First Night of Summer (8 page)

Chapter Fourteen

B
ailey’s eyes were closed. She tried to block everything out, but nothing traumatic enough had happened yet to receive any disassociation from her brain. She was completely in the present.

The sound of a zipper caught her attention, and she opened her eyes. The man was hunched over with his pants undone. She kept a close watch. Something bad was about to happen, but she didn’t know what. To want someone else’s body for pleasure was foreign, impossible to comprehend.

“Ah, now you decide to look?” Ricky gazed down, his piercing eyes unblinking. “Just lay still, and I’ll do all the work.” He said each word with a creepy smile.

His shirt fell to the ground. Someone might have called him scrawny, but there was too much muscle definition for that. His physique resembled a person on the edge of anorexia with a protein shake addiction.

“What do you think? Hmmm? You like it, don’t you?”

She looked away. It was her last defense. There was no way to run and hide, but she could deprive him the pleasure of flattery. Too scared to shut her eyes, the ceiling became the object of her focus. It was covered in the kind of foam her mom put under the sheets to make the bed soft. It felt like being inside an egg carton.

He didn’t like that she looked away. Someone watching was someone interested. Interest was approval, attention, and validation.
Look at me
, his heart cried.
Look at me
.

He was completely naked. Every inch of him was slick. A cleanly cut, if not slightly longer than normal, head of sandy brown hair was the only place not shaved or waxed. He climbed on the bed and stuffed a pillow under her head, propping it as high as possible. It was to keep her faced forward. She cringed at the contact, an invasion of her personal space.

“There now.”

He raised himself up to where his pelvis was only a foot from her watery eyes. The dream that things would ever be consensual was given up long ago. People who managed to pull that amount of trust from their victims had to work at it over a period of time. A next-door neighbor, a teacher, or a friend’s brother were good examples. They were also the same people who got caught. Sooner or later, someone found out. That lifestyle did not appeal to him. He didn’t care for lasting relationships, and he didn’t care to go easy. He wanted to do what he wanted when he wanted and not worry about some little shit tattling.

The van was warm inside. He had the air on, but anticipation heated his body. It was glossy, slick to the touch. The moment was huge, built in his mind for days. He could not rush it. A fine wine is supposed to be savored, relished, and consumed in small, conscientious sips.

Both his hands settled on top of her clothes and slowly massaged. His skin constricted into goose bumps at the first touch. The euphoria was always greatest at commencement, slowly leaking endorphins into his system of sins.

Bailey couldn’t speak, so she pled with her eyes. The orbs beckoned for mercy. The softest most innocent eyes there ever were, pure virtue muddied by scum. She couldn’t understand why she deserved it.

He lifted the bottom of her shirt and rested his clammy hand on her warm tummy. It palpated rapidly, up and down with each breath. The skin-to-skin contact sent another rush of thrills through him. It was what he felt, loved, and craved enough to steal a child. One was too many, and a thousand was never enough. His thin fingers searched, seeking more. Ever since he was young, more was the answer.

Bailey tensed as he pulled a long, stainless steel hunting knife from a scabbard.

“Easy. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s just to help.”

He slid the knife under the hem of her jeans and cut upwards. The leg split from cuff to waistband. Stroke after razor-sharp stroke produced a little girl in nothing but cotton underwear.

“Be very, very still now.”

Her stricken look was priceless. The knife was for intimidation and practicality. He could strip a victim bare while they remained tied. And that was exactly what he did.

One corner of his mouth pulled into a grin, cheek twitching. “Do you like red?”

There was no answer. She was too scared, embarrassed.

“Do you like red?” he asked again softly.

She nodded, afraid not to. The next thing she felt was beyond pain. She arched her back in shock and sucked in.

“Daddy!” she called. “Daddy! Daddy!”

She tried to scream and scream and scream. But her words were prisoners. She sputtered, gagging in an effort to breathe through her nose.

Tied and stretched, torn and raped, the sacredness of her vessel was gone. But her soul remained untouched and clean, a place even Ricky could never tarnish.

Chapter Fifteen

O
n a stool, back against the dividing wall of the van, Ricky wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. A weak sneer played across his lips as he composed himself.

Bailey was still bound to the bed. Blood seeped from her wrists and ankles. The fibers had broken her skin during the struggle. Her hands and feet were swollen from the lack of circulation, and her whole body trembled in shock.

Ricky rolled his neck around. He just sat there, staring, reminiscing, and loving his power. “Was that an experience or what?”

Bailey didn’t respond.

“Speechless?” He used words to stroke his ego. “Well, most of you are after something that fantastic. Your little brains don’t know quite what to make of it.”

He turned to her page in the journal. The details needed to be written down while fresh in his mind, and with each stroke of the pen, his emotions changed. They always did. Lust and excitement turned into disgust and hate. His smile faded into a frown. That particular element was left out of the notes. It made him feel out of control and he did not care to dwell on it.

He climbed back onto the bed and straddled Bailey. Most of his weight was on his knees, but considerable pressure smashed her body. Cleanup was the worst. He had taken what he wanted, and now came the disposition.
What a mess
.

She was worthless at this point. He watched a lone tear roll from her eye and then spat in her face. The back of his hand flew across her right cheek.

She grimaced and let a barely audible whimper escape. The backhanded slap hurt, but her senses were dulled. Finally, her mind shut off certain switches to her body in an effort to protect itself.

He stayed on top of Bailey and turned her once beautiful face into a bloody mess. She was helpless to defend herself, mercy or torment at his sole discretion. Finally, a mouth full of blood restricting her airway, she coughed. Red flecks spattered him across the torso.

Ricky held his arms out to either side in disgust. Cleanup just got harder. “Oh, you little
bitch
!” he complained and knocked her cold with one final blow.

He peeled his sweaty body from the bed, wiped off, and took his time dressing. The last thing he needed was a picture, and he preferred his victims to be awake with their eyes wide open. He cracked a smelling salt beneath her nose. She woke to the powerful scent of ammonia and turned her head to get away from the acrid odor.

“Hey, hey. Look here. I said, look here!” He shouted to gain her attention.

She peeked toward the foot of the bed. Tears, blood, and swollen flesh blurred her vision. There was a flash and then another.

Chapter Sixteen

F
ully dressed, hair neatly combed and a look of casual confidence, Ricky stepped into the retail store of the truck stop. He felt exhausted and needed fuel for the work ahead. He walked around the aisles until he found his poison, Planters Trail Mix. The kind with the M&M candies was his favorite. From there, he went to the coffee machine.
Nothing like a sugar and caffeine high for a middle-of-the-night project
.

People moved about the store, all road-weary minds looking without seeing.
They could be just like me, and nobody would ever know
.

The convenience store was typical. It was a little grimy around the edges with a couple of peculiar-looking clerks behind the counter. The night shift always had the funny ones. Country music played in the background.

At the counter, he put down the coffee and trail mix, removed his wallet, and awaited the total.

A big woman stood behind the register, her frame burdened beneath a hundred pounds of excess weight and hair pulled into a tight bun. Her uniform was simple; a red and orange apron draped over jeans and a black T-shirt. The getup did not flatter her figure. She wore too much blue eye shadow, and her nails were painted bright red.
She looks way scarier than I do, but she’s probably the salt of the earth. No reason for her to look innocent
. Her nametag read “Verna.”

She gave him a gap-toothed grin. “How ya doin’, honey?”

“Just fine, thank you. And yourself?” He returned the smile.

Verna. Big Verna
.

“Pretty good. Just waitin’ ‘til my shift’s up.”

“I see. What time do you get off?”

“Not ‘til seven. Still got a few more hours.” She took the trail mix and scanned it.

“Seven will be here before you know it.”

“Just like every other night, honey. Nothin’ to it but to do it. That’s what I always say.”

He’d heard it before, a good quote for perseverance. “So what do I owe you?”

“Five dollars and seventeen cents, honey.” It was a name she called most male customers. She studied him for a moment. “Coffee says you’re staying on the road for a while longer.” It was a statement, not an observation.

“Yeah.” He dug bills out of the wallet. “I have a few more miles to cover before daybreak. This should keep me going though.”

“Well, you just be careful out there. Too many of these truckers don’t rest and end up falling asleep at the wheel. Keep an eye out.”

He handed six dollars cash across the counter to Big Verna.

“Oh, honey!” Her eyes were wide. “You’ve got blood on your hand.” Her sausage finger and bright red nail pointed at a nearly dried blob on the base of his thumb.

No! How did I miss that? No time to think
. He had to say something quick. As if it were the gospel truth, he said, “I sure do. I thought I washed it all off.” He made a puzzled look. “Dang nosebleed. Thing made a mess everywhere. Must have missed a spot.”

“Must have.” She put the bills in the drawer and extracted change, completely satisfied with his explanation.

“No thanks,” he said. “Keep it. It bothers me in my pocket anyway.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, keep it. It just gets in my way.”

Big Verna dropped the change in the “Need a Penny” tray by the register. “All right then. You have a good night, honey. Be safe. And get that blood cleaned up before somebody thinks you killed someone.” She winked at him.

“Thanks. You, too. I mean about having a good night.”

An elderly gentleman came in and held the door open without a word.
Privacy in plain sight. Glad the blood was on my hand and not my fly
. He made a toothy smirk, all pearly whites and piercing eyes.

In the van, he situated himself, drove away from the parking lot, and headed further into the Iowa countryside. A half hour down the main road, he turned onto a smaller pavement. After several minutes, he took a farm-to-market blacktop. The remote, yellow-striped ribbon stretched for miles into rural farmland. Finally, a green sign marked his next turn.

He was now on a gravel-covered road that led into an ocean of cornfields. Every so often, a farmers’ private turn row wound into the fields. He found the one he wanted, bounced along the rutted double track, and disappeared inside walls of stalks. Headlights showed the way to the back of the plot where woods pressed against the tilled edge. He parked and killed the engine.

Darkness consumed the world. Anything could have hidden within its murk. Trees surrounded their position. No houses were within two miles. He used Google Earth in advance to scout the area. It worked impeccably. Even though he had never been to that particular place before, the program gave him a sense of familiarity. He knew he was safe.

His foot made a slight crunching sound when it met the earth. The sun had dried the top quarter inch of soil. The weight of his step cracked the surface.

He opened the rear doors and removed a shovel. Several rows into the corn was a good spot to dig. The moist, cultivated topsoil moved with ease, and the cool, night air made his work pleasant. He dug until a hole lay two feet wide by four feet deep.

By the time I cover this, another rain comes along, the crop is harvested, and it sits idle for winter, the soil will have compacted so tightly around her body … she’ll never be discovered. Way out here, no farmer will be suspicious. Why would he be?

At the van, he found Bailey awake. She tilted her head back and peered through her nearly swollen shut eyes and into the night. She could barely make out the shape of a man standing behind her.

“Hey there, little darling,” he said with fake sympathy. “Don’t worry. You’re not going to hurt anymore.”

He raised the shovel, swung it down like an axe, and smashed her over the head with the spade. Bailey Davis was no more. He was tired and ready to be through with her. He cut the ropes loose with the hunting knife and dropped everything into the hole. She was dumped on top of them, a bloody tangle of naked body and matted hair. He threw in her clothes, followed by the bed linens and cleanup towels. He soaked them with a liberal amount of lighter fluid and lit it all with a match. Ten minutes later, her skin was charred, covered in a layer of ash. The loose pile of dirt was scooped, tamped, and packed until firm. Any leftover was spread around evenly to leave as little sign as possible. Soon, her body would begin to decompose.

Ricky loaded the van without a second thought and drove out the way he had entered, a ghost in the night.
Good-bye, Bailey Davis
.

Chapter Seventeen

T
he first day of Isaac’s return to work arrived. If he were ready, he wasn’t sure. Two days shy of four weeks had passed since the tragic night, and he wondered when or if he would ever feel like going back. On the other hand, he craved a sense of normalcy, a means to get on with life and get outside the emotional walls of confinement. The sky was the one place that offered escape. Three or four days of flying was good medicine.