time was 5:58 a.m. “Shit,” he said, realizing he had slept through the calls and his alarm. He should’ve left the ringer on too, just kept the volume low.
Finding MOM on his phone’s contact list, he quickly sent her a text message letting her know he was okay and awake. He would let her know when to leave the house.
He crept over to the window and peered out.
A light fog hung a few inches over the yard, the grass glistening with dew. A gentle breeze brought with it much-needed fresh air. Aaron inhaled, savoring the incredible taken-for-granted invisible substance and fought his urge to stick his entire upper body out the window. Thinking he was too close, he backed into the tree house, making sure to keep out of sight, but in view. He covered his nose with his shirt and waited.
An hour later and his entire back was in knots, legs achy. He kept stretching, trying to stay loose, and even paced the small dwelling, avoiding the hanging animal corpses. He wanted to rip them down, but couldn’t risk the cop knowing someone had been in the tree house.
His stomach growled. He was surprised that he could be hungry among such a stench. Opening the bag of snacks, he devoured everything, knowing he’d need the energy. When he was finished, he shoved the wrapper, empty can and potato chip bag into the plastic shopping bag.
Twenty minutes later, he heard the mechanical sound of a garage door opening. The Impala emerged and drove down the driveway, disappearing from view.
After calling his mom and letting her
know to head over and watch the road, Aaron hurried down the tree. He wadded up the shopping bag and tossed it into the woods, then hurried over to the front door. He was breathing a little too heavily for someone who just wandered up from the road, but didn’t care and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, he rang it again. He tried the door, but it was locked, so he went around to the back of the house. He knocked on the porch door, but no one answered.
Satisfied the home was vacant, he looked around the doorframe and windows off to the side for signs of an alarm system—wires or stickers with the alarm system’s name—finding no indication the house was protected or monitored in such a way. He searched for something to smash out the window with, and found a rusted aluminum bat resting in the far corner of the porch.
After retrieving the bat—hardly believing it was there—he stood in front of the sliding glass door and swung. The aluminum sporting good easily shattered the large, vacuum-sealed panes of glass and the surrounding silence of the heavily wooded forest. Anyone within a half mile of the residence would have heard the sound.
Aaron stepped inside, the small shards of glass popping and crunching beneath his sneakers. He was in the living room. A long table with six high-back chairs took up most of the space. An ornate, gold and crystal decorated chandelier hung over the table. Along the left wall was a large, multiple glass-door china cabinet containing various decorative dishes, vases and figurines from the 1950s—women in polka-dotted dresses and beehive hairdos posed with men sporting short spiked or slicked-back hairstyles and wearing blue jeans and white T-shirts.
He listened for any indication someone was home, and then proceeded into the kitchen, bat in hand. Yellow flowered wallpaper covered the walls. The sink was clear of dishes. A small square table was tucked neatly in a corner. Salt and pepper shakers, a napkin holder and a faux dandelion—matching the one in the window over the sink—sat atop it.
The room smelled of coffee, sending Aaron’s salivary glands into overdrive. Grabbing a towel—so as not to leave fingerprints, wishing he’d brought gloves—he opened the fridge’s door. No heads or severed body parts. Only milk, orange juice, vegetables and other normal items. In fact, a lot of items and too much food for one person.
The Unhinged Page 17
