Jack Zane: Evil at Storm Lake

by Jan Sumner

  Chapter 20

  He sat staring at the library door, waiting. He’d been here before, hunting. Some two years ago, he thought. She was a beautiful young co-ed. He sat back in the car seat, his mind drifting back.

  It had been early fall, a warm evening. He’d been watching her for several days. Her routine was predictable and he knew it well. Every weekday morning she got up at five, hopped on her bike and rode the short distance to campus to do the weather and news for the school radio station. It was dark when she left, but she never seemed to be afraid. She lived with two roommates in a small house off, but close to, the campus.

  He’d slept in the car down the street waiting for her to leave. The fire was building, he could feel it inside. There was a part of him that resisted, hated it, but there was a bigger part, the evil side, that pushed him, drove him, made him do these horrible things. That was the part that controlled him as he hid in the dark, waiting to strike.

  She kept her bike in back, behind the house. She’d ride down the alley, onto the street and off to campus. He had parked at the end of the yard, just behind the fence.

  She never knew what hit her. He had her in the car and was gone before anyone knew. He drove out of town into the hills, a place he’d scouted out. It was quiet and serene, where no one would see or hear…this insane, unspeakable drama.

  He raped, beat and left her for dead. It was only later he read she’d survived. It didn’t matter now; he was back again, crazy with anger and rage. The sound of giggling brought him back. He sat up and watched as she and a friend left the library, laughing and talking. He’d wait until they parted company and then pursue her.

  He turned the car around and crept along at a safe distance behind them. At the corner they separated. She was alone now walking with more purpose. He knew her route, knew when she’d turn and go in the back way to the house…he’d be waiting.

  Sometimes it seemed too easy, they were so unsuspecting and vulnerable. She was so beautiful lying in the seat next to him. Like the others, she never saw it coming. As the car sped along out of town, he stared at her, lust and wrath burning inside. He never wanted to know them, know anything about them. Then it would become personal. If they had a personality, he might hesitate and, that could be fatal. This wasn’t about sex, it was about power and control. Having someone under total submission…to the point of taking their life.

  He drove to the same location as before. Even he found it a little eerie, knowing he’d left the other girl for dead and somehow, some way she’d survived, escaped with her life. But the feeling soon passed and he went to work. This time he wouldn’t make the same mistake.

  He was boiling with rage, unable to contain himself and went at her like a crazed animal.

  He sat back, looking at what he’d done, as he always did, knowing he should feel something…but what? He’d heard people talk about sorrow, compassion and regret, be he had no idea what those words meant. When it was over, it was over and, he could walk away…and forget.

  He made sure she was dead this time, then partially buried her under some trees. By the time they found her, if they found her, the animals would have taken care of her, and he’d be long gone, back across the border, safe in Canada.

  Jonathan flew into Kansas City, rented a car and drove down to Joplin. He planned on meeting Sharon Weiss the next morning at her home. It was Saturday and she’d be home. It was late October and the fall colors were beautiful. He arrived Friday night and called to let her know he was in town. She asked him to come out to the house about 11 a.m.

  It was a modest home, older and had a certain air of distinction about it. It was a crisp morning, but clear. He arrived right on time. Approaching the front door, he felt a little apprehensive, not really knowing what to expect. He’d been through interviews with victims before but he sensed this was going to be different.

  Sharon Weiss was in her late fifties now, but looked older. She invited him in, but he could feel her trepidation. The house felt old inside, a little disorganized. She apologized for the clutter and asked if he’d like some coffee. Boy that’s certainly a constant during these interviews, he thought. She returned with what appeared to be instant coffee and took a seat across from him. He took a sip and asked if it would be okay to record their conversation.

  “Well, first Mr. Smyth, I want to make sure we have all the ground rules understood.”

  They went back over the understanding they had reached in their original conversation, Jonathan, again agreeing to all of it. One thing Sharon was adamant about was no recording. If something happened to him, well, who knows who might get a hold of the tape.

  “I’ll just jot down some notes if that’s all right?”

  “Yes, that will be fine,” she said, grateful he’d cooperate.

  “I don’t know where else to start but ask you to go back to the beginning if you don’t mind,” he said feeling a little uneasy.

  She agreed and started on the day it happened, describing it in vivid detail. Jonathan watched as her eyes filled with tears, thought again, maybe this isn’t worth it. It was a long and sad story of pain, running and two destroyed lives. Here it was again, this animal reaching out from the grave and still affecting people. Would it ever end?

  “I kept running…I guess to get away from it. But after awhile, I realized that would never happen with Rebecca. I love her deeply, more than she’ll ever know, but to be honest, there’s a part of me that resents what she’s done to my life. I suppose that sounds cold and selfish, but it’s there…and I can’t deny it. But, I’ve suppressed it all these years and will continue to do so. Even if Rebecca was capable of knowing, I would never let her know how I feel.”

  Of all the people Jonathan had interviewed, she had suffered the most, and was still suffering, and would until the day she died. He’d gotten all he thought was necessary and began to pack up his stuff.

  “Sharon, I want to thank you for doing this. I know it wasn’t easy, and I probably dug up some old memories and feelings you’d have just as soon left alone.”

  “Yes, that’s true, but there was a certain…cathartic aspect to it. I actually feel a little bit cleansed, so I guess it wasn’t all bad,” she said with a slight look of relief.

  “Well, I’ll be on my way and, I promise I won’t bother you anymore.”

  She escorted him to the front door. He’d wanted to ask about Rebecca, but thought better of it. He thanked her again and drove back to his motel. He couldn’t get over how much her life had changed after that one horrifying day. Sometimes, he thought, there just is no fairness in life.

  He hadn’t been in his room long when the phone rang. It was Sharon Weiss.

  “Mr. Smyth, I don’t know if this would mean anything and, I apologize for not mentioning it before, but several years ago a woman called me, who had also been raped by Zane and, had given birth to a boy. She would never say how she found me and, I’m not sure why she even called me, but she did tell me she’d had a son by him.”

  “No, Sharon, this could be important. Do you know where she is, or where her son might be?”

  “Sorry, no. I didn’t really want to talk about it much, so I made it short. She did tell me her son had disappeared. I don’t know why, but maybe she thought I knew something.”

  “How long ago do you think this was?”

  “Probably five or six years ago. I’m sorry, I just forgot about it, then after you left, it just popped into my head.”

  “Did she give you any indication how old her son was?”

  “No, I’m sorry.”

  “Again, Sharon, thank you for consenting to do this. I hope I can call you in the future…about other things.”

  He liked her, she’d paid a dear price and weathered it well. Some would have tried abortion or given the child up for adoption, but she’d done the difficult thing and raised her daughter.

&n
bsp; The flight home went quickly. He was anxious to get back to writing. This would certainly be his last interview. He and Amy had gathered all the information they could and it was time to start the literary process.