Pulse

64

Leighton, Wisconsin, 1986

T ime passed, and no one ever found out what really had happened to Duffy. Maybe there weren’t enough clues. Or maybe it was because no one cared. No one other than Sherri, anyway.

The road repair was finished and looked much the same, only the trees began slightly farther from the gravel shoulder. Rory wasn’t sure what drew him there, but sometimes, at night, he went alone to the spot near where he’d buried Duffy. Gotten away with murder, Sherri would say. If she knew.

He didn’t like to admit it to himself, but maybe that was something he enjoyed, having gotten away with murder. Here on this desolate stretch of road, with its nearby concealing woods and very private clearing, was the perfect spot for it.

It was also the perfect spot for secret sex. Rory had often made use of it with Sherri, once he’d gotten her past her hesitation because Duffy had died nearby. Mostly past her hesitation, anyway. She still sometimes tried to talk him into parking elsewhere for their hurried trysts, and often he’d comply. But there was something special about this remote place beneath and among the trees, with only an occasional flicker of headlights from passing traffic as a reminder of the outside world. Things happened as usual out there. Not in here, to Sherri. Not to Rory.

Sex was definitely better here.

And so was quiet contemplation.

Rory wasn’t the only one who appreciated this secluded area. Alone there one moonlit night, he’d parked the car out of sight among the trees, and was standing and smoking a cigarette, when he heard the sound of a car stopping on the gravel shoulder. He moved farther back into the woods and waited.

Tires crunched louder on gravel, and he saw the dark shape of a car with its lights out moving slowly to where it wouldn’t be seen from the road.

Rory smiled. Somebody parking here to make out, probably. And Rory’s car was parked where it couldn’t be seen. Should he stay and watch? Was he a Peeping Tom as well as a dog slayer?

He saw the dark form of a slender man-or maybe a teenage boy-in jeans and a dark T-shirt-get out of the car, walk around to the back of the vehicle, and open the trunk.

He removed a nude, bound woman and laid her gently on the ground, then stood with his hands on his hips and glanced around. His gaze traveled smoothly past Rory, who was standing in shock, well concealed in the deep shadows.

Rory became aware that he was breathing heavily. He swallowed so loudly he was actually afraid the man might hear. Motionless, he watched transfixed, as if he were seeing a movie scene unfold.

The driver of the dark car had set to work. He bent over the dead or unconscious woman, untied her, then rearranged her body, making sure that her legs were bound tightly with rope. Then he propped her in a kneeling position, looped rope around her elbows behind her back, and pressed her upper body backward so her spine was drawn like a bow and she was staring up at the stars where she might point an arrow. Her eyes were open wide, focused upward as if seeking some message of hope. So she wasn’t dead. Even from this distance Rory saw her blink and move her head slightly. The man pressed something, some kind of tape, over her mouth and unreeled it and fastened it behind her head. Rory could barely hear her making desperate humming noises, trying to shake her head from side to side. But so tight was the tape and the tension of her bound body that she was barely able to move her head, and completely unable to move anything else other than her fingers, which writhed and flexed in search of any sort of tactile contact. She was seeking anything that she could touch, grip, hold on to. But nothing was within reach.

Rory’s heart was pounding and his mouth was dry, and he couldn’t stop watching. He knew he should yell, or go get the cops, or do anything that might help this young woman. It wasn’t going to happen.

He could see that she was attractive, with bountiful breasts and long black hair. Dark eyes fixed in an expression of sheer horror. Her frantic attempts to move caused her breasts to jiggle slightly, which seemed to amuse the man, because he briefly cupped one in his hand and pinched the nipple. The frightened humming grew slightly louder. Rory was aware that he had an erection. He had to do something. But he couldn’t budge. He was as immobilized as the woman in the clearing. Even if he wanted to take some sort of action, he knew his limbs wouldn’t respond.

He couldn’t stop watching.

Not even when a knife glinted in the moonlight and there was little doubt about what was going to happen.

The man squatted beside the woman. He was wearing a cap with a bill, and Rory couldn’t make out his features, but he was smiling as he held the blade so it glinted in the moonlight before the woman’s face. No part of her moved other than her horrified eyes, which rolled wildly.

He began using the knife with delicate skill, making tiny, twisting cuts. The humming changed little in volume but was more desperate and slightly higher pitched, almost a monotone that yet expressed what must be going on in the helpless and doomed woman’s mind.

Rory’s own body was almost vibrating.

He couldn’t stop watching.

The man with the knife began to work on the woman with intensity. Rory’s hand moved to his crotch. He couldn’t stop watching. This was wrong, he knew, and he’d never be able to tell anyone about it. He’d be some kind of accomplice if he did. He knew that all he had to do was remain silent and unmoving, and he’d see everything. Probably even the man burying the woman not far from where Rory had buried Duffy.

The all-encompassing power of the killer was stunning. Watching him was like watching God at work. Who wouldn’t kill to exercise such power? Who wouldn’t idolize such a creature?

Even the woman in the clearing-especially the woman in the clearing-must in her terror submit to and pray to the ultimate power of life and death, at the point when death would become a gift.

The humming grew more desperate and the woman’s body shimmied with pain in the moonlight. Almost like an engine racing and vibrating toward an explosion. The man shifted position slightly, then crooked his elbow and turned the knife blade sideways. He began to remove the woman’s breasts. Rory didn’t blink, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t move.

He couldn’t stop watching.