Tracking Evil, a Podcast Pt. 10

"Oh, you didn't have to drive through the night to check up on me. I'm fine." Erica flushed in embarrassment, she appreciated Sondra's concern, but it made Erica feel like a bit of a burden if her friend had dispatched her boyfriend in that way just to see how she was.

"I was headed this way anyway. I got a last minute job, doing some set up work at a gig tonight at a club in Durham NC, it's only sixty miles from here. Besides Sondra wanted me to do more than check on you, she told me you've been working too hard, you in need of a distraction."

Erica flushed again, or maybe it was her first flush that just deepened further. She and Destry had been together on a number of occasions in the last few months, but it was always led by Sondra, the three of them sharing the enjoyment of each other's bodies equally. The idea of getting involved with Sondra's 'Boo' without Sondra being present, especially so soon after the Terrance incident at the college, it just didn't seem right to Erica.

Destry must have followed her thoughts, intuiting them or maybe reading them on her face. Either way he laughed softly, banging a half-closed fist on the table in real mirth.

"Nah, nah, you got me wrong girl. Nothin' I'd like better than sliding my cock back in that fine fucking pussy of yours but that aint what I'm talkin' about. Sondra, she told me to bring you out to Durham with me. Get you away from whatever the hell you doing here" Destry held up a hand as Erica went to cut across him. "And before you say you too busy or anything like that, Sondra told me to say, if you don't agree then I'm to start burning any papers I see lying around. My choice."

Destry took a zippo from his pocket, flipping it open and striking it alight in one smooth movement. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Erica raised her hands in surrender. She doubted Sondra had told Destry to go through with the threat, the files here were too precious. Still if her friend felt that strongly about Erica getting out if only for one night, who was she to argue.

"Okay, I'm going to need some time to get changed. Why don't you fix us something to eat while you wait? I left some food in a couple of Tupperware's in the fridge. Take a look see what you fancy."

Erica headed back up the stairs before a thought made her pause. She lent over the bannisters, calling out to Destry.

"What sort of a gig is it?"

Episode 2: 'To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering' - Nietzsche

Arlene closed the door behind her firmly before turning to looking into the room properly. Sondra, Lincoln and Trent had placed a few camping lanterns around the small room as the barricaded windows would have left the place in darkness otherwise.

She wasn't sure where the four chairs had come from as it seemed like every other part of the house was in an advanced state of decay. Somehow, somewhere they had rustled up four sturdy looking wooden chairs and they were placed in the center of the room.

Two chairs stood empty, Sondra leaning on the back of one. She had turned her head to look at Arlene as she entered, but her body and the handgun she was holding remained pointed towards the other two chairs.

On these were two large figures. Both were lashed, wrists and ankles, to the chairs by cable ties. Even from this distance and in the dim lighting, Arlene could see how their ankles were tied to chair legs, their wrists to the wooden arms of the chairs they were sitting on.

Both men had been stripped of their boots and socks, no doubt to make fastening them to the chairs all the easier. They were also wearing black bags over their heads, the kind that ensured they could see absolutely nothing, yet they had turned their heads towards the sound of her arrival, nonetheless.

The memory of these same two men, their faces obscured by masks rather than the bags they now wore, as they fucked her against her will came back in sharp detail to Arlene as she beheld them, and she had to steel herself so that she didn't wobble as she walked over to join Sondra. If the black woman noticed the momentary weakness in Arlene, she didn't comment on it. Sondra was well aware that this was Arlene's show and so she remained silent.

The two men, aware that someone had entered the room, began to talk in unison.

"Hey? Why are you doin' this to us?... Someone say somethin'... You there?... What's going on?... We didn't do nuthin'... This aint right, this aint legal..."

She'd heard it all before. From the innocent and the guilty. Only thing is that this time she was well aware of their guilt, she had no need of any interrogation tricks to get them to admit to their crimes. These men were guilty, and she had been their victim.

The distress in their voices and the familiarity of their calls helped ground Arlene. She was able to set aside, for the most part, the trembling in her stomach at the memory of what she had suffered at their hands. When she faced them, it wouldn't be with the limpid eyes of a victim.

"Take off their hoods," Arlene instructed Sondra; her voice raised in order to drown out the men's pleas.

Sondra moved behind them, plucking the hoods away. The faces she revealed were of two black men in their early thirties. Both of them needed a shave, their eyes were red rimmed from their experiences so far and Arlene could see that both had some swelling on their faces. It seemed that Trent and Lincoln hadn't been entirely truthful about how easy the two prisoners had succumbed to being captured.

Arlene positioned herself square in their line of vision, her eyes intent upon their faces, seeking any sign of recognition. There was none. She was surprised at this but then she put it down to the fact that the last time they had seen her she'd been naked, bruised and battered from their rough fucking. She was probably the last person they expected to see.

Or was she wrong, maybe they weren't the men.

Arlene opened the bag, removing two box cutters from inside it. She tossed one underhand to Sondra.

As they came at the men, knives glinting in the light of the lanterns, the two prisoners began bucking against their restraints. The nicks and cuts they received as Sondra and Arlene cut their shirts off of their torso's mounted up as they continued to struggle. However, when the two women set their blades to cutting the men's trousers off, they ceased struggling, suffering to have their jeans and underwear cut from their bodies in silence if not in good grace.

The two women stepped back to admire their handiwork. The men cut fine figures, even in their present condition. Bodies lean and hard, strong chiseled musculature from hard labor. The man on the left appeared to be a couple of years older than the other, but the family connection was clear in their brutish faces. Half-brothers as Lincoln had reported.

Arlene wasn't looking at their faces though.

Both men had long black cocks, each impressive slab of meat hung over the lip of the chair. She moved closer, stooping down to inspect each in turn. The younger man's cock and balls had been shorn completely of hair. To his left, the other man's cock was pierced through the head, a stainless steel ball affixed to each end. She hadn't made a mistake, these were the men she was after.

She straightened up, turning her back on the two men, walking back to where she'd left the bad, Arlene dropped the knife back inside.

Maybe it was the fact that the knife was gone from view, maybe it was desperate arrogance or perhaps they were just dumb but that was when their cockiness flared up.

"Shit woman, if'n all you wanted was our cocks, ya didn't need to go kidnapping us. We'd been happy givin' you a taste," one of them called out from behind her.

"Hell yeah, both of you. Two fine lookin' things like you, only had to ask," the other chimed in.

Arlene didn't turn around as she spoke. "You know me?"

"What? Da fuck you mean?" she heard from one of them. She turned around, pulling away the band that held her red hair in a loose ponytail. She shook her hair loose, so it fanned out behind her. Now she caught the glimmer of recognition in each of their faces, but it appeared they were going to brazen it out.

"Shit, no I don't know you," the younger man declared, an edge of fear in his voice.

"You know me." This time it wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Fine, yeah, I know you. The bitch who needs to learn a lesson. So, what? You fuckin' enjoyed it." This from the older of the two, defiance and insolence thick in his voice and face. Arlene could hear Sondra's knuckles popping as the younger woman came to stand alongside her, knife gripped tightly in her hand. She placed a reassuring hand on Sondra's arm, fleeting but she felt the younger woman's temper subsiding all the same.

"Thank you," Arlene said. This caught the two men off guard. "Thank you," she repeated, I had to be sure."

The gun came out of nowhere. One moment her hands were empty, hanging by her side. Next thing her right arm was raising smoothly, the hand filled with a dark revolver.

Boom!

The loud explosion of the gunshot hurt everyone's ears. Everyone except for the younger of the two men. The bullet caught him in his right eye, killing his instantly. Beside him, his half-brother was frozen in shock. His ears ringing, his mouth agape, flecks of his brother's blood and brains peppered across one side of his head and shoulders.

Slowly Arlene lowered the gun. "Quick, I keep my word at least," she said out loud, the words only having meaning for herself.

The silence that followed lasted for two heartbeats before the live prisoner began screaming.

It was high pitched and hysterical, odd sounding from a man as large as him. It seemed more suited to a young child than a grown man. It continued unabated while Arlene put the safety back on the gun, tucking it into the waist of her jeans. She fished for a thermos and a couple of mugs from her bag, handing one to Sondra. The two women settled down on their chairs, sipping from their metal mugs as the naked man continued to scream, the terror and rage in his cries suffocating his reason. He strained helplessly against his bonds, fighting to be free but there was no escape. Arlene was content to let him trash, for him to wear himself out. He had questions to answer still, and she had promised him a slow death although it wasn't something she was going to share with him, at least not right now.

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

Erica had spent one night in Durham NC before this. It was during the period after Amos had been murdered, Erica hopping from one motel to another, one city to the next, state after state as she sought to avoid detection.

All that meant was that while she was familiar enough with the local Motel 6, she knew next to nothing about the city proper.

Destry had driven so Erica had been free to relax in the passenger seat. She had returned to the kitchen two times, each time Destry had merely glanced at her outfit changes, given a noncommittal grunt and she had returned upstairs to change once more. It seemed that black jeans and a t-shirt weren't going to cut it as far as he was concerned.

Finally, she cracked. All Destry heard was a shout of "I'll be back soon," before the front door slammed and Erica took off in her car to Chase city, parking up at the first clothing store she came across, Erica went completely against her normal tendency to try on multiple outfits, agonizing over which was the best fit or look for her. This time she spied something on a shop mannequin as she entered, deciding it would do for her. Purchase complete she sped back to Arlene's home.

The young woman had loped up the stairs, bag in hand while Destry fought to keep the grin from his face. He failed and Erica could hear his snorts of laughter as she pulled on the new outfit.

Destry's mocking humor dried up fast enough however when Erica reappeared at the kitchen doorway a few minutes later.

"Damn girl. That's enough to get a dead man dancing," he'd muttered by way of compliment.

She had bought a tie back bodycon dress, the blue metallic form fitting outfit accenting her petite frame perfectly. Erica then gave him a slow twirl, revealing how much of her back was left bare by the dress. Sondra's 'Boo', having given his thumbs up, then ushered her into his own car as they had to get on the road.

It was early evening when Destry pulled into the parking lot beside the club. There were no lines outside yet, the show not due to start for another two hours but Destry had a job to do so Erica joined him as he made his way into the club.

There were some others already there, bar staff and other club employee's and also some others who like Destry were part of the technical crew dealing with lights, sound etc. Sondra's boyfriend seemed to know each and every person working there, taking a minute to introduce Erica around. After a bewildering series of faces and names, he left her sitting comfortably on a barstool, bottle of beer in hand while he went to work.

Although nobody was actually interacting with her, they were all too busy preparing for the night ahead, Erica felt comforted by the presence of so many people. She'd spent most of the last year separated from friends and family. True, she had made new friends, good, loyal friends, better friends than she truly deserved. But a part of her yearned for the time before she began her investigation into the graffiti killings, back when all she had wanted to do was get a good job as a reporter, hang with the friends she'd made in college, sit with her parents late in the evening as they discussed current events, politics and whatever else took their fancy.

She didn't realize until now how lonely she had become, adrift from everyone around her. Sitting on the stool, looking at the burnished chrome décor of the club, the empty dance floor, surrounded by a sea of small empty tables, all waiting to be filled by happy people, people unaware or uncaring of the darkness in the world about them. Erica had been one of them not so long ago, swallowing her beer she vowed that for tonight at least she would be one of them again.

Episode 3: "By three methods we may learn wisdom. First, by reflection, which is the noblest. Second, by imitation, which is the easiest and third by experience, which is the bitterest." Confucius

The bar was hopping. Every table seemed to be overflowing with half consumed drinks, every chair filled by men and women hell bent on enjoying themselves.

Arlene sat alone at her table, empty glass in front of her. Sondra and she had already polished off two pitchers of beer, the black woman was now leaning against the bar ordering their third. They had barely spoken these last few hours. Arlene knew her own silence was by choice. She wasn't sure why Sondra was being quiet, but she had a pretty good idea.

The Deputy Sheriff wasn't particularly proud of her actions this day. Not that she regretted them, no, not for an instant. If she had any regrets, it was that she'd been forced to draw others, people she cared for, into this darkness.

The file Lincoln had given her that morning had held a brief but thorough bio on the two men held prisoner in that lonely, abandoned building. First and foremost, it had contained their names and that was one of the many things Arlene was drinking to forget. Thinking of them as the two masked individuals who had kidnapped her, men employed to do her harm was easier than thinking of them as siblings, humans, men with names, identities.

After she'd shot the younger of the two and his older brother's screams had tailed off to hoarse whimpering sobs, Arlene had begun her mission to extract information.

That was when Sondra had become quiet.

Arlene could have done more damage to him, was willing, eager even to do more. She'd never felt a cold rage for a human than she had for the naked man tied to that chair. However, it had taken relatively little to break him.

Two broken fingers, a smashed little toe and the idea that the hammer she clutched in her hand would soon be employed against his crotch was all that was needed to get him talking.

Between sobbing pleas for mercy, laments for his brother and the occasional impotent vow of revenge whenever his spine stiffened momentarily, the man had provided some useful information.

First, he had surrendered the passcode for the burner phone that had been discovered on him when Trent and Lincoln had taken him prisoner. Once in the phone, the man had shown the number of 'The Hockey Fan' as Arlene thought of his boss. On the phone he was saved under the name 'Chief'.

Scrolling through the messages stored there, Arlene saw that descriptions of both herself and Erica had been circulated weeks ago by their boss with instructions that if spotted the two women were to be kept under observation and their activities reported to The Hockey Fan.

The two men who had captured Arlene hadn't been the ones to spot her, this information must have been relayed to The Hockey Fan by another source, someone else who for the moment she could not identify. Reading the texts Arlene saw how The Hockey Fan had contacted the two brothers, delivering them instructions about her capture. Arlene had pressed the man as to how he had come to be employed by this man. The tale he spun was garbled and no doubt laced with lies but the core of it Arlene believed to be true. A few years ago, these two half-brothers had killed a young family in a badly planned and executed home invasion. Somehow their crime had been uncovered by The Hockey Fan and he had used it as leverage, along with a promise of financial rewards, to entice the men to work for him.

Satisfied that he had no more information for her, Arlene had casually sliced his throat. While the big black man had gurgled and thrashed out his last moments of life, she had stood by impassively, barely aware of his pitiful struggling as she typed a message into the phone.

'Woman back. You want us to give her another lesson?'

The reply was quick in coming. 'Kill her.'

Arlene had chewed on her lip, staring at the two words on the screen. It hadn't been the response she'd expected but in hindsight she really should have. Erica was the one who seemed of some interest to Butterman, but in the great scheme of things who was Arlene to them? An annoying low ranking law enforcement officer who was easy to dispense with if she became too troublesome.

She was about to tell Sondra what had been sent back when the phone beeped again with another message.

"Wait. Don't kill her. Observe her only. Update me tomorrow."

She had released a pent-up breath that she'd been unaware she was holding before she'd stuffed the phone into her back pocket. Then, workman like, Arlene had set about cleaning up the scene of the double execution, she refused to consider it a homicide. A pick and shovel in the back of her SUV and a few hours of hard labor had seen both bodies covered by the earth. Bleach, water and some judicious wiping of any surfaces she or Sondra might have touched then covered their tracks inside the building itself.

A fire in the old building would have done a better job in covering up incriminating evidence but it would also have drawn attention to the long-abandoned farmhouse. Anyone showing up would surely have seen the freshly dug patch of earth not fifty feet behind the house. Given its remote location, Arlene had little doubt that the grave would remain undiscovered.

Now in the bar, she felt the weight of the burner phone in her jacket pocket. She wasn't even wearing her jacket, it hung on the back of her chair, but she could still sense it there, a malevolent spirit, a connection to an evil man.