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Summer nights in the mountains get cold. Not cold cold, like winter cold. But inactivity, chill, and a hard chair can freeze your... butt. Hud squirmed a little,
the chair squeaked, and he stood to stretch. Yeah, I'm not a sprinter, he thought, but I stayed the race.
The crickets, vigilant crickets stopped for a few moments, then keyed up again.
Hud thumbed the cell phone, and left it alone. Mark knew his business, no rookies here. No one needed the reassurance of the "got your back ", every few minutes.
Besides, Hud, and Mark, Gilbert, and Ben were keeping vigil out there. Well rehearsed. A stake out. They know he is coming. Soon. Any day, er, night now.
Inside the lodge, well ,under it, are rolls of film, for an old, expensive camera.
Along with curious other scraps of material, bits and pieces of jewelry, it was found in an old tackle box shoved under the crawlspace of the lodge. In a niche, in the stone foundation. Dug into the side. You would have to spend time there to find it.
Unless someone talked on his last days on earth. Someone did. Beeman talked, having found God on death row, and realizing he had run out of appeals. He was talking.
Asked to speak with Hud, and he did something right. Late, but right.
He was truthful, he was a killer, but those killings weren't his.
It wasn't that he wanted to help the kid. Whos name was Rick Marler, something like that. It was his "screw you" to the world. He felt good about that for a long time. He got a kick out of his secret. Privately cheered the kid on.
"The kid" was a boy Beeman had taken on as a skinny reject, an accomplice, a sidekick, twenty eight years ago. They did almost everything together, but not those murders. He didn't have the stomach for it. But he wasn't judgemental.
Beeman thought he had some bargaining power with God, clearing this up.
The well preserved metal box had hidden there for twenty six years.
The sheriff''s detectives conferred, and standing solemn watch, two went into the musty darkness for the horrible treasure, crunching small bones in the dirt.
It was where Beeman said it would be.
Deputies brought it out in gloved hands, and a forensics guy carefully opened it in a darkened room. A few rusted metal flakes sprinkled the paper of the lab table.
Creaking it open, they retrieved several film cannisters. And quickly photographed from several angles, the contents of the box.
The film was sent as a rush job to a city lab, and returned to the box quickly.
It was placed in its niche again.
In cracked sepia kodachrome. the prints answered almost everything Beeman hadn't, except, where was he now? And where had he been? What did he look like? "he would be about forty two, thin, wiry, medium height,brown hair, forget what color eyes." "And he's crazy".
The shocker was, there were recent trophies, some were added within the last couple of months. Had Beeman known that? They knew Rick was back. He was still active. He was out there, and when he returned, he would be bringing another trophy, they knew. But where was he? Who was he? It made some sick, knowing what was on that film. And he was doing it again. Some others, they just got more resolve.
Quietly, not to alarm the public, every effort was being made to find the serial killer.
Retired deputies came to fill in, overtime was volunteered. Again, extra help was accepted from outside agencies. This time gratefully.
Beeman had his standards, he had killed, several times, but only to get out of scrapes. The kid, in his teen years liked to kill. Beeman didn't know to what extent. before his (Beeman's) arrest. The kid had taken to dissappearing for weeks at a time. Made it hard to keep track of him.
The camera was his, the kid's. From a burglary in another state. He was unhappy to realize the film was expensive, unhappier to realise he couldn't get it developed. He had been working on how could he get it developed. Should have ditched that camera, rookie mistake.
And then Beeman's arrest, and the kid kept on going. Fifteen years old, no I.D. no fingerprints on record. And he killed, every few weeks, occasionally making the trip to update the contents of his box. For two years, around San Diego, another year in L.A., one in New Mexico, then Texas, and Juarez, he got caught in Juarez. Mexican factory girls, so trusting, so easy to kill. But he got caught, with a girl's body in an old van. He was beaten badly, and arrested, and did twenty youth-destroying years in a Mexican jail. He was raring to go when he got out. Entiendes? And then he started working his way back.
The deputies plan to corner him in the crawlspace.
Like smoking a skunk out, they fully expect to tear gas the hell out of him, and arrest him, and take him to jail. Unless he happens to display a knife or a gun, or something. Happens often enough.
3.
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Posted by circe on 2008-07-17 14:42:01 | Rating: | Views: 182
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oh man! this is heating up faster 'n a flapjack in a frypan!
:)
cheers!
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Posted by badlydrawnstickman
on 2008-07-17 21:03:19
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quite the colloquial sayings lately mr. stick, thanks for stopping by.
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Posted by circe
on 2008-07-17 21:17:34
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cool writing. . .keep it up, sister!
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Posted by cwzywbt
on 2008-07-17 22:03:48
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Thanks, wabbit! ha! You sound like a gun moll, or is it the writing mood I am in?
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Posted by circe
on 2008-07-17 22:24:02
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The thing that I enjoy most in reading this is the rhythm, the way the scene is set, the way I shiver in the cold and melt in the heat. Being able to set the scene is one of the most important elements of writing. If I don't feel it I often lose heart in reading so your descriptions kept me hooked right through. Beautifully written!
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Posted by overthehillandfar...
on 2008-07-18 02:44:21
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great blog. Sad how life turns out for many of us and yet well we are al humans prone to making mistakes in our lives and then sufer the misfortune of what the mistake was. Man has made many mistakes inhis quest to live and yet many end up on the wrong side of the tracks and who knows what will come from his mistake. Again good work.
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Posted by norm4u2
on 2008-07-18 02:54:59
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You really are good at this honey, i can't wait for the next one, keep it up xx
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Posted by missmarie
on 2008-07-18 07:56:20
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thanks for reading my stories,
overthehill, norm, and missmarie, I appreciate the input and your kind encouragement.
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Posted by circe
on 2008-07-18 12:46:05
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this part caused me to canvas my house; double checking the windows and doors.
...ain't goin' near no crawlspace, tho :o
which means, dear author, you do a "killer" job when it comes to crime writing!
WARNING: ( or at least note to self )
"DO NOT READ CIRCE'S SERIES AT NIGHT!"
loveandblessings,paperlily
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Posted by paperlily
on 2008-07-18 23:59:34
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oh yeah
this is where I left off! Now Im at the right place
I missed #2
I see the entire crowd has already been here and gone!
My excuse is,
I went to the wrong location!
wrong place wrong time!
Do you like that one, perhaps, I could offer another, let me know.
I have a million excuses ...
thats another story
and now
the reason I am here is to comment on yours
...you will notice that it is 3 am in chicago, (I couldnt sleep) see #3 post
comment section
for the explaination...
I would not suggest anyone read this one in the middle of the night!
oh geeze
I just looked up and saw paperlily's comment.
In my haste to get my two cents in here, I did not read any of your other comments...as yet...
I digress again
so sorry
now back to your story
"Summer nights in the mountains get cold. Not cold cold, like winter cold. But inactivity, chill, and a hard chair can freeze your... butt."
I love the cold, cold
"Hud thumbed the cell phone, and left it alone." liked that too, could just see gold old hud doing that very thing!
do you realize that metal box was only a year older than my oldest daughter? bet not!
thats another story
now back to yours
"It made some sick, knowing what was on that film."
Please whatever you do
dont tell me
I dont want to know, if this was a movie, my eyes would ne closed about now!
I missed the entire movie the Exorcist, had my eyes shut tight for about 2 hours after waiting in line for an hour...
circe
speaking of crawl spaces, I think Im going to crawl back in bed
this is so good hun, instead of annette benning Im going to call you Sara Paretski(I spelled the last name wrong) but she is a mystery writer from Chicago....you go girl
this is good!
from jams and jellys to murder
you have quite a range!
great job!
oophs, cant go to bed just yet, I have to go back to number 3, thats where I started tonight...
tootles!
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Posted by roe
on 2008-07-19 04:21:57
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Aw shucks!stickman,wabbit, overthehill, norm,missmarie,Lily,Roe, all this praise is going to my head. You all are the best, I mean the BEST writers come to see me, and I am honored by your learned comments.
And no, Oprah wouldn't approve of my bloody crimes. On paper.
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Posted by circe
on 2008-07-19 12:44:58
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