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Chapter 18 - Dispossession
🕑 Added 2024-10-27 14:09:51 +0000 UTCMr. Moon slipped the gloves off his hands, pulling himself from a crouch to his full height to observe the new arrivals on the scene. His gloves, still dyed rust-red with dried blood from his investigation, were placed on top of the nearby gas pump for later use. People were still swarming the station. The remains of the town’s police force, a handful of firefighters called in to assist until paramedics from the next town over could arrive… and the parents of the slain teenagers.
Dag was with them now, prying all the information he could from them while Mr. Moon conducted ad-hoc examinations of the corpses. He was unsure if any useful information could be gathered from either source, but they had to try. The bodies told some sort of a story, and the parents might know a scarce handful of details that could be teased from their mouths in between their understandable grief. Anything could help. Times, habits, acquaintances, etc.
It was nasty business all around. As described by the first men on the scene, each body was utterly brutalized in an unsettling display of animalistic savagery. Yet, in Mr. Moon’s eyes, there was a method to the assailant’s madness. The blows appeared savage, yes, but they all told a story. One blow to mangle the body, while all subsequent wounds were lethal – a killer that enjoyed hurting at first before finishing the target off.
The most mangled of the corpses sported an axe wound in the shoulder, another in the chest, and some kind of heavy blunt strike to the ribs – strong enough to crush straight through the bone to flatten the organs within.
Judging from the blood liberally splattered close to the gas pump, Mr. Moon had to assume this teen was close to the attacker. The axe struck, but caught the shoulder instead of somewhere that would be an immediate killing blow. Both wounds after that were kill-shots. Frankly, if he had to guess, the teen was likely dead after the second strike. The rib strike was done after death.
The second subject sported a handful of broken fingers. This teen was the one strangled with the rubber gas hose. His windpipe was crushed flat, and there was bruising on the few unbroken fingers that spoke of an attempt to pull the hose away for one last gasping breath. Clearly the assailant had the advantage in physical strength to prevent that.
Next was the teen with the broken spine. The boy’s body was shaped in a nearly perfect right angle. Through tears in the back of his shirt, Mr. Moon could see flecks of white bone sticking out through torn skin. It was vertebrae, broken and mangled from the force that had broken the boy’s back. His head was crushed, deformed in the shape of a shoe. The attacker had stomped on his head hard enough to crush the bone itself. That wasn't an easy feat to do. Skulls were built to be naturally strong to best protect the brain.
The final corpse on the asphalt was similar to the first. One axe wound to the shoulder, proving not immediately lethal, yet highly damaging. Then followed by a kill-strike to the skull. After that was the clerk inside of the gas station. Judging from the broken window next to the cash register that looked to the outside of the station, the clerk had spotted the altercation, attempted to phone the police, and received a metal pipe thrown like a javelin through his chest for his troubles. In contrast to the dead teens outside, his death was instant. No sadistic first strike that served only to wound for this man, just one shot that got right down to business.
However, there was one final observation left, one that interested Mr. Moon the most: the hearts of two out of the four dead teens were missing. In their place were gaping chest wounds and ribs that appeared to be cut through by a particularly sharp knife or saw. The teen with the broken fingers and the one with the broken back both had chests hewed through like that. Judging from how clean the wounds were, they were likely made after the time of death. There were no jagged edges or other marks around the wounds that could have told the story of one last desperate struggle.
Why were the hearts missing? There was no point. The boys were already dead. Could it be the mark of a serial killer? It was right out of a serial killer’s playbook to take trophies. But if that was the case, why not take the hearts of all four, or five if the clerk was included? Had the attacker been disturbed after taking the first two? It couldn’t be one of the townsfolk. If it had, the report would have come sooner or there would have been an additional corpse at the gas station. Nor did he believe the Russians could have stumbled upon the scene. At the time of the murders, they would have likely still been licking their wounds. Could he be wrong about that? Could the Russians still be on the move, been spotted by the killer, and interrupted the process?
Unless… Mr. Moon’s eyes narrowed, flicking between the two missing their hearts. The bruises on the strangled one’s fingers told a story of resisting death. But the broken back? Hard to say, other than it was different in the aspect that the body possessed no axe wounds. The head was likely crushed to provide a killing blow after the spine was broken. Not like it changed much. The shock from a broken back likely would have killed the boy in the end. The only difference would be the time it would take.
Mr. Moon began to pace, going from one body to the next. The grief-soaked conversations between Dag and the parents faded to a dull hum in the back of his mind. As did the voices of the officers keeping the townsfolk from crossing the police tape. Such was the strength of Mr. Moon’s focus.
It was a stretch. But, other than the clerk (who had been swiftly killed to stop him from calling the police), the two missing their hearts had comparatively different deaths than the others. Broken fingers and then strangulation for the first. Snapped spine into death via crushed head for the second. Compare that to the other two – axe to the shoulder, axe to the chest for the first, axe to the shoulder, axe to the skull for the second.
Neither of the two missing their hearts had axe wounds on any part of their body. Were they considered more ‘worthy’ than the others? If so, how was ‘worth’ determined? Fighting back? Running? He had too few clues and no witnesses. If it were any other time, it would have been fine, but this was happening in the middle of his mission to get the Nirvana Project back on track. As if his job couldn’t get any more complicated.
Mr. Moon shook his head, clamping his eyes shut before yanking them open again. He was reading too much into this. The missing hearts told the same story as all the other wounds – the story of a sadistic lunatic who killed for pleasure. There could be a story there that offered a window into the killer’s mind. Or there could not.
The steady footsteps of Dag approaching told Mr. Moon that they’d gathered all the information they could here.
“Anything?” Mr. Moon asked. Dag held up a small notebook, the item dwarfed in his massive hands.
“Local school kids. They liked to hang out here. Bust some streetlights, stay up late, usual hooligan stuff.” Dag replied. “Wrong place, wrong time is my guess for all this. You?”
Mr. Moon looked at the cluster of hysterical parents on the other side of the police tape.
“Hard to say. Meet you at the car?”
Dag nodded and the men parted ways, Dag heading for the card while Mr. Moon grabbed his gloves and walked over to the parents. He could tell just by a glance that they were seconds away from swarming over the tape to be at the sides of their children.
He could understand that. The heart-wrenching feeling of being a parent unable to do anything to save their child from harm. The hysterical fear one felt when looking at the unmoving body of a son or daughter, wondering if something, anything could have been done to stop this. What felt like a blanket of grief smothering all other feelings until nothing but a dull, empty ache remained.
“Let them in, help them take the bodies to the funeral home. I’ve seen all I need to see. Debrief at the Thomson house after this." Mr. Moon leaned over and muttered to Paul, who nodded and lifted the police tape for the parents to duck under. It was like a dam being broken in the middle of the rainy season. A flood of parents, more than just the ones with fallen children, rushed into the area toward the bodies.
Mr. Moon looked at the sight one last time before he turned to head back to the car. A bloody night made real by the sun’s rays. Another killer set loose in a town already balanced on a precipice around a war hardly anyone could fully see.
As he walked, Mr. Moon’s hand absentmindedly slipped into his pocket and pulled out his wallet to unfold. His eyes glanced down, but just for the barest of moments. Then the wallet was folded up and slid back away, concealed once more.
A few feet away his car had rumbled to a start. The noise was loud, but not loud enough to fully drown out the cries belonging to the parents of the four fallen teens behind him.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
It was still her house. The place Cass grew up at. Her dad had bought it nigh on twenty years ago before she was born. It had the same corners. She could see the same cracks in the driveway that the same weeds grew through. Her father always meant to seal those up. Never got around to it, though. Life always found ways to interrupt.
Why did the house look so alien to her eyes now, when it was only a block away? Was it still even her house anymore? Or was it now a clump of wood, cement, and nails with some paint slapped on the outside, ready for another family to move in?
“-bloodthirsty murderers, the lot of them. If it weren’t for those boys from the FBI and our own lawmen riskin’ life and limb to drive them away, I reckon this town would be facin’ dire straits. Well, more dire than it is already, I reckon.”
Cass turned her attention back to Bill, who was stroking his neat silver beard with hands dotted with liver spots, hands made tanned and strong by hard work under the hot sun. A neighbor of hers who had lived in the town for his whole life, the elderly man was always more than happy to stop in his yard for a chat.
Normally it would be a quick exchange of words before Cass went to school, but this time she had a purpose of far greater importance – information gathering. The fact was that she truly had no idea where those two murdering scumbags were staying. Cass had seen them at her house plenty of times, and Bill mentioned they were constantly on the move doing stakeout duty with the rest of the officers.
Her first thought was they were sleeping at the station. There were cots in the breakroom and guns in the armory. Of course it was only a thought. She’d need to ask around or do some stakeout to confirm it. Thus, good ol' Bill. If they were staying somewhere, gossipy Bill would probably know. Not like she blamed him. The small-town life was nice, but sometimes there wasn't much to do other than gossip away.
The other reason to stop and chat with Bill was to gauge the perception the town had of Mr. Moon and Dag. Could she tell everyone she met the truth?
With how Bill talked about those men, evidently not. Certainly, there would be some who might believe her. But for the most part it would be the words of a high school girl against those of two government agents. More than that, Mr. Moon and Dag had already killed two of the maniacs who attacked the station, earning them respect and trust in the eyes of the town. They were seen as men who could get the job done and avenge the Chief. Even if most knew Cass, that was a tough gap to bridge.
Even if she screamed the truth from the rooftops, all it would probably do was spread confusion, confusion that would turn Mr. Moon's eyes on her and make it easier for those men from the station to murder more people before they were stopped.
"Yeah I tell ya," Bill continued to chatter on, oblivious to how Cass carefully steeled her face to obscure her obvious hatred for the agents, "That tall and thin feller has a strange name, but he sure is handy with a rifle. Went right up in Ted's attic, as cool as a cucumber, and dropped one of them Russkies that was taking potshots at our boys in blue. Then the big guy, that Dag feller, busted right through that front door like it was at a football game! Then bam bam, another Russkie dead on the ground! I tell ya. Two lawmen with steady hands taking down the bad guys guns a ‘blazing. If it weren't for all the good men that've died lately, I'd call this something straight out of the movies. Now it’s just a bloody mess that we all hope gets finished soon.”
“And… the gas station?” Mark prodded, the only indicator of his nervousness being how his shoes scraped at the grass. Bill fell silent for a moment, his head slightly bowed.
“Aye.” He said in a disheartened voice. “Those poor kids. I tell ya, I ain’t letting my boys go out after dark until this is all over. My heart goes out to Cindy and the rest, having to bury their sons. No parent should have to do that. They can’t even do an open-casket funeral. It ain’t right.”
Then Bill’s eyes came up to meet Cass’s, blazing with righteous indignation. “Cass, don’t make no mistake! Your da, them kids, the fallen officers, they’re all gonna get justice! The feds are hot on the trail of those Russkies. Soon they’ll be in jail or dead. Of course, if I sees them…” The man’s words were cut off by an angry growl as he clenched and unclenched his hands, “Ohhh, I oiled up ol’ Bessie last night just in case. She still shoots straight and true. If I sees them, Bessie’s gonna roar louder than she ever roared at Charlie back in ‘Nam.”
Cass nodded solemnly. In that, she and Bill were of the same opinion. She placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder. Here was the kicker. Straight face, steady tone, don’t give Bill a reason to be suspicious. This is nothing but a simple question from a well-meaning gal hoping to help out.
“And if I see anything important, where can I find this ‘Mr. Moon’?”
Bill softly grinned.
“Even after what you’ve gone through, you still have the fire in you to do good. Your da really did raise a fine daughter. No one’s in the precinct right now. It’s a building full of ghosts. Heard Paul saying it’s not defensible enough, with half the doors and windows still broken. I think that Mr. Moon's been using your da's office as a home base since there are a lot of files on the town in there. He can get his thumb on the pulse of the town while sticking in a place that two armed men can reasonably defend."
Cass’s hands nearly tightened into clenched fists before she got ahold of herself, reducing the movement to a mere tremor of her hands. Bill's and Mark's voices both faded to a dull hum only present in the very back of her mind.
Those bastards. Those unforgivable worthless sewer rats. First they shoot her dad in the back, and now they steal his house. No, actually, that was okay. She knew that house, backyard, front yard, side yards, and inside like the back of her own hand. It was going to be okay. Those rats would defile the house a bit, but the advantage gained by knowing the layout would help her run a rather lethal version of pest control.
She took a few imperceptible breaths in and out to steady herself before thanking Bill for his time and turning away to go back to her car. She had a bush to find. Something big enough to hide her body while being in the view of the house. Preferably where she could see a window. Or the front door. Then it would be like she was hunting with Dad again. Stare down the scope. Still your breath. Wait. Wait. Wait for the perfect moment. Wait for the deer to stop. Then BAM!
Already, in her mind’s eye, she could see it. The bullet from her dad’s hunting rifle piercing right through the suited scumbag’s brain as he steps outside for a breath of fresh air.
Perfect. Karma.
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Phew the town gets crazier and crazier. Jack is fully unleashed and Cass builds up her plan to get some fucking revenge served nice and hot.
Another week passes. It's starting to get colder outside now. Been watching more Ghibli movies, it's been pretty fun. So far my ranking still places Castle in the Sky at the top, but Spirited Away is tying with From Up On Poppy Hill for my second favorite. Princess Mononoke was pretty darn good too, same with Totoro. Kiki's Delivery Service was pretty decent. The music and animation was amazing, the story less so. Just didn't really land for me. Howl's Moving Castle was also pretty nice. Good music, good animation, but like Kiki's the plot didn't fully hit home for me. Looking forward to seeing more this upcoming week as I travel through the Ghibli catalogue.
Anyways that's all folks. Huge cheers to patreons and all you lovely readers.
Peace
