Friday Night Frights (Jack and Ashley Detective series Book 1)

by R. D. Sherrill

  He had been patient, stalking each of his victims like a lion stalks its prey in the wild, with a bloodthirsty look in its eyes. There was no detail too small, each scenario and every variable carefully considered and accounted for as he constantly strove to paint the perfect masterpiece of murder. He was proud of his abilities when it came to killing. He honed his craft like an artist hones his strokes on the canvas. What most people would call perverse, Richard called a gift.

  His present reign of terror didn’t begin as a lark but instead grew out of a long-laid master plan to exact his vengeance on those who represented what he despised. They were the ones who preyed on those who were less-than-perfect, those who didn’t live up to their own selfish standards. He was fighting back for those who were too weak, too scared, or too meek to defend themselves. He was the voice of the voiceless, the defender of the downtrodden. At least that was the way it was in his warped mind. He had long since lost touch with any semblance of reality, making his own rules as he saw fit.

  Richard would take his time studying his prey. He already knew them better than they knew themselves by the time he set foot in their town. He got to know his victims from afar several weeks, or even months, before meeting them face to face. He took great delight knowing his surveillance went undetected. He was a hunter tracking his quarry. They would go about their lives, just as they always had, oblivious to his eyes upon them, their death warrant already signed and dated. By the time they felt his presence it was too late, their time of reckoning was at hand.

  It wasn’t like it was his first waltz with death. Richard had killed before. Until a few short weeks ago, the demon had been locked away for quite some time. His murderous lust had lain dormant for several years since his last kill. It was only recently let loose again in an outpouring of fury which left him forever addicted to the feel of unbridled violence.

  He had forgotten about the rush of the kill during his years in dormancy, years he tried fitting in with the rest of the world. It wasn’t like he had the words "serial killer" written on his forehead. Richard was unremarkable in many ways. He was the type of person who goes unnoticed on the street. He was next to invisible, his connections few and far between with no one he would call a friend. He intentionally held others at arm’s length knowing the evil that was caged inside him.

  Richard couldn’t remember a normal time in his life, a time when the voices weren’t crying out from within him, urging him to let them loose. A forgotten child and always the dark sheep of his family, he always felt like a shadow, like the child his parents didn’t want. His feeling of inadequacy only accelerated his isolation from all that was normal. It left him dwelling in his own world, a world without rules where Richard was in charge. In his own world, Richard wasn’t a shadow. He was important.

  While he couldn’t remember normalcy, Richard could certainly remember when the beast first came out like it was just yesterday. He was a sophomore in high school, a place where he never really fit in. He arrived there with high hopes. He aspired to become one of regular guys, perhaps even one of the popular kids. Had he succeeded, perhaps the beast would have been conquered and stayed forever locked away. His last grasp at normalcy, however, was swatted away like one swats a fly.

  It began during football season. Richard had hoped to make the football team but his aspirations were vanquished. His lack of athleticism cost him a chance at the varsity squad. He was cut before the season started. His failure to make the team was not only a disappointment to him but also to his father, adding to the list of disappointments he offered up over the years to his old man.

  Unable to play an instrument, he wasn’t even able to be part of the band, leaving him on the outside looking in on Friday nights. Given it was Friday night in Texas, not being a part of the Lone Star State’s gridiron tradition in some way was quite stressful for the teenager. That’s when his opportunity came, but it had nothing to do with skill or athleticism. Instead, it all had to do with size. With all the shortcomings in his young life, his single bit of success was being the perfect size to fit into his school’s mascot uniform.

  Given the fact it was his last chance of having a part to play under the Friday night lights, Richard seized the opportunity. He quickly found the selection to be fortuitous as it seemed to be his niche. The uniform gave him anonymous notoriety while his face was concealed behind the wall of fur. It appealed to his fetish for voyeurism as he could watch others without himself being watched. While the public was seeing Harry the Hawk, Richard was watching them, studying them from his hiding place behind the fur.

  He learned his craft well. He became a popular figure on the sidelines of athletic events at Hancock High. Always mute, his true identity concealed, Harry the Hawk was friend to all. Even children had no hesitation to approach everybody’s favorite mascot. It was as if he were a super hero when he was under the fur. His shortcomings were hidden by the uniform. As Harry the Hawk, he was popular. As Richard, he was nobody.

  While his selection as mascot could have been his salvation - his last chance at returning to normalcy - it actually served as the trigger to forever send him hurling into the abyss. There was a point somewhere between his sophomore and junior years that Harry the Hawk took over. The stronger of his two identities, Harry had no problem overpowering his weaker half. Actually, it was a willing takeover as Richard felt more and more at home behind the fur. He sometimes found himself sitting inside his locked bedroom donning the costume. By his junior year, there was no return as Harry had become a necessary crutch for Richard, as much part of him as his right hand.

  While Harry was simply a tool for Richard, it was Stacey Davidson’s group which brought everything in Richard’s life to critical mass. Stacey Davidson and his group of thugs - Petey Weber, Rance Riggs and Harold Ralph - had been a thorn in Richard’s side all his life. They represented all that Richard resented. Too undisciplined to play football since it would interfere with their constant dope smoking, the group instead made sport of making the lives of others a living Hell. They had zoned in on Richard years ago, routinely picking on the skinny youth. They were unaware that they were actually waking the beast inside him. Richard hated bullies with every fiber of his being. He often fantasized, even as a teenager, about slaughtering them in a myriad of unspeakable ways. Regular death was too good for them.

  It all came to a head the week before homecoming during Richard’s junior year. His home life was already spiraling out of control, leaving the teen especially vulnerable that night as he walked from the football field. He had just crossed into the shadows as he walked toward the field house in his outfit.

  “There’s that little sissy boy in his cute little outfit,” Stacey said, stepping into the light, his presence startling Richard. “I thought just girls were cheerleaders. Are you a girl, Richard? You sure act like one.”

  Having fended off their verbal assaults on many occasions, Richard didn’t break stride as he continued toward the field house.

  “Where you going?” Rance, the biggest member of the group asked, stepping out to block Richard’s path. “Stacey was talking to you.”

  Still wanting to avoid the confrontation, Richard tried to side step Rance but in doing so, bumped the bully. The passing bump was enough to ignite the street tough as he dove on Richard’s neck and took him to the ground.

  “I’ll teach you to bump me, you freak,” Rance yelled as he ripped at the mascot’s head, wrenching the hawk head from Richard’s uniform. Richard could smell alcohol on his attacker’s breath.

  What followed was an all-out assault as the four kicked and punched their downed victim without mercy, leaving him a bloody heap on the grass. The humiliating assault ended as others approached. The four ran off into the shadows like the cowards they were.

  “Look mom, the Hawk lost his head,” a young child said as they walked up on the bloody teen. The child’s mother screamed at the sight of the injured boy.

  Richard refused to identify his attackers
when questioned by police. The principal swore swift punishment for whoever committed the atrocity. Instead, Richard had his own plan of justice when it came to the four. They would be judged at the pep rally in front of the entire school. The sentence, Richard resolved, as he pulled one of his father’s pistols from the gun locker at home, would be death. His father didn’t realize Richard had come across the code to the locker, not trusting his son’s maturity enough to freely give him access to the firearms.

  Richard, gripping the cold steel, swore to himself that he would serve as executioner and teach all of Hancock High what happens to those who prey on the weak. He was now the voice of the voiceless. He would dress as Harry the Hawk and pull the gun from his outfit before opening fire on the four punks, who would surely be sitting together, making them easy targets. It was a flawless plan. It was the perfect way to get his vengeance. The toughest hurdle was cleared when he was able to sneak the loaded gun into school and conceal it in his locker.

  The clock couldn’t move fast enough as he eyed his watch, counting the minutes until the one o’clock pep rally. He would go to his locker, get the gun and then put on his executioner’s uniform before going to the football field to even the score.

  Richard bolted from his seat when the bell rang and made a beeline for his locker and his instrument of destruction. He happily opened the door to his locker. It wasn’t there! His gun was gone!

  It took him only seconds to figure out what happened. His father’s hand took him by his collar, his old man’s face bent in an angry snarl as he pressed Richard against the locker. He had discovered the gun missing and put two and two together. He came to the school, acting on his suspicions. When he found the loaded gun in his son’s locker, he lost control.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled, shaking in anger. “Have you lost your mind?”

  Richard didn’t answer but instead smiled, further incensing his father who was barely able to restrain himself. It would be the last day Richard would attend Hancock High and the last day he would ever wear the Harry the Hawk costume.

  After that day Richard would see a multitude of doctors and therapists, all trying to figure out what had triggered the near-tragedy. Little did they realize, he had simply gone into the first of his dormant stages, patiently waiting for his revenge like a moth waits in its cocoon. The four had escaped their fate that day but Richard resolved that they would pay interest for every day they avoided their due justice. However, it would not be just Stacey and his gang who would pay. Richard’s plan was much more sinister. He would reap his revenge over time, visiting the sins of the fathers on their children. He would bide his time, waiting until their children were nearly grown. Then he would harvest their first born with his knife, enjoying his revenge. They would feel his pain many times over as they mourned. They would wonder what sin they had committed to bring such a horrible fate. Even now, he was keeping track of their progress, watching them secretly and eagerly waiting for harvest time. It didn’t matter if they were innocent. Richard reckoned they were soiled by the guilt of their fathers, making them fair game.

  While that day was still a few years in the future, Richard had to feed the demon in the meantime. Since that day at Hancock High, the force inside had clawed and tore at him, always trying to get out. On rare occasions he relented, allowing it out for a time. He had first let it out for a short time nearly a decade ago, allowing it to reap five victims before he was forced to place it back in its pit, caging it like a wild animal. He was able to contain the demon until recently, when it again worked its way to the surface

  He had searched for a way, anything really, to appease his lust for blood after his last rampage. Then he found it, quite by accident, while surfing underground websites one evening. It was a hidden website called "I Wish They Were Dead." The site, started by the downtrodden, the bullied, and the meek - all kindred spirits in Richard’s book - posted about those who preyed on their school mates. It was as if a light went on in Richard’s head. He had found a way, or an excuse rather, to let the evil out.

  Over the months on the site, he made many anonymous friends. He heard horror stories even worse than his, all at the hands of bullies. Through his contacts, he garnered those who would became his latest victims, each handed over to him like meat to a lion. Each were useless human beings in their own way, not worthy of the gift of life.

  His culling of the herd was going smoothly until the agent butted in. Her arrival was much too soon. He figured his presence would not be discovered until later since Texas is a huge state. She had caught onto his rampage much too early, catching even Richard by surprise. He figured she must have infiltrated the site where he had chosen his victims.

  He was right. Jana had been clued in to Richard’s homicidal clearing house by one of the teens at the high school where the fourth killing occurred. Afraid he had done something to bring about the murder at his school, he approached the ranger and told her about the site. She immediately seized the opportunity to go undercover in cyberspace, befriending Richard as she posed as a bullied student. It was through their conversations that she was able to piece together Richard’s method of operation, in essence solving the case by that night in Rock River.

  However, he also became aware before that night that he was dealing with an undercover officer. He would have to allow his intended victim to live that night, choosing instead to silence the one he feared could stop him before his mission was complete. Pioneer Jake was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, a witness who had to be eliminated.

  She had actually played right into his hands that night at Rock River. Jana had realized there were two mascots but for reasons even Richard did not know, she pursued the wrong one, chasing the scared youth into the forbidden area below the bleachers. She was standing with her gun on Pioneer Jake when Richard emerged from the shadows, slashing her throat before she knew he was there. Pioneer Jake, meanwhile, was tougher to deal with. The wiry youth put up a valiant fight before being hacked to death. The thick hide of his uniform resisted the repeated blows of Richard’s long blade. It was the only killing that Richard almost regretted – almost. He felt as if he was killing one of his own.

  Now he realized others had joined the chase. They were on his heels again quicker than he expected. Their presence, however, would not dissuade him from the mission at hand. He would complete his plan before going dormant again, no matter the risk. Actually, the realization that he was being hunted, just as he hunted his prey, added a thrill to the game. He would go ahead, despite the chance of being caught.

  Even now, he stood overlooking the football field as the Friday morning sun rose over Seymour.

  OUT OF THE BLUE

  Ashley felt a breath on her face as she slowly slipped from sleep. The aroma of tequila and Chinese food was identifiable even before she opened her eyes. She snuggled a little closer. The feeling of an arm draped over her shoulder made her feel safe and she almost allowed herself to blissfully drift back into slumber.

  But then there was the sudden pounding of her head and the unquenchable dryness of her mouth. Her tongue felt like sandpaper as she again felt the breath on her face, this time opening her eyes to see the source. It was Jack. He was lying on the couch, nose to nose with her, embracing her as their bodies barely fit together on the small piece of hotel furniture.

  Ashley scanned her mind for how they had come to this position. The last thing she remembered doing with Jack was one last shot toasting the Big Orange, whether it was Tennessee or Texas she could not remember. After that, everything was a blur. She took quick inventory. She still had her clothes on; that was a start. Now, if she could only get out from underneath Jack’s arm before he … it was too late. Jack’s eyes flashed open and immediately got wide as he was greeted by Ashley’s equally confused gaze inches from his face. The sudden awkwardness prompted Jack to impulsively let go of his embrace, causing Ashley to fall off the small couch and onto the floor.

  “
What happened last night?” Jack asked as Ashley bounced off the carpet in front of the couch.

  He looked down from the couch at Ashley as she laid in the floor waiting for the room to stop spinning before trying to get up.

  “I’m not sure, but judging from your breath, whatever it was had to do with Chinese food and tequila,” Ashley responded as the room started to slow down, allowing her to open her eyes again.

  “Don’t be so smug there, sweetheart. Before I woke up I dreaming my dog Ruff was licking my face and then I wake up to find you,” Jack countered, not to be outdone in the area of bad breath references, his wit fast even first thing in the morning.

  “So you’re saying I’m a dog?” Ashley questioned from the floor.

  “Not at all, darlin’,” Jack countered. “You’re cute, even sober.”

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Ashley wondered out loud.

  “As good of one as you’re going to get from me, honey,” Jack responded as he sat up, letting out a belch.

  “Oh, that’s sexy,” Ashley commented, extending her hand for Jack to help her off of the floor. That's when she noticed the gun protruding from underneath his pant leg as he boosted her up.

  “So you sleep with a gun?” Ashley asked, pointing to the small pistol holstered around Jack’s lower leg.

  Jack grinned, pulling the thirty-two caliber from its holster. He displayed it to Ashley as if he was about to begin a game of show and tell.

  “It’s my backup,” Jack declared. “You should always have a backup in the field. Anything could happen, so you need to be prepared. If I were you, I’d carry one, especially if you’re going to make being a field agent a habit. I don’t leave home without it.”