Monster: The Story Of A Maniac Read online

  Howard nodded his head knowingly.

  “Have you changed the tires?”

  “Yes, sure,” he lied, hesitantly.

  “Well done,” Jason’s voice changed as he tried to squeeze out as much kindness as he could. “Please, forgive me if sometimes I snap at you. You’re a good friend, loyal and dutiful, and you don’t deserve that.”

  Howard smiled awkwardly.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. I understand. You are a special person, and you need to be treated in a special way. I'll get used to it soon.”

  “Fine.” Jason went to the door of a maroon wooden garage with a white roof and began to open it. “Oh yeah, and one more thing,” he added, stopping what he was doing. “While I’m gone, don’t, under any circumstances, touch the children.”

  “What are you talking about, how could I...?”

  “Don't interrupt me,” Jason raised his voice. “I noticed how you stared at Andrew, fingering your screwdriver.”

  Howard sagged.

  “You will have him as soon as the time comes, and you will find a perfect place for your screwdriver. Otherwise, if even one of them complains about you before filming, you will join their predecessors, fertilizing the field.”

  “You don’t have to worry, now I’ll just feed them and give them something to drink, and that’s all.”

  “That’s my boy!” Jason opened the door of his pickup truck, got inside, and ignited an old worn-down engine, and set off along the lonely road towards the highway.

  Rubbing his hands with a dirty kitchen towel, Howard kept watching as the master drove away. He was worried because he had lied – he had not managed to change the rear tires on the heavy ‘99 Chevrolet Silverado. Surely no trace had been left on the side of the road near the school bus when unconscious children were transferred to the pickup truck. Howard did not care if the police became interested in the red Chevrolet with a canopy. He was concerned that Jason would notice he had lied and return as angry as a hurricane, bringing unpleasant, frightening consequences.

  Jason's house was ten miles east of Hampton, Iowa. A small relaxed town where something unexpected or extraordinary never happened, a real two-story America with a church, a street full of shops, a school, and a cinema. Nothing special, but everything that you needed was at hand.

  The worst thing that could ever happen to cozy Hampton was Jason Frost. The very fact that he had gone to one of the schools of that town and his frequent visits there as an adult afterwards. Locals, those who knew him, were glad to meet Jason because they had studied together, played in the same football team, and shared other junior trifles together.

  It was a pity he did not reciprocate the feelings of any of the girls who fell in love with him. It was okay. The main thing was that the zealous farmer and his cousin Howard, who came from somewhere in the south, did nothing wrong, being reclusive, but full-fledged members of the Hampton community.

  The sun was beating down on the roof of Jason’s vehicle as it swept past the corn and wheat fields. All would have been perfect it had not been for the heavy smell of chloroform that still lingered inside.

  Far in the distance, the outskirts of Hampton appeared, revealing some small one-story houses.

  Jason liked to come to town – drive through the streets where he had run with friends as a little boy, studied narrow nooks and crannies, cycled, and perspired. Here he knew each tree, every brick in every house. Mrs. Dickens lived on his left with her old dog who lost the use of its legs but who would never die. On the right lived his classmate and old friend Sam Erickson who became an insurance agent and built himself a dream based on the TV series of the seventies – a house with a low white fence, a wife and two children. What a pity that the poor fellow drank too much – they might diagnose cirrhosis of his liver any day.

  And of course, a bit further, closer to the downtown, there was a grocery store of a beautiful and lonely woman, Samantha Stodge.

  Although she owned a small grocery store full of various snacks, she made good money because there were always people in her store. They adored Samantha and did everything possible to brighten up her loneliness. Jason also loved to pop in. There he could always have a cup of coffee, eat a fragrant hot dog, and chat with his old friends.

  Samantha, noticing the red pickup truck through the window display, pressed a button on her coffee maker to warm up the coffee. The door opened and a smiling Jason stepped inside. Unfortunately, because of the early hour, the store was almost empty, so the hostess appeared to be the only recipient of that smile. She looked happy to see the rare guest again. But if you didn’t look at her directly and tried to catch her with peripheral vision, she would have been a gray indistinct spot.

  “Hey! How are you?” Jason hugged Samantha.

  “Hi! I’m fine, as always... I open, I close. People come and go. Life is always in full swing here in Hampton, as you know.”

  “I ran away from all that commotion. How can one live in this metropolis? I can't imagine.”

  Samantha smiled again and, taking a clean cup from under the cash register, poured coffee for her dear guest.

  “So, what brought you here?”

  Jason blew a little on his hot coffee and took a sip.

  “As always, I have to buy stuff for the farm and eat a couple of your hot dogs.”

  “Oh, then I have to prepare some,” Samantha said gladly and, leaving the counter, headed towards a utility room, where the boxes with goods were stored.

  Jason, left on his own, drank the hot coffee in small sips and glared vacantly at a black-and-white chessboard on the floor, sometimes distracted by the bell that sounded at the door when someone came in or out.

  A few minutes later, Samantha reappeared from behind the screen and put a plate with two freshly prepared hot dogs on the counter.

  “Thank you so much. If not for them, I would never show up in the town.”

  The hospitable owner smiled.

  “Oh, come on, you’ll spoil me, and I’ll become conceited.”

  Chewing slowly, Jason looked behind Samantha. There was a poster of a missing person on the wall.

  “Any news about Lily?” he asked delicately.

  “The same as a year and a half ago,” Samantha spread her hands. “She disappeared on the way from school and that's it. It seems that a herd of donkeys is working in the police. So, nothing... No results.”

  “It is important to keep on believing, you know” the guest exuded empathy.

  Gripped by sadness, Samantha nodded her head with detachment and tried not to cry.

  “I do, I started saving money for her college when she was ten. Imagine, I still put money aside. It’s like… if she returns, and after four to five years she goes to college.”

  “You're so smart... Everything will turn out exactly as you’ve said, I’m certain.”

  “After all, I had nobody except her. And now every evening when I come back home, drink tea or whiskey, and think, why do I need all that, why do I live this life and…”

  Jason put the hot dog on a plate and with a sad look began to stroke a distressed Samantha on the shoulder.

  “Don't say that. I do believe that everything will work out, and your princess will return.”

  “Sometimes, I think… Well, you know... I hope she died quickly, and no one tortured her… so my little girl did not suffer,” tears sparkled in Samantha’s eyes. “And then I say to myself – you fool, you are a mother, how can you even think of such a thing! She will be found, and after that, despite everything she had to go through, I will be able to return her to normal life with my heart and my love.”

  Jason withdrew his hand.

  “Everything she had to go through... What are you suggesting, Samantha?”

  “Remember, how the whole town talked about how beautiful she was, the future Queen of Hampton... I mean, why, and who could take her from me?”

  “Don't say that... It's awful.”

  “Have you watched the news?” the hoste
ss asked, emotional. “Have you heard what happened in Indianapolis? What if Lily is somehow connected to all of this? What if that son of a bitch travels to neighboring states and abducts our children?”

  Jason looked at the angry mother compassionately.

  “It’s been a year and a half, Samantha. I am sure that this event has nothing to do with the loss of your daughter. But you know, I’ll pray that you are right. It will come to an end, and very soon Lily will cook my favorite hot dogs here instead of you.”

  Samantha turned away for a moment to the wall and wiped a tear from her cheek.

  “I appreciate that so much. Your support makes me hold on.”

  Hugging Samantha, Jason tried to send her all the rays of warmth and support that he had in his heart. Perhaps that was why she did not feel anything.

  “I have to run now... How much?”

  “No, no, that was on the house,” the hostess smiled tiredly. “You have to drop in more often.”

  The country guy took his half-eaten hot dog in one hand and proceeded to the exit.

  “Bye see you later,” he shouted without looking back.

  Gently opening the door of his pickup truck, he got behind the wheel and put his snack on the seat. Sad Samantha could be seen through the window with bright announcements and advertisements.

  “Damn, how strong motherly love is.” Jason was silently surprised. “I’ll have to send her the best pictures from last night.”

  ***

  Located in the north of Hampton, near the exit of the 63rd highway, there was a small supermarket with the simple name “Farm Store” selling goods for local farmers and gardeners. The nearest large settlement, where you could find a similar store and buy everything you needed, was 57 miles away from the town. Thomas Spencer knew that, which is why after its opening, farmers, and just lovers of digging in the ground, began to come to his place from all over the county. They could always buy fertilizers, spare parts for agricultural machinery, seed, and livestock feed there. Tom's only problem was that demand always exceeded supply. Remembering the hard times, he could not afford to buy goods in advance and store them, because tomorrow his customers might stop buying. Therefore, he had to order things urgently needed up to two days in advance.

  A few days ago, Tom received a standard email from Jason Frost. He, as always, wanted to buy several rolls of black plastic wrap, with a width of 80 inches and a length of about 200. His order did not differ much from the others. Greenhouses often use plastic wrap instead of glass. The only thing Tom could not figure out was why did Mr. Frost need a black one. After all, it does not let the sunlight in, and that was necessary for plants inside the greenhouse. He probably had some special way of doing things, because every farmer has his own secrets for growing products. Apparently, Mr. Frost was no exception.

  Tom brought out the last third roll of the plastic wrap and put it against the wall near the entrance, right next to the others. Catching his breath and wiping the sweat from his forehead, he took out a pack of cigarettes from a pocket in his shirt, lit up a cigarette and glanced at his watch. Surprised, he checked the figures with the clock on his phone. It showed 11:47, and Jason Frost still wasn’t there. The young farmer driving from somewhere on the other side of Hampton had never been late before. That delay did not really bother him, but it seemed a bit strange.

  Tom looked around the parking lot in front of his store. There was no sign of Jason's vehicle, only some ordinary farmer pickup trucks and a few sedans. The man’s attention was caught by a black-and-white police Ford Victoria located among other cars about a hundred feet to the right of the entrance. The license plate indicated that the police were not local, and there were no cops inside the car.

  Tom threw away his cigarette and put out it with his boot, and came inside.

  Suddenly someone honked from behind. It was Jason. Stopping at the entrance, he got out of the car with a smile on his face.

  “Hi, sorry for being late.”

  “It’s okay. Now at least I know it’s possible.”

  “I rarely happen to be in Hampton,” Jason justified himself. “While I go around, I buy everything I need. So, it’s not always possible to be on time.”

  His interlocutor nodded, smiling with understanding.

  Jason looked at the rolls against the wall.

  “These are mine?”

  “Yep. You can take them.”

  “That’s good.”

  Jason went back to his pickup and opened the lower trunk door. A sharp smell of chloroform came from within. Although it had become weaker, it was still quite noticeable.

  Helpful Tom, who worshiped his customers, put one of the heavy rolls on his shoulder.

  “Let me help you.”

  Running up, Jason hurriedly grabbed the roll from the store owner.

  “Oh no, I’m fine, I can handle it.”

  The startled Tom hesitated because it was so abrupt and even a little strange.

  “Here, take it. I want to pay in the meanwhile,” Jason handed him his credit card. “I'm in a hurry.”

  “Are you sure that you don’t need my help?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  The young farmer behaved confidently, holding his heavy purchase with one hand on his shoulder and giving the card with the other.

  The store owner did not want to dwell on the matter. So, he simply took the credit card and went to the cash register inside his store, leaving Jason to deal with the heavy rolls on his own.

  The strange customer, in his turn, having dealt with one roll, picked up the next one. After finishing loading, he closed the trunk and carefully looked around.

  Far off the highway, he saw a man in a police uniform talking about something with a driver standing on the side of the road. During this conversation, the cop constantly looked around, focusing on cars passing along the highway.

  Jason was able to behave calmly and confidently without showing any signs of concern. In most cases, when meeting law enforcement officers, he behaved impudently, convinced he had no reason to worry. Did he not carry out his perverted crimes perfectly, thinking through all the moves and details in advance, leaving no traces? However, this time he was worried, something started to buzz inside him like an engine, getting on his nerves, making him anxious.

  With a sigh of relief, Jason turned around and pulled his baseball cap lower.

  “Where is that idiot with my fucking card?”

  Going around the vehicle to hide from the possible attention of the policeman, he inadvertently glanced at the wheels of his pickup. The front tires almost shone because of their novelty with a coal gloss, while the rear ones were dirty black with an erased but still clearly visible tire tread. His heart rapidly beat faster, and Jason hurried to get inside the truck.

  “Moron!” He burst out, closing the door. “Son of a bitch! I’ll rip his fucking balls off…”

  The policeman walked by the red pickup truck at the entrance of the store. He turned his head and glanced at the driver. He seemed to have heard someone yelling inside.

  "It seemed…"

  The driver sat quietly in his car and turned on the radio.

  Watching the cop leave, Jason checked the side mirrors to make sure that there was no one behind, so he could drive back and get out of there. One of the cars that blocked his way was the policeman’s Ford Victoria. The figures on the license plate of that car were the last straw. The muscle, that Jason called his heart, was gripped with panic.

  It couldn’t be that a police car with the license plate of the state capital just happened to be there, just at the same time when all of America, the entire east coast, had been placed on alarm and was trying to find something, or detain someone however suspicious.

  "They are here because of me."

  Permeated with fear and cowardice, Jason backed up, maneuvering between the cars. Having extricated himself from that labyrinth, he shifted gear and buried his foot into the gas pedal. He sped off into the traffic movi
ng along Highway 63.

  Noticing his customer speed off, Tom Spencer ran out of the store.

  “Wait... your card! Mr. Frost! Wait!” he shouted.

  The commotion attracted the attention of patrolman.

  “What’s happening here?”

  “Err… My client forgot his card,” Tom spread his arms, still watching the red pickup truck race off.

  “He'll come back as soon as he finds out,” the policeman reassured him. “I’ll report it on the radio, so that the guys on the road inform him.”

  “Thank you, officer, it will be great,” the store owner said with huge relief. “He rarely drops in, and I don’t know where he lives. So, your help is highly appreciated.”

  The cop smiled.

  “Attention, all units, in addition to the hijacking, we have a wise guy who forgot his credit card. When you see the red Silverado, tell the driver to come back to the Hampton Farm Store.”

  “Roger that, twenty-sixth,” the radio replied.

  Jason tested the engine’s limits burning up the gasoline in an almost depleted tank even faster. Emotions and thoughts were left behind. Jason was obsessed with fear and certainty that the black and white Ford Victoria, that didn’t have a speed limitation, was chasing him.

  Just an hour ago Jason had been so sure of his immunity and future! Today he was supposed to return to his farm, spread black plastic out in one of the rooms and cover the floor and the walls, and glue the seams so that blood would not leak onto the floor and soak into the old wood. After that Jason was to have had a good time, turning one of the abducted children into a lump of minced meat, acquainting him with all the charms of close friendship with a well-built thirty-two-year-old naked man in a black ski mask. Instead, the years of hard work setting up a pool of customers, and his pure, innocent, dreams of a brighter tomorrow had collapsed.

  Information about the tire tread patterns were sent to all states, which meant that during the first days after the abduction the main locations of the search were roads, gas stations, roadside cafes, and parking lots close to shops. Jason was certain that while passing by his truck, the officer had noticed the treads on the rear wheels of his pickup. He had not arrested him right away because he had to follow the suspect and find out where the children were hidden.