The Devil's Road: A SERIAL NOVEL
The Devil's Road: A SERIAL NOVEL
CHAPTER 03: AN ITCH TO BE SCRATCHED --- ISSUE 02: HEATHER’S TEMPTATION
Welcome to Issue #9 of The Devil’s Road, a serial novel following the exploits of Samantha Hart, a Sequoyah County Sheriff, full of vengeance and fury using her badge to hunt down her sister's killer as she uncovers a trail of bloodshed that coats the heartland. If you missed it, you can read last week’s Chapter 3/Issue1: An Itch to be Scratched - On Assignment.
If you are new to the series, I recommend you check out Chapter 1 which you can read or listen to for free here:
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And now, please enjoy Chapter 3 Issue 2 of … The Devil’s Road.
In 2004 an Oklahoma Bureau of Investigations analyst discovered a crime pattern along the Interstate 40 corridor between Oklahoma and Mississippi. Subsequently, The Federal Bureau of Investigations (F.B.I.) started the Highway Serial Killings Initiative. They discovered over 500 bodies of women along the interstate highway system with more than 200 potential suspects, a trail of bloodshed that coats the heartland. The Devil’s Road is a serialized novel based on this horrific discovery.
The difference between discipline and vengeance could be perspective. Captain James towers a full fourteen inches over Sam but his hands are incredibly small in comparison to the rest of his body. She focuses on one finger in particular, the one waggling around in front of her face as he berates her for doing her job.
That finger and its freakish smallness is the only thing distracting her from the desire to see blood coming from the Captain’s nose at the moment of impact with her fist. The desire for violence can be intoxicating. In fact, it’s a moment of true levity that must be weighed against a number of factors, not least of which is her bank account. Samantha’s bank account was overly familiar with the color red, and she needed this job for more reasons than money. So, she stood fast as Captain James finally ran out of breath, or his finger just gave out.
The words, although important to Captain James, washed over Sam. This wasn’t her first, or quite frankly, would it be the last time she received a real “once-over,” from her superior. Quite frankly, she might lose confidence in the system, if he didn’t at least make the attempt.
“And you damn well better deliver those files back to the archives before the end of the day.” Captain James barks. He huffs and puffs heavily through his nostrils, sucking at the humid air, attempting to get his blood pressure nearer stage one hypertension, its usual resting place.
Sam sees the opportunity and attempts to duck out of the line of fire toward her cruiser, but Captain James steps in her path. “I’m going to need an affirmative on that order Sergeant.” He’s nearly gassed out now.
“Affirmative, sir,” she says.
“You know Samantha if one of the other fellas tried to pull,” a hail of coughs followed by a long wheeze falls out of the Captain, but he regains his breath again and this time at an amazingly steady rate.
“…tried to pull that bullshit on me. I’d of had his badge.” He waits for a response. Unfortunately for Sam, he has completely regained his composure and does not look interested in backing down this time, but neither is she.
“Not a one of you gives a good goddamn about these girls. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta local to assist on a drunk driving call.” Sam shoves past her superior officer.
James spins as she shoves past, and his damn blood pressure perks back up. With as much tenderness as he can gather he says, “Samantha, you gotta quit chasing her ghost. She’s been dead for going on five years now.”
Her fingers are shaking as she reaches into her chinos for the key to the cruiser, but she can’t let him see her upset. She’s carrying the camera equipment to the trunk of her car parked along the roadside. If she can get this stowed away and in the car without having to look him in the eye again, that would be best. The keys, however, had a different idea. She pulls them free from her pocket and they slip right through her fingers flying into the air. She reaches out to grab them mid-air, but she’s not quite that fast. They tumble forward behind the car and slide along the asphalt out into the highway. She steps onto the road to pick them up when a blaring horn blasts her eardrums. Sam jumps back quickly as a semi-truck flies past on Highway 443.
It’s been nigh on thirty years since Captain James ran forty yards in under six seconds, but today he found he still had some juice left in the tanks. Sam reels backward down the slope off the road and into the ditch, her hat flies off and her long hair tumbles out. She eventually plants her rear end in the dirt. James makes it there in time to offer a hand which she brushes aside and gets up on her own accord with a, “Fuck you!” for good measure. Sam dusts herself off as she climbs back up to the side of the road. She looks both ways this time to make sure it’s clear and grabs her keys.
She puts the camera away in the trunk. Captain James opens the door for to climb into the cruiser’s driver’s seat. If he thought she was looking for chivalry, the look on her face, as she sits down inside the car, says differently.
“I’m just trying to do my job,” Sam says.
“Then return the files. There’s a process here, and I expect you to follow it. Copy?” James says as he drops her hat on her lap.
“Copy,” she replies and shuts the car door.
James leans down and taps on the glass of the driver’s side door. Sam doesn’t roll down the window, but she does turn her face towards him so he know she’s listening. He points to her left cheek.
“You got something right there,” he says as he traces his finger in the same direction as a red line on her face goes. Sam looks in the rearview mirror. Starting under her eye and disappearing behind her ear on the left side of her face is a streak of dried blood. It’s not hers. She nods at the Captain and starts her cruiser.
Captain James glances up the hill towards the corpse and a small group of officers and technicians going over the site. They are all too occupied with the task at hand to have seen the spat between him and Lieutenant Hart. Well, all except one. Bandy’s facing away from the body with both hands down on his knees like he’s looking at something on the ground. The likelihood that Bandy would aid this investigation in any meaningful way was slim to none, and he proves as much as whatever resistance he had left lets go, and he vomits into the grass.
“Jesus Christ, Bandy!” James hollers up the hill.
Bandy sees the Captain standing near the roadside, hands on his hips, and he wants to go down there as he’s been ordered. The thing is, he’s got one more … another stream of this morning’s eggs and toast hit the grass. Bandy moves as fast as he can away from the body towards the Captain, but he tries not to go too fast, otherwise everyone would know he’s running away.
“Cappin' James,” Bandy says reporting for duty.
“Bandy, hop in your cruiser and assist Lieutenant Hart on this drunk driving call she’s heading out to, okay?” James says.
“Oh, I mean I can take it by myself. I know Sam got pretty pissed off when you told her she had to leave and couldn’t stay and work the case.”
“Bandy, if I want any shit out of you I’ll squeeze your head. Now get,” James says as he heads up the hill to aid in the investigation. Bandy nods in agreement like he had a choice in the matter.
Sam opens the glove box of the cruiser. Inside she has a small evidence collection kit set up with everything you would need from gunpowder residue testing to fingerprinting. She pulls out a cotton swab, a dropper with liquid in it, and a clear evidence bag. She puts two drops on the end of the swab and gently wipes at the blood on her face. As the wet swab touches the dried blood it soaks a small amount into the end of the swab.
There’s a quick rap on her driver’s side window that makes her jump. Outside Bandy’s leaning over with his supinated fist moving in a circular motion in front of him, the universal sign for, “roll down your window.” Samantha taps the button that brings her window down.
“Oh man, I didn’t know the new models had power windows,” he says.
“What is it Bandy?” she asks.
“What’s that on your face there?” he asks pointing to the now smeared red streak across her cheek.
“What’s that there on your tie Bandy?” she asks in return.
Bandy looks down and sees a little egg-colored stain on his uniform tie. He pulls out a hanky from his back pocket and wipes at it as he tries to explain.
“Well, Captain James thought that maybe you could use some support on this drunk driving call he’s sending you off on, and, well, you know me, I wouldn’t want to see you gettin’ into any trouble out there by yours-”
That’s about all the misogyny Sam’s willing to take in one morning when she says, ”Bandy, just get in your cruiser and follow along.”
“Yes, sir … uh, ma’am. Lieutenant!” Bandy fumbles for both his words and his keys as he walks towards his cruiser.
Sam hits the button on the armrest and rolls her window back up. Bandy eventually turns and commits to going to his car. He’s a lingerer, one of those people who don’t ever really seem to see those little social cues that one puts out that are clearly saying, “Leave me the hell alone.”
She continues to follow the streak down her cheek until the tip of the swab is now a dark maroon color. This is the second body that’s been found along this stretch, but nobody up on that hillside next to that poor girl remembers that. If both of the bodies had been men, or hell even something besides what they were, this would be a media circus by mid-day. She drops the swab into the evidence bag and writes “CASE 4490-2” on the bag before putting it all back into her glove box. She uses her shoulder and upper arm to wipe the solution and the rest of the blood off of her face.
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