by Brett McBean
Eddy was amazed at the speed and courage of Al. He stood and watched the two men wrestle on the ground. He would never have tried anything like that. He would never have thought Al had it in him, either.
Al had Wayne pinned under him, and was trying desperately to grab the gun from his hand. They grunted and hissed at each other. Al let out a right punch at Wayne’s pudgy face. It caught him on his left cheek.
But it didn’t seem to bother him. It only angered him. Wayne grabbed Al around the neck with a powerful grip. Al stopped fighting. He began clawing at Wayne’s arm. Eddy knew that he should help Al, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t want to get shot.
Wayne flipped Al over onto the ground. Al landed hard on his back. With saliva spewing from his mouth, and his eyes bulging with anger, Wayne tightened his hold. Eddy saw Al’s eyes go wide and his tongue began to loll.
Eddy also noticed that Wayne was still holding the gun.
Spotting a large, thick branch over by the side of the path, Eddy dashed over and picked it up. It felt good and heavy. He hurried back to the brawling men.
Standing to Wayne’s back, Eddy lifted the branch high, then swung it down hard at his head.
He must have misjudged the target, because the end of the branch struck Wayne not on the head, but at the top of his broad back.
Nevertheless, Wayne let out a groan and loosened his grip on Al. Slowly, Wayne stood up. He turned around and glared at Eddy.
“You little runt. You’ll pay for that.”
Eddy glanced down at Al. He was still breathing, but had his eyes closed and was lying still. Eddy looked back up at Wayne. “Why are you doing this?” His voice was shaky. He wanted to help his friend, but he stood still.
From down on the ground, Al coughed weakly.
Wayne whirled around and shot him once in the stomach.
The revolver boomed through the tranquil mountain, and Eddy saw Al’s body lurch as the bullet smacked into his mid-section.
Eddy screamed. “You fucking prick!” He fell to his knees. His ears were ringing from the blast.
Wayne turned around. “I never did like that guy,” he chuckled. “Always pissing and whining.”
Eddy lifted his head and looked over at Al. He wasn’t coughing anymore. Nor did it seem he was breathing.
Wayne lifted the gun and aimed it at Eddy’s face.
All Eddy could think about was that this was it. This was his last moment on earth. He also wondered if it was going to hurt. He prayed it didn’t.
Wayne grinned. “You know, I had always planned to kill you both. But you’re a good looking guy, so I’m going to keep you.”
Going to keep me? What the fuck does that mean?
“Stand up,” Wayne ordered.
Eddy began to cry. It wasn’t tears for Al, although he was sad for him. Nor was it tears from being held at gunpoint. Eddy knew that he was crying because he was happy. Happy that he was going to live. But for how long?
Hesitantly, and on weak legs, Eddy stood up. He looked at Wayne. “Who are you?”
Wayne smiled, baring his teeth. “Someone who doesn’t like their car being stolen.”
Eddy fainted.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Wayne’s Story
8:55 p.m.
The boy went limp and his head fell lifelessly to one side. Wayne loosened his grip.
“Shit,” he whined. “Damn, fucking hell.”
He let the boy fall to the ground. Wayne stepped back and gazed down at the dead body. He felt hurt, annoyed and angry.
He hadn’t meant to kill him. He had only wanted to render the boy unconscious. But he had struggled and fought hard. Wayne had merely placed his hands around the boy’s neck to stop him from fighting. And now look what he had done. Killed the boy before he’d had a chance to have his fun with him.
Wayne glanced over his shoulder at the vast darkness. He couldn’t see anyone walking through the park. Not that he expected to see many people out at night walking around this park. There had been too much violence.
He had been surprised to find this kid walking through the park. He had been asking for trouble.
Wayne turned back, looked down at the lump by his feet and sighed.
He supposed he could still take the body home. He obtained most of his pleasure from the act of torture and killing them, but posthumous rape and mutilation had its charms.
What does this make? Wayne thought to himself. Eight?
He nodded. Eight seemed about right.
Maybe he would try and find another tonight. One he could take home and keep alive. The notion excited Wayne.
I could make him watch me with this one. That would really scare him. Maybe even make him eat parts of it and do stuff to it!
Grinning enormously, Wayne bent down and took hold of the boy.
Wayne was sweating and felt stuffy from the struggle. Although the night was cool and windy, Wayne felt the need to take off his jacket. He kept it on, however. He wanted to get this body to his car as quickly as possible.
Gripping the boy under his armpits, Wayne started dragging him along the ground.
He was only a skinny kid, so he wasn’t overly heavy. As Wayne dragged the dead boy through the dirt and leaves, he smiled and thought about what the papers would say. They would have a field day with a double murder. Not since Jack the Ripper would there be such an infamous case of double murder.
Wayne was going to be forever remembered and be as notorious as Bundy, Saucy Jacky, and Gacy.
The cloudy night was perfect for him. The park, which was usually dark anyway, was now sheathed in blackness. The wind was noisy; it howled through the trees. He couldn’t even hear the traffic noise from where he was.
Wayne looked back, to where his car was parked, for any sign of life. He couldn’t see anybody. The street was dim, so he would still be under relative cover away from the park.
As he made his way towards the street, his eyes caught the flicker of lights. He stopped and turned around to his right. A car was turning from the road above the park, and into the side street where he was heading.
He mumbled, “Shit,” and stood still.
He watched as the car sped down the street, past where Wayne was standing, then vanish into the night.
They hadn’t seen him, or else the car would’ve stopped. Because the car was a cop car.
Wayne breathed a sigh of relief, chuckled nervously, then resumed his business.
Police often prowled around this area. Wayne knew that. With all the violence that had happened here, he was surprised they didn’t come by more often. Or put some bright lamps in the park.
Still, this was a good place to pick up victims. It was big, bushy and dark. And despite its reputation, people still wandered through here, alone, and at night. Like this boy.
There was a milk bar situated just outside the park, down at the other end. Cutting through the park was a shortcut. So people often cut through the dark recesses of the park, ignoring all the crime and rape that has happened, just to save about ten minutes. It didn’t happen as much now, but it did happen occasionally. And when it did, Wayne was in the shadows, waiting.
Thank God for the milk bar, Wayne thought, smiling.
And thank God for lazy people.
Wayne was now out of the park and shuffling along the footpath. He glanced from side to side, made certain that nobody was around, then pulled the boy up to the rear of his car. He straightened, then dug the keys out of his pocket. He flipped through the assorted keys, found the one for his prized deep red Bluebird, and opened the boot. He shoved the keys back into his trouser pocket, then grabbed the boy around the waist. He thought about it, and decided the best way would be to hold him like he was carrying a new bride.
So he let go and positioned himself around the side of the body, placed his hands under the back, then lifted him up with a sustained groan.
Cradling the boy in his arms, Wayne turned towards the boot, and lowered the boy into the
dark compartment.
Making sure the body was all the way inside, so that no legs or arms were sticking out that would be squashed or amputated, he slammed the lid, then wiped his grimy hands on the front of his pants.
He frowned. Something was missing. His pants were too flat and light.
His wallet.
It must’ve fallen out during the struggle.
“Damn,” he muttered.
He patted the back of his pants and the pockets of his jacket just to make sure it wasn’t in any of those. His wallet was definitely gone.
What about my knife? Wayne now wondered.
He leaned down and patted his right ankle. He sighed with relief.
The knife hadn’t fallen out. He could feel the small bulge of the sheathed knife tied around his ankle. Wayne straightened. Now to find his wallet.
Maybe I left it in the car, he thought, although he always carried it with him, so that was doubtful.
He hurried around to the driver’s side, opened the door and hopped in. He left the door ajar so the light would stay on.
He checked the glove box, under the seats, but it was nowhere. He even went around to the back and looked on the floor, but it hadn’t fallen down there by accident. Wayne hopped back out, slammed the door, and then rushed back into the park. It had to be in there, lying on the ground, somewhere.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
As Wayne ran back into the park, darkness encased him. He hadn’t realised how light the night was compared with the blackness in here, so he stopped and waited for his eyes to adjust.
When he could see dim shadows of the trees and bushes, he began jogging over to where he had struggled with the boy.
He soon stopped.
Where had he struggled with the boy?
He thought he had known exactly where it had taken place, but in the darkness, every tree and bush looked the same.
The winds whipped at his hair and wailed in his ears as he scanned the area.
Was it over there? he asked himself.
Wayne looked back to the street, and tried to remember the path he had taken from where the boy had fallen, to his car.
Was it a straight path, or did I have to drag him to either the left or right?
Wayne shook his head and grinned as he realised that he hadn’t paid any attention to that. He had been too busy getting the body to the car without being seen.
Wayne turned back and scratched his head.
“Just great,” he murmured.
Wayne had to find his wallet. Not only did it contain one hundred dollars, but it also held all his identification. From picking up his wallet, a person could determine his address, phone number, a picture of what he looked like, his car registration, what type of car he drove – everything the cops would need to find and arrest him.
He was quite sure that the place was deeper in, so Wayne walked quickly for about five metres, then stopped.
The wallet had to be around here. Either a few metres to the left, a few metres to the right, or a few metres in front. In that general radius, anyway.
He looked down at the ground, and began walking slowly to his left. If only he had some moonlight, or they had put lamps up, or he had a torch…
Wayne stopped, closed his eyes and laughed.
“You’re a fucking winner, Wayne,” he chuckled.
He shook his head.
He had forgotten about his customised headband torch that he had made just last week.
After countless months of prowling dark parks and streets, Wayne had begun to get tired of not being able to see his victims. Sometimes they would momentarily escape from his clutches, and he would have to run after them. Sometimes it took a long time to locate them again. He always found the ones who escaped, but there were times when he had worried that he never would.
And then there was that time a couple of weeks ago.
He was walking around this very park, looking for a victim, when he saw a dark shape hurrying through the park.
He had gone up to the shape, and asked the person politely to stop, as he always did.
When the person turned around, he saw that it was a man, a tall and well-built man, but he smelled incredible, and was wearing a long, ratty coat.
He had already decided that he didn’t want to bother with this guy, so he turned around to leave, when suddenly the guy grabbed him on the shoulder and whirled him back around.
Wayne had been too stunned to speak or run.
With stale, fetid breath, the man spoke. “You look at me and see a dirty bum. Don’t you? Well, let me tell you something…I’ve done things you wouldn’t believe. Things that would make you sick to your stomach.”
Wayne had apparently chuckled after the man had said that. Because the bum grabbed him by the front of his jacket and brought Wayne close to his rank face.
Wayne had been amazed, and a little scared, by the man’s strength.
“You laugh at me? Well let me tell you this. I made him pay, you know. For what he did to my dear Louise.” The bum sniggered. “You want to know, don’t you? You see me and think I’m a no-good bum. A lazy, weak man. Well, would a lazy man cut off the bastard’s dick and make him eat it? Cut off his hand? Chop his fucking head off with one blow?”
Wayne had managed to get one quick, sudden punch to the bum’s stomach. The moment he loosened his grip, Wayne had sprinted away, through the park, all the way back to his car.
Thinking about that man now, Wayne felt chills crawl up his spine. He hoped that he wasn’t lurking around the park tonight. Wayne wondered who the hell he was.
Probably just some crazy bum, he thought.
So as a result, Wayne had decided to bring along a torch during his night-time attacks.
There was one problem. He would only have one free hand to grab or strangle the person. The other would be holding the torch. He wanted to have both hands free.
Then the idea struck him.
He had spent numerous days and nights working on all sorts of plans and models for his hands-free torch.
Eventually, he came upon the idea of fixing a small, box-shaped torch onto a band of wire. He cut the wire to fit perfectly around his head, then welded it into a circle. Presto! It was simple, but effective.
He had only used it once, so he hadn’t gotten into the habit of using it.
He had forgotten to put in on before tonight’s attack.
But now he remembered. Lying somewhere in the back of his car.
Wayne began forward, and stepped on something soft. He reached down, felt around his feet and found his wallet.
Wayne laughed as he picked it up.
“How about that,” he said. He straightened back up and slipped it into a front pocket. He made his way towards the street.
As he walked out of the park, Wayne thought about numerous things: how stupid he was to have forgotten the torch, about the crazy bum, and lastly, as he came onto the pavement, that his car wasn’t there anymore.
Wayne rushed over to the footpath and glanced both ways down the street.
“Where the fuck is my car?” he snivelled.
The space where he had parked his Bluebird was empty.
Wayne punched the air. “No way!” he spat. “I don’t fucking believe this! Out of all the cars...”
Then again, had he locked it? Probably not. No, certainly not.
He glanced back at the empty space, just to make sure that his eyes weren’t playing tricks, but his car, along with his body, was gone.
Suddenly the humour of the situation dawned on him. Whoever had stolen his car had unwittingly procured a dead body.
Still, that didn’t make up for the fact that he had just lost his precious car. If it wasn’t found, he doubted that he could afford another one.
Wayne let out a long sigh. “Fucking hoodlums. Got no respect for other people’s things.”
Feeling angry, frustrated, and slightly amused, Wayne sauntered down the footpath and headed for the road up ahead.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Walking up the street, thinking more and more about the situation, Wayne began to feel nervous.
He figured whoever had stolen his car was bound to dump it, whether or not they discovered the dead body in the boot. And when the police search it, when they find the body and trace the car back to Wayne, he was going to have a lot of explaining to do.
Maybe he should ring up the cops and report it stolen. Then when the police find it, they won’t bother checking it out, they will automatically ring Wayne. And if they do happen to check in the boot, he could just say that the body must belong to whoever stole the car.
Would that work? Wayne thought.
But did he really want to call the cops? He loathed the thought of calling and speaking to them.
As he came up to the road, Wayne was feeling downright furious. All his plans had gone to shit. His whole life could come crumbling down, all because some low-life screw head had decided to steal his car.
If I ever get my hands on the person...
Probably more than one, Wayne thought. Probably a bunch of drunken losers with nothing better to do with their lives.
A grin began to creep across his face as he pictured what horrible things he could do to them.
Wayne turned left and walked down the footpath.
This road was busier and well lighted. Homes ran along the opposite side of the street – nice, country style houses.
The expansive park was on his left, and it kept on going for another hundred metres or so, before more houses started up.
Wayne hung his head as he wandered aimlessly along. He felt dejected. What was he to do now? Home was a twenty-minute walk – at least. More like half an hour at the pace he was walking.
He didn’t want to go home with nothing. The urge in him was too strong. He could feel his heart pounding just thinking about it.
If he walked home now, without a decent catch, he would certainly go crazy.
But how do I carry the body home without a car? he wondered.
He could try enticing them home with the promise of sex, money and booze. That often worked.
