Random Acts

by Franklin Horton

  She raised her hands to him and screamed. “Victor! Nooooo!"

  Victor had gone too far to stop now. He brought the sharp tent stake down and drove it with all his force through her face. It pierced the delicate bones of her cheek and tore the thin flesh as it went into her skull. It was not a killing blow and she screamed like a wounded animal. She tried to fight him off but she was no match for his strength. She went down and Victor went down on top of her.

  He yanked the tent stake back out, hearing the sound of her thin facial bones scraping against the shaft as he pulled it loose. He leaned forward on to her prone body using his forearm to pin her down. She fought and kicked but he plunged the stake directly through her forehead. Her eyes went blank and she checked out, her wiring short-circuiting within her skull.

  She was dying but not yet dead.

  Victor rolled off her body and scuttled away. When his back hit the cabinets he looked at her, his hand over his mouth, his face a mixture of revulsion and satisfaction. He could not believe what he had done. At the same time, he could not believe it had taken him so long to get the courage to do what had always needed to be done.

  She was a bitter and cruel woman. He could not imagine there was any place in her where love and compassion ever resided. She had never liked his father and she had never liked him. Now he had punctured a hole in her hateful head, surely one of the places where her evil originated. His body shook with the after-effects of violence.

  He was in shock but he was also free for the first time in his life. He needed to do something with her. Was there room for her in the freezer?

  Victor staggered out the back door into the yard. He stared at his hands, his mother's blood glaring and bold on his hands. The blood carried with it an accusation that provoked Victor.

  "I hate you, Mother. I hate you, Mother. I hate you, Mother."

  It was a chant, a mantra that in some ways healed him, that forgave him for what he did. It reminded him of why it was totally okay that he’d killed his mother. After all, look at everything she had done to him over the course of his life. She was not a loving mother. She had never supported him or encouraged him. She'd never done anything to make him anybody other than what he was now.

  And what he was now had killed her.

  He wandered around, unsure of what to do, unable to pull his thoughts together. At some point, after the passage of an uncertain amount of time, it hit him that he should get rid of the blood on his hands first. If the blood wasn’t on his hands, wasn't staring him in the face, then surely he could think clearer.

  The water hose was still coiled where he left it on the back patio. It was the same water hose he had already used to wash away the evidence of his violence and it would do that yet again. He turned the water on and rinsed the bloody spigot handle, then sprayed his hands clean. He sprayed water in a cupped hand and used that to wash the water hose nozzle. It would not be perfect. He had seen enough crime shows to know detectives had a way to find even the smallest traces of blood. This was not a perfect crime. He already knew he would probably be the only suspect.

  Now he had a second body to get rid of. He wandered randomly around the yard trying to think. He couldn't fit her in the freezer. Stubby Stanley took up most of it. Part of him wondered why he just didn't leave her where she was and hit the road, but anything he did to delay the police investigation would buy him time. He again considered burning the bodies but could only imagine the macabre sight that would create in the backyard. Then, besides the evidence of the scorched earth, he would have to deal with dragging the charred corpses to another location if they failed to fully incinerate.

  He returned to frantically pacing Stanley's immaculately manicured backyard. He passed over a scalped spot, a place the mower had cut too low. In the otherwise perfect lawn the blemish stood out. His mind distracted by other things, Victor subconsciously was drawn to it where he found the edge of a large stone. He scraped it with the toe of his shoe, determining it was in fact a concrete lip. As he kicked at it some more he realized it was the septic tank.

  With a malicious grin, Victor realized a body immersed and decomposing in the effluent of a septic tank would be an extremely unpleasant piece of evidence to recover. He went to the garage and found a shovel, not surprised Stanley had an assortment of them. He couldn’t recall that he’d ever used a shovel before. He chose one at random and returned to the septic tank where he began scraping dirt from the top of it.

  Victor knew very little about home repair. He would not have recognized the septic tank had he not seen a tank at his own home being dug up and repaired several years ago. There should be a concrete lid somewhere in the top. If he could find it and pry it open he could drop his mother and Stanley inside. As a finishing touch, he might even build a small flower bed over top of the disturbed soil, complete with mulch and landscaping timbers.

  It only took him a few minutes of digging to find the lid. The tank was inches beneath the soil, though it got deeper as Victor worked his way toward the back. The lid was around two feet square and fit tightly inside a beveled opening that kept the lid from dropping into the tank. The opening was so tight he had no luck getting the shovel into the crack between lid and tank. He went back to Stanley’s garage, looking for something better suited to the job.

  He found a crowbar hanging on a nail. The lid was heavy but the thin end of the crowbar went in far enough and produced just enough force that it raised the lid. Each time it budged, he slipped the bar in farther and was eventually able to dislodge the lid and slide it to the side. He could not avoid seeing the tank was nearly full of exactly what he expected to find.

  He went back to the house and grabbed his mother by the ankles. She was wearing thin white old-lady tennis shoes and one of them came off as he tugged. He picked it up and slipped it in his back pocket. He indelicately pulled her over the threshold and onto the flagstone patio. He dragged her across it and through the yard. Without ceremony, a goodbye, or any hesitation, he fed her through the concrete opening.

  She slipped feet-first into the vile liquid like it was a hot tub of filth. Though the top of the contents appeared to be firm and semi-solid, it was just a cap of slime floating on liquid. His mother slipped beneath the surface, gurgling and bubbling a few times as her lungs emptied of residual air. Pleased with his results, Victor went to the freezer and opened it. Stanley appeared even more ghastly than last time, a coating of frost having developed on his entire body.

  Victor touched him tentatively and found him frozen solid. In fact he was also frozen to the interior of the freezer and Victor had to rock him loose. He heaved the human Popsicle from the freezer and set him in the floor. He closed the freezer back and decided to drag Stanley. It was too unpleasant holding the frozen man against his body.

  Stanley held to his awkward frozen position as Victor tugged him across the yard. It looked like some bizarre performance art with Stanley as a talented Chinese acrobat able to hold his pose as he was being dragged. The shape of his frozen body ended up making it difficult to get him shoved into the tank. Several times Victor thought he’d found the correct angle only to discover some frozen appendage prevented the body from slipping through. With each attempt, the odiferous liquids in the tank formed a frozen coating on Stanley, which to Victor’s disgust reminded him of a chocolate dipped ice cream cone.

  He soon reached the point where he would not touch the body again as there was no part of it not despoiled by the contents of the tank. He went back to the garage and returned with an axe. Anything that protruded in a way that prevented it from going into the tank was bashed until it went or hacked until it folded. In short order, a sweaty, stained, and slightly-nauseated Victor dragged the concrete lid back in place.

  34

  Killing his mother changed Victor’s plans yet again. Without the concern of her discovering Stanley was missing, it was no longer necessary to flee the area immediately. There was still the court date for the knockout game at Konkoly
Games but that was months off. A lot could happen before then. He might be around and he might not.

  He covered the septic tank area with mulch and flowers he was able to scrape together from other parts of the yard. He cleaned up the blood on the kitchen floor and straightened the house up. With Stanley’s truck in the windowless garage, he was going to try to give the impression Stanley was gone on a trip.

  Victor loaded the money and the stolen pistol into his mother’s car. He wrote a hasty note and tacked it to Stanley’s door, hoping it would buy him some time.

  Cousin passed away. May visit a while. Back soon.

  He hoped the note would make people hesitant to call Stanley on his cell phone.

  Victor drove cautiously back to his own home. It reminded him that his car was still parked in the shopping center parking lot. It might give him another option for escape if things got hairy.

  When he reached his house, he parked the car around back. His mother didn’t get much company but if she did he was going to make up a story about her being gone too. He went inside and found the house to be much like he left it.

  His first order of business was to get to his basement lair and make sure his computers and gaming systems were safe. They were. Despite what his mother and Stanley had said, his computers were just as he left them, except powered off. He didn’t think his mother had the inclination to actually unplug, move, and hide all of his equipment. She was a frail, old smoker and there was no way she was dragging all that crap up the steps.

  He went back upstairs and checked the freezer. He found a stack of the frozen pizzas he loved. God, had he missed those. He started the oven preheating and headed to the bathroom. Though he wasn’t obsessed with personal cleanliness, he’d been through a lot these last couple of days. Besides jail, he’d killed two people, been sheared like a sheep, dug up a septic tank, and sank two dead people in its fragrant depths. If ever there was anyone who needed a hot shower, it was Victor.

  He removed his clothes. Despite his attachment to them, he put everything in a garbage bag for disposal. While he’d acknowledged he would be the prime suspect if the police ever came knocking, there was no sense making their job easy. He needed to get rid of the evidence. Besides, he had more clothes in his closet exactly like those.

  He climbed in the hot shower and it felt different without the thick beard and long hair. He adopted the attitude that this was the new him. This was the streamlined warrior. The DeathMerchant.

  The old long-haired Victor was a coward. Stanley had called him a pussy and he was probably right. Stanley was dead now because the DeathMerchant wasn’t as much of a pussy as Stanley thought. It brought a smile to Victor’s face thinking about it. There was some point in their combat where Stanley realized he was losing. He was getting his ass kicked by the young man he’d pushed too far.

  Victor was no longer that young man who cowed at his mother’s voice and didn’t challenge her. He’d never stood up to her until today. When it mattered, when it really, really mattered, he’d done it. He’d stood up to her and let her know he was tired of her shit, tired of being made to feel like his very life was nothing but a disappointment and a burden to her.

  This new Victor would be a different man. He would fill the DeathMerchant’s ass-kicking boots, just as he did in the games. He would walk taller and stomp boldly upon the Earth. He would do what he wanted and not give a fuck about consequences. He would not take shit from anyone.

  He dried off and wiped the steam from a mirror framed in pink-painted wicker. His new face stared back at him through the clouds of mist. It looked unburdened. It looked unmerciful.

  In the kitchen, he slid his pizza in the oven and then went downstairs to power up his computer. He opened his favorite social media site. Knowing CamaroChick19 would be out of touch did not prevent him from stalking her profile. He found new pictures and examined them with interest. He realized he missed her.

  While the pictures of the lumberyard had helped him narrow down her current location to Boone, North Carolina, that did not help him narrow down her exact location. It may be a small town, but there were still a lot of people there. It would be impossible to find her without more information. The pictures he was looking at right now provided that information.

  She’d started working at a bike shop. If he went there and spent enough time, he’d eventually see her walk in there to work. He could go inside and talk to her, and they could take the next step in their relationship.

  This raised another question. If she was there in North Carolina right now posting to social media, why had she acted like she was not available to talk to him? She was lying to him. Through his correspondence with CamaroChick19, she’d given him the impression she would be out of touch and unavailable.

  She certainly wasn’t out of touch and he couldn’t imagine how she could be unavailable. She was online. She was posting. She was probably communicating with other people. She appeared to be living life and going about her business but it was all without him.

  He was so tired of people lying to him and manipulating him. He was tired of being treated like he didn’t matter. This would be something they would have to address.

  In person.

  35

  While Amanda’s first day at the bike shop was a blur, it was still the best time she’d had in quite a while. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed people. In the densely populated Northern Virginia area, she’d run into strangers nearly every day in some capacity or other. Since moving to North Carolina, she’d only seen a handful of people. Those guys on the construction site had been so nice to her. They were all trying to protect her and make it a good experience for her, but she was tired of being treated delicately.

  This time of year the bike shop had shuttles nearly every half-hour for various trailheads and access points. The shuttles were long eighteen-passenger vans and each pulled a trailer for hauling bikes. Customers could show up with their own bike and pay for a shuttle or they could rent a package that included a bike, helmet, and a shuttle.

  Once a customer was dropped off, the goal was to ride back to the bike shop, drop off their bike and pick up their vehicle. The bike shop was located right on one of the trails. Customers could literally coast off the trail and into the bay door where the bikes were stored. Most customers understood what they were getting into but, according to Ben, there were always those pampered customers who somehow expected they would be picked up along the trail if they got tired or if it started raining.

  They didn’t.

  Riding the trails was a true outdoor experience. Customers experienced the weather, the physical exertion, the bugs, and whatever other conditions they encountered on the trail. Despite how unpleasant some might find those conditions, thousands of people a day rode the trails during peak season. Ben’s family didn’t run the only shuttle service in town, and there were enough customers that everyone stayed busy and the businesses had a supportive attitude toward each other.

  When Amanda arrived at noon, Ben showed her the handwritten log of bike rentals and shuttles.

  “All of those are out already? Today?”

  Ben nodded. “I told you it was busy this time of year. We’ve had families on vacations and a couple of children’s camps.”

  “Well, I’m ready for it,” Amanda said.

  “Did you get anything to eat already?”

  “I did,” Amanda said. “I had a two-hour ride then grabbed some lunch on the way in.”

  “Great. Sounds like you’re digging the bike.”

  Amanda smiled. “I am. Riding these trails in the morning when it’s quiet is incredible. It’s like nothing else I’ve ever done in my life.”

  “It is cool. That’s why all these people show up every day. People love the experience.”

  “I’m hoping to work my way up to biking all the way to work,” Amanda said.

  “You’d be riding home in the dark.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem on these wi
de railroad trails. I can stick a light on the bike and wear one on my head. I should be fine.”

  “If you try it and then don’t feel like riding home, I could always give you a lift,” Ben offered.

  “Then I might try it next week. I have to run it by my dad. He’s the paranoid type.”

  Ben nodded in understanding.

  People trickled in for the next shuttle and Ben walked Amanda through the process. For those who needed bikes, they helped them select an appropriate one and outfitted them with a helmet. Ben also taught her the cash register and credit card processing. Within a few hours, they were working like a well-oiled machine.

  At four P.M. she took a half-hour break. She and Ben had to stagger their breaks to provide coverage for the shop so it didn’t present the opportunity for the two of them to hang out in a quieter setting. She walked a few doors down to a sub shop and bought a sandwich. The place was quiet at that time of day and she was able to snag an outdoor table along the nearly empty sidewalk.

  She checked her social media accounts and caught up with the lives of her friends back home. Her old friends in her old life, who were going on without her. She liked and commented on their posts, and responded to the messages and comments she’d received on her own posts.

  On a whim, she checked to see if Ben was on social media and found he was. She sent him a friend request. Scrolling through the public sections of his social media account, she found a lot of pictures of the outdoors and bike riding, none of which surprised her. Not that she was stalking him, but she didn’t see any pictures of him with a girlfriend, which surprised her.

  She texted her dad, knowing he would probably be winding down at the construction site right now.

  Amanda: Hey Dad. Love the job. Thanks for letting me take it. Your day OK?

  He responded back shortly. She could imagine he was probably packing up tools about this time or making a materials list of the things he needed to bring to the job tomorrow.