Tracking Evil, a Podcast Pt. 09

She was gone. Arlene had been lucky to get as much as she had, but now Linda Mae Daniels, nee Fowler, had slipped back into a happier memory. The laughter lines were back as she chuckled to a joke only she could hear, slapping a hand on her thigh in humour. Arlene got back to her feet and slowly backed off, turning finally as Linda Mae began humming merrily to herself.

Arlene was nearly twenty feet away when Linda Mae spoke for the last time on the subject; "Damned insects, damned butterflies, creepy spiders and buzzing bees. Creepy spider, creepy spider. That's what Judy always called him. The creepy spider boy."

Arlene fiddled with her phone, crouched over the display as she attached the audio file to an email. Finally, she got it attached and sent. Erica might get something from the interview, maybe a reference to a suspect or a witness statement that might give a name to go with the loose description of 'creepy spider boy'. She pushed the phone back in her pocket, pulling the keys to the car out at the same time. Arlene straightened up in time to catch a reflection in the window of a figure closing on her rapidly.

As good as her reflexes were, she only managed a quarter turn before his hand was over her mouth. The unmistakable smell of chloroform hit her senses once again. She groaned in frustration which only served to suck in more of the fumes. An elbow strike to her assailant's guts followed by a heel strike to their knee loosened his hold on her but it was too late by then. She staggered forward a couple of steps before the ground rushed up towards her. Darkness following.

Episode 3: "There is no such thing as chance. All is either a trial, a punishment, a reward, or a foresight."

Darkness.

Arlene awoke in darkness, her head groggy, the scent of the drug still present in her nose. She felt as if she'd slept for days and days, a thick muddle in her mind instead of its usual sharpness. Things seemed... off. But for these first moments she couldn't quite reason out what or why. Her jaw ached and her body throbbed with stiffness and a slight chill so that she attempted to stretch out despite not knowing where she was exactly.

That's when fear struck. The only blessing that accompanied that particular emotion was the attending shot of adrenaline that coursed through her, banishing the befuddlement of the drug.

She was restrained. Arlene couldn't tell how exactly, but to begin with there was a gag in her mouth. She could taste the rubber of a small round ball of some description that had been placed between her teeth and fastened about her head. The chill she had felt in her body was down to her clothes being removed, she could tell that she was utterly naked right now. Beneath her, she could feel she was on a wooden surface of some kind, a table or floor perhaps, and she was lying flat on her back.

Her hands were tethered, bent at the elbows and flat to either side of her. She could sense the material binding her, coiled around each wrist and oddly about her elbows as well. Her legs, they were pulled up to either side, bent at the knees, she could again feel the coiled... ropes maybe... wrapped under her knees, fastening them to something. Her feet were free but tied as she was there was no succour in that.

At least her head remained free, however twisting it from side to side revealed only darkness. Arlene fought against the fear and controlled the fast panicked breaths that shook her frame. As her calmness returned, so did the training she had received as a law enforcement officer, the lessons she had learned from her father and his comrades, all veterans of the armed forces. She relaxed as much as possible, trying to remove the strain and discomfort from her limbs that her earlier panic had caused. Her eyes adjusted somewhat to the deep gloom about her. It was still too dark to make out anything but the darkness had lightened somewhat and she could make out sounds and smells.

There was a pervading scent, faint but at the same time close as if it came from the surface she was lying on. It was familiar but she couldn't place it right now. A drip of water, slow and steady. Not from nature, a leaking faucet perhaps. So that put her inside a building, More sounds. Scratching? No, scuffling. A foot or feet moving on a surface. Beneath that sound, the whisper of hushed breathing. Not her own. She wasn't alone down here.

"I'fh knoooff yuh derh." she tried to talk around the gag. Silence was the only response and she strained her senses again to try pick up any other sounds, any clues. The footsteps sounded clearly then. Soft, rubber-soled shoes or sneakers on a hard surface. A click sounded and light was assailing her eyes, the blinking of florescent tubes as a bank of lights above and to one side of her fluttered into life.

The harsh white light temporarily blinded her and Arlene blinked furiously to clear her eyesight. As the colored flashes across her cornea disappeared Arlene looked up and caught her breath in shock. Above her was suspended a large mirror, the reflection from which offered her a bird's eye view of herself in captivity. She'd been right in her guesswork, she was indeed stripped bare, her hands bound with rope, her knees bent up and fastened intricately with the same type of rope to her elbows so that her body was splayed-out, open and vulnerable.

She wasn't on a floor; it was a table of some kind. Squinting she could make out deep scratches and gouges in the surface where it wasn't obscured by her body. A memory came to her, visiting an artisan butchers' shop with her late husband, watching as the butcher cleaved through bone, meat and gristle as he wielded knife and cleaver preparing their order. She was lying on an old butcher's block, the scent of meat and blood soaked into the wooden surface, faint but unmistakable now that she was matched it to the evidence of her eyes.

Arlene turned to either side of her, the light from the glowing florescent tubes had illuminated the area around her for a good thirty feet in every direction but she could see nothing except empty space. At the very edge of the artificial lights reach, she could barely detect movement in the darkness. It was there then it was gone, then it was back again. Patiently, what else was she to do, Arlene kept her gaze fixed on the place she thought she had seen something move.

Clap, clap, clap.

A figure emerged into the light, dressed in a light blue Tyvek suit much like one of the forensic investigators at a crime scene complete with raised hood and latex gloves, save for the off white hockey mask over their face. He or she applauded steadily as they crossed the distance to where Arlene lay bound, coming to a stop about four feet away. The stranger tilted at the waist, bend to that they were looking back at Arlene at the same height and angle before finally ceasing their clapping and straightening up once more.

"Bravo! Well done Deputy Mcguigan. I would have bet anything you'd have been pissing yourself with fear right now but no, there you are, the consummate professional. Keeping your head in a situation where others would be losing theirs." It was a man's voice.

"Uck uew." Arlene responded.

This just made the stranger shake his head and retreat once more into the surrounding gloom.

Arlene swallowed her anger, chiding herself for letting him know he could get to her. Instead, she focused. Small male, approx. 5 feet six inches in height, slight build, the unmistakable nasal accent of a born and bred New Yorker. Not a lot to go on, but someone from New York in Alabama... Arlene had found people with less than that to go on.

The stranger returned, carrying a rickety looking three-legged stool. He set it down close to Arlene and perched himself on it. As he'd approached, she took note of how he favoured his right leg. Not quite a limp, just the shadow of one but another data point. If it wasn't for the ball gag she'd have smiled. 'Gonna get you, you fucker' she thought.

Something in her expression puzzled him, so that he leaned in momentarily and Arlene could see the color of his eyes behind the mask. Big old blue eyes. 'Gonna get you and hurt you, you mother fucker' Arlene promised herself.

"Right. Let's get down to it shall we?" He paused as if expecting a reply from a gagged and silenced audience before coughing lightly and continuing.

"I've been given permission to use my own initiative in this matter. Not something that's often afforded me by those I answer to, but you and your friend are considered... well perhaps unique is too high a praise, lets say your tenacity had won you some manner of respect and a tiny sliver of leeway."

'Cultured, educated, but an underling... more data points. Keep talking asshole, you are just driving more nails into your coffin' the words flitted through Arlene's mind as she kept her expression neutral.

"Naturally the most expedient solution is to simply dismember you, whether I begin the process with you dead or alive is immaterial. Then simply dispose of your remains in a series of deep holes scattered over a number of counties. Simple, elegant and as I said expedient." He paused again, looking to see if she'd react to talks of her own murder and cover up but Arlene had steeled herself to this, if her body trembled it was down to the chill on her skin and the ache in her muscles. If he was disappointed, his voice didn't betray it.

"Not worth killing you and leaving your partner Erica alive though, so I opted to pass on that. Then of course there is always the option of vigorous questioning. Some light torture, both mental as well as physical. Perhaps some disfigurement with blades or acid until you tell me everything you know. Again, what's the point? So, you found yourself here, asking questions about a man fifty years in the ground. So what? You got no answers and my knowing that you know nothing... well I already know that without cutting off one of these don't I?" He reached out and tweaked one of Arlene's nipples as he spoke, the violation of his gloved touch on her skin making her buck against her bonds.

"No to death, no to torture. What does that leave me with? Ah, perhaps a life lesson instead? You see I want you, and through you, your friend Erica, to understand some basic truths. Number one, you are watched. Not night and day but you are still tracked so that when you go off the reservation like you did today... well somebody will be close by. Number two, a woman of your beauty, maturity, aged to perfection, full bodied like a fine red wine. Well, you are wasted on a fruitless quest like this. You've reached the end of the yellow brick road. There is no shining city of Oz, no wizard to be unmasked behind the curtain. You and your reporter friend need to turn around now, find something else in life to pursue." A pause, longer as he waited for his words to sink in. He stood then, leaving the stool in place and began to walk away.

After a handful of paces he halted, turned and once more bent over to one side to regard Arlene as she lay on the butcher's block. Still bent he spoke again.

"Number three, and this is where I have opted to use my initiative. Like children playing a game beyond your capabilities, you need to be taught a life lesson. All decisions have consequences. So now you will have to take the consequences of your trip here like a big girl." He straightened up, pulling a glove off of his right hand before snapping his fingers in a summoning click.

From behind him, two figures emerged. Hulking shapes that dwarfed their boss as they took up station on either side of him. Military style hoods covered their heads. Those fabric, full-face masks that were adjustable to become an open balaclava, a half ski mask, a neckerchief, a scarf or a skull cap. In this instance both men wore the black masks to obscure their features almost entirely, only their eyes visible. Arlene didn't need any explanation as to what form her 'lesson' was going to take. The fact that both men were as naked as herself, both sporting ominously large erections was an answer all in itself.

She was surprised to see that both the men were black. Given Butterman's feelings for black men and white women being together, it seemed an odd choice for henchmen. However, it was becoming clear that while the stranger in the hockey mask might be a killer as was Butterman, his tastes and traits might not reflect the Graffiti Killer's in any shape or form.

"After they feel you have been adequately 'schooled' my men will let you go. It's been a pleasure Deputy, but let's not do it again. I very much fear a second meeting will only serve to usher you to your husband's side in the coldness of the grave."

On that parting warning, the stranger left, the echo of his footsteps receding and diminishing until the only sound was the heaving breathing of the dark-skinned goliaths who leered down at her.

Episode 4: "All is for the best in the best of all possible worlds."

In a way, the fact that she was trussed up on a butchers block seemed almost fitting because Arlene felt at that moment like she was just a piece of meat. The two big men, and they were big, really big, stood on either side of the table now. Her mind was trying to process everything at once, fear and the unconscious training of years as a Deputy Sheriff coming into play. Her head snapped back and forth to the slightest movement or sound from either man as she tried to evaluate, judge her opponents, looking for an edge, a chance. But there was nothing.

Even if she'd been free Arlene knew she'd have had little chance against either man, never mind both together. Firstly, there was the question of sizes. Arlene stood a shade under average height for a woman, the two men looming above her were easily six foot six each. Secondly, while she was in good shape, exercised regularly, lifted weights, pushed herself through rigorous hand to hand combat training as often as she could, the silent black henchmen appeared to be carved from basalt rock, chiselled from stone and then brought to life. No matter what her skill, there was a truism that Arlene couldn't ignore, a good big fighter will always take a good smaller one in the end.

Wearing their masks their features were hidden from Arlene's sight but she could still sense a certain smugness from them as she ineffectively struggled against the ropes. Arlene looked up at her reflection in the mirror suspended above her. Her pale skin was flushed now, anger and embarrassment pinking her flesh. There was an undercurrent of fear and of course the slight chill in the air, both of which she blamed for the goosebumps that had risen along with an incongruous hardening of her nipples. The thought of these thugs, hired muscle literally and figuratively, taking advantage of her helplessness almost had her choking at the gag in rage. How tough would they be against a woman in a position to defend herself? Arlene comforted herself with an image of the two men facing Sondra, the capable black woman squinting through the sights of a rifle as she lined up a shot on the two masked cronies.

Something about her thoughts must have transferred through to her expression. Perhaps it was the fire in her eyes rather that any facial movement, distorted as it was by the presence of the ball gag. Either way the two men drew back momentarily, one of them scanning the darkness behind them, perhaps thinking Arlene had spotted some rescuer approaching. It wasn't much of a consolation that she'd managed to briefly unnerve her captors as they advanced on her soon enough, their feelings of unease apparently gone.

Arlene turned her head forward, closing her eyes as they approached. Not knowing what was about to happen was just slightly less terrible than looking on helplessly. Slightly, ever so slightly.

She felt the first hand run along her leg. The calloused palm tracing her left limb from ankle to hip. As it passed her knee, a second hand, equally rough but she thought it belonged to the second of her abusers, settled palm down on the soft mound of her stomach. It made a few circular sweeps, then moved further up to paw unceremoniously at her big breasts. Arlene left her eyes flicked open briefly, just confirming for herself that both men were indeed touching her before she screwed her eyes tight shut once again.

Silently they explored her body. She could hear their rasping breaths, muffled only slightly by the masks they wore. Both men carried almost identical scents. Eyes closed and desperate to take her mind off their probing, pawing hands, Arlene focused on clues to help her identify them later. The smell was a mixture, one part tobacco, one part sweat and one part... it took her a moment to place it before realisation struck... manure. She guessed these men hadn't been brought in especially by the man she was referring to as 'The Hockey Fan' in her head. More likely they were locals, farm workers chosen for their strength, size and willingness to partake in this crime. Good, two men this size would be easy to find from the small local population.

Hating the need for it, Arlene opened her eyes once more, hoping to see a tattoo or scar on their bodies that would aid identifying them positively when the time came. She'd shed no tears putting a bullet in them for what they were doing, what they were going to do to her. But she'd be damned if she'd take an innocent life by mistake when she sought her revenge later on. No, she'd need to be sure before pulling the trigger.

The first thing she saw was herself, naturally enough, her curved body trussed and bent, displayed for use. One man stood behind her, she could only see his hands and arms in the mirror, outstretched as they were, playing with her breasts. One hand groping the fat flesh, the other, flicking and pinching the nipple crowning her other breast. Looking up and back she gazed up along the length of his upper body, the contours of his muscles and up to the masked head. He had dropped his head so that he was looking down at her face as she looked up at him. His eyes were dark brown and empty of pity.

Quickly she looked away, his partner stood at the opposite end of the butcher's block. He was the one who had been stroking and caressing her legs. He had moved now to an exploration of her inner thighs, seeming to take no small pleasure from Arlene's quivering responses. Her body twitched against its restraints as coal dark fingers stroked the pale sensitive flesh, working closer to her pussy with each moment. Her thoughts were a jumble, revulsion and horror paramount but the small kernel of some other emotion inside her that welcomed their touch.

Arlene had some self esteem issues. Strange given her skills, looks and leadership abilities but it was there all the same. She had kept a flame burning within her for her husband, the memory of him for a long time. Between that and her job she had found herself lacking in admirers, at least those willing to make themselves known, after he had passed away. Giving herself up to the criminals that Erica had looked to interview in the bar that first night Arlene had met her had been her first sexual experience in such a long time. The fact that they were men she should have been arresting rather than fucking... well it had seemed both wrong and right at the same time. For a tough, no-nonsense cop, feelings of inadequacy and yearnings to be taken, controlled by a strong man... it was confusing. That confusion, that deep, dark secret yearning, that need to be needed, wanted... that was the small part of her that was welcoming the fondling and fingering of the two lackeys that The Hockey Fan had set on her.

"Quit yer squirmin' now." came from the figure behind her.