Stutter Creek (8 page)

Kurt had stopped to rest for a moment in his trek up the mountain. It was hard going, with the kid. He was constantly forced to stop and wait on him, or prod him into moving faster. At this rate, they might not locate the cave until tomorrow.

Kurt looked at the thick blanket of dead leaves on the ground. He decided to go ahead and pitch the tent here and spend the night beside the creek. Tomorrow, he would dope the kid up good, and then go in search of the cave on his own. There’d be no fire, though.

From one of the many pockets on his jacket, he pulled out a couple of packets of beef jerky and handed one to Danny. “We’re stopping here,” he said. Then he popped up the tent and allowed Danny to go inside to sleep. He didn’t like having the boy out in the open. Even in the National Forest, there could be prying eyes. He had camouflaged the car with branches, but he knew from experience that one could never be too careful. The best thing to do would be to find that cave as quickly as possible. Then he could finish his business and get on with his life. He was beginning to crave getting high again.

As the sun slipped behind the mountain, Kurt sat on the boulder and reminisced. His first victim had been only a few days after he’d snatched Danny. He’d had to train Danny first, and then the rest had been easy.

Her name was Sherylyn Combs. She was a night clerk at the Wal-Mart in Pine River. Three days earlier he’d followed her to her car, an older model SUV. She must’ve been really tired. She never looked at him once. Didn’t notice him at all. She lived in a rundown duplex in the suburb of Yellow Bend a few miles away. He had followed her again the next night, just to be certain she always took the same route.

Kurt had been driving the rusted Ford that he had obtained as part of a trade with Dave, the cokehead. Now, Dave was undoubtedly zoned out on his own urine stained sofa back in the big city, a tribute to the excellent Mexican brown heroin Kurt had turned him on to. Something he’d procured just for that purpose. At first, Dave had resisted, saying he was just a cocaine man. But when Kurt had turned to go, muttering about how he had plenty of other buddies who would want it, Dave had undergone a sudden change of heart.

Kurt had been so excited he couldn’t wait to get started with his plan. He’d found Sherylyn on Facebook. She had listed Wal-Mart under “Where worked” on her profile page.

Kurt thanked Fate that all his camping supplies could be found at the same store where the first name on his list was a cashier. As soon as he entered, he picked her out of the line of cashiers. Her profile picture had obviously been taken a few pounds ago, but when he saw her face in profile, he was certain she was the one.

Whistling a lullaby under his breath, Kurt had unhurriedly gathered his supplies—Danny was passed out in the car under a blanket—and then he headed for Sherylyn’s checkout stand. Her plastic nametag confirmed that she was definitely the one he wanted.

She’d made small talk as she scanned his ice chest, tent, and flashlight. “Going camping, huh?” She hadn’t really looked at his face. Her hands moved with their own kind of grace and symmetry as they picked up each item, rolled it to find the bar code, then slid it effortlessly across the scanner. Beep.

Kurt had grinned and fingered the duct tape in his pocket. “Yep. Hunting, too.” His voice was jolly. If Sherylyn had looked into his eyes, her hand motions would have been halted at the discrepancy between his jolly voice and the intent in his eyes.

But she hadn’t looked up. Nor had she noticed the excitement coating his words. If she noticed anything at all, she never let on.

Kurt had felt a stirring his groin as he stood there talking to the first name on his victim list. In his mind, he was imagining her face contorted in pain.

Unaware of his excitement, Sherylyn had continued to scan the smaller items—beef jerky, Pepsi, bottled water—and then she sacked them up.

He paid with cash. No paper trail for Kurt Graham.

He was too smart for that.

Now, sitting on his boulder on the slope of the mountain, Kurt had become so lost in his gruesome thoughts that he almost missed the wedge of blue that flashed between the trees a hundred yards away. He’d known there was a cabin down there; he’d even briefly considered using it as his hideout, but it was way too close to the road. But what was that flash of blue? Was it a car?

He stood up on the boulder for a better look. The sun was almost down; it was difficult to see. No way. It couldn’t be . . .

It was.

He jumped lightly from the boulder and followed the path of the creek for several minutes until he had a clearer view of the cabin.

A blue ’69 Camaro sat in the circle driveway. He was close enough to hear the tick of the cooling engine.

Kurt grinned.

Fate had just smiled on him, again.

He was so high on his own morbid thoughts he never even noticed the large paw prints, in the soft Earth, that led from the creek toward the cabin.

Chapter Eleven

Even though she’d barely nibbled it, the toast and milk helped. Putting away the food and washing the skillet gave her mind something to focus on. Soon, Beth was able to blow her nose and put the sniffles away, too.

“Bedtime,” she said to no one as she turned off the lights and went in search of the trashy gossip magazines Cindy had given her.

“Might help you get your mind off things,” Cindy had said, stuffing the sack full of magazines into Beth’s hands just before she left. “You really should get yourself a laptop computer—”

“I know,” Beth agreed. “But there’s no Internet at the cabin anyway.” She had accepted the sack of magazines gratefully. Then she’d added the legal tablet Dalton had suggested she take. He thought writing her feelings down might help alleviate the nightmares.

That made perfect sense to Beth. She’d been taking notes in a spiral notebook for years. She wanted to write a novel. Having come from such a small family, she had always wanted to write a sprawling family epic. Something completely opposite of her real life. So she’d added that notebook to the pile of reading/writing material.

At least I don’t have to be ashamed of my writing dreams anymore. Sam had always thought it was such a waste of time. Probably one reason I never took it very seriously myself.

After washing her face, brushing her teeth, and banking the fire one last time, Beth slipped into her sleep shirt, grabbed the pile of magazines, and proceeded to catch up on the latest doings of Hollywood’s finest. She conked out so quickly she didn’t even turn off the reading light.

About an hour later, the dreams began. She dreamed her father was standing beside the bed, waiting for her to wake up so they could go hiking.

“Where we going, Dad?” her dream-self asked.

Her father just smiled.

When she awoke, tiny flashes of colored light were popping merrily around her face. “Dad?” she asked, still caught up in the dream web. “S’that you?”

She thought she saw movement near the tall windows. “Dad?” Her voice was a bare whisper. “If that’s you, this isn’t funny . . . ”

The spicy, smoky smell was heavy.

The reading light was still on. Beth sat up carefully, tired of being awakened every night. Outside the window opposite her bed, a faint shadow shifted.

“Who’s there?” Her voice was a bit louder. The shadow grew still. I’m losing my mind, she thought.
I must be losing my mind. First the dreams, and the shadow, then the boy, and now more shadows, dear God!
She leapt from her bed and flipped on the overhead light.

All shadows were banished except for the one she herself was projecting. She waved at it to make sure it really was hers. And that’s when she heard something running across the long wraparound porch.

Beth rushed to the window, but whatever it was had already made it to the woods. She could hear the sounds it made crashing through the underbrush. It sounded large and fast. This time, she was sure she had heard claws on wood.
Raccoon, perhaps. A BIG one.
She recalled that they sometimes got up to twenty or twenty-five pounds.
Certainly no shadow, that’s for sure.

Could it have been a small bear, a cub? They were pretty fast. At least she was sure it was some kind of animal this time. That meant she wasn’t going crazy, she wasn’t just imagining things.
Thank God!
Just an animal. Not another formless dream-shadow.
Her breath eased and her heart slowed to normal.

I’ll check for tracks in the morning
. She was used to animals in the forest. In earlier years, they had sometimes seen bear tracks in the snow. But that had been many, many years earlier. The last time they had checked, when Abby was still at home, the park rangers said the bears had been gone from these parts for over a decade.

Still, it was comforting to know it was just an animal and not a malevolent dream-spirit or something equally bizarre. She wondered briefly about a human causing the noise; a peeping tom or such—but that was such an unlikely possibility that she shoved the thought away almost as quickly as it had occurred.

She checked the locks on all the doors and windows, as if that would keep out a malevolent shadow-spirit, and then she made the conscious choice to leave all the lights blazing thinking,
hoping
, that the light would deter anything from returning. Then she tried to go back to sleep.

This time, however, she took her pillow and blanket and curled up in the big recliner again. She got up one last time, dug her cell phone out of her purse, and plugged it into the charger she’d unpacked earlier. Just in case I get a signal, she thought.

Anything’s possible.

***

Kurt stood close by the cabin, his filthy clothes helping him to blend in with the scenery even better than he could have planned. He couldn’t believe his luck. It had to be the woman from the highway.
Luck? No, Fate.
They’d both been headed to the same place. On the other hand, the road they’d both been travelling led to the National Forest and not much else. He liked the idea of Fate better than luck. It meant he was supposed to take her.

As he checked his pockets to make sure he had his duct tape, he came across Amanda Myers’ driver’s license. A small chuckle escaped him and he pressed it to his lips before tucking it into a different pocket of his thrift-store jacket.

Sherylyn’s Wal-Mart nametag inhabited the same pocket. His intention was to fill that zippered pocket with something from every girl on his list. Now, he would get to add something from one fate-kissed middle-aged woman who just happened to drive a very recognizable blue Camaro. Kurt chuckled again. This was turning out to be even better than he’d expected.

He leaned against a tree and pulled strips of beef jerky out of their plastic packet. Every now and then he caught a glimpse of the old broad roaming around inside the cabin. She was definitely still alone.

This was going to be fun.

Silently, he traipsed back up the mountain toward the tent where Danny lay, nearly comatose; his unopened packet of jerky still clutched in his filthy little hand.

Once again, Kurt wished he’d kept the cell phone he’d taken from Amanda Myers. He had thought about keeping it for a souvenir, but it had taken up too much room in his pocket. Besides, he was afraid it was traceable, even without the battery. He’d taken that out and tossed it beside the highway somewhere outside Pine River.

He still thought about the phone, though. That little green shell had appealed to him. It was so sparkly, a sweet reminder of the lovely girl herself. But at last, he’d decided to get rid of the shell, too. Just yesterday, he had buried it at the base of a tree like a tiny treasure. If he hadn’t buried it, the green rhinestone cover would have been very vibrant against the thin layer of snow still on the ground.

***

Sunlight warming her face woke her. It was full daylight and she had actually slept undisturbed. Beth stretched and tried to stand. Her back was in kinks and her neck was so stiff it popped when she straightened it. I’ll pay for sleeping in that chair, she thought, heading toward the shower.

The light on her phone had changed from red to green so she plucked it from the charger as she walked by. No calls, the screen said, but she flipped to the address book and started to scroll down the list. She thought she should at least try to call Cindy and let her know she had made it to the cabin. With her thumb, she sent the cursor flying down the list. It scrolled past Cindy and stopped on Dad.

She started over. The same thing happened. She couldn’t get it to stop on Cindy. It would just go straight to Dad. She tried to land the cursor on Abby’s phone number. Same thing happened. It went straight to Dad.

Beth was getting angry. “Now my phone’s going to fall apart,” she declared pessimistically. She pushed the scroll-down arrow and held her thumb on it. The little cursor flew up and down the list of contacts over and over again until she finally took her thumb away. It landed squarely on Dad, again.

She gave up, touched OFF, and vowed to try again after her shower.
Guess I should take his number out of my contact list.
She shoved that idea aside and thought; maybe it will help if I just take the phone outside. But deep down she knew that wouldn’t make a difference like it sometimes did with signal reception. Getting a signal had nothing to do with numbers already stored in her contact list.

Sighing, she turned on the shower and let it warm up while she brushed the knots from her hair. Hope the water works as well on my knotted muscles, she thought.

She unwrapped a new bar of Dove bath soap, unpacked her shampoo and conditioner, and then went in search of towels and washcloths.

As usual, her dad had left them, neatly folded, in the skinny metal cabinet they’d installed beside the shower so many years earlier. Like the bed linens, everything was folded and tucked inside spare pillowcases, which were easier to wash and kept their contents fresh and dust free.