Tracking Evil, a Podcast Pt. 10

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 10

Prologue:

Erica yawned, the young woman arching back as she did so, extending her lithe body into a full stretch. She padded downstairs still in her pj's and made her way into Arlene's pristine kitchen. While Arlene was in Alabama it had been decided that Erica would remain here in Virginia, it was a secure location and the older woman had arranged for some of her coworkers in the Sheriff's department to check in on Erica occasionally. It wasn't ideal but it was as safe a place to be as available, the only other choice was to keep changing locations every other night. They had tried that already and it had worn them out more than anything else.

She flicked on the coffee machine, rubbing the grit in her eyes as she waited for it to percolate. Her circadian rhythm was completely out of sync, she was finding it hard to get an entire night's sleep due to her research. Sometimes she found herself still pouring over a document until 3am, other times she would force herself to go to bed at a reasonable hour only to toss and turn half the night as her mind kept wrestling over some fact or scenario.

It certainly wasn't helping that each and every file that she'd been provided with dealt with a death, some might have been ruled as accidental but that didn't make the descriptions or images in the files any less grisly or disturbing.

The coffee machine chirped happily, and Erica gratefully collected the large steaming cup of coffee. She had been forced to seek out a stronger blend than the type Arlene normally stored in her cupboard. It had been that or double her intake in order to keep herself sharp and focused. Erica gulped a mouthful, feeling the hot liquid scald the tip of her tongue but she barely winched, swallowing a second mouthful before turning to look out the kitchen window, seeking inspiration for her current conundrum in the passing clouds overhead.

Arlene had called her two days ago to bring her up to speed with the little she had discovered in Alabama. The Deputy Sheriff had been particularly keen on Erica keeping the description, title even, of 'creepy spider boy' in her mind while she was reviewing the records. Something about it had piqued Arlene's instincts and Erica was happy to support her in this, Arlene having followed the younger woman's hunches on more than one occasion.

The problem was that the files were a combination of official police reports, some witness statements and of course the interpretive findings of the Criminology Professors of Rutwell College over the last fifty years. None of these people had used the description of a 'creepy spider' regarding anything or anyone in those files. No suspects, no hearsay or rumors, nothing that could be considered even vaguely arachnid or arachnid related.

So where did she go with this next?

Erica shook her head in exasperation. There was just too much data, too many branches and not enough overlaps. There was a small forest of paper strewn around the dining room in Arlene's house and for all that Erica was getting nowhere.

'Small forest' she thought to herself, 'Forest... trees, it's not that I can't see the forest for the trees, I need to just focus on one tree at a time!'

She hurried into the dining room, rescuing her laptop from beneath some take out boxes and she energetically began writing up an email. Once sent she opted for a second cup of coffee and a long shower while she waited on a reply. As the coffee machine warmed up once more, Erica listened to the faint drone of a vehicle approaching on the road opposite the house, the low growl of the engine, the only sound aside from the bubbling water in the coffee machine.

.........................................................

Arlene swung her SUV off the backroad she was travelling on, driving carefully up the weed covered driveway that led to an abandoned farmhouse in rural Alabama. Halfway up the driveway she switched off the radio, the enthusiasm of 'Sweet Home Alabama' was a bit much for her this early in the morning.

Slowing down as she approached the building, she took note of the other vehicle already parked outside, a black SUV with tinted windows. Hardly subtle for the area they were in, but a rusty pick-up truck wouldn't have served their needs either.

Standing beside the SUV was Lincoln, the bounty hunter she and Erica had partnered up with when they'd been chasing down the Graffiti Killer. He gave Arlene a wave of recognition as she pulled up alongside him, standing away from the SUV which revealed a sawn-off shotgun he'd been concealing.

She climbed out of her car, wincing slightly after having been behind the wheel most of the night. Some of it driving, most of it sleeping, the driver's seat not the most comfortable bed she'd ever known.

Now that she was visible, Trent appeared, rising from a position of concealment in what had once been the grassy lawn of the former inhabitants of the old farmhouse, now it was weed choked, the unkempt grass knee high to the former soldier as he strode to greet her. The.308 rifle he now carried slung over his shoulder would have cut her down should she have proven to be anyone else approaching the house. Like Lincoln, Trent had been with Arlene in the hunt for Butterman and both men had jumped at the chance to aid Arlene once more, all the members of that hunting expedition had returned to their lives feeling that matters had been left unresolved.

The two men were younger than herself, Trent by nearly two decades, but they had proven themselves in their own professions and in the hunt for Butterman the Graffiti Killer. Now they had proven themselves once more, it seemed. Both black men had an air of satisfaction about them, despite the grim serious expressions they wore on their faces. Pure professionals to the core.

"You found them?" Arlene asked, keeping her own voice crisp, professional, regardless of her personal issues with the targets.

"Easy, so easy. With the description you gave, I found them in a few hours. Trent and me, we lifted them outside a bar 'bout twenty miles from here. Those two idiots were buying drinks like it was the end of the world. No doubt spending their wages of sin." Lincoln opened the door to his own vehicle as he spoke, lifting a thin brown folder from the passenger seat and passing it to Arlene.

"They didn't put up a fight, we had them cold as they left the bar, they knew it, came along meek as lambs," Lincoln continued as Arlene looked through the file.

"More's the pity," Trent added, "itching for a reason to put some hurt of those fuckers."

Something passed between Lincoln and Trent, a half-hidden gesture from Lincoln urging Trent to silence. Trent's gaze flashed to Arlene who was still reading the file and he subsided.

"Anyone likely to miss them?" She asked the question of Lincoln, choosing to ignore Trent's outburst.

"No, not likely in my opinion anyway. It's all there in the file. They are brothers, half-brothers. Same father, different mothers. All parents deceased, no brothers or sisters. It seems their aunts, Uncles and assorted cousins have as little time for their antics as most people round here. Couple of loud mouths, habitual drunks and mean to the core. People who do notice them gone are only gonna be happy about it, nobody will come lookin' for them." Lincoln knew he'd done a good job putting together the file on the two men and he knew Arlene appreciated his work. He also recognized that he wouldn't be getting any compliments soon, she was too tied up in knots over this.

"Sondra inside?"

"Yep" Trent answered, "they are restrained but we didn't want to take any chances. She's in there now. You know Sondra, she has a weapon aimed at them the whole time."

Arlene passed the file back to Lincoln, bestowing a grim smile and nod as she did. He took the thanks implicit in it, not at all put out by Arlene's shortness. Normally Arlene was a considerate and friendly person, her leadership abilities were obvious and appreciated by those who knew her. Lincoln and Trent knew that this coldness was not normal for her and so they were more concerned for their friend than they were put out by her abruptness.

She took a gym bag from her backseat and went to the trunk of her car. Arlene then began pulling out an assortment of items, throwing them into the black bag. Standing up she turned to the two men who stood regarding her with troubled expressions.

Arlene tried a cheery smile, trying to mask her feelings but it was lopsided and forced. Still, they had gone out of their way for her, so she made the effort.

"Head on guys, I've got it from here. Thanks for everything."

There was no way Lincoln was going to ask her if she was sure or not, but he did want her to know that she wasn't alone in this. "Me and Trent, we're gonna get a room somewhere around here, sleep for a time. It was a rough twenty-four hours, you know? Anyway, you need us over the next couple of days then we are in the area."

He left it at that, climbing into the driver's side of his black SUV. Trent gave Arlene a salute, two fingers touching just above his eyebrow. Informal but meaningful, a salute from one warrior to another. He secured his weapon in a gun case and then climbed into the passenger seat. There was a burst of power and their SUV leapt away. Arlene picked up the bag and headed towards the abandoned farmhouse. The wooden structure had seen better days, the roof sagging at one end, windows boarded up. Above her a rook cawed in annoyance, lifting from its nest in the chimney stack, taking to the air at her approach.

She stepped onto the porch and the wooden boards creaked alarmingly as she placed her weight on them. From within she heard Sondra call out a challenge.

"It's me," Arlene answered, opening the door.

Episode 1: 'Experience without theory is blind, but theory without experience is mere intellectual play' - Kant

Tiny, Erica's go to guy for most technical issues since they had met at the beginning of her investigation, had finally replied to her email.

It had occurred to Erica that the most straightforward way to find the individual mentioned by Linda Mae to Arlene wasn't through searching through all the documents they had on a multitude of murders, the search needed to be a bit more localized, in Alabama itself and around the time of Aaron Fowler's death fifty years ago.

So, she had reached out to Tiny, hoping the big guy would once again come through for her. He'd responded, setting up a skype call which was due to start in a minute.

On time, the call started on her laptop, Erica clicking the answer icon.

Tiny's familiar face filled the screen, he must have opted to make the call away from his basement lair as Erica could make out his grandmother's voice clearly as the old lady seemed to be involved in a one-sided argument with whatever show she was watching on the TV.

"How you doin'?" The big man greeted her happily.

"Good T, you?" Erica had never been surprised with how her opinion of Tiny had shifted after their first dealings with one another. Aside from him being the first black guy she had been with, the man had the soul of an artist and his love of creativity had appealed to her own love of culture.

"Been tryin' that diet you tole me about, I dropped two pounds already. Lemme show ya." He rose from his seat; Erica saw him starting to yank his shirt up.

"Tiny... Tiny... TINY!" Erica was forced to raise her voice to get his attention, but he did drop down to face the camera once more albeit with a mildly wounded expression on his face.

"Sorry Tiny but I'm kind of anxious to make some headway on this. Send me a pic later, kay?"

He brightened visibly at this compromise, nodding in agreement, jowls moving noticeably as he did, if he had lost weight, it was only after gaining some more beforehand Erica considered silently.

"So, I can't do what you want, I got skills, but you need a real expert to do this" he started off.

"Wait, I'm just talking about looking for school photos online, see if there were any reports from science fairs in the area about someone showing an interest in spiders. I'm looking for someone younger than Aaron was at the time, post pubescent age. You can't do that?"

"Nah, you are talkin' about hacking into school servers, hacking into local government files, maybe local Sheriff as well if we want to see who might have been classified as bein' disturbing, juvie records and such. There aint no guarantees that any of what you need is gonna be online. We talkin' fifty years ago. Mebbe they uploaded some of it, mebbe not. Point is you need a real hacker, not a gifted amateur like me."

"Shit. Shit, you're right. SHIT!" Erica's simple plan now seemed to be anything but.

"Chill girl, I got ya. I can't do it, but I know a brother who can an' I already reached out to him for you."

"And he's willing to help?"

"For a price..." There was a lewd tinge to Tiny's smile as he answered her.

"For the love of... Tiny, I'm nowhere close to you and I don't have time to be travelling. Look, any chance he's interested in cash instead?"

"Don't worry girl, he don't need to meet with ya, he's just got a request is all..."

An hour later Erica was standing in front of her laptop once more. She'd moved it into the kitchen, putting it on the counter top so that she could stand back from it and still see and be seen by the camera.

"Fucking ridiculous," she muttered to herself, pulling the dressing gown tight around her. Although it was almost noon, she was standing on the cold tiles of the kitchen in her bare feet, a borrowed dressing gown from Arlene's closet keeping her warm. She tossed the sheets of paper that the printer had spat out onto the counter beside her laptop.

Once more the Skype call tone began playing through her laptops speakers and she walked over to answer it, stepping back afterwards.

The screen was split in two, on the left it was black as the person on the call had kept their camera off, activating their microphone only. On the right was Tiny, from the décor Erica could see he had returned to the basement he occupied in his grandmother's house.

"Strat-OH-G, is it?" Erica directed to the blank section of the screen.

"Yeah, dat's right," came his voice, he sounded young, but she could tell nothing else from his voice except that he hadn't a particularly strong accent.

"Why are you online Tiny?" Erica said to the other side of her screen.

"Think I'm missing this, no fucking way. I even brought snacks." He waved a large bag of chips at her. 'So much for the diet' Erica thought, mentally shrugging at Tiny's appearance on the call. The request she had been given was weird enough, him watching as well wasn't going to make it any weirder.

Erica pulled open her, well Arlene's, dressing gown, tossing it to one side. She was wearing a bikini beneath it, she scarcely remembered packing it the last time she had been at home, in all likelihood it had only ended up in her luggage because she'd just scooped up handfuls of clothing, dumping them heedlessly into her bag. Fashion choices hadn't been high on her priority list lately. To be honest, clean clothing hadn't been high on her priority list at times, so deeply had she sunk into her hunt for the killers.

The bikini was one she had bought two summers before but until today she hadn't actually had a chance to wear it. It wasn't anything fancy, a two piece, the bikini bottom itself French cut, pink with small black polka dots.

She picked up Strat-OH-G's muffled gasp, so despite not being able to see his face, she knew he approved.

And now for the weird part of his request.

Erica picked up the printed pages, holding them out a little so she could read them without blocking the camera's view of her overly.

"Ahem... right, um. Okay, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, by JK Rowling. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley..."

As Erica read from the famous book, swaying slightly as she did, as much from boredom as to titillate, she could hear the sound of Strat-OH-G masturbating. The unmistakable noise that comes from a hand rapidly stroking a lubricated cock was easily identifiable, especially given her recent college trip, masturbating two cocks at once while her body was being fucked.

Despite Tiny munching loudly on his jumbo bag of chips she heard the slikch-slikch-slikch sound as the hacker beat his meat.

By the time she had finished the first page, Erica had decided to add a bit of spice to her performance, the sooner she got Strat-OH-G to the finish line, the sooner she could get dressed. She altered her tone, pitching it to a 'lost little girl' inflection. Her mouth pouted more, full lips exaggerating the occasional word. By page three, Erica had begun touching herself. Nothing to overt, just the odd brushing glance across her bikini encased breasts so that her nipples became more visible against the mostly nylon material.

Pausing to move to the next page, Erica nonchalantly brushed the straps of the bikini off both shoulders. Her top remained in place but as she continued to sway slightly, she felt the material shift lower, exposing more of her cleavage. At the bottom of page four, Erica could hear his breathing now through the speakers, Tiny had ceased munching his snack which helped. Both men, visible and invisible, were transfixed by her recital.

Erica dropped her hand, pulling the bikini bottom to one side so that her fingers were visible as they entered inside of her.

"...they pointed and gazed...oh, oh, oh... open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead..."

With each 'oh' Erica had pushed two fingers deep inside herself. As the Owl's in the story sped by, so too did Strat-OH-G's own climax, Erica heard a muttered curse and low grunt, the beat of his hand on his own cock abruptly stopping as his seed spilt out.

Erica withdrew her fingers, placing them ostentatiously between her lips, sucking on them. She then made a show of turning the pages remaining in her hand with her damp fingers before letting the whole sheaf fall in fluttering confusion to the floor.

"I think we're done here," she declared, "I'll expect to hear about your progress soon." She ended the call a second before bursting into a fit of laughter.

......................................................

Erica was at the foot of the stairs when there was a knock on the door. She sped back to the kitchen, reclaimed the dressing gown and hurriedly pulled it on as she made her way to the front door to answer it.

Despite Arlene having organized for the Sheriff's department to conduct random checks, mostly just a patrol car pulling into the driveway to receive a thumbs up from Erica through the window or door and Erica's own belief that, for the moment, Butterman wasn't actively seeking her death, Erica still checked through the peephole before opening the front door.

On the doorstep stood Destry, Sondra's boyfriend. Nonplussed at his presence, Erica held the door open wide for him to enter.

"Sondra told me to come check on you," he said by way of explanation. His keen eyes scanned the half open robe, seeing the bikini beneath. "Guess you doin' okay if you are sunbathing."

"No, it's... ah... never mind. Go through to the kitchen, I'll be back in a second." Erica hurried upstairs, throwing on sweats and a t-shirt before re-joining the tall black man.

"Coffee?" she offered as she walked into the kitchen. Destry had taken a seat at the table and he shook his head.

"Nah, been driving all night. Kinda full up on caffeine right now."