Bottom Feeders

by John Shepphird

  Tom recognized it as night-vision goggles.

  When she was satisfied, Diane flipped up the monocle scope, stepped over, and stared down at him once again. She spit on him, then said, “Pathetic little man,” before she walked off into the trees.

  Tom closed his eyes and finally was able to transport himself to somewhere else. He now stood in the wings of the Ensemble Theatre of Cincinnati and was about to make the stage entrance of his much-celebrated run of Shakespeare’s Richard III. This was his moment. A stagehand, a beautiful redhead, smiled at him and made last-minute adjustments to his wardrobe as he waited for his cue.

  They’ll love me.

  The footlights dimmed and he stepped out onto the boards.

  Darkness engulfed.

  Chapter

  THIRTY-THREE

  Diane marched down the hill. The voice was back in her head and now it was repeating, “Kill them, kill them all.”

  The voice said so.

  Obey.

  That stupid actor. He didn’t need to shoot the dog. He got what he deserved. And this entire production, everyone up here, is guilty of killing that poor horse. Yet another example of innocent animals being enslaved and exploited for human amusement.

  Kill them all.

  She didn’t intend things to go from bad to worse, but they had. Last night, the day the horse was euthanized, and after all were asleep, the voice came back to her. She could never sleep when she heard it in her head. The voice said to sneak out of the cabin and free the other horses, so she obeyed.

  It was a full moon, so she didn’t need a flashlight as she made the long trek up the hill. Up on set there was a light in one of the trailers. She snuck up to discover a security guard asleep inside.

  At the stable, Jimmy the cowboy was there, and drunk. Patches’ death was his fault, and she hated him with every ounce of her soul. This was the man who made a living out of exploiting these poor animals. Her bow was hidden in Tami’s trailer, so she quietly retrieved it.

  Before she came up to the mountains, she’d had her bow restrung but hadn’t tested it yet. While setting up Tami’s trailer the other day, she’d found the opportunity and snuck away. Diane was surprised how much added power the new strings brought, so much so that, in testing the new tension, she’d aimed at a tree but missed. The arrow instead got loose and hit the camera truck a hundred yards away. Oops. So she packed her bow away and hid it all in Tami’s trailer.

  She’d returned to the stable and made the cowboy pay for his sins, but unfortunately, as she went for another arrow, he got away. Diane searched all around but couldn’t find him. He hadn’t gone to the security guard. Diane checked and the fat guy was still asleep and snoring, hadn’t moved an inch.

  She was certain she’d hit Jimmy in the face, knew he wouldn’t get far so where could he have gone? She attempted to free the other horses, but they wouldn’t move. As much as she tried to scoot them out of the barn they were content to just stand there, looking at her. Didn’t they realize they were now free?

  Covering her tracks, Diane pulled her bow and arrows out of the trailer and hid them, along with all her cases and camouflage, tucked away back in the trees. That way when they found Jimmy they couldn’t connect it to her.

  She returned to her cabin that night figuring eventually someone from the crew would find Jimmy, but strangely there was no mention of it the next day, not until Tami discovered Jimmy’s body on the floor of the stagecoach. That’s when Diane realized he’d hidden there. No wonder she couldn’t find him.

  But now the forest was afire and destroying God’s creatures, all because of that chain-smoking asshole. But she’d taken care of him. He got what he deserved.

  It all started to come apart when Tami convinced Don to drop them off at the cabin so she could get their things. Had Stuart been on the shuttle, Don wouldn’t have agreed, but Tami was the star of the film and got her way. The plan was to bring their bags out to the road so he could pick them up on the next run down.

  Diane liked the idea of getting out of there. She’d go back to LA and wait until everything died down before going back for her hidden bow and arrows.

  But then the voice came. It told her what to do. Now the sinners would “know how it feels to be the hunted one.”

  “Okay, okay,” she replied aloud, talking back to the voice. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it, I’ll do it.”

  “Do what?” Connie said.

  She and Bonnie had heard her.

  “Who are you talking to?” Connie asked.

  “Nobody.”

  “You were talking to someone.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, you were. We heard you. Are you all right?”

  Diane had been talking back to the voice more and more now and it was getting harder to hide it in public. When she couldn’t help it, Diane used earbuds and held her cell phone in hand to fake she was in conversation. That worked most of the time and nobody had thought she talked to herself. But it didn’t work in front of Connie and Bonnie that afternoon.

  They glared at her.

  As a teenager she’d heard the voice from time to time, but that was only in a sleep state, half in and half out of consciousness. And those were just whispers. It was in Rio, the day before the Olympic match, that’s when the voice came in loud and clear, and it wouldn’t stop.

  She hadn’t told her coaches or teammates about it because they’d think it was weird. Who wouldn’t? She hadn’t slept the night before the team event against the Koreans. Diane couldn’t make the voice in her head stop that day, and she fell apart. It became obvious her performance was the sole reason why Team USA didn’t advance to the finals for a chance at a medal. They’d have to wait another four years. Most, if not all of them, would be replaced by younger archers on the circuit, all because of the voice.

  Then those bitches on her team shamed her, some directly and vocally, others just by the looks they gave her. Diane was the weak link. She’d smashed all their Olympic dreams.

  The voice said to kill them. Diane obeyed.

  She’d planned it carefully, waited until they were back home, months later and after it all had blown over. She stalked each of them, one by one. Her plan was to make each death look like either an accident or a suicide. Diane followed them from afar, took notes, and figured out each of their daily routines. Then, when the time was right, she drew each one out to places where they’d be alone. The best part was the look in their eyes when her teammates realized she was killing them. That was the best. It made Diane feel powerful. If they’d just kept their mouths shut.

  But she hadn’t counted on all that blood.

  Logic told her the police would not think it a mere coincidence that three of the four women of the US Olympic Archery Team had all come to a sudden, violent death. The cops would come to her, the only surviving team member. They’d ask where she’d been. They’d track her cell phone and have surveillance video of her coming and going. She’d seen enough detective shows to know what to do. It was time to disappear.

  Diane had to reinvent herself and take on a new persona. She decided it would be the goddess Diana, the beautiful one holding the bow, the protector of nature and animals. She’d always been drawn to the Roman goddess depicted in statues and paintings. The gilded one at the Philadelphia Museum of Art was her all-time favorite. She’d learned this famous Augustus Saint-Gaudens statue had once stood atop Madison Square Garden in New York—not the stadium where the Knicks play now, but the original building that was torn down long ago. She loved that Diana’s symbols were the moon, water, forest, and sun, all things she adored, plus since her name was so close—it made sense. It was meant to be.

  And what better place to reinvent yourself than Hollywood?

  She gathered as much money as she could, emptying her bank account, selling her jewelry and most of her things with th
e exception of two bows: her prized tournament bow, a delicate instrument designed for the archery range, and the weapon her father gave her; the most powerful bow known to man, the rugged PSE Full Throttle—deadly accuracy at over 370 feet per second. There were also all those hunting arrows with the razor-sharp mechanical broadheads. Dad had bought so many of those things.

  As a child, it was her father who taught Diane how to shoot and hunt. This was the “quality time” father and daughter spent together, traipsing through the woods at the crack of dawn. He’d taught her everything, how to shoot, sneak up on prey, how to camouflage and appear invisible.

  He taught her about guns too. Hunting became their favorite pastime.

  But then, as a teenager, Diane woke up one morning and couldn’t hunt anymore. She realized it made her sad to watch as these animals suffered. It felt so wrong, so cruel. She loved nature too much. “Why do we need to kill them?” she asked her father. He didn’t have an answer.

  In tears, as they were about to set out one morning, she told her father she couldn’t hunt anymore.

  He was disappointed, she could tell. Dad chalked it off as her blossoming maternal instinct, calling it a “female thing.” He said if she were a boy she wouldn’t have these same feelings. Diane wondered if that were true.

  To keep her father happy, Diane continued with archery, but with targets instead of living things. So her father overcompensated. He built an archery range in the backyard and bought the very best competition bows. He hired coaches and drove her around the country from tournament to tournament. She practiced every day after school, often until her fingers bled. Diane excelled in the sport and filled her room with trophies and plaques.

  They called her a natural.

  Archery soon defined her—first a college scholarship, then Olympic Team USA. But then, as they waited for Rio, her father had the heart attack. All of a sudden, he was gone.

  Diane had wondered at the time why she didn’t feel anything.

  At the funeral she pretended to be sad for the benefit of others, but deep down inside there was nothing there. She thought maybe the heart attack was dad’s karma for slaughtering all those innocent animals. Maybe nature had simply taken its course.

  At first, she was disappointed that her dad would never see his daughter compete in the Olympics, but then she realized she didn’t have to prove herself to anyone anymore.

  That seemed like so long ago.

  Another life.

  On Diane’s drive out to Los Angeles, she imagined her Ford Explorer a virtual cocoon. She’d go in the car a fuzzy, ugly worm and emerge a beautiful butterfly. Rebirth.

  She found a sublet apartment in Studio City and looked for gainful employment. On the internet, she searched for news that the Olympic Team had been murdered and one of them was missing. These news reports only fueled her. She stole a portfolio from a costume designer and lied that the work was hers. She colored her hair and gave herself a complete makeover. She spent countless hours running, working out, getting stronger. Occasionally she’d drive into the mountains or desert to be alone. There she’d practice her archery.

  After she successfully reinvented herself in Los Angeles, Diane attended an Animal Stance charity event. That’s where she met Tami, and the actress hired Diane to rebrand her flailing image. At first Diane was ecstatic, but it didn’t take long before she couldn’t stand Tami. Such a demanding bitch! Diane soon found herself picking up Tami’s dry cleaning and running stupid errands, the kind of stuff a personal assistant does, not a professional brand consultant. Diane was livid and would have quit but she needed the money. Plus, the situation worked to conceal her. Tami paid Diane through her nonprofit like a vendor, with no payroll service or background check to discover Diane was using a false last name and bogus Social Security number.

  Oh sure, Tami said that she cared for animal welfare but it was always about her, always her. Diane came to realize Animal Stance was all a ruse, all part of Tami’s supposed brand, a nonprofit cause the actress could hang her hat on to prop up her image, as if she cared.

  Since Tami was on such a restrictive diet, it was Diane’s job to do the reconnaissance for Tami’s needs once it was established they’d be shooting up in the mountains. Tami demanded all of her meals were vegan and strictly organic. It’s easy to get that stuff in Los Angeles with plenty of Whole Foods and Bristol Farms stores around, but try finding those places in blue-collar San Bernardino County. Diane called around and searched the internet. She found one store down in Upland, but the drive between there and set would be too long. The solution was for her to scout the handful of tiny mom-and-pop organic markets near the movie ranch. Diane made a day out of it and set out in her Ford Explorer. She’d found one place that looked promising, overpriced, but the produce looked good. It was still a drive from the shooting location but at least it wasn’t all the way down the mountain.

  Diane was scouting for other options when she came across that fat asshole who hit the deer. She watched in horror as the guy crushed the animal’s skull with that rock. It brought back memories of her father putting innocent deer and wild boars out of their misery, so brutal. Although the voice didn’t talk to her to that afternoon, Diane killed the bastard anyway, and used that same big rock to finish the job. Fucker deserved it.

  Again, it made her feel powerful.

  And it gave her peace.

  “Are you all right?” Bonnie asked again as they packed their bags. “You were talking to someone.”

  “It’s nothing,” Diane replied. “I just—”

  “What’s this?” Connie said when she discovered Diane’s scrapbook. Diane snatched it back and told her to mind her own business.

  “They know,” the voice said to Diane.

  Although she didn’t have the bow and arrows down at the cabin, she found a way to take care of Connie and Bonnie with a kitchen knife. Then she went for Tami, but somehow in the confusion the actress got away and Diane couldn’t find her. She didn’t want Tami to call for help, so she took the phones from the house and went out looking for her. Don returned in the van. She tossed the phones in the trees and told him that the others weren’t ready yet but she needed to get something from Tami’s trailer. She saw him hide his cigarettes when she got in the van. As they went back to get the last of the cast and crew, that’s when she took care of the careless bastard that started the fire.

  She went to get the bow and arrows she’d stashed. The voice told her what she had to do.

  Diane was methodical, just like the mornings hunting with her dad. First, she took care of the annoying deputy, then that punk from the camera department, the Eurotrash cinematographer, and then that old man that showed up. It felt great. But the others found guns which made things complicated.

  Diane terrorized them, tried to burn them out of the trailer but they got away and then split up. She followed the one that killed the dog and took care of him.

  Now, Diane ran back to take care of the rest of them and cover the last of her tracks. It was dark by the time she got to the movie ranch. She could see the fire had reached the Western sets, with its eerie glow and dancing shadows, the smoke making her cough. Burning embers floated above the treetops, spreading the fire to God knows where. She could see the trailer she’d set afire had burned completely, now smoldering. The camera truck would surely go up next.

  Where are the others?

  Armed with her trusty bow, wearing her dad’s night-vision goggles, the goddess of the hunt pressed on.

  Chapter

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Sheila led the way as they set out from the cabin. Tami and Eddie behind her, they pushed through the brush making their own path down the mountain.

  Tami broke the silence. “Maybe it’s all a coincidence.”

  “What?” Eddie asked.

  “That Diane’s Olympic teammates are all dead.”

 
; Sheila said, “Those obituaries read like they were murdered.”

  “Okay … but maybe this killer could be tracking Diane right now, terrorizing all of us. I mean, I just have a hard time believing that—”

  “Shh!” Sheila said. She saw the body up ahead, recognized the sweater and realized it was Connie. Tami saw her too and gasped. Eddie brushed past them and approached.

  “Throat cut,” Eddie said. He leaned down and held Connie’s wrist to check her pulse.

  A shaken Tami said, “Then Bonnie must be around here somewhere.”

  “Maybe she got away,” Sheila said.

  “Yes, maybe she went for help,” Tami said with hope, looking out into the trees.

  Eddie said, “Diane must have chased her from the house and then slashed her throat with that kitchen knife.”

  “The knife we found in Don,” Sheila said with a nod.

  “That’s right.”

  “I still can’t believe Diane would do this,” Tami said.

  Sheila was tired of Tami’s denial, said, “You heard them screaming. Did you hear Diane? Was she ever in distress?”

  “I can’t remember,” Tami said.

  “Yes or no?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think. What did you hear?”

  “It may have only been Connie and Bonnie.”

  “Then it has to be her.”

  “But why would she do it?” Tami questioned. “We were only nice to her. All of us.”

  “You know her better than anyone,” Eddie said. “Why would she?”

  Tami was at a loss.

  “We should keep moving,” Sheila said.

  As they proceeded through the trees, Tami continued her lament, “I just can’t believe Diane would do something so horrible. She seemed so professional, so self-assured.” Tami explained how she’d met Diane at an animal welfare charity event and that after they’d gotten to know each other Diane proposed that Tami hire her as a consultant to rebrand Tami’s image. They’d hired photographers and a savvy publicist to place her at locations where the paparazzi were known to lurk. “And it was working,” Tami said. “After all these years I’m back in the magazines and in social media.”