The Camaro Murders by Ian Lewis

Author:Ian Lewis [Lewis, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION
ISBN: 9781611871418
Publisher: Untreed Reads Publishing
Published: 2011-08-08T04:00:00+00:00

The Driver’s Bequest

October 30th, 1986

The Driver keeping watch

The little girl on the cot is silent, curled up in the fetal position. The last of the daylight is waning through the cottage’s only window and falls near her feet.

I have a lot to explain to her, but I don’t know where to start. A year ago I found myself on one of the cots like her, and Jasper was sitting in the folding chair like I am now. The role reversal doesn’t make it easier.

It doesn’t matter that they tell you not to watch the first time, because you know what’s coming. You know what’s going to take place in a bedroom, an alley, or some desolate field.

A life will be taken by force, and however it comes to be, you will watch with the fascination of a child seeing something hideous, twisted, or gross for the first time. By then it’s too late to look away.

They warn you for good reason. What unfolds is often brutal. The first time, most usually double over and retch, and then wait for the bile and stomach juices which never come. Protests go unheard; screams are in vain. The most dangerous thing is to pity or empathize with the victim. This is the mistake I made with the girl.

“I saw you running through the woods, and then out into the field,” I say to let her know I was there. She needs to understand it wasn’t a dream. “The biting air and rapid breathing stung your throat, and your vision blurred as your eyes began to water. But you didn’t cry, even though you were scared.

“He was following you; you could hear his gasps as he pursued you. The sky was like the pale water colors you painted in class. Could he hear your heart beating? It must have been so loud. It was echoing in your head.

“You wondered why your legs wouldn’t move faster. They were short, moving as fast as they could. And your little black shoes, they weren’t made for running—weren’t made for escaping.

“The ribbon in your hair came undone. It looked so cute that morning, but you thought it was probably lost in the brown and gold of the field. You thought he would trample it as he got closer, smashing it into the mud with his desperate stride.

“Then the tree line disappeared as you squinted, running with all your might. The creek was beyond the trees. If you could make it across the creek…just across the creek!

“That’s when he got close. You leaned forward, because you feared he was grasping for you. But you lost your balance. You fell, and he was on top of you. You could smell him: his acrid breath, the perspiration in his musty clothes. Then you found you had not lost your ribbon after all; it was only tangled in your hair.

“Jasper and I drove you away from there, not wanting you to look back at the field. You didn’t need to see what was left behind.

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