My Journey in Writing, Ranting, and Woodworking

The lieutenant’s heart was pounding as he crawled towards the edge of the water. His mind was trying to convince him that he was back in the war, but the little voice in his head said he was in New York. The mission was complete and he needed to get back to the major.

There hadn’t been any shots for a while, though he kept hearing Messerschmidt 109′s passing overhead. The sound of their bullets strafing the forest had frozen him for a long time and now that it was quiet he was moving forward. His gear made the moving slow, but he couldn’t leave it behind.

The night had descended during the battle. The water was still and he slid in pulling his gear. It wasn’t very deep and mud seemed to pull at his boots. He tried swimming and gave up, choosing to slog his way across to the other side.

As he pulled himself out of the water and mud the battle sounds faded. “Damn, that was a bad one,” he said to the trees. This side of the lake was unchartered territory. The lieutenant knew the road must be to the south. It took 45 minutes to reach the estate wall. It took another ten to find a way over.

When he finally got to the car he was drained but felt alive. He pulled out and headed back to the city. He drove around the bend and then realized his mistake. There was a roadblock. The flashing lights sent a wave of panic through him. If the stopped they would find his gear. His voice reminded him that the car was stolen as well. He gunned the excellerator.

******

Celine had been glued to Catherine’s side since the shooting. Henry had found the manual and realized that he was in the middle of a serial killer’s madness. Mike wouldn’t have forgiven him if he messed up the crime scene, so he went back to the house to try to get a handle on things.

The state troopers were first on the scene and though Henry didn’t know them personally, they had heard of him. He pulled the troopers aside. “I don’t want anyone else to hear this.”

The trooper took out his notepad, “Go ahead Mr. Wood.”

Henry was taken aback, “You know me?”

“I read the paper too.”

Henry wasn’t comfortable with this, but he had gotten his fair share of ink this year, and shrugged it off, “Did you hear about the officer stabbed to death, or the diner shooting?”

“I heard about the stabbing, not the other.”

“I was present for both of them.”

The trooper looked concerned, “Are you admitting to being involved in these murders?”

“Not in the way you think,” Henry said taking out his own notebook and writing a number down, “Give this a call and ask for Mike. He is the detective in charge of the other two murders. There were a couple of strange things left at the scene. Down by the wall you will find a field manuel, which I think was placed there as a message to me.”

“What sort of message?”

“I haven’t worked that out yet. But I was in the bar when the officer was stabbed, the bullet that killed the waitress flew right past me, and I was standing right next to Dwight when he was shot.”

“You think that you were the target?”

“No…if he had wanted to hit me, why didn’t he shoot again after missing?”

“Mr. Wood, I’m going to need to call this in and I’ll talk to the detective. I’ll get the rest of your statement later.”

The local police force arrived en mass and set up a road block. There was considerable arguments over jurisdiction, as this was going to be a high profile case, and the serial killer angle had both sides salivating. The bickering didn’t stop until an officer ran in and exclaimed, “We’ve got him!”