The Devil's Road: A SERIAL NOVEL
CHAPTER 04: TALL IN THE SADDLE --- ISSUE 05: COLD ON THE SLAB
Welcome to Issue #15 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 4: Tall in the Saddle, Issue 04: Games in the Dark.
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 4 Issue 5 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 clicking of Dr. Bart Laurent’s teeth as they nibble on the barrel of Sam’s gun is not the worst sound coming from behind his locked office door. The good doctor’s heaving breath as he gets closer to climaxing is much more disturbing. Bart requested the revolver in his mouth, and Sam, eager to expedite the process, complied.
Sam pulls the hammer back and whispers, “It’s still loaded,” into Bart’s ear. He obliges with an open mouth vocal exhalation as he finally climaxes. Sam closes her eyes, trying not to imprint the disturbing image into her memory.
She pins him to his desk for an excruciating two to five minutes and he lets her examine the dead bodies before they are cremated. It sounds horrible, but pales in comparison to his initial offer when they were negotiating this arrangement.
Inside the lab, Sandy’s dead body lies on an embalming table under a glowing examination light. A large trocar needle protrudes from her abdomen, draining the fluid and gas from her organs. Once, the smell of a decomposing human body would have bothered Sam, but not anymore. She snaps photos of a grouping of bruises on Sandy’s midsection and forearm.
“There’s a lot less bruising than some of the other victims,” Sam says to Bart when she feels him hovering behind her. Even when she couldn’t see him leering, the idea of it made her skin crawl. He puts both hands around her waist and tries to find the nape of her neck with his tongue. She gives him the point of her elbow between the ribs instead.
“Shit,” Bart barks as his hand goes to the point of impact. “You could just say no,” he says as he comes in for a second attempt. She instinctively grabs his pinky finger and pulls it back towards his wrist when she feels his hot breath on her again. Bart buckles to the floor.
“Okay, okay. I’ll stop,” Bart says as she lets go.
“Go get me a drink,” Sam says as she catalogs a couple of piercings and a tattoo of a dragon along the length of one thigh with her camera. She’s avoided the obvious until the end. Reluctantly she aims the lens towards Sandy’s face, or what remains of it.
Whoever attempted to remove the skin from her skull did a piss poor job. Whole sections of tissue are missing leaving gapping wounds that expose the muscle below. The tip of the nose split exposing the cartilage underneath. Once the carving was complete, the perpetrator sewed her face back on
“Dental floss,” Bart says with a little chuckle. “Official cause of death is drowning, not gingivitis.” He hands Sam a glass of whiskey.
Sam despises Bart for a large number of reasons, his jokes, although low on the list, are still on the list.
“Then what was the cause?” Sam asks, putting her whiskey aside.
“She drowned,” Bart says as he begins to trace a finger along the incisions below the jawline. “He cut the maxillary artery and blood poured down her throat causing her to suffocate. With a milligram of methamphetamine per liter in her system, it grossly accelerated blood pressure. The incision, which looks to have been done with a rather dull blade, would have caused severe blood loss either way.” Bart raises his glass, knocking back the sliver of brown liquor in a single slurp.
“What about here,” Sam asks pointing to the bruised and caved in area around the eye socket. The flattened eye now sits in a pool of viscous jelly in a dish beside the body.
“Ah, yes. It kept rolling around. I’ll put it in with the rest of her when we incinerate,” Barts says going back into his office for more booze.
“But, the bruise?” Sam asks as she points her lens at the long purple contusion that runs from the bridge of Sandy’s nose to the top of the temple. “It looks like she was hit with something.”
“Perhaps,” Bart offers as Sam snaps several angles of the ruined eye socket. She steps back and looks to see if she missed anything. The fingernails are clean and all distinguishing marks are cataloged, so she tosses the sheet back over Sandy’s body.
Bart points to a box sitting under the table as he sips on his second cocktail. Inside Sam finds Sandy’s clothing, shoes, and nothing else.
“Where’s the wig?” Sam asks.
“Wig?” Bart says confused.
“She was wearing a wig. It nearly blew off in the wind.” Bart hasn’t seen it. “What about a plastic bag with some rags inside?” Sam asks, her tone sharpening. Bart shakes his head from side to side.
“I need you to do one more thing for me,” Sam asks as she pulls a vial from her pocket. Inside is the cotton swab she used to wipe the blood from her face. “This sample came from the wig that was on her head. It’s probably hers, but I really need you to check it, just to be sure.”
A greasy grin stretches across Bart’s face exposing his nearly translucent white teeth as he says, “So can I expect you to return again tomorrow night?” Sam places the vial in Bart’s hand. He didn’t just get another drink from his office. He offers her the bag with the toy inside.
“Can’t have my intern finding this. Plus, looks like you’ll need it next time you come by,” Bart says, again trying to pull Sam into him.
“I bet you can figure something out,” Sam says, stepping back and resting her hand on her revolver.
“I’ll lock it in the bottom drawer for later,” Bart says, pocketing the vial.
Samantha grabs the box and her camera. Lucks never been on her side. So, the likelihood that the vial contains anything more than an additional sample of Sandy’s blood is thin. This case won’t be solved with luck, nor by anyone else in the department. She’s on her own, but maybe that’s for the better.
Bart waves goodbye with the tips of his fingers dancing in the air like he’s playing a tiny piano. Sam can’t wait to get back into the night air, and figure out what in the hell happened to that wig.
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