by Laurèn Lee
“I’m going to kill him,” Jim growled.
“He’s just a kid! Leave him alone!” Meg called to her husband as he stormed upstairs. She knew, though, nothing could convince her husband to stop his tirade once it started. Once his fury took over, anyone who stood in his way only shared the brunt of the blow.
Meg anxiously tapped her foot on the floor while she waited for her husband to drag their firstborn down the stairs. She heard squeals of resistance, and her heart broke for her son. As a mother, she dedicated her life to protecting Kit, but how could she protect him from a man whom she couldn’t even stand up to herself?
“Mama!” he cried as Jim dragged him into the living room by his soft curls.
“Jim! You’re hurting him! Stop!” Meghan begged her husband to no avail. He threw Kit into a seat at the kitchen table and slammed his hands down upon the same surface.
“What in the hell is wrong with you, boy?”
“Nothing!” Kit sneered at his father.
“Then, what the fuck are all those doll heads doing in our backyard? Explain yourself!”
Kit sat silently with his arms crossed over his body. Looks of distaste and disgust were plastered across his face.
“You some kind of freak, Kit?” Jim shouted even more angrily.
Meg continued to weep and hoped Gabby would stay in her room and not have to witness the debacle happening before her eyes.
“Why did you do it? Huh?”
“Because I wanted to!” Kit retorted forcefully.
Jim slapped Kit across the face, and Meg crumbled to the floor. Kit’s father berated him and shook him, but Kit blacked out and saw no more.
Twenty-Eight
Earl and Ricky took their time as they drove back to the station. They wanted to delay their return as long as possible. They were about to devastate two sets of parents and change their lives forever.
“It never gets easier,” Earl said as he pulled into the station’s parking lot.
“What’s that?” Ricky asked somberly.
“Telling a parent their kid is dead,” Earl said matter-of-factly.
“We are about to ruin their lives,” Ricky observed. “They'll always remember this day and us as the people who told them their children were lying in a morgue. How are we supposed to live with ourselves after this?”
“You just do, son. You take each day as it comes. I've learned to compartmentalize. If I stow away nasty thoughts and feelings, it helps me manage my day-to-day life.”
“So, you just sweep this stuff under the rug?”
“Basically, yes,” Earl confirmed. “It’s easier to hide sometimes than to face life head-on.”
“But what happens when you can’t hide anymore?”
“There’s always more hiding places, Ricky.”
The partners stepped out of the cruiser and slowed their gait into the station. Ricky’s stomach ached, and he felt bile rise in his throat. Earl wasn’t exactly eager to have the conversation with Rhiannon and Daniel’s parents, either, but he knew it had to be done.
As soon as the duo entered the interview room, the parents took one look at the officers and hysterics ensued.
“We are very sorry for your losses,” Earl said stiffly. “We’re going to find out who did this. We promise you.”
The mothers’ guttural and primal moans echoed within the room as the fathers sobbed silently into their hands.
Ricky looked to Earl for some guidance or advice, but the Sheriff shrugged quickly and nodded toward the door. There was nothing else to say at this time. The parents needed time and space to mourn the loss of their children.
Earl and Ricky exited the interview room and quietly shut the door behind them. “No one should have to bury their child,” Ricky mumbled.
“I agree, son,” Earl said as he clapped Ricky on the back. “Well, let’s get some officers out to their neighborhoods to start some questioning. And, I think we should head back to The Stolen Leaf to see if anyone there saw the couple that night, too.”
“Not again,” Shelly groaned as the sheriff and his lieutenant walked into the bar.
“Back again,” Earl shrugged.
“Official business, I presume?” Shelly asked as she glanced at the clock. It was barely lunchtime.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Earl confirmed.
“What now?” Shelly asked cautiously.
Ricky pulled out the photographs of Daniel and Rhiannon and slid them across the bar top into Shelly’s hands.
“Let me guess: these are the kids whose bodies you just found?”
Earl nodded.
“Jesus Christ, Earl! What is happening in our town?”
“I wish I knew, dear. I wish I knew. Anyways, you recognize them at all? They were in this lot the night they were murdered.”
“They certainly don’t look enough to drink,” Shelly noticed.
“They’re not,” Ricky said.
“Well, you know how strict we are in here, Earl. Nobody would have served them,” she said quickly.
“I know, I know. We don’t think they ever came inside, but they were in the parking lot.”
“How do you know for sure it was these kids in the lot that night?” Shelly asked.
“Well—” Ricky began.
“We saw them before we left,” Earl interjected. “They were inappropriate in their car in the back of the lot near my cruiser.”
Shelly raised her eyebrows. “So, you think someone here saw them and killed them?”
“We believe it's possible, and we need to investigate every available avenue,” Earl replied.
“Well, I didn’t hear anyone mention seeing kids getting busy in the lot,” Shelly confirmed. “And, I don’t recall anyone leaving particularly drunk that night, either.”
“Well, just keep your eyes and ears peeled, okay?”
“I don’t like how this has become a regular occurrence, Sheriff,” Shelly said sorrowfully.
“Us neither,” Earl agreed.
“Are you going to catch him?” Shelly whispered, fear evident in her voice.
“I have a feeling he’s closer to us than we think,” Earl said.
“I’ll give you a call if I hear anything, okay? And, please, next time you come in, can it be for pleasure and not business?”
“I’ll do my best, dear,” Earl said.
After his shift ended, Earl drove to the grocery store to stock up on the essentials. He tried to go once a week, but sometimes life got in the way. It seemed there was never enough time in the day to do his job and the little things life demanded. You know, like buying food.
He grabbed a cart from the coral in the parking lot and strode through the automatic doors, still in uniform. Heads turned from every direction to stare. All eyes were on him, and he felt their gazes burn into his soul. The shoppers looked terrified and utterly fretful. Some seemed angry at Earl, presumably frustrated and upset by the fact no one stood behind bars yet. But what could Earl do that he wasn’t already doing? He interviewed anyone and everyone he could think of who might be tied to the crimes. He was a sheriff, not Batman. What did they expect?
He walked swiftly up and down the aisles and tried to finish his shopping as quickly as possible. Everywhere he turned, the stares became increasingly unbearable. He felt guilty for letting his people down, ashamed for not bringing justice to the families, and feared that he’d fail altogether. He was only human. Just a man.
Earl cashed out at the register, and the young blonde girl eyed him suspiciously as though he was the one running around committing the murders. He wanted to scream in her face and tell her he was doing everything he could and knew to do!
“Have a nice day,” Earl said calmly, instead of shouting, as he wanted to do.
The girl ignored him, and Earl rolled his eyes. The town loved him when he did good and crucified him on every other occasion. It just wasn’t fair.
As Earl pushed his cart, much heavier now, toward his cruiser, he saw an elderly wom
an who struggled to lift a bag of groceries from her cart into her vehicle.
He jogged over to the woman, who was frail and hunched. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“That would be lovely, young man. Thank you,” she cooed. However, once she saw who’d come to her rescue, her eyes narrowed. “Oh, it’s you.”
Earl, taken aback, put the groceries in the woman’s car and stepped away. “You have a nice day now,” he said.
Damn. Even the old ladies in town wanted nothing to do with him.
Twenty-Nine
That night, Earl brought his work home and decided to pour over all the crime scene photos, witness statements, and forensic reports created thus far.
He hunched over his antique cherry wood desk with a glass of bourbon in one hand and a magnifying glass in the other. He studied each photograph carefully and meticulously and hoped some clue or sign would jump out from the glossy paper and trigger another lead.
It was clear all three victims were murdered by the same killer. Both women had their eyes removed; both women’s extremities were strewn like rag dolls; all of them had suffered blunt-force trauma to their skulls, and all had met vicious, horrendous fates. It couldn't be a copycat either because he specifically advised his staff to withhold speaking about the missing eyes.
The only difference thus far was that Jackie had been left in her home while Daniel and Rhiannon were moved from the original kill site, which had yet to be discovered. Besides that, the crime scenes looked far too identical to indicate a different killer.
Earlier, before he left the office for the day, Earl had returned to The Stolen Leaf to see how Ricky fared with inspecting the parking lot where they’d seen the star-crossed teenagers for the first time.
“Find anything?” Earl asked as Ricky snapped away using the station’s camera.
“No, I don’t think they were killed here either. I don't see any blood or abnormal disturbance in the gravel,” Ricky confirmed.
“So, the killer must have followed them to another location,” Earl thought out loud.
“Seems to be the case, Boss,” Ricky said.
“Good work. Keep at it, though. I want every angle of this parking lot on film.”
Ricky saluted his boss and scoped out the vicinity, clicking madly away as he went.
Earl had a sufficient buzz at this point, even though it was just shy of eight o’clock. But, he hadn’t had dinner, and so the booze hit him harder than usual. He couldn’t think to eat right now. He had to try and solve this case. Currently, they had no hard and fast leads. They couldn’t find any clear connection between Jackie and the couple besides they all had been at The Stolen Leaf the night they were murdered.
Earl remembered they had another thing in common, though: he saw all three victims before they’d been murdered. Had he seen the killer and not realized it? Had the killer watched and waited for him to leave so he could make his move? Did Earl know the killer? Was it a friend? All these questions swirled in his head as he downed the rest of his amber liquid.
As he stood to refill his drink, Earl tripped over his chair but didn’t catch himself before he crashed to the floor. His glass flew from his hand and shattered against the wood planks.
“Goddamnit!” he cursed.
Earl’s vision blurred, and blood squirted from his hand. He had accidentally leaned against the broken pieces of glass. How was he supposed to solve three murders and catch a serial killer if he couldn’t hold his liquor down? He’d been slowly losing his nerve the past few weeks, and now he faced the consequences of too much booze and not enough sleep. It didn’t help that his diet consisted of Lean Cuisines and popcorn. The only cooked meals Earl consumed were the ones he ordered at The Stolen Leaf.
Earl grunted and slowly picked himself off the floor. He hobbled toward the kitchen and retrieved the broom and dustpan. Before he swept the mess, he wrapped a semi-clean dish towel around his hand to slow the bleeding.
Earl cleaned up the broken glass and deposited the pieces into the garbage under the sink. Then, he realized the bottle of alcohol stood right before him, glaring at him menacingly. It teased him. The bottle practically screamed, “Drink me! Drink me!”
Aw, what the hell.
Not wanting to dirty another glass, or break another, Earl took a significant swig from the bottle. He craned his neck and heard the distinct sound of his joints cracking under his skin.
Much better.
Then, more relaxed, Earl wondered who the murderer may be. If he did happen to know him, how would he ever confront him? Earl wondered if anyone he knew had had a triggering event recently. Most serial killers ramped up their efforts or began killing after a significant life event. He recalled Ricky briefly telling him that his long-time girlfriend had broken up with him this month. Was Ricky capable of cold-blooded murder? Even worse, was he capable of manipulating Earl to think he was an innocent, dedicated officer? Earl scratched his head and tried to remember more about Ricky. He wondered what else about his lieutenant might fit the profile of a killer. He recalled Ricky admitted to having some kind of impediment as a kid, too. Could Ricky be the serial killer he hunted?
Thirty
As the months passed since Kit’s parents found the dismembered dolls, life at home only grew worse for his family. The fighting ramped up, and Kit grew more and more distant. Jim and Meghan were at each other’s throats every day. They couldn't agree on how to handle Kit’s strange and outlandish behavior.
Meg fiercely defended Kit, while Jim wanted to beat the truth out of him. Kit’s father was convinced there were some dark demons within his son, and he wanted to exorcise them from his mind, body, and soul.
The only person more affected by the abuse toward Kit was Gabby. She didn’t understand why her parents, or, more specifically, her father treated Kit so harshly. She loved her brother. He was her best friend, and he took care of her. He walked her to school in the mornings and picked her up once school let out for the day. He made sure no one at school bullied her. Kit protected Gabby, and she loved him unconditionally.
Gabby and Kit often hid in Kit’s room when the fighting began, usually just before or after dinner. It depended on how drunk their father became once he’d gotten home from work. If he took shots, then a fight before dinner was almost guaranteed. But, if Jim had a decent day at work and sipped his cocktails, Kit had a better chance of avoiding his wrath. However, if Kit didn’t “perform” well enough for his father at dinner, a fight would ensue regardless.
After Meg and Jim found the doll heads, Kit stayed silent whenever his father broached the subject. However, once Gabby learned what he’d done, Kit smashed his piggy bank to buy her as many dolls as he could afford from the corner store. He’d only been acting on impulse; he never meant to hurt his sister in the process.
A few months after the doll incident, a neighbor called Kit’s house and asked to speak to Meg.
“Hi, Delores. What can I do for you?” Kit’s mother crooned as she twirled her red grading pen in her hand. “Have I seen Rusty? No, I’m afraid I haven’t. Jim’s at work right now, but I’ll ask Kit.” Meg covered the mouthpiece to their rotary phone. “Kit? Have you seen Rusty?”
Kit shook his head and continued to work on his math assignment at the kitchen table.
“No, I’m sorry, Delores. Neither of us has seen Rusty. Did he burrow under the fence again? No? Hmm. I’ll keep my eyes out for you and give you a call if I see anything. All right, you have a good day, too.”
Meg hung up and returned to her seat at the table with her son. “Poor pup. I hope he’s okay,” she said.
Kit shrugged and finished the last equation on his worksheet.
As soon as the clock struck three, Kit asked to go pick up his sister from school around the corner. Meg loved how protective and loyal Kit acted around his sister. Despite his outlandish behavior, she knew she'd raised a good son and an even better big brother.
Kit put on his yellow raincoat and matching rubber boots.
Rain poured outside, and she handed her son an umbrella, too. Gabby started first grade this year, and luckily, no one teased her about having Kit as a brother. Of course, they kept their distance when Kit came to collect Gabby by the bike racks. The town gossiped, and mostly everyone knew about Kit's dark past. Parents warned their children to stay away from Kit if they ever saw him.
As soon as Gabby saw her brother, she sprinted toward him as her pigtail braids flopped in the wind. She jumped into her brother’s arms and nuzzled him firmly.
“Hi, Kit Kat,” she said and smiled.
“Hi, Gabster. Ready to go home?”
She nodded emphatically and held her brother’s hand. They walked side by side under the umbrella, and Gabby gabbed away about her day at school.
Meanwhile, Meg went from room to room and gathered the family’s dirty clothes to wash. Exhaustion set in, and she wondered how she managed to act as a stay-at-home mom, a teacher, a cook, and a maid all at once.
Meg reached her son's room and picked up Kit’s hamper. She heard a distinct rattle or clash of metal in his basket as she emptied it into her giant laundry basket.
Hmm, she thought. She dumped the basket of dirty clothes onto Kit’s bedroom floor and found the source of the noise. She gasped loudly and clutched her chest. Hanging half inside and half outside of a pair of denim jeans was a dog’s collar decked out in little bells and metal tags.
Meg held the collar in her hand and looked at one of the tags. It read, “Rusty Savage: 122 Harper Way. 555-3469 if Found.”
A sinking feeling overcame Meg, and she felt as though she’d either faint or throw up right in her lap. Why did her son have their neighbor’s dog’s collar? Why did it have specks of blood soaked into its tough fabric? She shook away the evil thoughts which raced through her mind. He probably just found the collar on the sidewalk or something. Kit always loved playing with Rusty. In fact, whenever Delores needed a dog-sitter or someone to walk Rusty, Kit volunteered every single time.
