Peripheral Vision: A Supernatural Thriller(45)

She drove a Volkswagen Beetle. Nick wasn’t sure of the year. A 77 maybe? He wondered as he watched her walk out to the parking lot. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was that Elizabeth got her medicine. Nick quieted his mind. All he needed now was an opportunity.

It didn’t take Nick long before the opportunity presented itself. In fact, all that it took was a simple staged encounter outside the Home Brew Coffee shop on Main Street. Nick pretended to be surprised to see her, and then charmingly insisted on buying her a hot cup of joe, so they could catch up. It wasn’t hard for Nick. He was good at that sort of thing, and she ate it up.

Jamie had lost her academic scholarship after sleeping through classes for two semesters at the State College in Bishop. With no other real options, she had moved back to Homewood to be closer to her chain smoking, oxygen tank towing, mother. The former homecoming queen was currently sleeping on the couch at her mother’s old double wide in Lott’s Trailer Court. Her room had been rented out, she told Nick that morning as she sipped her coffee, and so now she was on the job hunt, so she could afford her own place. Nick told her that he had a job for her.

Later that evening, she died in a wooden chair in the dank cellar beneath the Bayard House. It wasn’t how he’d planned it. The knife hadn’t been sharp enough, and it had been messy… very messy. Nick knew he could do better, and would do better next time.

Jamie, his first had been the hardest, but after that, it all became routine. He preyed on the loners and outsiders. The girls with few connections, and even fewer potentially worried loved ones. Nick was a handyman. He had always been good at fixing things, so when he discovered the old canning cellar/tornado shelter beneath the Bayard House, and in turn the half-finished escape tunnel, the routine fell into place. He finished the tunnel with a pick ax, careful not to use any power equipment, and burrowed through the dirt, his face covered in his excavator mask. After months of work, he finally dug his way out a new exit. A new exit with a convenient view of the park and its popular jogging trails.

Elizabeth insisted that Nick not take too many “donors” or too often. I'm not stupid, he thought, I get it. But he still listened to her, and believed her. She knew what she was doing, and she had made a promise to him.

“When I pass, she will come, and the two of you will rule in my place… a Prince and his Princess.”

This was the promise, and dream, that kept him going in the early stages, but soon there was more to it than that. What had seemed like strange, foreign rituals to him in the beginning, soon became familiar and what he longed for and craved all throughout his long day. Just a taste, just a taste, please. Soon, Sarah would be here, and soon he would be back in the “happy.” It would be hard to say goodbye to Elizabeth, but she was starting to fade her line of grey, and the medicine was no longer helping. It would happen soon, he could feel it. At least she had canned enough of their medicine that he wouldn't have to go hunting for awhile. He could, in fact, get everything ready for Sarah's arrival. Yes. Everything must be perfect. The breeze was starting to blow once again...





Chapter 14




The Bayard House



The History of Elizabeth Bayard The Iktomi River Massacre of 1859 set off a chain of events. The twisting turning river was a path, a dark shape shifting path of anguish and consequences. Echoes and tears flowed through the river valley over the next 150 years-the flood of 1889, the fire of 1919, the tornado disaster of 1949, the blood feud of 1965, and the missing girls of 1990, 2001, 2006, and 2011.

Every path has a beginning and an end. The grey path of this valley began in 1859, when seven white settlers, including three women, were ritualistically murdered near the Berry Crossing on the Iktomi River in northwestern Nebraska Territory. Second Lieutenant Douglas Wilmington, of the U.S.7th Infantry Regiment, stationed at Fort Connell, responded with a swift, but decisive retaliation against the small hunting party of Lakota Indians that, without any proof, were blamed for the killings. The events that followed have never been completely clear, but the end result was undeniable. One hundred men dead, and a river that was said to have flowed red for over a week.

Lt. Wilmington, still waiting for official orders, decided that justice could wait no longer, and took it upon himself to organize and execute the attack. The Lakota hunting party was made up of no more than 20 men and included some young boys out on their first hunt. Lt. Wilmington's armed detachment consisted of at least 56 trained soldiers, and another 20 or so armed volunteers from the nearby new settlement of Homewood.

The detachment caught up with the hunting party about a mile south of the Berry Crossing, near what is now known as Last Chance Ford. The small hunting party, lead by the young Sioux warrior, August Arrow, knew nothing of the murders, and was quickly surrounded. But Lt. Wilmington, in his haste to “seek justice,” had made a critical mistake, and forgot to bring an official translator along with his detachment. One of the volunteers from the settlement of Homewood, Mr. Jonathan Bayard- according to record- spoke a broken version of Dakota, and volunteered his services.

Unfortunately, for all involved, the translation and interpretation were not as they seemed. According to the story, a lone shot was fired into the band of Lakota, and a young boy was killed. No one could identify who or where the shot came from. At first there was a shocked stillness on both sides, a feeling of surrealness and confusion. Then the silence was split open by a warrior's death cry that rang out from August Arrow. The Lakota warriors attacked with a swift fury and capitalized on the mounted soldiers on-going confusion.