Only In Darkness

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Massacre Rocks, Idaho 2017

They drove in darkness. It had to be dark. No moonlight, only the headlights of the car as they made their way to where the city disappeared from view, and so did everything else. That is until the fall when some unsuspecting hunter came upon the remains.

But that would take months.

There was still a week or two left before the snows came and hid things, at least what the animals didn't scavenge, and then what was left would show no signs of what happened.

Most of the time, they were never found, and no one seemed to notice or care. They were the bottom feeders of society. s*x offenders, mostly. They had served their time, usually, for a repeat offense—they always repeated—and unlike murder, their cases weren't high-profile. They were shuffled away both by the justice system and the families who bore the shame of sharing their name. So when they came up missing, it usually wasn't much of a concern but a relief.

The interstate off-ramp led through the m******e Rocks state park and toward Devil's Gate Pass, a fitting name for what, according to history, had happened there years ago. Lester Isom had begun referring to the area as "the garbage dump" when it became their routine place for what they had to do. It wasn't a description of how that stretch of Idaho wilderness looked, but rather what they did to it.

During the day, it was a rugged and awe-inspiring country—barren high desert with jutting basalt rock cliffs and sage-covered plains dotted with black lava boulders. At night, it was one of the darkest places in the world. Far from the ambient glow of a city and nestled in the large bowl of an ominous and isolated canyon.

"James Tinker." Richard read the police file as Lester drove. They always made the trips together. They hadn't officially worked as a team since Richard had retired years ago, but this was one assignment neither intended to quit on his own. It would have to be taken from them somehow by others who, by some unfortunate happenstance, ended up knowing the same ugly secrets they did—taken over because they would both be dead before what they must do was finished.

"His victims were a six-year-old and an eight-year-old. Little girls. He didn't even deny it." He closed the file and turned toward the backseat of the car. Their transport was still out cold.

Lester stared out at the road and slowed the car to make the turn. "Is he awake yet?"

"Nah," Richard replied. He slapped the back of the car seat a couple of times. "Wake up, Tinker!"

This startled Lester. "Jesus!" he snapped as he swerved the car and sat up straighter.

Richard turned back around and put a hand up. "Sorry. I'm just losing my patience. I'm getting too old for this shit."

Lester huffed. "Getting? We've been too old for years."

"Where am I?" a voice mumbled from the back seat.

Both Richard and Lester glanced back, noticing James Tinker was awake. They turned back around.

"Think he'll be a problem?" Lester asked.

Richard shrugged. "I've quit trying to guess."

It was Richard's duty that had brought them to the desolate and dark Idaho dessert. The past had Lester tied to it, but Richard had a commitment and an overwhelming stake in it. When he’d decided years ago, it was easy, but even though he had learned to dull his emotions and rationalize the task, he was fully aware of the vile depth of what they were doing.

"Where am I? Who are you?" Tinker asked.

Richard and Lester remained silent as Lester pulled the car into a gulley and away from the dirt road. The car heaved and bumped over the terrain. Headlights in the dark illuminated only quick glimpses of ragged trees and large craggy boulders.

Tinker was jostled about in the back and he complained with loud groans. "What the hell?" he mumbled when the path began to smooth.

It was then that Lester put the car in park.

"What's going on?" Tinker tried to sit forward, his hands cuffed behind him. "Am I going to jail again?"

Lester and Richard got out of the car, and Lester opened the backseat door. He reached in and pulled the large man out by his arm. James Tinker was forty-five and over six feet tall. He had never been married or had children of his own, but made his living as a choir director at a local youth center. That was where he’d stalked and groomed the numerous young children he befriended and eventually molested.

Tinker tried to look around in the cold dark expanse. "What are you going to do?" he asked. For his size, his voice was high-pitched.

Lester took keys from his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs on Tinker's wrists, but the man flinched away.

"Fine," Lester said. "You can keep them on."

"Tell me what you're going to do!" Tinker yelled.

"On or off?" Lester asked, unaffected.

Tinker turned to Richard, hoping for a better response. "Are you going to shoot me?"

Richard shook his head. "Nope. We're going to let you go."

Tinker looked around, his eyes wide. "Let me go. Out here? Why?"

"On or off?" Lester asked again.

"Fine. Off!" Tinker said frantically, and he turned and offered his hands to Lester.

When the cuffs were off, Tinker stood and rubbed his wrists. Lester folded the cuffs and put them in his pocket with the keys, and both he and Richard turned and started to get back into the car.

"You're just leaving me out here?" Tinker asked again, walking toward them.

Lester sighed. "Yep.” He hesitated. "Oh, wait, I almost forgot." He leaned in and picked up something from the dashboard of the car.

Tinker flinched, but noticed in the glow of the headlights that the object was a small metallic whistle.

Lester put it to his mouth and blew, but there was no sound.

Tinker looked at him strangely. "What was that?"

Lester ignored his question and simply got in the car and closed the door. Richard began to do the same, but Tinker lunged toward him, grabbing at his arm. "You can't just leave me out here."

Richard turned and blocked him hard, knocking him to the ground. "I'd say you have less than a five-minute head start, and you'll waste it if you try that again."

Tinker scrambled back to standing, stunned at what he’d heard. "What does that mean?" he yelled.

Richard slammed the car door, and Tinker stood in the glare of the headlights, confused and irritated. As the car pulled away, he was soon alone in complete darkness. Soon, the sounds of his breathing were the only thing replacing the rustle of the tires on dirt.

For several minutes, Tinker stood shivering, wondering what Richard had meant by a head start. Were they coming back? Was someone else on the way? And what were they planning to do to him? He tried to listen, but heard nothing in the distance. They were gone.

“This is probably some stupid game they play with newly released inmates to make themselves feel like real men,” he grumbled. “Take them out and leave them in the middle of nowhere for the night.”

He huffed, then he sighed. Without any better ideas, he decided he would try to find his way back to the road.

He took a step, and as he did, he heard something like a scratch on a rock. Looking up to where the sound originated, he saw two glowing red eyes staring back at him from a distance.

He froze, not believing what he saw in the blackness. He blinked, trying to focus. Was it real, or just his mind playing games?

Then the eyes blinked, and a horrid chill rushed through him. His breath sucked in, and before he could let it out, the eyes disappeared. He swallowed, and the stillness of the night made it sound so loud, even his heart pounding sounded like thunder. So black. There wasn't a speck of light, and his eyes darted through the darkness, trying to find the red orbs again as his body stood frozen in place.

Another scratch from the side, and he jerked toward it. Frantically, he scanned the dark void—nothing. He waited—not breathing, not moving a muscle. Then he started to wonder if what he'd seen was just an owl or other creature of the night. He’d probably scared it away.

“This is silly,” he said. “It's exactly what they want, to stick it to me.” He let his shoulders relax, and he gave a small huff. l*****g his lips, he took a deep breath, and then the anger began to set in.

“I did my time. Who are these cops to think they were better than me? Like they don't get their jollies off of young girls, too. They just never got caught. They probably kept my stash of photos for themselves, the self-righteous assholes. Jealous is what they are. Why else would they do this?

"Fine, I'll play your little game," Tinker said quietly to the darkness. He wrapped his arms around himself in preparation for a long cold night. "But I'll win."

"Not tonight," a low whisper came from behind him.

Tinker screamed and leaped up. He bolted forward, unsure where he was going, stumbling over sagebrush and rocks. He ran in the complete blackness, but a branch or stump tripped him and he fell. He rolled over and put his arms up, blocking his face. "Who's there?" he called out.

Silence.

He waited, gasping and frantic. When nothing happened, he slowly lowered his arms and tried to see something, anything, in the dark. "What are you doing? What do you want from me?" he called out. He kept looking as though something would materialize out of the blackness. Did those eyes belong to that voice?

Again, he paused and waited in the silence—nothing. The stillness was driving him mad. Swallow. So loud. The thing that was out there could surely hear him. Laying on his back with his belly exposed made him feel cold and vulnerable, so he rolled over and pushed himself up, hunched over and kneeling. He shivered. Cold? Or was it merely terror? It was undoubtedly dread.

"Take whatever you want." He reached into his back pocket for his wallet. "You can have it," he whimpered.

He waited. Still trying to see into the abyss, he whispered, "Just don't hurt me."

The red eyes appeared just above him. "You won't feel a thing."

Tinker screamed, but then the rip of flesh and gurgle of breath and blood filled the night, and then just as quickly, the silence returned.