Loved by Mr. Night

Chapter 11

"We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere." - Ted Bundy

October 31, two years earlier

The 440 engine of the Dodge Dart roared to maximum pitch as Joe floored it down the interstate. A line of state troopers followed behind in a wake of sirens and horn blaring. What should have been a quick and easy bank robbery turned into a major gaff that resulted in the deaths of a zealous employee and one officer who was trying to cash a check during his lunch break.

The cigarette, clenched in his teeth, red tip flaring every few seconds as he threaded the traffic in an effort to escape his would be captors. Joseph Anthony Capella was in the zone. He easily navigated the American muscle through the rolling maze of SUV's, minivans, and eighteen-wheelers, laughing as the gap between him and law enforcement widened.

When he got a little breathing room, he checked the GPS mounted in the dash. It was another five miles till the next exit off the I-85. He passed the giant peach of the shopping outlet in Gaffney. The King Mountain National Park in North Carolina wasn't too far off. Pretty soon, he would have two states chasing him down. While he was a great driver, this wasn't Smokey and the Bandit. Cops nowadays had spike strips, reinforced grills, and training in PIT maneuvers.

The scanner he had tucked away for such emergencies crackled, he soon learned of a road block waiting for him over the next few rises. He had to disappear and quickly. Another look at the GPS showed him nothing, causing him to curse, biting through filter on his Camel.

He eased his foot off the accelerator, the traffic ahead bunching up, the early signs of his welcoming party. He frantically looked at the wall of trees, to the right and the left, anything for a option. Across the median, he saw a thin opening in the stand of forest. Without a second thought, he tore through the wildflowers and into oncoming traffic.

Tires burned into the asphalt and horns screamed bloody murder as the rocketing speedster shot across traffic. The Dart flew through the air as it left the highway, tires spitting loose dirt and clumps of grass before landing in the meadow. Joe fought the wheel, steering the car at the dirt path. He yelled in triumph as the car straightened out, right between two large pine trees.

He drove deeper into the woods, the afternoon sun slowly blocked out by the thick foliage, until he could no longer see the highway in his rear view. He let the car coast to a crawl, rolled down the window and took a listen. There was only the sound of the wind through the trees. He got out of the car, and looked back down the path.

Nobody was following him. He crouched low, peeking down the road. He casually put a fresh smoke between his lips, lighting it with glee when the Dodge began to cough, sputter, and suddenly died. He turned around, jumped back in and tried to get it started to no avail. When the cranking produced nothing but grinding, he quit, beating on the wheel in frustration.

"People don't know me. They think they do, but they don't" - Andrew Cunanan

This was the only good thing in his miserable life. Left to him by a abusive step-father; he reclaimed it from him, bludgeoning him to death with the business end of a pick-ax. It belonged to his biological father originally, a gear head GI from Brooklyn that fell in love with a barefoot mountain gal from the Adirondacks while on leave. When he died of suspicious causes one night in the local quarry, a bear of a man took over the duties of breadwinner, disciplinarian, and target of Joe's scorn.

That was his first kill. He found it invigorating to take the life of a man that provided nothing but aggravating pounding on his bedroom wall late at night, a usual after work routine of f*****g a drunken woman who was once his mother.

She was next, a pillow over the face. It was during the struggle that she flailed, constantly grabbing at his groin. He also had his first erection. Living in the Appalachia mountains, there were few neighbors to deal with so hiding the crime scene was too easy. From there, he packed little into the car and took off.

For the next few years, he traveled up and down the interstate, never straying too far from I-85, never staying in one place too long. He honed the art of killing, never repeating the same routine twice. All his victims were random: male, female, gun, knife, hands, day and night. He was a profiler's enigma, if they knew who he was. His crimes weren't lined because he had no M.O.

He killed because people pissed him off, no more, no less. As the years went by, his temper grew shorter and his actions sloppier. He never used his personal car before today and now he was paying the ultimate price.

He had no care for humanity, just for that car, which he just unwittingly killed in the darkening woods.

Pulling smoke from the Camel into his lungs, he walked around the metal beast, kicking away the clusters of mud and broken twigs from the under panels. He looked down the road he was traveling, seeing nothing but forest on either side. It was narrowing, only one car could pass at a time, if there was another car. At least a half-hour had passed since Joe had landed on the mired road and he hadn't seen or heard a soul.

The chill of the early evening made him shiver, zip up his jacket. As much as he wanted to roll up his sleeves and pop the hood, standing around any longer was eating into his good fortune. He snatched the burlap sack full of cash and his duffel bag out of the backseat and headed further up the road.

Within a mile, he realized that the car wouldn't have done him any good even in showroom condition. The narrow road squeezed into a muddy path, brambles tearing at his jacket and hair. He thought about turning back, but the events of the past few hours hung in the balance with his next move. For all he knew, a squadron of law enforcement with canines were just out of earshot.

The path all about closed in on him when suddenly, the brush gave way and he found himself on a road again. Well traveled soil, packed firm led the way to a town in the distance. He took a look around in the last of the sunlight at the tiny town standing before him. A battered wooden sign on the right announced his destination,Summersend.

No town he ever heard of. He hitched the bag higher on his shoulder, brushed the leaves out of his hair and walked onward. The paved road soon became a street, modest homes, proof that people still built with their hands dotted the landscape.

He noticed the pumpkins first. Lining the road on both sides, Intricate jack-o-lanterns, one in front of each house. Halloween was in full swing. He never had the opportunity, or the care, to dress up, panhandle candy from neighbors, grab apples from a tub of water, or any of that kiddie bullshit.

He heard music as he got closer to the middle of town. He stuck closer to the shadows, keeping on the lookout for Johnny Law. He ducked into an alley, hiding from a group of children that ran by in costume, giggling as they pulled a lit pumpkin behind them in a red wagon. He stayed hidden for a period, watching the activities from the dark.

"Even psychopaths have emotions, then again, maybe not." - Richard Ramirez

The town square was full of people, singing a chorus of unknown melodies. People were dressed in all manner of costume. Werewolves, ghosts, and clowns paraded around the large gazebo. Children and adults congregated in joyous celebration. No officers scanning the crowd, no flashing lights or any signs of alarm. Joe took a deep breath, still scanning the crowd when he felt the presence of someone else.

"You're not in costume."

Joe whirled around at the voice, hand reaching for the butt of his automatic. He faced a young girl, no more than twenty. She was dressed in green tights, a matching tunic. He guessed Peter Pan until he saw the large ox bow in her hand, maybe Robin Hood. She just stared at him.

"Everybody is in costume for All Hallows."

"I didn't get the memo." He stayed on edge, eyes darting around the rest of the alleyway.

She c****d her head to the side, like a dog waiting for a treat. He stared at her open neck, feeling himself harden, thinking about his last victim. It was a couple of weeks ago, a tobacco field in Raleigh. He found that one in a bar, looking to score fast money to feed her addiction. Her neck in the moonlight turned him on, but the stink of her greed caused him to end her life. Now, he was having that familiar feeling.

"Memo?"

"I'm not from around here, just passing through."

"That's obvious, or you would be in costume."

What was the deal with being dressed for a stupid holiday? Joe couldn't understand the line of questioning. His alley guest walked past him into the street, turning back with her head and beckoning him to follow.

For reasons he couldn't fathom at the time, he followed her. They moved into the crowd, people stopping and staring as his plain clothes. He heard the whispering and got more nervous. All eyes seemed to be staring at him. All he needed was a ride, perhaps a hostage, and he could blow this town.

"Dad," the girl cried out, taking Joe by the hand and pulling him to a portly gentleman dressed as a pumpkin. Joe flinched at the icy chill of her fingers, letting himself be pulled along.

"You're not in costume, sir." The larger man boomed, looking down at him.

"He didn't get the memo?" She looked at Joe for confirmation.

The music died down and the celebration dulled as Joe fidgeted in place. People were staring to notice his presence. If he had Spidey sense, this would be the time when it went off.

"Arlena, where did you find him?" The man asked his daughter.

"He was hiding, probably too embarrassed because he wasn't dressed properly."

Joe looked back into the penetrating eyes of the pumpkin dressed man. He's seen that look many times, staring back at him in the rear view mirror of the Dart.

"So, who are you?"

"James," Joe quickly used an alias. He had to get out of here.

"Well, James," replied the father. "I'm Angus, welcome to Summersend and our celebration of All Hallows Eve." A cheer came up from the crowd and everybody went back to the festivities.

Joe cracked a smile and relaxed a little, feeling the cold squeeze of his hand from Arlena.

"Is there a phone I could borrow?" Joe looked around at the people, keeping out an eye for authority figures.

"Apologies, but we have no rapid means of communication." Angus stared at the young man. "We are purely self-sufficient; merely farmers and simple townsfolk. We really have no need to socialize with anyone not of this village."

As strange as that was, Joe realized that his luck was better than he hoped. A little town that kept to themselves wouldn't know anything about the bank robbery. He was probably the first visitor they have seen in awhile.

"You know," Angus handed him a mug of spiced cider. "You're the first visitor we've had in quite awhile.

Joe sipped from the steaming cup, the concoction immediately warming his bones. He was pulled into the crowd by Arlena, where she re leaved him of his pack and led him into a two-step jaunt. He hoped that the handgun wouldn't jostle loose while he bounced around with the svelte lass. For a minute, he felt human, almost.

Dancing with a pretty lady, not a care in the world, never looking over his shoulder every other tick of time. His hand around her waist, feeling the tender curve of her fleshy hips, that feeling rode up the back of his neck again. The feeling to turn warm skin cold, buried in a field.

He begged off another round of dancing, crashing onto a pile of hay near the edge of the dancing area. He was brought another mug of cider by someone dressed as a Viking. He sipped it, the syrupy concoction sliding down into his gullet, making him very comfortable.

"Isn't this wonderful?" Arlena joined him on the bale of hay, slightly out of breath. Joe watched the steam roll from her nostril and pinked lips as she spoke. "This night is so special."

"It's OK, I guess." He tried to offer some of his mug, but she refused.

"I wouldn't think of it," she smiled as she pushed the cup back towards him. "That is for guests only."

Joe tried to follow her words, but couldn't catch everything over the rousing chorus of another song. It was more of a chant, very off key. He tried to follow the words, but they didn't even rhyme. He watched as the men began running kindling around the large stack of lumber. A bonfire.

"Why is it so special?" Joe took another sip. He began to feel giddy, buzzed even, but there was no trace alcohol in the cider.

"Because, I'm a virgin." She shyly cast her eyes away from him. "This is the night when I will choose my first."

Joe immediately stopping fiddling with the cup. Had he heard her right? She kept her eyes averted, a deep blush rising upon her cheeks, adding to red from the biting winds. He had a virgin before. A college coed from Georgia tech. Groomed her for weeks, actually thinking she would give of herself freely. When she balked, he beat her in a fit of rage, her face unrecognizable by the time he was done. He pulled her teeth out and cut off her fingers to give him time to put distance between him and Atlanta. He had another virgin put before him, but there would be no wasting time walks in the park and trips to the movies.

"You just decided, tonight is the night to..." He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Actually, it's been decided for quite awhile." She turned her face up to him. "The only question was with who." She pointed to a lanky young man, dressed as a scarecrow. "That's Sean. He doesn't realize that he was going to be my choice."

Joe watched in muted exuberance as the scarecrow chatted with friends. The unlucky bastard. When he turned back, Arlena was sitting closer to him, thigh pressed against his. He hand was wedged in between them, he felt the thin material rub against his knuckles. He hardened instantly, placing the cup over his groin to block his arousal.

"Would you do me the honor, James?"

"Who is.." Joe caught himself before spilling the beans. "Only if you're sure. I don't like it when people break promises. It's rather rude." His hand tightened around the mug.

"There is no waiting, it has to be tonight." She grabbed him by the shoulder, squeezing more powerfully than a female of her stature should.

"OK, then." James winced at the talon like fingers digging into his flesh. He put down the cup and grabbed her by the icy digits, leading her away from the crowd. Arlena turned once, waving to her father , who returned a swooping salute before barking orders to the men gathered around the stack of woods, soaking it with oil.

"None of us are saints..." - Albert Fish

Arlena took the lead, pulling him along the road towards a patch of woods, pumpkins lighting the way. Joe tried to keep the pace, his mind racing a mile a minute.

Could he perform with a willing partner? He always expected a fight, a struggle. It gave him heightened pleasure when they resisted. Here was a woman, a beautiful woman, who was determined to have him. What if she laughed at him? He decided that ending her life was inevitable.

When they reached the clearing, Arlena let go of his hand. She walked slowly backwards in the grass, waiting for him to follow.. She removed her hat, red hair cascaded over her shoulders as she shook the curls free of their felt prison. Next, she removed the tunic, casting it aside in the grass. She stood before him, topless in the moonlight. Her n*****s jutted out firm, iced cherries on two snowcapped peaks.

Joe began shucking off his clothes, tossing the firearm onto the pile with his jacket and shirt. As he struggled with the boots, he watched her peel off the spandex bottoms till she was naked. As cold as it was, Joe still felt warm from the cider he was sipping on all night.

Kicking the final boot off, he approached her in the lush grass. She grabbed him by the hands, pulling him closer until he felt the sharp pokes of her n*****s into his sternum. She pulled him down onto the grass, laying him down onto his back. The grass felt soft against his skin, like an expensive mattress.

She rubbed her palms over his face, tracing a path over his collarbone, down his chest. She drew patterns across his stomach and down his thighs, humming a tune he'd never heard of. His c**k bobbed back and forth, he waited for her to take it in her palms. He reached out for her, but the pleasure of the grass against his skin, combined with the continuous rubbing of her hands up and down kept him immobile.

But it did not take long for him to strangle her until she choked and gasped and thought of clawing his face. He knew that he had to leave the country next morning…find a new place. New country…and new women to kill.