| |
––––––––
Trees draped with Spanish moss created ghostly shadows along the sides of the rode as Beau drove to the river. The rain had cleared and the stars poked out from behind drifting clouds. The only sound in his ears was the hum of his engine and the thumping of his heart. Anger flowed through his veins, burning away every ounce of his restraint.
The faces of the girls who had demoralized him at the game, who had taken away his chance at stardom, drifted in and out of his head. He couldn’t let them get away with any of it.
He hankered for a way to satiate his desire to hurt someone. The lot empty, he left his car by the entrance and made his way across the shells, the crunching of his shoes the only sound around him. He followed the path to the beach. Just as he was about to step through the thick brush running along the shoreline, the lone howl of a dog sailed through the air. He came to a grinding halt and listened.
No way! Is that what I think it is?
He checked the brush. He sure didn’t want to end up eaten by one of those damned wild dogs. That would be a shitty way to go.
His toes hit the sand and disappointment shredded his hope. There were no early birds to the party. All was quiet.
He kicked at the water clawing the sand along the shore, thinking about what might have been. Could he redeem himself? Could he still find a way to play college ball?
Images of a life at the brewery or sitting behind his father’s big desk left him feeling weak in the knees. He didn’t want that life, and he would be damned if he would settle.
Suddenly the sounds of rushing water became like the roar of the crowd at the football game. He wanted peace and no reminders of what had just happened. There was only one place where he could be truly alone. He headed across the beach to the path leading toward The Abbey.
His feet pounded the ground, declaring his frustration. He needed another girl, someone else to destroy.
Beau turned right at the broken fountain, smirking at the praying angel.
“Nobody’s listening, buddy.”
He set out across the high grass, running his fingers along the tips of the shoots. The tickling sensation added to his throbbing need to pulverize flesh and bone.
He debated what to do with the rest of his life. Perhaps with his days free of the hassle of football practice, he could pursue other extracurricular activities. The kind used to enhance his burgeoning interest in pain.
Apprehension zinged through him when he stepped inside the cells. The warm light from flickering candles danced on the walls around him. Someone was in his room.
He hugged the wall, ready to tear into whoever had dared to steal what was his. He paused at the doorway and peeked into his room, trying to get an idea of what he was up against.
The flare of a lit cigarette in the shadows of the room caught his eye.
“Told you I would be in touch.”
Andrea stretched out on the cot, a coat wrapped around her, staving off the chill in the room. The color of her hair intermingled with a red scarf draped around her neck as she reclined. A slender sliver of a smile welcomed him inside.
He wiped his hands together, imagining things he would like to do with that scarf. “I needed to see a friendly face tonight.”
“I figured your friends would be at the beach by now and I didn’t want to be seen.” She put out her cigarette in the wall behind her. “So, I came here.”
Beau approached the cot, his desire to hurt her charging to life. “They’re probably still at the football game.”
She sat up and shimmied closer to him. “And why aren’t you at the game?”
His heavy sigh resonated like a howling wind inside the small room. He leaned over the cot, apprehensive about saying too much.
“That’s a long story.”
She traced her finger along the blue vein running up his left forearm. “You’ve got all night to tell me about it.”
He ogled her tight jeans and her long legs. “I’m not in the mood for talking.” He took a tendril of her silky hair between his fingers. “What I really need right now is to forget.”
She stood from the cot, curling her arms around his neck. “You don’t even want to talk about what’s bothering you?”
Her hair sifted through his fingers. He was anxious to change the subject. “I know nothing about you. Where do you go to school? You never mentioned any place before.”
“I’m not in school.”
She smiled and he noticed the slight gap in her front teeth.
“Why were you hanging around here the other night?”
“It was by chance.” Her deep green eyes gazed into his. “I was partying with friends on the river and wandered off. I’m glad I did.”
Beau got excited at the thought of her being all his for the night. “Where are your friends? Did you come alone?”
She ran her hand up his chest. “Yep. I’m all alone.” She took her lower lip in her teeth and then let it go. “And all yours.”
Unable to wait any longer, Beau held Andrea by the back of the neck and kissed her. It was a long, slow, deep kiss. The kind he never liked to give, but with her, it just felt right.
A howl came from the direction of The Abbey.
Andrea pulled away, listening to the air. “Sounds like the wild dogs are close by tonight.”
He nuzzled her neck, not giving a damn about the dogs. “You know about them?”
“I did a little research on this place. Talked to a few of the locals.” She moved away from him. “There’s quite a legend about it.”
He watched her hips beneath her coat, getting turned on by the painful things he would do to her. “What legends?”
Andrea tossed her head. “The dogs hang around The Abbey waiting for the lady in white to claim them. She was a gamekeeper for the seminary school and a lover of one of the monks. She died on the grounds, betrayed by the man she loved. The dogs were kept to manage the varmint population. The wild dogs are said to be the offspring of her dogs.”
Beau slipped the coat off her shoulders, eager to see more of her. “I’ve lived here all my life and never heard such stories.”
She waited as he put her coat to the side. “Then you don’t listen to the people around here. I also found an old newspaper article in your local library about the gamekeeper and how she was found hanging from a tree in a white hooded priest’s cloak. It was all kept very hush-hush at the time by the Catholic Church. After the woman’s death, her dogs were allowed to roam the grounds and live off the land. They’re said to only appear when death is near.”
Already bored with her story, he unzipped the fly of her jeans, eager to have his hands around her slender throat.
“That’s just creepy.”
She glanced at his hands as they tugged her jeans down her hips. “A guy who brings girls to these abandoned cells is into creepy.”
Beau hesitated, confused. “What’s wrong with the cells?”
He’d never considered himself weird. The cells had been a means to an end—a private quiet place to be with girls. But as he considered her statement, he liked the image the cells portrayed. It was his laboratory, like he’d read about in Frankenstein, where he could experiment and create his own monsters.
She cupped his cheeks and brought his mouth back to hers. “It’s fine for us, but if you find a nice girl, don’t bring her here.”
He chuckled as he traced the outline of her jaw with his finger. “There’s no such thing as nice girls.”
Every girl who pretended to be nice hid a darker element beneath her pink cheeks. They were just as much into pain as he was.
Andrea took the red scarf and lassoed it around his neck. She worked her jeans the rest of the way down and kicked them away. Like an exotic dancer teasing a client, she hooked her fingers along the lacy edges of her pink underwear and slid them down her hips with an alluring grin.
His mouth watered with the things he would do to her. Her panties drifted to the floor, and he moved in. Spinning her around, he spooned into her back and kissed her neck. She smelled like a forest during the height of spring, adding to his desire to possess her.
On the cot, he removed the scarf from around his neck and dangled it in front of Andrea.
She held out her wrists. “Now you’re talking.”
“It’s as if we’re the same.” He cinched the scarf around her wrists. “Don’t you think?”
Their kiss was long and delicious. He broke away only briefly to wiggle out of his sweatshirt and jeans.
“I want to do everything with you, Beau.”
That was all he needed to hear. He quickly collected a condom from his jeans and slipped it on. He settled next to her on the cot.
Initially, he was gentle. He caressed every inch of soft skin, but as his hunger grew, his need to hurt her did too.
She laughed with delight when he hooked the scarf on the exposed pipe in the wall and flipped her over. He caressed the curve of her ass, slapped it, and then she moaned. He didn’t like the sound. To teach her a lesson, he spanked her again and again—each time harder than the one before.
Her body curled inward with every strike, and she trembled beneath him.
“Night of your life, right, baby?”
Beau positioned her hips, thrust deep, and then closed his hands around her throat. He rode her, feeding his need for destruction. The command he had over her every breath made him squeeze tighter. She fought him, struggling under his weight, and his grip tightened. He thought of the game, the referee, Coach Brewer, and all the people he would have loved to strangle at that moment.
Andrea’s face morphed and shifted. Her green eyes turned blue, and her plain features changed. Suddenly, it was Leslie who he rode; his hands were around her neck, his power over her absolute.
Spurred on by his fantasy, his thumbs squeezed into the back of her neck. The sounds of her throes on the cot heightened his pleasure. He could see Leslie’s tears, hear Leslie’s gurgling, feel her nails gouging at his skin, begging him to stop. But he didn’t stop. He squeezed harder and kept on until she would be his.
A dull snap resonated in the room.
Andrea went limp. Beau felt her weight settle in his hands and it took him out of his vision.
He removed his hands and waited for her to suck in a breath, but she didn’t move. He nudged her.
“Hey, wake up.”
He shook her, but she still didn’t move.
“Stop fooling around.”
Beau climbed off her and rolled her on her back. She wasn’t breathing. The dull luster in her eyes scared him to death. She wasn’t pretending.
He stood from the bed; his heart racing and a cold sweat covering his skin.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” He ran his hands through his hair, feeling like he would puke. “Think, Devereaux. Be smart about this.”
He stared at her, her hair fanned out on the cot, and his thoughts turned to Leslie.
Beau threw his hands into the air, spitting as he screamed, “You bitch!”
Pointing at Andrea, he pictured Leslie. “This is your fault. You drove me to this. You’re to blame for everything.” He paced at the entrance to the cell, his chest on fire, his gut cramping as if stabbed by nails. “If you had given in to me that first night, I would never have touched those other girls, or Andrea. You cost me my football career. You’ve destroyed my life!”
Leslie’s smile, the smell of her skin, the throaty charm of her voice—she was the reason for his suffering. She would pay for what she’d done.
Before he could deal with Leslie, he had to do something about Andrea.
He gathered up his clothes. “Get her out of here before the others find out what you’ve done.”
Who the hell cares.
The adrenaline pumping through him slowed. No one would find out. There were no witnesses. No one knew Andrea had been there. All he had to do was get rid of her body and walk away.
A sense of calm eased through him.
You got this.
He took his time dressing. Then he collected Andrea’s clothes and tied them into a ball.
Beau untied the scarf, his fingers lingering on the silky material. He raised it to his nose and breathed in the scent of her. Without a second thought, he put the scarf under his cot. He would keep that, to remember this night.
Her eyes were open, staring up at him. He closed them, but they didn’t stay all the way shut. Unable to take her empty gaze, he turned her to the side. Her neck made a funny crunching sound. Yeah, that was weird.
Before taking her out of the room, he stepped outside to see if he heard any trace of the party beginning at the beach, but it was still quiet. No music, no laughing, no noise at all. Perfect.
In the cells, he thought he saw what looked like a white cloak heading down the corridor toward The Abbey. He was about to head after it when it disappeared. A cold breeze brushed past.
Where did that come from?
The hairs on his arms stood. Someone watched him from somewhere in the shadows—he could feel their eyes on him.
It had to be one of the girls from the game. They had tracked him down.
Ready to rip whoever it was apart with his bare hands, he took off down the corridor, going from room to room, convinced someone had witnessed Andrea’s death.
He reached the door to The Abbey, finding no one. Had they slipped out before being caught? He tried the wooden door, but it wouldn’t budge—the damp must have sealed it shut.
He peered down the corridor. So where had they gone?
Never mind. Get the body out of here.
Where could he put her? How could he hide the evidence?
The only thought that came to mind was the river. He had no shovel, no means of digging a grave. And graves could be unearthed, especially by hungry dogs. The river was the only place he could dump the body and have all the evidence wash away.
Beau picked up her clothes, then hoisted Andrea’s body over his right shoulder. Maneuvering through the dimly lit hallway was not a problem, but when he came to the gap in the wall, he had a dilemma. Beau would have to pull her through the narrow opening.
He set her on the ground and breached the wide crack. Then, he grabbed her feet and tugged her through.
Outside, he thought he heard something. Beau paused, his heart racing, but there was only the wind.
Straining under her weight, he hurried through the grassy field while Andrea’s head bobbed against his back.
At the path, he heard voices coming from the beach. The revelers had arrived.
Hurry!
To his left, gaps in the trees offered glimpses of the rushing Bogue Falaya.
Beau stumbled down the embankment, carrying Andrea’s body to the shoreline. A narrow strip of beach opened up before him. It was good enough.
At the water’s edge, he callously dropped her on the sand, her bundle of clothes landing beside her. He found a Louisiana driver’s license and forty dollars in her coat. The license he tossed into the river and then pocketed the cash. The only other items she had on her were a set of keys and a couple of condoms.
Since he’d not touched or even seen her car, there was no evidence there to worry about. With her keys and the condoms at the bottom of the river, he picked up her clothes.
He couldn’t throw perfectly good clothes into the river. He had to make it look like an accident or an attack of some kind.
Rip them up.
The shirt was easy—the jeans, not so much. The coat took a lot of effort and he was sweating by the time he was done.
Once he saw the items turn the bend in the river, he went back for her.
Beau lifted her from the sand. Something appeared out of the corner of his eye.
He hesitated; someone watched from the line of brush along the shore.
A tall dog came out from the smattering of leaves. Black, with patches of fur missing, it had a long snout and skinny body. It sat on the edge of the beach, studying him.
They only appear when death is near.
Andrea’s words echoed through his head.
He was afraid to move in case the animal attacked. So, he remained still. Andrea’s body got heavier and heavier. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on to her.
Then the dog cocked his head and leaped into the brush, disappearing from view.
Gasping, Beau relaxed, and Andrea’s body almost toppled from his arms.
A shrill laugh came from the direction of the party. The dog must have heard it and been scared away.
With the moonlight shimmering on her ashen skin, he pushed Andrea’s body out into the river, mindful not to get his shoes wet. Her pretty hair spread over the water’s surface, undulating behind her. The current took her faster than he’d hoped. Soon, she vanished around the bend.
All traces of her belonged to the river.
He rinsed his hands in the water as if he were washing away his sins. He envisioned Andrea being swallowed up by the strong current and never seen again. His crime was perfect. She’d come with no one and left with no one. The only person who knew of his interaction with her was now him. Beau was back on top. He could feel it in his bones.
Wiping his footprints from the sand as he backed away, he reached the end of the slender beach.
The brush to his right moved. It wasn’t the wind. There wasn’t any on the beach.
His exasperation quickly smothered his apprehension about Andrea’s death. “Dammit, who are you?”
He went rushing into the brush. He swept leafy twigs and vines aside, determined to find out who had followed him. Anger drove him. He paid little attention to where he went. Beau couldn’t see anything through the trees as he climbed the embankment.
The underbrush disappeared, and he was back on the cleared path from The Abbey. The pounding music rang in his ears. Or was that his heart? He wasn’t sure. He kept on, jogging down the path, searching the brush around him, but all he could find was shadows. Sweat covered his brow, and a spiral of panic rose in his belly.
There couldn’t be a witness. He had committed the perfect crime. Who could have been there?
He thought he heard footfalls behind him. He glanced back over his shoulder as he kept moving forward. He searched for any hint of who it could—
He ran smack into something and almost toppled to the ground.
“Beau?”
He caught himself and raised his head. The familiar deep melodic tone he knew well.
Mitch held out his hand, helping to hold him upright.
Grateful to see a familiar face, he patted Mitch’s thick arm and wiped his brow. He took in his damp hair and the beer in his hand as he caught his breath.
“Dude, you okay? I’ve been looking for you. I saw your car in the lot.”
He glanced back down the path toward the spires of The Abbey. “I was just walking around the old grounds and thought I saw ... something.”
Mitch’s eyes narrowed, almost disappearing in the faint light. “Something? You mean, the ghost?”
Beau shook his head and motioned ahead to the path. “No, this was a person.” His voice became strained. “And I’m going to find them.”
