Tracking Evil, a Podcast Pt. 07

Authors note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Tracking Evil, A Podcast: Part 7

Episode 1: "London Bridge is falling down

Falling down, falling down

London Bridge is falling down

My fair lady"

They ran flat out, crossing the short distance to where they had all seen Arlene take up a position of concealment. Lincoln crashed through the undergrowth and low hanging foliage like a steam train, clearing a path for the others following him. Five feet in from the edge of the clearing the hunters came to a sudden, jarring halt.

Before them lay Arlene's backpack, unmistakable to them all since they'd spent three days following behind it as they walked behind Arlene through the Ozark hills and forests. Of Arlene herself there was no sign.

Erica began to tremble, her mouth opening and closing silently. Her brain was a torrent of thoughts; 'Find her... Is she hurt?... Why didn't we hear anything?... What do we do without her?... Find her...' None of these thoughts made it out of her mouth however, shock cleaving her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

"JP." Sondra said authoritatively, the old hunter already scouring the area from tracks and clues.

"Track's... this way." he said eventually, "Not her's and can't tell how fresh... lights fading too much." He straightened up as he spoke, waving a hand in the direction the tracks led.

"Then we got no time to waste, if she's alive then he is carrying her. Even with a head start we got a chance at catching up before the sun goes down." Trent declared, he shrugged the backpack from his shoulders, gripping his weapon in his right hand.

Lincoln, Sondra and JP followed suite and in seconds they were loping through the trees in pursuit of Arlene's abductor.

Not Erica.

She still stood there, gazing at Arlene's abandoned backpack, her hands now clenched into ineffectual fists, eye's sparkling with the first traces of tears as the sounds of her comrade's progress through the forest began to fade. While they trashed through the forest, Erica maintained a stillness that only those in the deepest throes of sleep could conjure.

'Bzzz... bzzzz'

The near silent vibration of a cell phone startled her, coming as it did in the quiet of the evening. Erica started at the sound, head jerking left and right to identify the source. Once she'd gathered her wits about her, Erica realised it was coming from Arlene's backpack. No... from beneath it. She pulled the bag to one side, revealing Arlene's cheap burner cell phone. The screen showed an unrecognized number.

"Hello?" she said dully as she answered the call.

"The reporter... right?" a low cold emotionless voice brushed against her ear. She'd never heard him speak but every instinct in her told Erica who was on the other end of the line.

"Give me back my friend!" Erica demanded, voice catching on the last word.

"Your friend is safe and will remain so provided you do exactly as I instruct you now. No argument, hesitation or playing for time. Right now; yes, or no?"

"Yes." Erica answered unthinkingly, Arlene's safety was all that mattered.

"Good. Drop your phone, backpack and whatever weapon you have." Erica did so, the sound of her pack hitting the ground carried to the man on the other end of the call, a low grunt of approval coming from him at the noise.

"Excellent. On the far side of the clearing from where you now stand is a small trail. Follow it until you reach a fallen tree. I will call back then. You have two minutes."

Erica was already running as he spoke; she hurdled the low strip of foliage at the clearings edge and disappeared into the forest. After about twenty yards a small trail appeared and she followed this until she drew up to the tree trunk blocking the trail ahead. She sat against it, catching her breath for a moment before the phone in her hand began to buzz once more.

He began speaking as soon as she pressed the button, so she lost the first few words as she raised it to her head.

"...time. Facing towards the roots of the tree, continue on straight until you reach a stream. You have four minutes this time."

"Wait... I want to speak to Arlene." Erica said but the voice had already gone. She turned to her right and began trotting through the forest once more. The darkness was closing in and her torch was back with her other belongings. Erica paused long enough to check the battery life on the phone. It was down to nineteen percent. She held off using the phone's torch for the moment, reasoning that it would serve her better when it was darker. She couldn't risk using up power and having the phone go dead on her.

Between her fast pace, the encroaching darkness and the increasingly dense undergrowth it was only when Erica stepped into the cold water, soaking her right boot, that she found the small stream. This time she didn't even have a moment to catch her breath before the phone began to vibrate once more.

Before she answered it, she cast around her with her gaze, a futile hope in the dimly lit forest. Still, she wondered if he was actually looking at her, his calls coming so soon after her arrival at the checkpoints. As she clicked the button to answer the phone, Erica began to fear that he didn't need to actually see her, he planned everything so meticulously that Butterman was in control despite not being there.

"Tired?" the voice asked.

"Like you care!" Erica spat out between breaths.

"I am being considerate, I would appreciate a likewise degree of civility from you." he answered, for the first time a color of emotion entering his tone. "Since you have the energy to be rude perhaps a faster pace for this next stretch. Keep the stream to your right, follow it to the crest of the hill. You had seven, now you have six minutes."

Erica wanted to curse but she needed to save her breath. Instead, she turned in the direction he'd instructed and shambled as fast as she could up the hill. Branches slapped across her face, the leaves whipping across her soft skin as she ducked and weaved her way through the woodland. Twice she slipped, falling into the stream beside her. Both boots and the feet inside them completely soaked now.

He called her twice more, shorter runs each time, three minutes, a turn in direction, then two minutes. She was utterly lost now, no idea where her compatriots were or the hut she'd started out from. Whether through chance or design, he'd completely isolated her and the tiny glimmer of light from the setting sun, the sounds of the tree's creaking around her, all jumbled up with her own pent-up emotions and fears had Erica on a knife's edge.

"Let's make this last one a gentle walk." the voice on the phone intoned, "Straight towards the setting sun, two minutes at a walking pace till you arrive at a logging track."

Erica wheezed and walked, head hung low from tiredness, brown hair matted and clumped through her perspiration. Her blue eyes downcast in misery and a need to stop herself tripping over obstacles on the ground. Thirty seconds later the spongy undergrowth disappeared, hardened earth replacing it. Surprised, she looked up to find a dark panel van parked up on the road, not thirty feet from where she stood. Erica's tired mind tried to figure out where she'd gone wrong. It wasn't like Butterman to make a mistake judging distances, he'd guided her flawlessly through a thick wooded area and hadn't made an error once. Unless... unless he wanted her off guard.

She began to spin around when an arm encircled her waist, lifting her clear from the ground. Erica started to kick her legs, attempting to land a solid blow on whoever held her. As she twisted, a hand loomed into her view, clutching a non-too clean rag on it. The dirty fabric was shoved into her face, she smelled a sickly-sweet odour. Erica bucked and thrashed but the limb holding her was just strong enough, capable of holding her just long enough for the chloroform to take effect.

Her movements slowed, her limbs, her eyelids becoming heavier and heavier. Erica's assailant gently lowered her feet back to the ground but she couldn't support herself, her legs buckling as she tried to stand on them.

"Night, night." a cold voice whispered directly into her ear.

Erica came awake gradually. Her eye lids fluttered as a beam of sunlight shone directly into her face. As she became more lucid, she realised she was sitting up, a hard surface pressing against her buttocks and back.

Feigning sleep, she cautiously cracked open a single eye, trying to check out her surroundings. Her attempt at subtlety came to nothing as the stinging brightness of the early morning sun caused her to flinch, the tear duct of her half open eye filling with moisture as the glare half blinded her. Abandoning any subterfuge, Erica rubbed at her eyes with her hands, sweeping the debris of sleep from them so that she could properly look about her.

Her location was a mystery. She knew from her surroundings that she was in a warehouse of some kind, abandoned of course but that was just part and parcel when dealing with a serial killer. They never took victims to a five-star hotel. No, it was abandoned buildings or creepy woods all the way. Erica took some comfort that she could find humour in her situation even though there really wasn't anything to laugh about.

Assuming he hadn't kept her drugged and insensible for days Erica reckoned she was still in the general vicinity of the Ozarks but abandoned buildings, even one of the not inconsiderable size of this one if the room she was in was any indication, were still a common enough sight. For the moment she'd have to accept she didn't know where she was. Next item on her agenda was to check on how she was.

She stood up, stretching tight muscles in her lower back. He'd perched her on a hard wooden chair while she'd been shaking off the effects of the drugging. It was better than the concrete floor beneath her feet but only marginally so. Then she realised that she could feel the cold floor beneath her as he'd removed her boots and socks, no doubt to slow any escape attempt. At least he'd refrained from stripping her bare, she still wore the hiking pants and long-sleeved t-shirt from the evening before. Both garments were stained, sweat and dirt streaking the top, dried mud splattering the lower legs of the pants.

As she was still clothed, rape of her unconscious body seemed unlikely and since he'd left her untied she could assume the doors and windows were secure. This wasn't the sort of man who left things to chance. Aside from her growling stomach and a mild headache Erica found she was in unexpected good health. With nothing else to do, Erica took a closer look at her 'cell'.

The room itself was almost a hundred feet long, maybe forty feet wide. Brick walls and a high ceiling, large windows set over eight foot from the base of the walls. The glass panes in the windows were almost totally covered in dust and dirt save for three or four broken panes scattered throughout the room. It was through one of these broken panes that the sun had poured unimpeded onto Erica's face. At one end of the building there was a large double door. They stood closed and even from her position in the middle of the room she could make out the padlock and chain sealing them shut. A second door, standard sized, was to her right beneath one of the partly broken windows, but again it looked to be firmly closed off with chain and lock.

That left a second small door at the other end of the long warehouse like structure. Wincing from stiff muscles, Erica began to limp her way towards it. She covered half the distance before it opened outwards, a tall figure stepping inside. She began back peddling immediately, recognising the figure as he closed the door behind himself. Erica half turned, spinning on a bare heel and she sought to run, to hide... somewhere.

"Calm, calm, please. Calm yourself please." he called; his voice raised to carry to her rather than as a shouted command. Erica ignored him, there could be no calm, not stuck in a room with Butterman.

"Wait!", his cold voice sounded irritated more than anything else. "Wait, think clearly. If I wanted you dead then it would be done. The building is sealed up, there is nowhere to run to. So just stop. Stop, listen and think."

Her primal instincts were in full flight mode but Erica hadn't risked so much, taken on so much to be found wanting for courage, not now, not at the end. If she was to die then fuck it all, she'd die with pride. So, she stopped, she stopped and turned to face him.

Butterman was clad much like a hunter, khaki jacket and pants over waterproof hiking boots. All of it good quality but not top end, typical of the man. He didn't appear armed but since she definitely wasn't armed the advantage still lay with him. What he did appear to have however was food, well a bag marked McDonald's, so close to being food. More importantly she could smell the coffee from the large cup he carried in his other hand. He walked on, closing the distance between them, drawing level and then he walked right past her as Erica flinched at his proximity. He walked up to the chair she'd awoken on, placing bag and cup on it before moving away.

Erica gingerly approached the bag, opening it to find it contained a sausage McMuffin meal, the coffee was black, the creamer and sugar in the bag. She considered it might be tampered with, drugs, poison even but then she discarded that idea. It wasn't his style.

"Where's my friend? Where's Arlene?" Erica turned her back on the food and faced him defiantly.

"Well enough I assume. I don't doubt she's already had a meal so why don't you?" Erica tried to see the lie in his eyes or body language but he could have been ordering a coffee at Starbucks for all the emotion he showed. She knew enough of him to understand that he had his own way of doing things. If he wasn't going to talk till she ate, then she'd eat.

Ravenous she began to tear into the food. Behind her she was dimly aware of the sound of another chair being dragged across the hard concrete floor.

"Eat, refresh yourself. Then it's time we spoke." Butterman said quietly, the noise of her enthusiastic chewing half drowning his voice.

Episode 2: "Little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey.

Along came a spider who sat down beside her

And frighted Miss Muffet away"

"Here."

Erica looked up from the remnants of the food to see Butterman offering her a pack of wet wipes. She reached out, snatching them away from him in fear more than anger. He nodded, seemingly taking no offence. He settled back onto his own chair as Erica cleaned her hands and face as best she could, the grimy used wipes placed carefully into the paper bag the food came in. Butterman nodded in approval, at her housekeeping rather than at her limited success at cleaning herself up.

Eventually Erica gave up the ghost, there were some things that only a shower could sort out. She sat back on her own chair, facing him across a six-foot gap.

"I've done all you asked, tell me what's going on with my friend." Erica demanded. Butterman leaned back in his chair, crossing one of his long legs over the other, a picture of smug calmness.

"I was never interested in her, it was you I wanted to meet. However, I will admit that I made a mistake in approaching her hiding place instead of yours. So yes, after that I had to improvise. I took her chloroformed body. . ." he held up a hand to forestall Erica interrupting him. "Her otherwise unharmed body, then I moved it about a mile from your camp. I imagine that about the time you reached the stream your other friends had found her."

There was just the slightest curl to his lip as Butterman watched Erica's changing expressions. The pretty brunette's pale features turned almost bloodless as she digested this information. As she'd been running to rescue Arlene, her friend was already in the care of the others. She'd run straight into Butterman's clutches for no reason. Worse, because she'd hesitated, letting her comrades search for Arlene she'd done exactly as he'd predicted.

"Speaking of the stream." he continued, "I apologise for your current situation." At this he waved a hand towards Erica's bare feet. "Your footwear was far too wet to remain on you. They are still drying out so I'm afraid you'll have to make do without them for the moment."

Erica shook her head at this inane bit of information. Fair enough, he hadn't taken her boots as part of her entrapment but how could he be talking about wet shoes after just dropping that other bombshell on her?

"I don't believe you" Erica whispered then, "I don't believe you!" She repeated louder, firmer.

He got to his feet and approached her. From his jacket pocket he produced Arlene's cell phone. Erica watched as he accessed the call list, selecting her own number. He turned the phone onto speaker as he dialled the cell phone Erica had abandoned in the woods. It rang for nearly twenty seconds before it was answered.

"Erica! Erica?" Arlene's unmistakable voice came from the phone, Erica's eyes tearing up instantly. "Erica, where are you, are you..."

Butterman ended the call, deftly pulling the Sim card from the back of phone in a move that demonstrated practice. He turned back to his seat without a word, Erica taking the moment to cuff the tears from her eyes without him seeing her. Once he was back in his chair, he deposited the phone and Sim on the floor beneath it.

"I think that settles the matter of your friend. So now let's talk, I've been so looking forward to this opportunity."

"What the fuck do we have to talk about? Your imminent surrender to the police maybe?" Erica quipped. Now that she knew Arlene was safe, her natural tendency to confront those she judged to be wrong, her 'journalistic morality' as her father called it, surfaced. She didn't see any way out of her situation, obviously Arlene had no idea where she was, so if this was how it was all going to end for Erica Anderson, then she'd go out with a smirk on her face and a smart ass remark on her tongue.

"No, let's start with you. I've satisfied myself that our mutual friend Ms McGuigan, noble upholder of the law, wasn't the driving force in the search for me. That honour apparently falls to you. You started this, you found me. So, how did you first link me to the deaths?"

"Sloppy lazy work on your part. I expected more from you given all that time stuck in your little jail cell. Thought you'd have planned it better. You basically signed your name at every scene, bit of simple pattern recognition and it was plain to see." Erica said with a smug smile, her blue eyes steely in their resolve. She was lying through her teeth but he didn't need to know that, the contempt she felt for him was clear enough so it was easy to color her opinion of his methods with the same disdain.

"Hardly that plain, or else it wouldn't have been the Scooby gang trying to catch me, it would have been the FBI. Fine, from your answer I gather it was my vanity, leaving a message, that linked the individual deaths into one chain of events. Well done, that can't have been easy to piece together. You remind me of my late wife, brains and beauty."

"And an equal amount of loathing for you as a man I'm sure." Erica shot back.

For the first time Butterman showed an open response to something. He slapped a hand against his leg, throwing his head back as a rasping gurgle emanated from his open mouth. It seemed he was out of practice laughing, the noise he made almost unrecognisable for what it was. The sound was creepy, there was no other way to describe it. By the time he recovered from his bout of hysteria, Erica was wishing for a shower to cleanse herself.