172 Sins of the Flesh
Watch for movement in the dark
Sins Of The Flesh
Ruth Macklin
Chapter One.
Lynda Jones lived on a property near the town of Clayfield. Her cabin had been built on a clearing surrounded by bushland. The log cabin in which Lynda lived consisted of a bedroom, lounge room, kitchen and bathroom. At the back of the cabin stood an outside outhouse. Beside the cabin a small chapel had been built.
She lived alone at the cabin with her two pet tigers, Christian and Farrah, for company. Lynda preferred the company of her tigers to people. People acted strangely when they were around Lynda. A calmness came over them. Everyone, human and animal, became tranquil while they were near her. Lynda wore a long white robe, which she secured around her waist with a length of cord. There was a glow of purity about her, self-reliance;saintliness.
Lynda kept her cabin clean and tidy with everything where it should be kept. In the chapel stood an alter. A large wooden cross on the wall behind the alter. Religious statues were placed around inside of the chapel. The room had a sensation of holiness, peace, a different place in time. A place free from evil.
Everyone who knew Lynda thought of her as a good Samaritan because she helped who ever without thought of recompense for her help. Acted as a mother confessor. People came to her when they were in trouble to confess their sins to her so she could cleanse their soul of evil. Lynda knew everyone's business. Their dreadful sins they had committed. Knew what the people were doing and with whom they did their sins.
Most days Lynda walked through the bushland with Christian and Farrah. Today, the strong wind blew her long, blond hair back over her shoulder to hang down her back. Her blue eyes were moist from the wind and the bright sun.
Christian walked on one side of Lynda and Farrah on the other side. They walked by her side as though they were ordinary cats, not furious killers, which they were bread to be in nature. Lynda and her cats headed back toward the cabin.
Lynda walked through the front door of her cabin for a drink. A few moments later she went to the chapel. She stood in front of the alter with Christian and Farrah by her side. Lynda bowed her head before she knelt on the step in front of the alter. She raised her head to focus on the wooden cross. She prayed, “Dear Lord. Thank you for the lovely day, which you have shared with us. We are your devoted servants.” She then lowered her head in silent payer. Lynda stayed in the chapel to pray until the sun had set below the horizon, the chapel became dark
The shining of the stars plus the full moon to light up the parking area of Lover's Lane. The surround trees hid the parking area from the highway and the road leading toward the logging camp. The parking area looked out over the town of Clayfield, which had been built in the fertile valley below.
When Fred Simpson drove into Lover's Lane there weren't any other cars parked there. Fred parked his car where it wouldn't be recognized so easily by anyone else using the lane. He was a married man. Fred had with him a woman who wasn't his wife. The woman who Fred had with him was Jane Whiters. Fred relaxed back against his seat with a long sigh.
“Isn't it beautiful and peaceful, here?” asked Jane.
“If you say so,” Fred replied, not very happy. “Depends on who your with, I suppose.” Jane Whiters had been at the pub drinking for over an hour when Fred had come to pick her up. Jane slightly intoxicated from drinking too much wine. Her speech slurred when she spoke.
“You know you want me, Fred,coming straight to the point. Jane edged her way across the seat to be closer to Fred. She slid her soft, warm hand up his thigh from his knee. Her mind on what she expected from Fred, not on the scenery like Fred, but on sex.
“Isn't the air so clean and fresh?” asked Fred, taking a deep breath as he pushed Jane's hand from his thigh. The liquor, which he had consumed before he had picked Jane up from the pub beginning to wear off. His dutch courage he needed to keep their date. Fred wondering why he had been so stupid? Why was he in Lover's Lane with Jane? He didn't like being with Jane when he had sobered. As Jane was a woman too free with her favors to the men who frequented the pubs of the town.
“We should be going back to town before someone finds us here,” Fred said, brushing away her hand once again.
“Oh, for Christ's sake, “ Fred,snapped Jane. Mad at Fred because he wouldn't play her game.
Jane turned in her seat to look up into Fred's face. She could tell by his expression she should not have snapped at him. Snapping the wrong tactic to use on him. Jane lifted her hand to place on his chest. Slowly moved her hand up his chest to slip beneath the collar of his shirt to twist her fingers in his hair. “I want you. Freddie baby,” Jane pleaded. “You know drinking wine turns me on. Makes me really sexy. Don't you want me?” Jane pouted at Fred.
“You know I do,” Fred lied. Making love to Jane tonight was the furthest thing from his mind. Fred embarrassed by Jane's directness. He knew there couldn't be any emotional feeling with Jane because she had reduced love making to a physical art, not the coming together of the mind, body, spirit and soul.
His marriage to Lenore had died a slow death. There was no passion left between them, no lust;no communication. The love they imagined they had shared with each other had withered and died. Fred couldn't figure out what had happened to their marriage. May be the reason had been the long hours, which he had spent at work? Or the hours, which he had spent alone in bed to catch up on sleep when he wasn't working. Jane brought Fred back from his daydreams by her kissing him on the neck. Her hand moving up his thigh. She took possession of his lips to stop him pulling away from her body. Her hand then moved up to the waist of his jeans to slide down the zip of his fly. Began to massage his manhood, desperately trying to arouse Fred.
Fred tore his lips away from Jane's. “Hey, steady on. Or you'll do me an injury. I want you, now,” pleaded Jane. “To feel you inside of me darling .Let's move out of the car. I'll spread a rug on the grass,” said Fred, trying to untangle himself from her clutches. “We'll have more room out on the ground.. I can't wait.” Jane was on fire to make love. Her sexual emotions wanted to be released. “I want you now.” Jane wrapped her arms around his neck to draw his lips down to hers. Her tongue against his lips to gain entry to his mouth. One hand she moved back to his open fly to rub against his manhood. “There's plenty of room on the back seat.” Jane whispered, when she broke the kiss for a few moments.
Jane's ministrations had finally aroused Fred to a raging volcano, something, which had not happened to him in months. Fred had begun to think he had become impotent. His hand began to fumble with Jane's clothes. The other hand he used to open the door of the car. He edged them from the car. Stripped off their clothes. Fred pulled Jane down to the grass. Her legs parted waiting for Fred to enter her with zest to find their release. Fred wanted to finish before he went flat as he usually did when he tried to make love with his wife, Lenore.
“Gently, darling, gently,” whispered Jane, her hands holding his buttocks to try to slow Fred.
“God, damn you. Let me go.” Fred reached behind to pull her hands from him. He held her arms above her head. Fred again set a furious rhythm, which Jane soon matched. Together they reached their peak then to tumble back to the ground as the climax released their pent up emotions. Jane lay exhausted and replete. Fred exhausted and thankful. Thankful he could preform. He was not impotent.
“You were bloody wonderful, darling,” Jane told Fred, pleased she had got her own way.
Now his volcano had erupted and subsided, Fred wanted to leave Lover's Lane as fast as he could. He rolled away from Jane to sit up. Fred felt revolted with himself and Jane. She didn't present a pretty picture where she lay naked on the grass with her hair in a tangled mess. Her lipstick smudged on her face. He dragged his fingers through his hair. Stood quickly to dress then went for a short walk while Jane put on her clothes.
Bill Smythe, a photographer, lived in a house on the edge of Clayfield. He sometimes took legal photographs. But most of his money came from the illegal photographs as well as other illegal activities. Bill stood in the part of his house, which he used as his photographic studio. He set up his equipment ready for the photo session while he waited for the models to arrive. Every camera set and ready to work without being operated by anyone. The cameras were focused on the wide bed covered with a white fur rug.
Lenore Simpson drove her car along a back road, which led from her home in Clayfield to make her to Rosewood the home of Bill Smythe. She had to make another turn to the right on to a road to reach the house. Lenore parked her car beside the house. Walked to the door of the studio. Lenore walked in without knocking on the door.
Bill turned from what he had been doing to see who had entered his studio. “Hello, Lenore. You're early.”
“Fred had a meeting. Or something. So I was able to leave sooner than I expected.
“Well, we can start on the single shots of you. When Jillian arrives you both can do your favorite routine,” said Bill, with only business on his mind.
“Don't you ever become tired of your work? Don't you ever feel like you want to join us?” suggested Lenore, sauntering around the room. “Doesn't our act make your blood boil? You must feel something watching two naked women? Stir up your hormones?” Lenore tormented Bill.
“I've grown used to seeing naked women,” replied Bill. “I've been photographing all kinds of scenes for years. Anyway, you two seem to be enjoying yourselves. You don't need a man to excite you.”
“So you think we enjoy what we do for you? It's just a job to fill in some long hours while our husbands are away from home.” Lenore walked toward Bill in a sexy, teasing manner once she had stripped off all of her clothes, except for her undies. Tonight Lenore was in a playful mood.
“We both need men,” purred Lenore. “We're bored with our love life. We want some lust. I feel you'd be a real man if you let yourself go.” Lenore seductively touched parts of Bill's body with her hands. His body was beginning to respond when there came a knock on the door.
Bill walked to the door to open it to find Jillian standing there clad in a long fur coat, which she held open to expose her sensual body wearing a flimsy white bikini.
Jillian stood there posing as though she waited for the camera to flash. “Good evening,” she purred in a silky tone, then flicked her tongue across her bottom lip. “I hope you haven't started without me?”She raised her eyes in inquiry.
“No,” Bill replied, as he stepped back to let Jillian walk into the studio. “Lenore was making herself ready.”
Lenore walked up beside Bill to begin to tease him by stroking him with her seductive hands. Rubbed her body against his body.
“You're just in time Jillian. I think we should add a new subject to our show.”She winked at Jillian and nodded in Bill's direction. “You know what I mean?”
Jillian quick to catch the drift of Lenore's meaning she slipped out of her fur coat, which she flung on the nearest chair. She joined Lenore in sexually tantalizing Bill as he walked to do his final check of the cameras.
When Bill had his back turned Lenore pushed the automatic button to start all the cameras. Lenore and Jillian edged Bill toward the big bed with the white fur rug. The two of them slowly undressed him. He became mesmerized by their slow actions. The sensual stroking of their hands and the butterfly kisses, the moist tongues as they slipped over his skin. The women encouraged Bill to lay on the bed. Lenore on one side of him and Jillian on the other side of him.
Each of them tormented Bill until he became driven mad with desire, wanting to be released from the hell they were putting him through. Bill was pinned to the bed with their naked bodies. Jillian moved to straddle his hips to slip him into her moist haven to slowly bring Bill to his release from his torture, while Lenore kissed him and rubbed her hands over his body. Jillian cried out with pleasure as she brought both of them to their ultimate pleasure. When Jillian had returned to earth she moved to the side of Bill to take over her tormenting of his body, while Lenore straddled his hips ready to slip over him once they had readied him to be released from her sexual frustrations. To bring Bill along with her as they both climaxed. The three of them collapsed from exhaustion on the bed. Throughout the whole scene the cameras madly flashed. The film in the movie camera kept rolling to catch all the action.
Fred Simpson brought his car to a stop a short distance from the home of Jane Whiters, because he didn't want to be caught as he dropped her at her home. As soon as Jane had alighted from Fred's car he drove away before anyone recognized his car in the area. He wanted to be home before Lenore began to wonder where he had been.
When Fred arrived home he walked around in the house to look for Lenore but he couldn't find her. Fred went to take a shower to try to wash away the clinging smell of Jane's perfume. The smell making his stomach churn. He felt dirty and cheap. His head feeling light. Kind of floating on air. His body seemed not to belong to him.
Fred stepped from the shower, dried himself then put on a toweling robe. When he entered the bedroom Fred's head began to spin, lights flashed and scenes passed before his eyes. He didn't have a worry in the world. Fred was spaced out. He even believed he had seen a large tiger, which walked around in his bedroom. The golden, glassy eyes held him hypnotized. The cat scratched his hand with razor sharp claws then the cat disappeared. The scene very surreal to Fred.
“Oh, boy. Those drinks I had earlier must have been stronger than I thought,” Fred slurred. “I've never been like this in the past. Someone must have put something in my drink, some drug.” Fred shook his head to try to clear the scenes from his mind. “Can't believe it,” mumbled Fred. “Tigers. Who ever will believe me?” He thought. Fred collapsed on to the bed.
When Fred woke some time later, he was shocked to see the blood flowing from his hand. The blood had seeped into the bathrobe where his hand had rested on his thigh. His state of mind made the wound look ten times worse than it really was. Fred stood on rubbery legs to wobble his way to the draw. He opened the draw to pull out a tee-shirt to wrap around his hand. Fred staggered back to the bed. Once he had seated on the bed he collapsed backward on to the pillow, then everything went black, becoming unconscious.
As he resurfaced from unconsciousness nightmares tormented his mind. Fred grabbed the bed covers as he tossed and turned. Tossing the pillows across the bedroom. Fred struggled to fight off the memory of the tigers to try to stop them taking control of his mind.
After Fred had driven away, Jane slowly walked up the street to the driveway of her home. Walking up the driveway Jane heard strange noises, which came from behind some bushes in her front garden.. She hoped the noise was only the breeze rustling the leaves of the bushes. The closer Jane came to the bushes, the branches and leaves moved more violently. But the noise had not been caused by any wind. A chill ran all the way down her spine from the nape of her neck.
“Who's there?” Jane called.
“If someone is there you'd better show yourself. Or I'll scream.”There came no answer. The night was still. Quiet except for the occasional rustle on the bushes. Jane was scared. Fear poured from every pore of her body. There were eerie feelings all around her. Jane began to run for the safety of her home. When she drew level with the bushes, a tiger sat poised as though ready to jump, to attack her. Jane's feet stopped functioning. She couldn't move. She was paralyzed. Stood staring at the tiger not knowing what she should do. Stay where she stood. Or make a run for the safety of her home.
The tiger watched Jane with its glowing, golden eyes, which shone brightly in the darkness. Its eyes hypnotized Jane for a short time then suddenly disappeared into the night.
By the time the shock had worn off, Jane's fear had made her begin to shiver. She went to take a step forward but found her pet ginger cat sitting at her feet rubbing his head against her leg. Jane stared sightlessly at the cat until the scene in her mind became a cat, not a tiger.
“Hello, Lucky,” Jane finally whispered. “You scared me. I could have sworn you were a tiger,” she accused the cat. “Whatever Bill put in my lipstick this time sure had a lot of kick.” Jane bent down to pick up Lucky to carry him into the house, stroking his ginger hair. “I'll have to tell Bill not to make the taste so strong next time.”
Lynda Jones sat on an old swing seat outside of her log cabin waiting for Christian and Farrah to arrive home from their missions, on which they had been sent. She could sense her pets were on their way home. There came a movement in the darkness. Farrah came forward followed by Christian to sit in front of Linda.
“You have returned, my beauties,” croaked Lynda. “Come.” She patted the seat either side of her, to show her pets where they were to sit. “Sit up here with me,”she encouraged them.
Christian and Farrah climbed on to the seat. Each of them lay their head on her lap. Lynda stroked each head as she swung the swing seat. The animals soon began to purr, relaxing after their missions.
“My beauties, you have done well. A good night's work. Rest while you can.”Lenore Simpson returned to her home in the early hours of the morning. She slowly drove the car into the yard to put the car into the garage. Lenore silently entered the house so she would not wake Fred. She didn't want him to know what time she had arrived home.
She took off her shoes at the door, crept through the house to the bedroom. Lenore went to the dresser draw to find a nightdress before going to the bathroom to change for bed. On her way to the bathroom Lenore tripped over a pillow and blanket on the floor. She landed on her knees on the pillow. Stood to her feet to continue on to the bathroom.
Lenore quickly showered, dressed then returned to the bedroom to lay quietly on the bed. She wanted to be in the bed before Fred realized she had only returned home to their bed. Lenore lay there thinking of the rapturous evening, which she had spent with Jillian and Bill. Praying Fred would not wake until she had drifted off to sleep. She didn't want him trying to make love to her after the night she had just spent making love. Fred disgusted her with his failure to rise to the occasion to satisfy her.
Fred began to toss and turn. Swinging his arms and legs. Moaned and screamed as the scene played through his mind. He kicked out when he screamed sending Lenore flying out of the bed to land on the floor. Lenore shocked by Fred's actions. Fred had never acted in such a way in the past. She sat on the floor to watch Fred for sometime. She stood to walk to the bed. Reached out with her hand to touch him on the forehead.
“He's burning up. No wonder he's tossing around so much,” whispered Lenore, surprised.
Lenore shook Fred to wake him but he wouldn't open his eyes. She reached out to turn on the bedside lamp, then shook Fred once again.
Fred flung his wrapped hand from under his body to where Lenore could see the bloody tee-shirt. She gasped in horror when she had first seen the blood stained tee-shirt, which Fred had wrapped around his injured hand.
“Fred! Fred! What has happened to your hand?” yelled Lenore, her voice strained with panic. “How did you hurt your hand?”
“Tigers,” Fred moaned, dopey. “Great big tigers. Running around in the bedroom.” Fred became hysterical. “They're going to pounce.” He flung up his arms to protect himself. Twisted his body to ward off another attack.
Lenore quickly moved out of the way of Fred's flaying arms and legs. She reached for the phone to dial the home number of their family doctor. Tapped her fingers on the phone while she waited for him to answer. It seemed a long time before he answered the phone but probably only took a few rings.
“Hello. Doctor Francis. How may I help you?” he mumbled still half asleep.
“Leslie. Thank God. Lenore here. Can you come over, now?” pleaded Lenore, panic in every word she spoke.
“What's wrong?” Leslie asked, as he sat up in bed.
“Sorry to ring you at this hour but there is something wrong with Fred. His hand has been bleeding. He has a fever and seems to be delirious. Keeps mumbling about tigers.”
“I'll be there as soon as I can. You put some ice cubes in a towel and pat his face with it. If you have a fan turn it on him as well,” ordered Doctor Francis.
“Please hurry,yelled Lenore.
“Don't worry. I'll soon be with you.” Doctor Francis slammed down the phone. Threw on some clothes, grabbed his medical bag, then rushed out of the house to his car.
Chapter Two.
Bill Smythe stood in his dark room developing the films, which had been taken during their session. He had taken some photographs out of the solution to hold up to admire them. The phone began to ring. Bill clipped the photographs to a line to let them dry. He went out to the other room to answer the phone.
“Bill Smythe,” said Bill, trying to stifle a yawn.
“Hi. It's Jillian,” came the seductive voice.
Jillian sat dressed in a flimsy but dainty night dress propped up in her bed by her pillows. Jillian twisted the cord around her finger of one hand.
“Isn't it a bit dangerous for you to ring me at this hour?” said Bill, cautiously. “Where's your husband?”
“Don't worry,” came the sweet reply. “Leslie isn't here. He's been called out. There's something wrong with Lenore's husband.”
“Lenore didn't say anything about her husband being sick when she arrived this evening,” replied Bill.
“His sickness sounds serious from what I heard. So Leslie has rushed off to go to their home. I don't know how long he'll be. Have you developed any of the photographs from tonight, yet?”
“Yes. I had been admiring the first few when you called,”said Bill, with a smirk on his lips and a smile in his voice. “They have come out quite good. The clients should be rather pleased with this shipment. Might offer us more money.”
“That's good. I'd best hang up before Leslie should return. See you soon.” The line went dead so Bill hung up the phone to go back to his dark room.
Leslie Francis arrived at the home of Fred and Lenore Simpson. He grabbed his medical bag then rushed to the house. Knocked loudly on the door. To have someone answer the call.
Lenore rushed to the door to reef it open for Leslie to enter, still dresses in her very short night dress, which didn't hide her body.
Doctor Leslie Francis shocked to see the way Lenore was dressed. To him, she had all ways seemed so reserved in a provocative way. He ogled her body with his eyes.
“Come on, Leslie,” pleaded Lenore, grabbing Bill by the arm to pull him into the house. “Fred's in the bedroom. Come through this way.” Lenore held tightly to Leslie's arm as she led him to the bedroom.
Doctor Francis couldn't believe his eyes when he first stepped into the bedroom. Blankets and pillows, scattered around the bedroom as the place had been ransacked. He had to step over and around things to make his way to the bed.
Fred lay in the middle of the bed, rolling from side to side. His arms and legs moved convulsively.
Doctor Francis caught hold of Fred's arm. Held his wrist to try to take his pulse. Put his hand on his forehead and chest to ascertain the temperature of his body. He then removed the blood soaked tee-shirt from around Fred's hand. The doctor shocked to see the deep, unusual slits on the back of Fred's hand, which extended down from above his wrist. “Do you know how long he has been this way? What happened to his hand?” the doctor wanted to know.
“I don't know how long he's been like this. He didn't have anything wrong with him when I went out. There wasn't anything wrong with his hand. I don't know how he has hurt his hand,” Lenore told Doctor Francis.
“His hand will need stitching.” The doctor looked at the hand with a puzzled frown on his face. “I wonder how he received those marks. What had made them?” He thought as he examined the hand more closely. “Do you have a cat?”
“No. We don't have a cat. Fred is allergic to cats,” stated Lenore.
Doctor Francis went on to explain to Lenore he thought the wound was conducive to the scratch from a person with long fingernails, or the claw of an animal of the cat kind. He opened his medical bag. Took out what he needed to cleanse the would. He drew up a needle with local anesthetic to inject Fred's wounded hand ready to stitch the deepest parts of the wound together. While he waited for the hand to go numb, Doctor Francis found everything ready to do the stitching, He did stitching as best as he could while Lenore tried to hold Fred from moving. The job took a long time but finally the had been stitched and bandaged.
“Could I have a glass of water?” Doctor Francis asked. “I have to try to have Fred to take a couple of tablets to help with the infection and bring the temperature down.”
Lenore went into the bathroom to bring back the glass of water. She helped hold Fred up so they could encourage him to swallow the tablets. But he wouldn't swallow them. The doctor had to give him an injection then wait for Fred to settle.
“Would you like a drink while you are waiting?” Lenore asked. “I'm going to have a brandy to try to calm my nerves.”
“I wouldn't mind a small brandy, thanks.”
“I'll have the drink ready for you in the lounge room.” She walked out of the room. Lenore went to the lounge room to pour a couple of drinks of brandy.
Doctor Francis was compelled to turn to watch as Lenore walked toward the bedroom door. The way Lenore walked was very suggestive, a pure come and have me walk. Her walk made his blood pressure begin to rise. He became warm and tight in side of his trousers. Watched her near naked body move beneath the scantly clothes, which were suppose to cover her body. Doctor Francis shook his head to try to remove the vision from his head. He began to place his things back into his medical bag.
Lenore sat on the couch in the lounge room with both the brandy glasses on the coffee table, when the doctor walked into the room with his medical bag in his hand. Lenore sat with her legs crossed at the knees. Her nightdress pulled half way up her thighs.
Doctor Francis sat on the couch. He reached for his drink of brandy. Trying to keep his eyes from turning to look at Lenore. Took a deep swig of his brandy. The liquid burnt a hot trail all the way down to join the other fire in his body.
“Come sit up here,” Lenore patted the seat beside her.
He stayed where he was. So Lenore moved along the couch to sit closer to him. He took another swig of his brandy. Lenore placed her hand on his thigh to seductively move her fingers up his thigh. She could feel him responding to her touch, because his manhood was becoming hard. Her hand moved closer to his fly. Began to move her hand harder over his male hardness to make him want her.
Before Doctor Francis could make a move to save himself the glass had been taken from his hand to be placed on the coffee table. Lenore moved quick. She pushed him back on the couch then began to kiss him. He moaned in protest before Lenore moved over his hips to rub her womanhood against his male hardness. He reached up to try to stop her movements but his hands came into contact with naked flesh.
Lenore moved her hands up under his shirt to find his nubs to bring more of a response from him. All at once he stopped his struggle. He was lost. Lenore moved her body to be able to undo his trousers to remove his clothes to fulfill her raging hormones.
Doctor Francis moved out from beneath Lenore. Eased Lenore up with him. Peeling off their clothes as they moved to lay on the carpeted floor to finish off what Lenore had started. Both naked, their bodies entwined they made mad passionate love without regard for anyone else's feelings, unaware of what could happen because of their hunger for lust.
Fred had been forgotten. He became restless once again. His dreams were about fierce tigers roaming through the forest as they made their kill. The way in which they tore the flesh from the bones. All the blood on the ground. Their chewing noise as they sat beside their victim. Fred could sense their cunning as they stalked their prey in readiness for the kill. But something felt wrong. Their prey was not animal but human.
Two teenagers with nothing better to do, except to look to make trouble, found a car parked in a dark, back street, decided they would have more fun if they were to take the car for a wild joy ride. Dennis Fobbs, aged seventeen, pulled a screwdriver and a length of wire from his pocket to help unlock the door of the car.
His friend and partner in crime, Greg Proctor, sixteen, slid across the seat of the car to begin to work on the wires under the dash. Soon the engine roared to life. The boys quickly sped off with tires burning rubber to make their getaway before they could be caught.
Greg and Dennis were cruising around the streets when they were spotted by a policeman in his patrol car, who knew the boys. They heard the siren of police car. Saw the flashing lights moving up fast behind them Greg applied his foot harder to the accelerator to increase their speed. They sped down streets. Dodged around corners as they made their way toward the open highway.
The police were closing in on them from all sides. Other patrol cars joined in on the chase. Greg skidded the car on to the highway, tires squealing, as he spun the steering wheel to head north out of town. He put his foot down harder still as Dennis edged him to go faster. Dennis was enjoying the chase along the straight stretch of the highway. Both boys hyped up with the thrill of the experience of the fast drive. Trying to test their wit against a squad of policemen trained for speed.
The bend, which led to Sandy Creek bridge came up quick before Greg had much of a chance to realize where they were. Greg had looked in the rear view mirror to see how close the police were behind them, when he entered the sharp bend in the road.
Coming from the other direction was a semi trailer loaded with contraband, which was headed south on the same highway to reach the town of Clayfield. The semi driver had his lights on high beam, the cassette playing a loud truck driving country music song. He had been singing along with the music without a care in the world. His fingers drumming the beat on the steering wheel.
His mate slumped in the passenger's seat with his head resting on his jacket, which had been rolled up to use as a pillow.
The semi driver had entered the bridge from the north side. He was half way across the bridge when Greg skidded around the bend on to the south end of the bridge on the wrong side of the road the headlights of his car on high beam.
Greg blinded by the lights of the semi. The driver of the semi panicked. Jammed his foot down on the brakes. Greg turned the steering wheel to the left to try to swerve out of the path of the semi but he was too late. There came the crunching of metal. The force of the hit from the semi sent the car flying through the air to land in the creek. The semi crashed through the guard rail to come to rest in the sandy section of the creek bed, uncovered at the moment because the tide was out.
The patrol cars came to a screaming, skidding halt narrowly missing each other. The first patrol car luck not to be involved in the crash as the stolen car was tossed through the air. The patrol car came to rest with the front wheels dangling over the edge of the bridge. The two officers undid their seat belts to slowly climb out of the driver's side of the car before their car could topple into the creek with them still inside.
Jillian Francis rolled over in her bed as the sun rose to bring in the new day. The birds were happily singing in the trees. Parrots were the loudest singers of the choir. Leslie was not in bed with her. She could see by looking at the bed Leslie had not returned home since he had left to do out on his call. Where could he be?
She climbed from her bed to walk to the window where she parted the curtains to look out side to see if Leslie's car was parked in the driveway. But Leslie's car wasn't parked there. Jillian began to worry where he could be? Surely Fred could not have been so sick? Jillian walked to the phone on the bedside table to ring the number for the answering service, which Leslie used.
“Hello. This is Jillian Francis. Could you tell me when you last heard from Doctor Francis?”
“We haven't heard from him since yesterday. We were about to ring you because he is needed,” said the operator, who had answered the call.
“Have you checked with the hospital?” Jillian asked.
“Yes. He hasn't been there either. The hospital want him as well,” replied the operator. “Do you know where we could find him?”
“He left to visit a patient during the night but he hasn't returned. I'll check to see if he's still there. I'll let you know if I find him,” promises Jillian, worry creeping down her spine.
“Same here. There are some calls here waiting for him. Thanks for calling,replied the operator.
Jillian put down the phone. Quickly picked it up again to dial Lenore's number but she didn't receive an answer. She had a strange feeling there was something wrong. Jillian hurried into the bathroom to pull on some clothes. She rushed out of the house to her car.
When Jillian turned the corner into the street where Lenore and Fred lived her husband's car was parked in front of the house. She parked her car behind her husband's car. Walked up the path to knock on the door of the house. There came no answer. She began to knock frantically on the door. Calling out the names of her husband and her friend.
The front door was finally opened by Fred dressed in a robe soaked with blood. His robe hanging partially open, his hair messy. Fred looked as though he had moments ago climbed from his bed. Jillian became more hysterical when she had seen Fred. She pushed him out of the way to rush into the house.
“What's happened here?” Jillian yelled at Fred. “Where's Leslie? His car is outside.” She rushed down the hallway to look for her husband.
Fred stood at the doorway staring blankly into space. He lived in his own nightmare world. It was like he stood looking down at himself in the middle of a nightmare world. Nothing seemed real.
Jillian entered the lounge room. She came to a shuddering halt A piercing scream left her throat. Jillian covered her face with her hands to try to shut out the gruesome scene. On the floor lay the mauled bodies of her husband as well as her friend, Lenore.
The smell of the blood making her sick. The scene so horrific she ran out of the house before she could be sick all over the floor. In her haste to be out of the house, Jillian nearly tripped over Fred who had collapsed to the floor near the front door. She ran down the path to fall into the arms of a policeman, who had been called to the house by a neighbor to investigate the noise and screams, which had been coming from the house.
“What's the matter?” the policeman asked, holding her away from his body to be able to look at her face. “We had a call about a lot of screams from this house.”
“It's awful,” said Jillian, between gasps of fresh air for her lungs.
“They've been murdered. that's what?”
Who? Where are they?”
“They're in the lounge room,” whispered Jillian, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Will you show me where the victims are?” the policeman asked.
“No. I can't. One of them is my husband. The husband of my friend, Lenore, has collapsed at the front door. Lenore is the other victim.” Jillian began to shiver. Her legs grew weaker.
The policeman opened the door of his patrol car to make Jillian sit on the seat. He grabbed a blanket from the boot of his car to wrap around Jillian. He rushed toward the house. Stepped over Fred to go to find the lounge room. He came rushing out of the house his face drained of all color. Stumbled to the back of the car where he became sick. Took a few deep breaths to calm his heaving stomach until he had calmed enough to call in his report. This had been the first murder scene he had attended. It was worse than the tangled mess of an accident scene. This scene had been hard to take because the bloody scene was different, unexpected.
Two bush walkers were out on an early morning walk when they came across a trucked parked in a clearing, which was surrounded on most sides by thick bushland. It was an area sometimes used by bush walkers who wished to spend the night out in the country. When the two of them drew closer, the bush walkers found a man slumped over the steering wheel of his truck.
The bush walkers walked up to the truck. Called out to the man but there came no response. One of the men opened the door of the truck to see if the man needed some help. He found blood splatted on the inside of the door. The bush walker shocked to see half of the man's face had been torn away. Tried to find a pulse but there was no hope for the man in the truck. He was dead. The man toppled side ways across the front seat of the truck. The bush walker stepped back from the truck. Shock in his eyes as he walked back to his friend at the edge of the clearing.
“Tell me he's not dead,” pleaded his friend.
“He's dead.”
“I didn't want to hear that.”
“We'd best set off back to the car to inform the police of our find.” The two bush walkers set off to notify the police of the shocking discovery. Tell the police where they could find the truck. Their enjoyment of the early morning walk fled along with their interest of the surrounding area.
The chief-Inspector was still in bed trying to catch up on a few more hours of much needed sleep. His department had been kept busy of late trying to stamp out the drugs and the people who were making porno photographs in the area. Drugs had been sweeping through the district. There had not been so many drugs in, or around, the area of Clayfield over the past years. There had been rumors about a porno photographs being made in the area then being shipped out. A few police officers were out in the field as under cover agents. But as yet they had not found the source. The drug shipments were coming in and the photographs going out.
The sergeant who was on night duty was pleased his shift would soon be over. He would be able to go home to rest. Everyone had been kept busy during the night.
In the early hours of the morning the weather had changed to become cool. A strong wind had begun to blow. The sergeant was about to put one arm in his jacket to be ready to leave the moment his relief officer walked into the room. But his wish for his warm bed would not be granted. A constable knocked on the door before entering the office. Handed the sergeant a message, which he read.
“What a time to receive this?” the sergeant snapped. “The people in this town have kept me busy all night.” He sighed in defeat. “Now with this I could be here all day as well.”
“The night has been rough,” sympathized the constable. “Are you going to call the Chief-Inspector?”
“We've managed all night without disturbing him I don't want to call him. We all need to catch up on sleep when ever we can.”
“Can't be helped,” replied the constable. “He'll be extra grumpy if you don't ring him about this.” The sergeant reached out to pick up the phone to ring the Chief-Inspector. “Well. Here goes,” he sighed. “Keep your fingers crossed he won't blow a gasket.” The phone was answered by a sleepy Chief-Inspector who mumbled into the phone. “Sorry to call you so early, Sir,” apologized Sergeant Widdington. “We have have a nasty murder on our hands. The officer who relayed the message is guarding the scene. I'll send some more out to help him.”
“When did this happen? Who were they?” the Chief-Inspector wanted to know, as he sat there writing down the information.
“The murder happened in a house in Grange Street. On of the victims is suppose to be Doctor Leslie Francis. He'd been called out to visit a patient, we believe. The other victim is a woman. Her husband is in deep shock at the scene. The doctor's wife is the one who discovered the grizzly scene.”
“I'll be dressed waiting for someone to come to the house to collect me,” said the Chief-Inspector.
The men at the logging camp thought they had heard some strange noises during the night. Noises, which they had not heard before in the area. A chilling call, which pierced the air. Made the hair on their body stand up in fright. The sound of death one of the men had described the noise.
The men were worried because one of their members were missing. He was not in his room when someone had gone to wake him, which was unusual for the man. His bed looked as though it hadn't been slept in. The man had been very dependable in the past. Early to bed at night. The first to rise each morning. Now he was no where to be found.
As usual the men set out at their usual time, keeping an eye open in case their mate had gone for a walk and had injured himself. The area was rugged, bush terrain all around the camp. Forest so dense someone could easily become lost, or hurt, walking around in the dark. The men struggled through the long grass and trees with their heavy tools, such as the chain saw;crowbar;axes.
The men walked through some long grass to reach the area where they were to begin their work, when they came across a few pieces of torn clothing, which was splattered with blood. Blades of grass flatted as though something heavy had been dragged through the grass.
They entered the small clearing where they had been working. The men were shattered to find some more clothing. What looked like the remains of a body, human or animal? Was very hard to tell from where they stood. Pieces of bones had been scattered over a wide area. Flesh had been torn from the bones. Their stomachs churned. They were sick while running from the nightmare scene. The tools dropped and forgotten.
Chapter Three.
Bill Smythe paced around in the house worried because his shipment of work materials had not arrived. He's been pacing for ages. Time seemed to be passing slowly since he had finished developing the photographs. The truck should have arrived before daylight. His shipment should have been transferred from the truck to the shed. Where were the men with his materials?
“What are they playing at?” snapped Bill, raking his fingers through his tousled hair. “There isn't much stock left. They know it's not safe to come in the daylight hours. Maybe I should go out to look for them?” Bill walked to the window to look out. He came to a decision. No. They might turn up.”
Bill changed his mind a moment later. He grabbed his car keys from the table near the front door. Rushed out of the house to his car. Nearing his car, Bill heard a car coming toward his house. A convertible was coming up his driveway. At the wheel of the car was Jane Whiters. Jane driving fast for traveling on a dirt, country road. She brought the car to a screaming halt beside Bill covering him in dust.
“What's your hurry? You don't usually drive like a maniac,”yelled Bill, astounded.
“Haven't you heard the news?” a very pasty Jane asked. “It's all over town.”
“What's all over town?” Bill intrigued to find out.
“A truck crashed into Sandy Creek. And there has been a murder. Somewhere in Grange Street, the news says.”
“Have they given any names, yet?”
“Not yet. While I'm here. What did you put in the lipstick last time?” Jane accused. “I used the lipstick last night. Thought I could see tigers in my driveway when I arrived home. It was really scary. What ever you used must have been very strong.”
Bill stood staring into space thinking. Listening to Jane but not taking much notice.
“Bill,” Jane yelled, as she shook his arm. “Are you listening to me?” He finally felt his arm being shaken. Came back to earth with a thud. His thoughts had been on the accident. And the murder victims. Wondering if one on the victims could have been Lenore. Or someone else he knew.
“Jane, will you drive me into town? We have to find out what has been happening,” said Bill. “Who has been murdered? What cargo the semi trailer had been carrying? My shipment is late arriving.”
Jane agreed to drive Bill. She explained the trip would take some time because she had to use the old dirt, timber road. The highway had been closed because of the accident on Sandy Creek Bridge.
Bill climbed into Jane's car to drive to Clayfield. On the way they listened to the radio talk about the accident on the bridge but not what cargo the semi trailer carried. There was mention of the murder but not the number of the house. Or how the murder happened? Who had been involved? There was some mention of another man who had been found dead in his truck. Not much information forth coming on either of the stories.
When Chief-Inspector Fruo had arrived at the murder scene, the lounge room was cluttered with different member of the police trying to place together what had happened? Who could have been responsible for the carnage. Sergeant Widdington had been there asking questions before his chief could arrive.
“Good morning, Sir.” They shook hands. “This is a nasty mess to start a new day”
“.Have you been able to ascertain any of what has happened here?” Chief-Inspector wanted to know.
“All we know, at this point in time, is the doctor had been called here to attend to the dead woman's husband” ,he pointed to Fred who the ambulance men were wheeling to the back of the ambulance. “His hand hand been stitched and bandaged.’
Fred had been moved from his position in the doorway. The ambulance men had checked him out. Photographs had been taken of his hand. Of Fred where he had been found. Fred had stared blankly at everyone not taking any notice of what happened around him.
Sergeant Widdington told his Chief they couldn't get any sense out of Fred. He was in a bad way. The ambulance were about to take him away to the hospital. Explained the dead man was Doctor Leslie Francis. His wife sat in the police car. She would be going to the hospital soon. The doctor's wife came to the last place she knew he had a patient when no one else seemed to know where her was. Had rang to receive no answer. Came here to find this mess.
“Do we know how the victims died? Or about what time this happened?” Chief-Inspector Fruo asked.
The sergeant went on to explain the time of death had been estimated to have happened around two or three in the morning. More would be known when the tests had been completed. As far as how? The bodies were badly mauled, which suggests they were torn by a wild animal.
“You have to be joking,” Chief-Inspector Fruo exclaimed in shock. “There's no wild animals around here. Except for caged ones.”
“Wait until you look at the bodies. Or what's left of them. You'll agree with what has been suggested.”
Sergeant Widdington led Chief-Inspector Fruo into the house where the covered bodies were. The Chief lifted the corner of the blanket to reveal the horror, which the blanket hid. All the horror the people must have been through. The blanket quickly dropped. Both men walked away. Chief-Inspectors ruddy complexion had paled to a greenish tinge. Both officers went out of the house to see Fred who was being checked out by a doctor before going in the ambulance.
“We have to ask him some questions,” the Chief-Inspector told the doctor. “Do you think he'll be able to tell us what has happened here?”
“From my examination so far, I'd say he won't be able to tell you much. Don't know how long before he'll be able to talk to anyone. If ever he will come back to reality,” replied the doctor. “He might be able to tell you some more once we have run some tests on him.”
“What's your opinion of his condition, so far,” Fruo persisted.
“He's in shock. There seems to be some drug involved. But there are no long term needle marks. There's a wound on his hand, which Doctor Francis had stitched. Not stitched very well, which would indicate there was a struggle to keep Fred still. Fred doesn't seem to be aware of what has happened. I'll be able to tell you more when I have completed the tests at the hospital. If you don't have any more questions, I'll take my patients to the hospital.”
“No. All questions can wait,” replied Chief-Inspector Fruo. “An officer will travel with you to be sure you travel safely. He will stay to guard the patient at the hospital.”
Fred was placed in the ambulance. Jillian was in the front of the ambulance. They were both taken away to the hospital.
Bill Smythe and Jane Whiters had turned into Grange Street when the ambulance went speeding past with the siren on and lights flashing. Jane had been driving slowly, careful not to attract much attention while they threaded their way past the parked cars in the street. Everyone seemed to be milling around the house of Lenore and Fred Simpson.
Jane and Bill were shocked to see Jillian's car parked in the street. Leslie's car was there as well. All their friends seemed to be involved in the murder.
“Let's move away from here,” Bill told Jane, sliding down lower in his seat.
“I know what you mean. It's not far to my place so I'll head for there. I hope I can make it home. My whole body is trembling.”
“You're not the only one,” Bill replied, a worried frown creased his forehead.
Jane parked her car in the driveway of her home. Turned the key to switch off the engine. She slumped back against her seat for a few moments trying to assemble her thoughts. Calm her trembling body.
“Come on, Bill,”Jane spoke at last. “We both could do with a strong drink.”
“We'll have to keep listening to the radio to hear if the police will give out some news. Tell us who has been murdered. And who did the murdering.” Mustering up their strength, Jane and Bill moved out of the car to walk into the house. The walk from the car, which took a few moments, felt like hours. Their legs didn't want to move fast. Were as heavy as lead. The both of them dragged their weary bodies through the house to the kitchen. Bill collapsed on to the nearest chair. He hadn't been to bed in the last twenty-seven hours.
Jane filled the kettle with water then switched it on to boil. At the same time she flicked the switch for the radio. She went about finding things ready to make their drinks.
“Bill? Would you like some whiskey in your coffee?” Bill refused the whiskey but decided on a very strong, black coffee. He needed to clear his head. His head seemed to full of cobwebs at the moment. Bill more worried about his consignment, which had not arrived. His was risky business. He had a feeling a net was being circled around him, waiting to catch him. His life had been full of luck so far. But his luck could be running out.
“How did your photograph session go?” Jane interrupted his thoughts. “I kept Fred busy for as long as I could. He was in a funny mood last night.”
“Maybe last night was the last of the sessions for Lenore and Jillian.” His thoughts were interrupted by a news flash on the radio.
Jane turned up the sound. They listened quietly to the news while they sipped their coffee to fortify their nerves for the shocks to come.
The news reader announced a prominent doctor and a woman had been murdered during the night. No names were being released until relatives had been notified. The victims were found by the wife of the doctor.
He went on to say in the early hours of the morning, a semi trailer and a car had collided on Sandy Creek bridge. The semi trailer and the car were in the creek, where rescue teams had to work fast to remove them before the in coming tide water covered the vehicles. Two people were trapped. Time was against the rescue team. The main highway would be close for several hours.
The police had been kept busy with the discovery of a man found dead in his truck. Also the remains of a timber worker were found in the forest not far from the logging camp. More news would follow when it became available.
“You can turn the radio down,” whispered Bill, upset by the news.
He had a funny feeling the semi trailer in the creek was the one, for which he had been waiting. The one with his consignment of photographic supplies an drugs.