Authors: James Roy Daley
“
We’re going into the woods? Is that the plan? Will you shoot me in the back of the head? Will you bury me in the deepest hole you can dig? Is that what’s happening now, you sick, twisted bastard?”
“
No. Just listen––”
“
Then why should I pull over?”
“
For one reason, I’m giving you an order.”
“
But why? Why here and why now? I don’t want to die today.”
“
I’m letting you go,” James said, frustrated. He wondered if he was telling the truth. He might have been, but honestly, he didn’t know. “Do you understand? There’s a restaurant up ahead called King’s Diner––if you care to go that way. I don’t really give two shits what you do; do what you want. Go bury yourself in the fucking woods if that makes you happy. I don’t give a fuck. But know this, unless you hook up a ride it’ll take a couple of hours to get to the restaurant, and forever if you walk the other way.”
Elmer shot James an untrusting glance. “Yeah right. You’re setting me free?”
“
Yeah, but I got to be honest with you, getting a ride is tough. I ran out of gas out here one time; it took me three hours to flag someone down. Point is: if I were you, I’d start walking the same way we’re driving. You understand?”
“
I don’t believe you.”
“
That’s okay; I don’t care. Bringing you along was a mistake, and whether you believe it or not, I’m sorry.”
“
Bullshit.”
“
I needed the car, that’s all.”
“
You’re so full of shit. You’re going kill me and dump my body in the woods.”
“
Listen man… I don’t know what to do with you. I’ve been thinking about killing you and eating you and pissing on your corpse, and to be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I have no plan. I said I didn’t want to hurt you, and I meant it. I know it’s hard to believe. Trust me, I know. But what can I say? I didn’t mean to kill your wife and I don’t want to kill you, even if I do.”
Elmer could tell that James was losing it. His words were contradicting each other. His thinking was loosely knitted together, at best. The sooner he could get away from this freak of nature, the better. But would he get away, or would he get shot? There was no way to tell. James had become as unpredictable as a hungry raccoon in a daycare. He said, “You’re a liar.”
“
Just pull over.”
“
No. You’re going to kill me.”
“
Yeah,” James admitted. “Maybe I will kill you. Maybe I’ll blow your fucking head clean off your body. But pull the goddamn car over anyhow or I’ll shoot you while you drive.”
After a few seconds, Elmer pushed the brake and turned the wheel. The brake pads touched the rotor. The tires slowed their rotation. The vehicle’s speed diminished. Rocks, dust and sand found new places to sit, and soon enough the car came to a full stop at the side of the highway.
James coughed, still feeling the effects of the fire. “Get out,” he said, holding the gun tight. “And leave the keys in the ignition.”
“
You’re not going to kill me?”
“
How many times do I have to say it?”
“
Until I believe you.”
“
I don’t care what you believe. I just want the car.”
Elmer nodded, concealing a spiteful grin. He stepped outside.
“
Okay.” James said, getting out of the car with him. “Now give me your shirt.”
“
Why?”
“
Because I want it.”
After a moment of silence Elmer said, “I have two or three shirts in the back seat of the car. If you need a clean shirt to wear, I’d go with one of those. They’re clean enough for you. No blood.”
“
Why do you have shirts in your car?”
“
I don’t know. They’ve been back there for a month. Can I go now?”
James nodded. “Yeah. Get the fuck out of here.”
Elmer began walking down the highway, looking like he would return home on foot.
“
Wrong way,” James said, as he slid into the car. Then he whispered, “I can’t run you down if you walk that way.” When Elmer didn’t respond James yelled, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kill your wife!” Then he shrugged his shoulders and drove off.
Elmer heard the apology and kept on walking. Under his breath he said, “Not as sorry as you’re gonna be you stupid psycho prick. You have no idea what I’m gonna do to you.” A few steps later Elmer noticed a butterfly with a broken wing shuffling along the road. He killed it with his foot, enjoying the sound on the insect crunching beneath his shoe.
And in the sky above, dark clouds rolled across the horizon. The storm the weatherman had predicted was finally on its way.
PART FOUR:
HUNTERS AND THE CHASE
61
Elmer was a thief, a planner, a killer, an intellect, a rebel, and a fighter. But most of all––more than any of these things––he was a liar. He was good at it. He lied everyday, rarely speaking a word of truth.
Most liars don’t know why they lie. Some do it for the thrill and some do it because they lack courage. Others try to avoid punishment or save face. Some don’t think clearly. Some don’t think.
Elmer was different; he had a philosophy––not that he cared to share it:
The less they know, the better
. It was a simple philosophy—very straightforward, very direct. Not the viewpoint of a saint but it served him well.
Years ago, his mother was shot dead inside a Boston crack house. And on that day, after the news had made the rounds, Elmer changed. The idealistic young boy––who was known as David Timothy Camions at the time––disappeared. In return, the world received Dennis Wade, and Steven Beal, and Toby McBride, and Elmer Wright, and Michael Sapient.
Lately it was Elmer.
Elmer wasn’t married to Tina. He barely knew her.
Tina was his customer––she bought pot from time to time. He had no feelings for the woman, no history either. They had been introduced one night in a bar. A nineteen-year-old drunk-punk named Terry set them up. He threw Terry a half bag of coke and a warped G. B. H. album and Terry landed him another semi-chronic. There was no late-night manger job at a coffee shop. No history of bingo. No Danny. No Beth. Every word that David Timothy Camions/Elmer Wright said was a stone cold lie.
Tina looked confused when Elmer talked about the marriage and the children and the love that was fading between them. She was confused but knew enough to keep her big mouth shut.
Lot of good it did her, Elmer thought. Stupid bitch.
* * *
Over the ridge of a hill, Elmer noticed the growing shine of approaching headlights. The sky had not darkened much, and he could tell that the small blue car was fairly new, a Ford Focus perhaps. The young woman behind the wheel was twenty-two, maybe twenty-three. She was cute with short blonde hair; she had a thin face and a tan.
And she was alone.
How unfortunate.
62
Elmer walked into the center of the lane smiling. His arms were above his head, giving slow welcoming gestures. He showed no signs of urgency, no hint of stress or unpleasant dramatics. This type of carefree technique worked best, Elmer found. It set people at ease.
Elmer considered killing a dance, an exchange, a personal expression played out between two people. And Elmer loved to dance. If it were up to him he would dance all night, every night. And for years Elmer had been refraining, denying his instinctive, intuitive thirst for killing––but no more. Meeting James and seeing Tina’s death put his finger on his past; it tweaked his thinking. Opportunity had knocked. If there was ever a time to lace up those dancing shoes, the time was now. He could get away with anything right now. It would all get blamed on James.
* * *
The car slowed before it came to a rolling stop.
The girl behind the wheel lowered her window. A puff of smoke escaped through the expanding aperture. She sat her cigarette onto the rim of the car’s metallic ashtray and adjusted her designer shades with long, well-manicured fingers. She leaned her head to one side and smiled affectionately.
“
Are you okay?” she said.
“
My car,” Elmer responded. He approached the window with slow moving feet. He pointed down the road, shrugging his shoulders and lifting his hands. Then he rolled his eyes and laughed, acting like a happy-go-lucky klutz. He couldn’t help noticing the girl’s white bikini top. It was the smallest he’d seen in a while. “What’s your name?”
“
Jennifer,” the girl said with a giggle. Her laughter was not full-sized, but it was there. Elmer had the fish on the hook; all he had to do was reel her in.
“
Hello, Jennifer.”
Jennifer was a hottie. Her stomach was fit, a small ring pierced her belly button and her muscular legs were tanned brown. She had a bracelet around her ankle. She wore a pair of tight white shorts and leather sandals; perfect beach attire for a young woman wearing a bikini top.
Elmer smirked. He couldn’t believe this dumb bitch; she was flaunting her body like a freebasing whore. He wondered if she was on a low dosage of MDMA; he wondered what it would be like to watch her die.
“
Jennifer,” Elmer laughed. “I’m in a bit of a spot. My car… well… it’s a chunk of crap.” And with that, Elmer laughed again. He laughed like he had said the funniest joke of the day.
Jennifer’s smile expanded. She lifted her cigarette from the tray and closed her eyes while shaking her head playfully. “A chunk of crap huh? Well… that’s not too good, is it?”
“
No, I suppose it isn’t.”
“
Where’s the car? Down the road?”
“
Yeah.”
“
And you need a ride, is that it?”
Elmer pointed. “You see those trees up there? You see that big tree… it looks a little bigger than the others?”
Jennifer squinted, looking at the trees swaying in the wind. “Yeah, I think so.”
“
The one with the… ah…” Elmer’s words trailed off. Frustration began to boil. He didn’t have time for this shit, not with James getting away. He needed to make a move. He needed to get going.
Jennifer said, “I’m not sure where you’re pointing, but I can help you out, I guess. If you need a ride.”
“
Yeah. A ride would be great.”
Elmer smiled––and suddenly Jennifer’s smile fell from her face.
There was something wrong with this man, she realized, something dreadfully wrong. His eyes looked dead, and maybe they were. He looked like a corpse, like his insides had begun to rot and stink––and the eyes are the windows to the soul. She had heard that many, many times. And this man had the eyes of the dead.
A moment of insight came: this man isn’t a corpse, she thought, but a ghost. He died a long time ago. Or perhaps he died today, and that car he’s pointing at is wrapped around a tree. And he’s inside the damn thing, bleeding from the stomach with a broken neck and chunks of his skull smashed into his brain. But why would Jennifer think this way? Because something was wrong here. She could feel it. Hell, she could almost
taste
it.
Her eyes shifted; she looked at Elmer’s shirt. It was covered in blood.
“
Oh shit,” she said, fearing the absolute worst. “What are you?”
Reading her face adequately, he said, “I am your death, my dear. But you know that. Of course you do.”
It was a miracle she hadn’t figured him out earlier.
63
Elmer reached inside the car and grabbed Jennifer by the hair. He cranked her head to the left and pulled as hard as he could. Jennifer’s cigarette went flying and she screamed, thinking her skull would tear from her body. With her feet kicking the pedals, the floor, and that thing between the seats that guys working the automotive line call ‘the doghouse’, the car lurched forward and stalled. As it did, Elmer slammed Jennifer’s face against the window casing. Her nose broke and her sunglasses fell from her face. A thread of blood and snot gushed down her chin in a long pink runner, splashing against her white bikini top. The exposed portions of her breasts became shiny and red.
Elmer twisted Jennifer’s head in an awkward, unnatural circle. Then he released his grip and opened the door.
Jennifer, crying and panic-stricken, scrambled to the far side of the car. Her neck was on fire and her eyes watered. Her nose was flowing blood, which rivered through her fingers abundantly. “Why are you hurting me?”
“
Am I hurting you?” Elmer mocked with a heartless tone. He grinned like a shark. His eyes were coiled snakes. “I’m just getting started.”
Jennifer begged and Elmer dragged her from the car by her feet. Her ankle bracelet broke and fell to the ground in a ball, a tiny mountain of gold. He straddled her, pinning her shoulders beneath him. As he punched her face and neck she cried and screamed at the top of her lungs––but it was useless. Elmer wouldn’t stop. He punched her until his knuckles were raw; he punched until he felt tired. And in time, when his muscles were sore, his stopped his battering and stood up. She didn’t. She lied in a pool of her own blood, quivering and shaking. He began kicking her then; he kicked her as hard as he could, again and again. She did nothing to stop him; she didn’t even raise a hand. He kicked until his feet felt numb––and when he finished he spat in her face and screamed in victory.