The Final Shortcut (13 page)

No one really knew how old it was, but it wound around the ridge from the outer suburbs of Bontonville, to the state road seven miles away. Steep slopes made it a true mountain road, twisty, hilly and aptly called the “Old ridge road.” It also ran adjacent to the Baumann property. On a dark tight curve was a streambed Junior was looking for. So he turned off the road into the rough. The small sporty car bumped loudly down a short slope dumping into a rocky stream. Then he turned uphill and forced his way through the bramble, knocking down bushes and slinging rocks. Not far ahead was the back road that cut through his farm, one of several homemade access roads used in the reefer farming days. Once there it was smooth sailing for a mile. The battered car charged ahead, bounding over the landscape at Juniors insistence. His goal wasn’t far now. The old mine had a large-covered shaft. Covered with wood just like the air-shaft.

Steam began to blow from under the hood as he pulled past the entrance to the mine. A little further up the path turned back on itself and turned sharply uphill toward the shaft. There was a huge flat clearing around the opening, now heavily overgrown with shrubs and weeds. He stopped when he finally reached the clearing, taking a moment to clear his head before the next bit. It was time to dump the car. For a moment he thought about saying goodbye to Celeste, but he couldn’t force himself to look at her again. The image of her dead eyes was still vivid in his mind. Just outside he found a suitable branch to wedge onto the gas pedal. He made several adjustments to it until it was set. Not too fast, so he could steer it onto the cover and jump off. Once he had the car moving he aimed it at a big tree on the other side and jumped out of the way. The rolling wreck rolled straight into the wood cover and into the tree with a loud crunch. Steam poured out in earnest, and the car choked out but remained solidly atop the old moss-covered lumber. Junior stood aghast at the sight. Total silence surrounded him. His temples began to pound making him stagger forward a few steps. In a fit of rage he ran across the wood and pounded on the car, hammering his fists on the glass till his knuckles bled. Then he heard a loud snap, below him he felt a sharp thump. The wood was cracking up. His instincts drove him toward the nearest edge at an inhuman speed. Leaping with all his might as he felt the wood collapse. He managed to find solid ground in time to see the cover give way under the weight of the car. One, two, three… he counted, waiting for the crash, five, six… a huge splash echoed up through the chasm.

His relief was enormous. He laid in the dirt, in the rain, a happy man. It was finally done, almost. He still had to retrieve his dirt bike. Junior sat up and began to study all that just happened.

“I can’t do this again….not without a good plan. I know what went wrong tonight…I didn’t think everything through. Next time I won’t make a move without a real good plan.” And there would most certainly be a next time, he had tasted fresh blood and he liked it. The sheer joy he felt as he sliced up Wesley was exhilarating. Never again would he get caught so unprepared. With proper planning he could control every minute of the next one. The rain started pouring suddenly and lightning flashed warning of a coming storm. Junior jogged off toward his bike. Ready to put the finishing touches on this hellish night.

The sun had just started to rise before he could fetch his bike and get home. Another ten minutes to dump his muddy clothes in the barn and sneak back in. When Ellen woke up, she found him fast asleep in his room. Never aware that he had ever left.

She was packed and ready to go to the clinic for three weeks, more if necessary. Her first appointment wasn’t until one p.m. So she let him sleep, deciding instead to fix a country breakfast. The smell of bacon frying stirred Junior into joining her in the kitchen. For the next two hours they ate and talked and ate some more. Ten minutes after ten the phone rang. It was Rosa from the Sheriff’s office with today’s issue of the gossip gazette. It seems the Reverend Groome’s sainted son Wesley had eloped with Celeste Ray last night. They both packed bags and left notes explaining why.

“Wesley had a full scholarship in Tennessee this fall, and they just took off! And that Celeste …was two months pregnant. She was only fifteen, Juniors age.” Rosa filled her in on all the details. Not missing a single clue to the story of the year.

“You don’t think so do you? You know how stories get started.” Ellen motioned for Junior to listen in on the other phone in the bedroom.

“Oh I know so. Her mother broke down when she talked to Clyde this morning. Celeste told her she was pregnant and it started a big fight, she swore she was gonna run away, that happened two days ago.” Rosa cupped the phone with her hand for a second, handling another call before quickly returning. “Anyway, Reverend Groomes is about to have a fit. He wants to call out the Army and search the state. He swears that the she-devil tricked his son into running off. And that she was fibbing just to embarrass his family.”

“What a nice guy, I’d want to run away too.”

“Oh he’s been crying foul play all day. But there were five witnesses that saw the car with them in it. Heading out of town at about midnight last night. Celeste waved at one couple. Her bicycle was even hanging out of the trunk. She went everywhere on that bicycle.” She cupped the handset again and when she came back. “Listen hon’ I need to do some work...good luck at the clinic. We’ll all be praying for you.”

“Bye bye, I’ll call you later when they give me a chance.” Ellen put the phone down and moved back over to the table mulling the news over in her head. Junior put his phone away slowly. The news was especially interesting to him. Fortune had smiled on him; he couldn’t have imagined a story any better. Even with all his blunders it turned out perfect. The rain will have washed the mountain clean before anyone realizes they’re not coming back. No one will search the area for a long time, if ever. Once Ellen checked in, he would have plenty of time to retrace his steps and remove any clues. Plenty of time to camouflage the open shaft way.

It seemed to him as though he was meant to kill them. The way the event just fell together made him feel confident, superior. His insides were burning in an exhilarating rush. Every hair on his body seemed to be dancing. He licked the sweat off his upper lip as he looked in the mirror. He liked killing, and he wanted to do it again. But even though he was safe, he realized it was only by a narrow margin. He would not let this experience go to waste. The circumstances would have to be under complete control before he would kill again. Luck had played a greater hand this time but he could not rely on luck ever again, he would have to be smart.

And he was.

Chapter 8

In the weeks that followed Bontonville was abuzz with gossip. The story of the missing couple spread like a virus through several counties. Not a single trace had turned up anywhere. There was talk of foul play, but only idle rumors. Several people had come forward to give statements about seeing them that night. Since they both left a note there was nothing to do but wait, wait and hope.

The little mountainside town was also getting very busy, very quickly. Just after the interstate was completed, Bontonville became an instant hit with travelers. It had beautiful scenery and luckily lay midway between two large interchanges. A perfect place to stop and rest. Within the first two weeks local businesses were scrambling to expand. Anyone with property near there was either selling or making plans to build. And that included Junior.

The Baumann property lay one half mile from the Interstate. And “Ellen’s Place” was in a perfect location. It was easy to find and conveniently situated next to a shortcut popular with the truckers.

While Ellen was away at the detox center, the store remained closed. But she and Junior had talked at length about turning it into a restaurant and store. It seemed like a great way for her to keep busy and to stay away from any more bad habits. She wanted to start a new life in earnest. And Junior couldn’t be happier.

He had kept busy while she was in treatment. Drawing out plans for their new business, meeting with contractors. And retracing his tracks through the hills to completely remove any evidence of the murders. Most days he took the time to get away to his favorite perch on a hillside, a secluded spot where he could see most of Bontonville. The new highway skirted his vista and added a new element to the scenery. It was his place to think and plan his future. And he had plans for many things, including more killing.

He watched the hillside in silence plotting every scenario that came to mind. But each one had shortcomings, spots where he would get caught. The gnawing inside him got worse with each passing day. The killing had become a drug for him and he was anxious for more. But it had to be under the right conditions. He had to control every aspect or it would lead to failure. After several hours of unfruitful plotting he got frustrated and decided to leave. When he walked off the high spot, he saw something that made him stop in his tracks. A few hundred yards away next to the Interstate was a sloping hill, big enough to drive on. He quickly rode his bike over for a closer look. It was mostly rock with a few small trees. With a little clearing it could be used to access the road. He didn’t know why it attracted him. He just knew it was something useful, the beginnings of a scheme.

As he stood there lost in thought a semi blew past and stirred the wind. He wasn’t sure what was next. But he knew he was close to an answer. Soon he would quench his lust for blood.

Hours later, he was lying in the living room floor staring at the ceiling. He had reasoned out that truckers would be a perfect source of anonymous victims. And he had plotted a way to get them off the road. But he couldn’t devise a foolproof plan to get rid of the evidence. His frustration was mounting with each passing moment. The more ideas he pondered, the more problems he encountered. The madness was beginning to take control. He got up and began to pace the floor. Faster and faster till he was nearly jogging from the couch to the window. His temples were pounding with the intensity of a rock drummer. More ideas flooded his mind but they had become more and more absurd. He was beginning to feel out of control like he was with Celeste and Wesley. The rational side of his psyche tried to rule his demeanor but as the seconds ticked away, it was losing control. His inability to find the perfect plan was forcing him over the edge of reason. He fell to his knees and cried out, grasped handfuls of his hair and yanked briskly. Drool dripped from his twisted mouth, his face red with rage. It was time to act, plan or not. The only way to find relief was to kill.

He staggered through the house collecting his gear. His favorite knife, a high-powered rifle and a flashlight. Purposely he ran from the house, mounted his dirt bike and sped away to his favorite spot. As he watched the highway traffic, his manner turned calmer. He was hunting now and relief was soon to come. Slowly he moved toward the interstate until he found a vantage point to shoot from. A small hill that gave him a view straight down the oncoming lane. If he shot a tire at the right time, the truck would have to stop. The Browning 30-06 had a scope and afforded him a long range target. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and carefully took aim. A truck was coming his way up a slight incline. Patiently he waited until he could see the trailer tires clearly. With breathless anticipation he chose the perfect time and slowly squeezed the trigger. Through the scope he could see the rear outside tire explode and start to wobble. He dropped the rifle and held his breath waiting for the truck to stop. Anxious seconds passed but the truck kept rolling. With seventeen other good tires it continued its trip around the bend and out of sight.

“What the....” Junior couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He thrashed the air violently and threw the rifle as hard as he could. But as soon as his fit erupted, it stopped. The realization of what he had done wrong became frightfully clear. The rear tires were double rims. He should shoot out a front tire next time. He snatched up his rifle and cleaned it off. Jogging even closer he found a spot that afforded him a clear shot at his prey.

Traffic was thankfully slow this evening. It was just past dusk and the light was quickly fading to dark. As he waited, he plotted how he would drive the truck off the embankment to make it look like an accident. His demeanor was calm but his frantic mind was searching for answers. He accepted every angle of his plan, no matter how vague. Anxious to get the deed done he was willing to try anything.

Then he saw it, a fuel tanker about a mile away. It began to slow as it climbed the grade, getting ever closer to Junior. When it was less then one hundred yards away he took aim and fired. The right front tire burst causing the driver to fight for control. Rubber tread flew off the rim and the truck veered into the gravel. Brakes squealed, gravel flew and the cab grazed the guard rail loudly. It jerked the cab hard to the right and straight toward Junior. He dove out of the way as the truck screeched to a halt a few scant feet away.

Junior was on his feet and running without a second thought. The time had come and he was ready. He bounded up to the cab and snatched the driver’s door open. Still gripping the steering wheel, the driver looked at him with only a slight reaction. With lightning speed Junior leapt on the running board, pulled his knife and immediately drove it into the man’s side. He yanked it out, pushed the man over and stabbed him repeatedly in the chest and neck. The blood splashed violently in every direction quickly covering everything. The driver was dead long before Junior stopped slashing. One last plunge of the blade into his face and Junior was satisfied. The relief he had longed for was finally upon him. He could taste the blood on his lips and he languished in it for several precious seconds. The ecstasy of the moment was overwhelming. But it was short lived. A car had pulled onto the road side directly in front of him, and it began to back up.

Junior was panic stricken as he looked at his surroundings. He and the windshield were awash with blood. His killer instincts were beginning to emerge and take over. The car stopped a few feet from them, so close that Junior couldn’t see the back bumper. He jumped from the cab knife in hand, ran to the car and punched through the glass. Slicing the driver’s arm in the process. The lady inside screamed with a piercing wail that rattled Junior concentration. She screamed again and again causing him to stagger back a step. But then with the speed of a striking snake he attacked. He stabbed her in the throat and began sawing until she slumped over into the passenger seat. Her head rolled over the edge of the seat, held on by a thin strip of flesh.