One Last Scream

Chapter Twenty-one

“Holy crap, I think I found something,” the deputy said. He stopped digging for a moment and gaped down into the hole.

George hadn’t had much difficulty persuading Tyler to follow him out to the Schlessinger ranch. The deputy had had a little crush on Sandra Hartman back in high school, and for a while, he’d obsessed over her sudden disappearance. And George had been right about Tyler’s hatred for his boss. He’d suggested that if they found a body buried on the ranch, Tyler could say he’d gotten suspicious and followed George out there while off duty. And yes, wouldn’t the sheriff look stupid after that?

Tyler had a flashlight in his car, and they’d set it on a tree stump so it shined in the general direction of the wildflowers. They’d chosen a patch, and started in. George had worked the pick, and Tyler had manned the shovel. While they’d worked, the deputy had gone on and on about how much he couldn’t stand that ballbuster boss of his. They hadn’t even dug two feet down when Tyler had noticed the bones.

George grabbed the flashlight from the stump, and directed it into the pit. He figured Lon must have been lazy and careless about disposing of his victims’ bodies, because the grave was way too shallow.

And the bones were way too small.

“It’s a fucking cat,” Tyler grumbled. He leaned on the shovel, and glanced at the other wildflower patches. “You were right about these pretty little buds indicating a grave. But I bet this is a boneyard for fucking cats. Ranchers and farmers often have a mess of cats to keep mice and rats away.”

“Well, let’s try one more,” George said, putting the flashlight back on the tree stump. He grabbed the pick again. “Just to be sure, okay? I mean, if it’s another cat, it won’t take us long to find it.”

“I think we’re wasting our time here,” the deputy said. “And I don’t want to miss American Idol tonight.”

“Just another fifteen minutes,” George said, swinging the pick into a new section of wildflowers. “Just think, you might help solve Sandra Hartman’s disappearance. What was she like, anyway?”

They dug for twenty minutes, while Tyler talked about what a knockout Sandra had been. Then George got a call on his cell phone. He checked the caller ID. It was home. He dropped the pick, and clicked on the phone. “Jessie, is that you?” he asked.

“Yes. Hello, George,” she said.

He could tell immediately that something was wrong. “What’s going on?” he asked warily.

“Oh, we have a situation here,” she said. “Y’see, my sister’s sick, very sick, and I need to go see her. She lives in Denver. Anyway, how soon can you come home?”

“Um, it’ll take at least two and a half hours,” he said. “Jessie, I’m so sorry about your sister-”

“Well, we had a family emergency here, too, George,” she said stiffly. “Steffie had a bad asthma attack. I called the doctor. She’s fine now. She’s resting. But she’s asking for her daddy.”

He could tell from Jessie’s tone, it was more serious than she let on.

“If it’s worse than that, Jessie, please, tell me,” he said. “I’d rather know now.”

“No. But I need you to hurry home.”

“Well, could you put Steffie on the phone? I’d like to talk to her.”

“Um, I can’t, George. Like I said, she’s resting. Just come home as soon as you can, okay?”

“I will, Jessie, thanks. I’m leaving now.”

“Be careful,” she said. Then there was a click and the line went dead.

He hit the disconnect button. “I’ve got to go,” he murmured. “A family emergency up in Seattle, my daughter needs me.”

Tyler leaned on his shovel. “How are you getting back there?”

Wringing his dirty hands, George shrugged. “On the way down here, I flew to Portland and then rented a car.”

“It would be faster for you if you took a charter from McNary Field here in Salem,” Tyler suggested. “You’d zip home in no time at all. The airport’s not too far from here. Want to follow me out there?”

George hesitated. “Thanks, but could you give me directions instead?” He glanced down at the new crater they’d dug. It was at least three feet deep

The deputy gave him a wary look and chuckled. “Holy crap, you want me to keep digging?”

“Just ten more minutes, please,” George said. “If it was a cat, we would have found it by now. Something else is down there.”

Tyler took a moment, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll keep at it,” he sighed. “So, let me tell you how to get to McNary Field from here.”

The man with the sunglasses took the receiver away from Jessie’s face and hung up the phone.

“Good job,” he said, with a tiny smirk.

While holding the phone for her, he’d kept the other extension-George’s cordless-to his own ear. He clicked that off, and then set it on the kitchen counter.

Jessie was tied to a kitchen chair, her wrists bound together behind her with duct tape.

She’d been tied up like that for the last twenty minutes now. Their intruder had forced Jody to strap her into the chair. He’d used Jody’s little sister as a negotiating tool, and the 11-year-old boy had been very cooperative.

“That’s right,” he’d told Jody, one hand over Steffie’s mouth. The other held the gun to her head. “Now, wind the tape around fatso’s stomach and the chair back. Strap her in real tight. Huh, you might need a few yards to get around all that blubber….”

Shooting him a look, Jody hesitated.

“Just do what he says, honey,” Jessie whispered. She was worried Steffie would have an asthma attack right there. The little girl trembled and quietly wept while the intruder tickled her earlobe with the revolver barrel.

Jessie sat there helpless as he made Jody wrap the tape around her ankles, fixing them to the chair’s front legs. He tested Jody’s work, pulling at each adhesion.

Then he took the children into their bedrooms. Cringing, Jessie listened to him barking instructions to Jody on how to tie up his sister. She heard Steffie whimpering the whole time, and Jody telling her to be brave. Jessie prayed and prayed that the next sound she heard wouldn’t be a gunshot.

“That’s right, put the tape over her mouth,” the man said at one point.

Jessie listened to Steffie’s muffled whining.

“C’mon, your turn,” the man growled to Jody. “Take me to your room.”

For the next few minutes, it was deathly quiet. Then suddenly, Jody let out a loud cry. It sent a jolt through Jessie’s heart. “What are you doing to him?” she cried.

She waited anxiously for the next sound. Finally, she heard Jody’s stifled moaning. At least he was still alive.

“There’s no reason to hurt the children!” she called. “We’re not stopping you. Please, just take whatever you want and leave!”

A few long moments passed before the young man ambled back into the kitchen with the cordless phone from George’s study. “Oh, I’m not leaving for a while,” he announced. “In fact, we’re all going to wait here for their daddy to come home.”

Then he’d forced her to make the call to George.

Jessie couldn’t figure out why he wanted George to rush home. But she realized this wasn’t an ordinary robbery. This was something much worse.

She stared up at that pale, young man with the jet-black hair and those tiny bangs over his forehead. Jessie wished she could see his eyes behind those dark glasses. “Listen, what’s your name, anyway?”

He didn’t respond. But he seemed to be studying her behind the sunglasses.

“Well, you heard George tell me that he won’t be here for another two and a half hours,” Jessie continued. “Since we’re stuck here together that long, I should at least know you by name, any name. What should I call you?”

“Call me Your Majesty,” he replied, deadpan.

“Well, Your Majesty, I want to compliment you on the way you dress,” Jessie said. “That’s a very snappy suit. It shows you’re serious and have a lot of self-respect. I think you’re also smart enough, and compassionate enough, to care about those kids. You must know they’re scared, and very uncomfortable.”

“They’re fine, hog-tied on their beds.”

Jessie sighed. “The little one has asthma. If she has an attack, we won’t be able to hear her. You’ve taped up her mouth. She could suffocate.” Jessie’s voice started to shake. “And she’s wet herself. I’m sure you saw that. You have a heart. I know you do. If you’d just let me change her clothes and wash her up. Then the two children and I, we’d sit quietly on the sofa together. You could still keep our wrists and ankles tied….”

“You talk too fucking much,” he said coolly. “Would it help shut you up if I tied a plastic bag over your head?”

Jessie stared at him, and didn’t say another thing.

George was driving down Rural Route 17 about a mile away from Sherry’s Corner Food amp; Deli when he saw the patrol car in the distance. The red strobe lights on the roof flashed and glowed in the darkness ahead. He heard the siren’s wail.

“Oh, no,” he muttered. If that was the sheriff on her way to the Schlessinger ranch, he didn’t have time to talk with her or answer questions. He couldn’t stop for anything. He needed to get back to Seattle. He could tell from talking with Jessie earlier that he hadn’t gotten the full story about the situation at home. Something was terribly wrong.

He watched the cop car, speeding toward him. The flashers were getting brighter.

Tyler must have found a body. Why else would the sheriff be speeding toward the ranch? Well, they could carry on without him.

George saw a mailbox and the driveway to a farm on his right. Switching off his headlights, he made the turn. He navigated down the dark, narrow, gravel road that wound behind some trees. Then he slowly turned the car around. The sound of the police siren grew louder, closer. Hands on the steering wheel, George watched the police car speed by.

His cell phone rang. The deputy had given him his cell number earlier. George recognized it. “Tyler?” he said.

“I found another skeleton,” the deputy said. “It wasn’t a cat this time. You were right. There are human remains out here.” He let out a sigh. “Jesus, I still can’t believe it. This could be what’s left of Sandra Hartman right here in front of me.”

“Did you call the sheriff and tell her?” George asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Yeah, she’s on her way,” Tyler answered. “She wants you to come back and show us exactly where you found the waitress’s name tag. The state police are on their way, too. This place is going to be like Grand Central Station in about an hour.”

George winced. “Listen, Tyler, do me a favor. Pretend you couldn’t get ahold of me. I can’t stick around. I need to get home to my kids. It’s an emergency.”

There was no response on the other end.

“Tyler?”

“Okay, but I don’t think she’ll believe me.”

“Thanks.” George switched his headlights on again, and started back onto Rural Route 17. He didn’t see the police flashers in his rearview mirror. The sheriff’s car had sped down the road, out of sight.

“Could you do me another favor?” George asked. “Don’t tell them where I’m going, okay?”

“Well, I can’t guarantee they won’t figure it out, but I’ll try to stall them.”

“Good. Thanks. And hey, don’t let that creep of a sheriff grab any credit for finding those bodies. You’re the one who did it.”

“Okay,” he said, with a dazed laugh. “Jesus. I’m really blown away. I still can’t believe it. I’m standing here, looking down at this skeleton, and it could be Sandra.”

His eyes on the dark road ahead, George didn’t say anything for a moment. He was thinking that Sandra had been the last young woman to vanish. And Annabelle was still alive.

“I wouldn’t expect to find Sandra Hartman’s corpse out there on the ranch,” George said finally. “You’re more likely to find her buried in Arbor Heights Cemetery-beside Lon Schlessinger.”

The Schlessinger ranch-July 2004

“Sandra, can you hear me?”

She leapt up from the cot. Hobbling toward the big, bulky door, she accidentally kicked a few empty tin cans. She’d been living on Purrfect Kitty cat food, canned sliced peaches, and water for the last several days and nights. As long as she’d cooperated with him, she’d gotten food.

“Annabelle?” she cried, leaning against the door. “Is that you?”

“I’m getting you out of here now,” Annabelle called. There was a knocking sound, and then a loud clank, as if something metal had dropped to the concrete floor.

It was the same noise Sandra had become accustomed to hearing before he came in to beat her or screw her, or whatever he had an itch to do to her that particular night. “Assume the position!” he’d call, before opening that big door. She had to kneel by the cot, her back to him, and her arms at her sides. Then he’d start in on her.

But this was Annabelle. For several days now, Annabelle Schlessinger had promised to help her escape. Each time, she’d said the same thing. “If I spring you out of here, you have to help me get away and start someplace new, okay?” Annabelle had kept telling her to be patient and hang in there. It would only be another day or two.

They’d always talked through the closed, bolted door. But now that thick, cumbersome door squeaked open. Sandra felt her whole body trembling. She couldn’t wait to get out of there. She didn’t even think to grab her shoes. She just started pushing at the door.

Annabelle stood and blocked the door opening for a moment. Her hair was cut short and dyed blonde. “Do I look different?” she asked with a hopeful smile.

Sandra balked.

“I told you, I’m getting out, too,” Annabelle said.

“Well, you-you look great!” Sandra gasped, not sure what to say. “Let’s go, okay? All right?”

Annabelle grabbed her hand and led her toward the basement stairs. “C’mon, we just need to get some stuff out of my room….”

Sandra’s legs buckled as she raced up the stairs with Annabelle. She hadn’t run for days; she hadn’t even been able to walk more than a few steps without turning around in that cramped, filthy cell. She stumbled on the stairs, but quickly got up again and kept moving.

At the top step, she noticed the kitchen door directly ahead. It had a window in it. She could see outside. It was night.

Annabelle started to run past the door. Sandra stopped abruptly. “Wait!” she whispered. “I thought we were getting out of here.”

“I told you,” Annabelle said, tugging at her arm. “I need to get some stuff in my room first.”

“But he might come back. Please, for God’s sake….”

“He might come back?” Annabelle repeated, laughing. “He’s upstairs, out cold. He had too much to drink, as usual. He passed out on the bed.”

Sandra tried to pull away, but Annabelle wouldn’t let her go. “What if he wakes up?” she asked, tears in her eyes. “Please, Annabelle, I just want to get the hell out of here!”

“Would you relax?” Annabelle said, dragging her into the kitchen. “I know what I’m doing. I gave him the same stuff he used on you the other night, chloroform. Believe me, he won’t wake up. I told you I’d do this right, Sandra. We’re walking out of here in ten minutes.”

As Annabelle led her through the kitchen, Sandra noticed the telephone on the wall. “Why don’t we just call the police? Everyone must be looking for me.”

Annabelle swiveled around. “We can’t involve the police, stupid!” she hissed. “Goddammit, don’t you remember? I’m the one who set you up, the same way I set up Gina and all the others. I’m as guilty as he is.” She grabbed a lock of her recently dyed blond hair. “Why do you think I went to all this trouble to look different? I need to get away and start new someplace else. You promised you’d help me….”

“I will,” Sandra said, flustered.

“I stole a car yesterday, and stashed it behind some bushes near the end of the driveway,” Annabelle said, leading her to the front hallway. “The thing’s an ugly piece of crap, an old Tempo. I just moved it a few minutes ago-our getaway car. It’s parked outside the front door right now.”

They started up the stairs to the second floor. “I’ve secretly been taking money out of my father’s account for months,” Annabelle explained. “Plus I’ve got some of my mother’s jewelry. I can hock that.” She paused at the top of the stairs. “Oh, speaking of jewelry…” She took off her bracelet.

Catching her breath, Sandra gazed at the ugly mark it had covered on the back of Annabelle’s wrist.

“I want you to have this,” Annabelle said, slipping the wide, silver bracelet onto Sandra’s wrist. She did it in an almost ceremonial way. “It means we’re one and the same.”

Baffled, Sandra stared down at the bracelet.

Annabelle was pulling her down the hallway. “C’mon, take a look at him,” she said. “He’s totally unconscious.”

“Can’t we just go?” Sandra pleaded. “Please, I want to get out of here.”

“No, I need to say good-bye to him,” Annabelle insisted. She dragged her into the master bedroom.

Her father lay on the bed, his jeans unfastened in front and a T-shirt riding high on his exposed, hairy beer gut. It rose up and down as he breathed heavily in his sleep. Sandra could see the red marks on his face from the chloroform.

Annabelle stared at him, and her grip on Sandra’s arm tightened. “I hope you wake up in time to feel the flames,” she whispered to her unconscious father. She shook with rage. “I hope you’ll be in terrible, terrible pain, you fucking scumbag.”

Then she spit in his face.

Sandra winced. “Annabelle, please, you’re hurting me….”

The talon-like grip on her arm loosened, and then Annabelle released her. She wiped the tears from her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “I better give him one more dose of this stuff,” she said, reaching for a bottle and rag on the bureau.

“What did you just say about flames?” Sandra asked numbly.

But Annabelle didn’t answer. Her face pinched up and turned away from her work, she soaked the rag with chloroform.

Sandra rubbed her arm and, once again, frowned at the silver bracelet on her wrist.

When she looked up, she saw Annabelle coming at her. Before Sandra knew what was happening, Annabelle shoved her against the wall and stuffed the rag in her face.

Sandra’s head slammed back against the wall. Dazed, she fought and struggled to push Annabelle away, but the other girl was stronger. The fumes were too much. She tried not to breathe in, but it was no good. She couldn’t move. She felt paralyzed.

“You promised,” she heard Annabelle say. “You’re going to help me get away and start new someplace else.”

After that, Sandra didn’t hear anything.

Sandra Hartman didn’t feel anything either, not even later when the flames burned her body beyond recognition. She never regained consciousness during the fire. She never felt the horrible, excruciating pain.

But Lon did.