Read The Girl in the Woods Online
Authors: David Jack Bell
The Girl in the Woods (28 page)
Before he left the truck, he dug around in the cab looking for anything else he needed to remove, anything that might link him to the cop. It looked like the guy was in school. Roger found some papers covered with math equations and a couple of thick textbooks. He also found some loose change, a tube of deodorant and a baseball glove, but nothing he thought he needed to take.
Roger stepped out of the cab and closed the door. He tossed the keys back into the woods and heard them land somewhere out of sight with a metallic jangle.
Do I need to wipe my prints off the car? he wondered. He shook his head. Not enough time to do that. He had a long hike back to the house and then the girl to deal with. He started walking.
The sun had started to slide down the western sky. It was late afternoon, getting on close to three or four, and while Roger walked he thought about the day's events. He had killed a man, plain and simple. He had never meant to hurt anyone, and just thinking about the cop's death, the way his head exploded and went all over the walls, made the tears return to Roger's eyes. He felt sorry for the cop, even though he knew the cop had come to do him harm. To take the girl away. But it didn't change the fact that Roger felt bad, like someone innocent had come along and gotten mixed up in what was going on, and now that things were mixed up, they were going to get mixed up even more. One thing had led to another. First the cop, then the car.
And now the girl. His girl. His wife.
What was he going to do with her?
He had decided in the clearing that the girl had to go, that with the cop and whoever else coming near the house, it was simply too risky to keep her around. And he couldn't very well just turn her loose and hope she didn't tell on him. He knew she'd promise not to tell, but she'd end up doing it anyway. The police would talk to her and make her say where she'd been all that time, and when everything came out, the police would show up at his door and take him away. So there seemed only one way out of the mess.
But as he walked, he tried to convince himself that he overreacted in the clearing. Maybe, he thought, the footprints belonged to the cop. If that were the case, he had taken care of the problem, so long as the truck remained undiscovered for a while and then, when it was discovered, they didn't trace it back to Roger. Maybe he didn't have to get rid of the girl. Maybe it had been the clearing itself telling him to do that thing, but it didn't mean it was right. He wasn't sure if everything that came to him there was right or proper, although he wanted to think it was. He wanted to believe the clearing guided him in all things and wouldn't steer him wrong.
But the girl? Hadn't the clearing brought him the girl? Why would it want to take her away?
Roger was halfway home. He walked along the side of an empty field, and off in the distance stood a lonely and weathered barn that looked like it was about to collapse in on itself and shrink into the ground. The more he walked, the better he felt. He started to believe the girl could stay. He'd have to be more careful with her. He couldn't let her out of the ropes much at all, not for a very long time. He couldn't have a repeat of what happened earlier with her putting her foot through the window. But if he took care of her and watched her, maybe he could let her stay.
Maybe.
He heard the car approaching from behind him, but he didn't pay it any attention. He was lost in his own thoughts and looked forward to getting back to the girl. Maybe now, with the mess cleaned up—except for the bedroom wall, he couldn't forget that—their routine would begin. A lot of maybes, he knew, but lots of maybes were better than nothing.
The car came even with Roger and slowed.
"Excuse me?"
Roger looked. It was a cop car from Union Township. White with blue letters and blue lights on the top. Roger stopped walking and turned and stared. The cop was a young guy wearing mirrored sunglasses, and he leaned one arm out the window while the other held the wheel. He looked friendly enough, but Roger knew that could be a trick.
"Car break down?" the cop said.
Roger didn't respond. He thought of running off into the field, off toward the old barn, but he knew it was a ridiculous idea. The cop would find and catch him. He'd run the car right through the field and maybe run Roger over. He couldn't run.
"Sir?" the cop said.
Roger shook his head. "Just walking."
The cop nodded. "You haven't seen a guy out here in a black pick-up truck, a Ford F-150? He's twenty-two, shaved head. Tall. Have you seen anyone like that while you've been walking?"
"No, sir. I didn't see anybody."
"Do you have identification on you?"
Roger patted his back pocket. He hadn't brought his wallet. He drove the cop's truck without it, but it was okay now because he wasn't driving.
"I don't have it. It's at home." He pointed in the direction of the house but dropped his arm. What if the cop wanted to go there and get it with the girl upstairs and the broken window? And the blood?
"What's your name?"
Roger told him.
"And where do you live?"
Roger had no choice but to give the address. The nausea crept up the back of his throat. His tongue felt swollen and thick like a giant sponge. The cop looked Roger up and down. He was thinking about something, sizing Roger up, reaching a conclusion about him.
Roger's stomach felt nervous. He farted, but the cop didn't seem to notice or else didn't care.
"Why are you walking out here?" the cop said.
Roger hesitated. "I just like to walk. I like to get out and look around. I'm going hunting this weekend, and I wanted to see where I should go."
The cop's face didn't change. He didn't speak. He stared at Roger, and Roger fought to stand still, even though every inch of his body became itchy all at once.
Finally, the cop nodded. "You have a license to hunt."
"Yes, sir."
"If you see that man I told you about or his truck, you call us. Okay?"
"Yes, sir. Is he wanted? Is he dangerous?"
Sometimes Roger surprised himself with his ability to lie. He almost smiled but didn't.
"He's not dangerous," the cop said. "We're just looking for him."
Roger nodded. "If I see him, I'll call."
"Thanks." The cop gave Roger another long look. He seemed to be satisfied with what he saw because he drove away.
When he was out of sight, Roger felt like someone had lifted a ton of bricks off his chest. He did smile then, and he started walking toward home.
His smile quickly faded.
The cop. They were already looking for him.
"Shit," he said. "Goddamn."
The girl had to go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Roger trudged upstairs as soon as he returned home. He was tired and sweaty, despite the cool fall temperatures, and his legs felt like lead posts. He wanted to lie down, to take a nap and just forget about everything. The cops, the girl, the clearing. But he knew he couldn't. He knew if he let his guard down, if he stopped or slowed, he'd wind up in trouble. He forced himself to keep going.
When he entered the bedroom, he found the girl unmoved and unchanged. She was still tied to the bed, still quiet. She grunted a little when he came in, and there were tears on her face, which made Roger feel bad. He felt sorry for her too. She didn't understand that she was part of something bigger as well, that she had been chosen by the clearing to come and be his wife. And now she had to go back to the clearing.
Roger walked to the far side of the bed, the side where the blood and brains of the cop still decorated the wall. He planned to take care of that later, after he had taken care of the girl. He had some white paint in the garage. And bleach. He thought about making the girl clean it up but decided against it. She was too upset, and it seemed cruel. He'd have to get used to doing the cleaning now anyway.
Roger stood over her, and the girl's eyes widened. She'd just seen a man murdered before her eyes, a murder committed by Roger, and now Roger stood over her like a looming tower. He looked at her feet and the cuts there. They had stopped bleeding. He felt relieved about that, then wondered why he cared. If the girl was going away, what did it matter if she bled or not?
His eyes moved up her body. He saw a wet stain in her middle. She had had to go to the bathroom and when he didn't take her, she'd been forced to pee herself. Roger looked away. It made him sad to see her look so pathetic. He started untying the ropes.
While he untied, the girl came to life. She started to squirm and grunt. He started to yell at her but stopped himself. Let her do it, he thought. Who cares?
He untied the rope that bound her to the bed frame but left her hands tied together. He did the same with her feet. She could move off the bed but couldn't move her hands or feet freely. She lay still on the bed, looking up at Roger, waiting.
"We're going somewhere," he said.
She grunted, but he knew what she meant.
Where?
Where?
He couldn't take the tape off her mouth. She'd make too much noise. She'd scream and pitch a fit. He used to think no one could hear her out there, but maybe that wasn't so. Maybe the cops were all around, waiting. Still, he wanted to leave the tape on for a different reason. He couldn't bear to hear her screams or pleas or cries.
He picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder. Her weight felt like a child's after carrying the cop earlier in the day.
"We're going to the clearing," he said.
The girl kicked a little while they went down the stairs, but when Roger picked up the shovel, she screamed and kicked enough that she almost knocked Roger down. Roger felt the anger grow inside of him, a hot pressure that burned against the inside of his rib cage, but he didn't do anything about it. He didn't want to hit the girl or yell at her. He tightened his grip on both her and the shovel and started into the woods.
* * *
By the time Roger started for the clearing, the sun was slipping away, leaving a red smear across the skyline in its wake. As he moved down the path, ignoring the branches and vines that whipped against his legs, Roger felt the familiar stirrings the clearing always brought on. And this time, for whatever reason, it came over him with a more desperate sense of hunger, a more intense longing for the pleasures the clearing offered. Maybe it was because those pleasures were about to end. His mother always said,
You never miss the water 'til the well runs dry
. Roger never fully understood that saying of his mom's until that very moment. His pleasures, which were already dwindling, were going to end, once and for all. Nothing would ever be the same. He thought about taking a different wife, waiting for everything to calm down and the trouble to go away, and then starting over with someone new, someone the clearing directed him toward. But it seemed more and more impossible the more he thought about it. Even if they didn't put him in jail and send him away, they'd be watching him, following him. They'd keep coming back and coming back.
You never miss the water 'til the well runs dry
. Roger never fully understood that saying of his mom's until that very moment. His pleasures, which were already dwindling, were going to end, once and for all. Nothing would ever be the same. He thought about taking a different wife, waiting for everything to calm down and the trouble to go away, and then starting over with someone new, someone the clearing directed him toward. But it seemed more and more impossible the more he thought about it. Even if they didn't put him in jail and send him away, they'd be watching him, following him. They'd keep coming back and coming back.
The girl had calmed down and was almost still. Roger felt the bittersweet, painful pleasure grow inside him as he moved closer to the clearing. He remembered both his mother's funeral and his father's funeral, the way he had been forced to say goodbye to them at the cemetery as they were lowered into the ground, and it felt as though they had simply evaporated, disappeared off the face of the earth like someone had engineered a giant magic trick. For days after each funeral, Roger thought they'd come back, thought they'd re-emerge as though they'd merely been on a long trip, and when he realized they really weren't coming back, it was like they had died all over again, a second death that hurt even worse than the first. Roger didn't want to go through that again. He didn't want to be fooled by his own stupid head and his own stupid heart. He wanted to make a clean break and leave the girl behind in the clearing, once and for all.
He saw the opening in the trees and came in sight of the spot, felt his pleasure grow like steam in a boiler.
The sunlight was almost gone from the sky above the trees, the clearing nearing full dark. Roger laid the girl down in the center and stood over her. She watched him with frightened eyes while he brought out his knife. He flicked it open and bent down, cutting the rope that bound her wrists and ankles with quick, certain movements. The girl rubbed her hands, bringing circulation back, and Roger stood over her with the knife still open. He waited, thinking she might try to run, but she didn't. She remained on the ground, staring up at him. He bent down again and pulled the tape off her mouth. It made a long, ripping sound, and the girl gasped when it was gone, taking deep breaths after the long deprivation.
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