One Last Scream

Jessie sat there helpless as he made Jody wrap the tape around her ankles, fixing them to the chair’s front legs. He tested Jody’s work, pulling at each adhesion.

Then he took the children into their bedrooms. Cringing, Jessie listened to him barking instructions to Jody on how to tie up his sister. She heard Steffie whimpering the whole time, and Jody telling her to be brave. Jessie prayed and prayed that the next sound she heard wouldn’t be a gunshot.

“That’s right, put the tape over her mouth,” the man said at one point.

Jessie listened to Steffie’s muffled whining.

“C’mon, your turn,” the man growled to Jody. “Take me to your room.”

For the next few minutes, it was deathly quiet. Then suddenly, Jody let out a loud cry. It sent a jolt through Jessie’s heart. “What are you doing to him?” she cried.

She waited anxiously for the next sound. Finally, she heard Jody’s stifled moaning. At least he was still alive.

“There’s no reason to hurt the children!” she called. “We’re not stopping you. Please, just take whatever you want and leave!”

A few long moments passed before the young man ambled back into the kitchen with the cordless phone from George’s study. “Oh, I’m not leaving for a while,” he announced. “In fact, we’re all going to wait here for their daddy to come home.”

Then he’d forced her to make the call to George.

Jessie couldn’t figure out why he wanted George to rush home. But she realized this wasn’t an ordinary robbery. This was something much worse.

She stared up at that pale, young man with the jet-black hair and those tiny bangs over his forehead. Jessie wished she could see his eyes behind those dark glasses. “Listen, what’s your name, anyway?”

He didn’t respond. But he seemed to be studying her behind the sunglasses.

“Well, you heard George tell me that he won’t be here for another two and a half hours,” Jessie continued. “Since we’re stuck here together that long, I should at least know you by name, any name. What should I call you?”

“Call me Your Majesty,” he replied, deadpan.

“Well, Your Majesty, I want to compliment you on the way you dress,” Jessie said. “That’s a very snappy suit. It shows you’re serious and have a lot of self-respect. I think you’re also smart enough, and compassionate enough, to care about those kids. You must know they’re scared, and very uncomfortable.”

“They’re fine, hog-tied on their beds.”

Jessie sighed. “The little one has asthma. If she has an attack, we won’t be able to hear her. You’ve taped up her mouth. She could suffocate.” Jessie’s voice started to shake. “And she’s wet herself. I’m sure you saw that. You have a heart. I know you do. If you’d just let me change her clothes and wash her up. Then the two children and I, we’d sit quietly on the sofa together. You could still keep our wrists and ankles tied….”

“You talk too fucking much,” he said coolly. “Would it help shut you up if I tied a plastic bag over your head?”

Jessie stared at him, and didn’t say another thing.

George was driving down Rural Route 17 about a mile away from Sherry’s Corner Food amp; Deli when he saw the patrol car in the distance. The red strobe lights on the roof flashed and glowed in the darkness ahead. He heard the siren’s wail.

“Oh, no,” he muttered. If that was the sheriff on her way to the Schlessinger ranch, he didn’t have time to talk with her or answer questions. He couldn’t stop for anything. He needed to get back to Seattle. He could tell from talking with Jessie earlier that he hadn’t gotten the full story about the situation at home. Something was terribly wrong.

He watched the cop car, speeding toward him. The flashers were getting brighter.

Tyler must have found a body. Why else would the sheriff be speeding toward the ranch? Well, they could carry on without him.

George saw a mailbox and the driveway to a farm on his right. Switching off his headlights, he made the turn. He navigated down the dark, narrow, gravel road that wound behind some trees. Then he slowly turned the car around. The sound of the police siren grew louder, closer. Hands on the steering wheel, George watched the police car speed by.

His cell phone rang. The deputy had given him his cell number earlier. George recognized it. “Tyler?” he said.

“I found another skeleton,” the deputy said. “It wasn’t a cat this time. You were right. There are human remains out here.” He let out a sigh. “Jesus, I still can’t believe it. This could be what’s left of Sandra Hartman right here in front of me.”

“Did you call the sheriff and tell her?” George asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Yeah, she’s on her way,” Tyler answered. “She wants you to come back and show us exactly where you found the waitress’s name tag. The state police are on their way, too. This place is going to be like Grand Central Station in about an hour.”

George winced. “Listen, Tyler, do me a favor. Pretend you couldn’t get ahold of me. I can’t stick around. I need to get home to my kids. It’s an emergency.”

There was no response on the other end.

“Tyler?”

“Okay, but I don’t think she’ll believe me.”

“Thanks.” George switched his headlights on again, and started back onto Rural Route 17. He didn’t see the police flashers in his rearview mirror. The sheriff’s car had sped down the road, out of sight.

“Could you do me another favor?” George asked. “Don’t tell them where I’m going, okay?”

“Well, I can’t guarantee they won’t figure it out, but I’ll try to stall them.”

“Good. Thanks. And hey, don’t let that creep of a sheriff grab any credit for finding those bodies. You’re the one who did it.”

“Okay,” he said, with a dazed laugh. “Jesus. I’m really blown away. I still can’t believe it. I’m standing here, looking down at this skeleton, and it could be Sandra.”

His eyes on the dark road ahead, George didn’t say anything for a moment. He was thinking that Sandra had been the last young woman to vanish. And Annabelle was still alive.

“I wouldn’t expect to find Sandra Hartman’s corpse out there on the ranch,” George said finally. “You’re more likely to find her buried in Arbor Heights Cemetery-beside Lon Schlessinger.”

The Schlessinger ranch-July 2004

“Sandra, can you hear me?”

She leapt up from the cot. Hobbling toward the big, bulky door, she accidentally kicked a few empty tin cans. She’d been living on Purrfect Kitty cat food, canned sliced peaches, and water for the last several days and nights. As long as she’d cooperated with him, she’d gotten food.

“Annabelle?” she cried, leaning against the door. “Is that you?”

“I’m getting you out of here now,” Annabelle called. There was a knocking sound, and then a loud clank, as if something metal had dropped to the concrete floor.

It was the same noise Sandra had become accustomed to hearing before he came in to beat her or screw her, or whatever he had an itch to do to her that particular night. “Assume the position!” he’d call, before opening that big door. She had to kneel by the cot, her back to him, and her arms at her sides. Then he’d start in on her.

But this was Annabelle. For several days now, Annabelle Schlessinger had promised to help her escape. Each time, she’d said the same thing. “If I spring you out of here, you have to help me get away and start someplace new, okay?” Annabelle had kept telling her to be patient and hang in there. It would only be another day or two.

They’d always talked through the closed, bolted door. But now that thick, cumbersome door squeaked open. Sandra felt her whole body trembling. She couldn’t wait to get out of there. She didn’t even think to grab her shoes. She just started pushing at the door.