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Briareus |
| Written by J. J. White | |
| Sunday, 24 June 2007 | |
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Share it:      Her beloved twin sister, Shara… was dead. There was no other way for her mother to break it to her. Her sister had been brutally murdered just outside a small township in New Hampshire where she attended college. Shara’s body was mutilated and left in a gully alongside a rural road that led away from the university. As a twin, Valerie thought she would have felt some alarm or a premonition of danger for her sister, like she did when they were young. But nothing like that happened. Valerie was the one dealing with danger on a daily basis, not her sister Shara. Shara should have been safe in the crime free area of the university. No one at the university had mentioned that two other coeds had also been brutally murdered in the town. The dean explained to Valerie that the murders were not mentioned to prospective students because the killings happened over sixty years ago. The school believed that whoever committed the murders must have died or moved away, back in 1946. Surely they can’t be related. On August 19th 1945, Mildred Perkins, a student from Brattleboro, was killed and dismembered by an unknown assailant on a Friday night as she walked back to the university after dancing most of the night at an USO dance for soldiers on leave. Almost exactly one year to the day, Harriet Lawton was likewise hacked to death with an axe outside her dormitory. In each case the girl’s finger was sent by mail to the local newspaper. Along with the grotesque digit, the killer sent a letter detailing the murder and threatening to continue the attacks unless they closed the university. Each letter was signed with the name of the Greek mythological monster, “Briareus”. The university’s enrollment suffered severely for the next five years. So bad, in fact that the school nearly closed its doors for good, just as the killer demanded, but eventually students trickled back and within a few years, the murders were all but forgotten. But now, to the dismay of the university, Briareus had returned, or more likely, a copycat killer. Regardless, the president of the college was terrified that some crazed killer could once again blackmail the school into closing. Because the university was the main source of income for the small town of Middlesex, they were able to keep the details of Shara’s murder out of the papers, making it look as if a love affair had gone wrong or that possibly it was a drug related killing. The school did such a good job of keeping the murder under the radar, that the newspaper made no mention of the finger or the note signed by Briareus. Valerie and her family would have never known the exact details of Shara’s murder if Valerie had not been a police officer and was able to obtain all the details from the New Hampshire law enforcement database. It was obvious to her that several local agencies as well as the university covered up her sister’s murder. At first she thought about going to a national paper and exposing the cover-up, but her anger over the Shara’s murder and her need for revenge changed her plans. Under the premise that she would attend the university in her sister’s place, she took a one-year leave of absence from the police force and enrolled in the university. Her parents agreed to Valerie’s decision believing their daughter merely wanted to honor her sister by obtaining the diploma her twin would never receive. But Valerie had no intention of ever graduating. Her intention was to use herself as bait to capture her sister’s killer. Like the passage from the Bible that she and her twin read in Sunday school… she desired an “eye for an eye.” Her plan was to start the fall semester in place of her sister, move into her old apartment, and jog every evening, just as Shara had, in order to lure Briareus to her. Once trapped, it would be her that wields the axe, her that hacks at him, her that mails his finger to the press. She had little to go on. The police determined the paper and computer were untraceable. The only lead they had was the liquid in the jar that held her sister’s index finger. The fluid contained ascetic acid, a common ingredient in vinegar, primarily used for pickling vegetables. Whoever committed the murder possibly preserves their own food, narrowing it down to just about every resident in Middlesex, a university town of over six thousand residents. No, Valerie would not track down the killer using the tradition police forensics measures she had been taught while working on the police force. She would lay the honey out and wait patiently for the fly. Before the semester started she moved into Shara’s old apartment, about a mile from the university. Mrs. Wilkins, the seventy-seven year old landlady, graciously held the room for Valerie, refusing to rent it out to any of the other students out of respect for Shara’s family. When Valerie arrived at the hundred-year-old house on a Saturday morning, Mrs. Wilkins was stunned by her resemblance to Shara. “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed. “It’s as if Shara was alive again. Oh my dear, please come in. We have so much to talk about.” The apartment living, classes, and daily jogs all seemed just part of a routine now. On her jogs, Valerie always kept her police revolver strapped underneath a large, loose T-shirt that covered up the bulge of the holster. She taped a small two-shot derringer beneath her underwear as a backup. The jogs were a necessary part of the plan. Shara had jogged each day, always at the same time in the early evening, the time she probably was abducted, according to the police. Valerie concluded that if he struck a solitary female jogger once, then he would do it again, but this time, he would be the one surprised, not her. A month of school and jogging produced no results. Each evening regardless of the weather, and to the consternation of Mrs. Wilkins, Valerie kept up the daily jogs, hoping Briareus would seize his opportunity. “I wish you wouldn’t go running each evening,” Mrs. Wilkins said. “You know that Shara ran the night she was abducted. Why don’t you just stay in or run in the morning when it’s safe.” Valerie, still sweating from the run, sat at the kitchen table, and munched on some of Mrs. Wilkin’s fine concord grapes. She felt frustrated by the lack of results so far from the month she’d been there. The only good thing about her efforts was that she was in the best shape of her life from running so much. She’d let her body go over the last few years of hour lunches and free donuts on the police beat in Bingham. She felt fit and a hell of a lot smarter since returning to college. “Mrs. Wilkins? Do you mind if I ask you a few personal questions?” “Please do, Valerie. I don’t mind.” “Oh, okay,” Valerie said, removing a grape seed out of an indentation in her molar. She’d have to remember to get a new crown on that when she returned to Bingham. “Mrs. Wilkins, how long have you lived here?” “Oh, let me see. I was seven when my parents moved here, so that’s seventy years. Why do you ask?” “Because, sixty years ago there was a serial killer in this area who murdered two girls near the university.” “Oh yes,” Mrs. Wilkins said frowning, Briareus” “You know about him?” asked Valerie, somewhat startled. “Oh, yes. There are still several residents in Middlesex that were here when that happened. I was seventeen at the time and my father wouldn’t allow me to go outside without an escort for several years. I remember that awful man, mailing those poor girls’ fingers to the Tribune. It was horrible. Why do you want to know about him?” “Do you know how my sister died?” “Well the police didn’t tell me much. Just that an old boyfriend or a drug person may have murdered her, but I told them I didn’t believe Shara would have anything to do with drugs. Shara was a lovely girl.” “Yes she was. I miss her a lot. Mrs. Wilkins… Someone claiming to be Briareus killed Shara. Do you think there is any way this guy could still be alive? And if he is, do you know any older men in town that might be capable of being Briareus?” “No dear, most all have died or are too old now. Perhaps it’s a young man copying him. Maybe he found the old stories about Briareus and wanted the publicity. No, it couldn’t possibly be one of the older gentlemen in town, I’m sure of that.” “Okay,” Valerie said. “I think you’re right. Umm…Mrs. Wilkins… I’d like to tell you something about myself. I’m actually a police officer from Bingham, and I’m here to try and catch this guy. That’s why I jog each night. Shara was abducted while she jogged and I want to give this guy another opportunity, but he won’t know that I’m armed and I’m a cop. When he comes after me, I’ll take him out before he can hurt me. I don’t want you to worry. I can handle him.” “I see,” Mrs. Wilkins said. “I believe you’re right. This may be the only way to catch him. My father had a similar plan back during the war years but the police never used it.” Mrs. Wilkins held Valerie’s hands. “Please, just be careful dear. We don’t want to lose you too.” “I will. He’s the one who needs to be careful. He can’t stay hidden much longer. Sooner or later he’ll show up.” And, the very next day… he did. A few hours after classes, Valerie kept her routine of dining with Mrs. Wilkins, and then heading out for her evening jog down the two mile stretch of highway that led to the university and back. An older model white Ford Econoline van drove by her as she jogged just off the highway. Valerie had the Ipod turned down low enough so that she was able to hear the van approaching from behind. As the van passed, she saw the reflection of a middle-aged man with black greasy hair, staring at her through the side mirror. “It’s him,” she instinctively knew as he passed. She felt for the 38, holstered under the floppy T-shirt to reassure herself. The van stopped a few hundred yards ahead and made a U-turn. Valerie could feel the derringer rubbing against her underwear as she slowed her jog to try and decrease her heart rate. He slowed the van as he passed her. She looked directly into his eyes and sneered when he smiled. He accelerated the van and was soon out of sight. Valerie continued to jog in the direction of Mrs. Wilkins’ house when suddenly the van flew over a small hill in the road directly behind her. Before she could jump aside, the side-view mirror of the van clipped her on her right shoulder. She tumbled into a ditch, reaching for the pistol as she passed out. When she woke, she immediately realized her hands were locked behind her back, probably with handcuffs. Her head throbbed as she just made out a figure of a man standing above her. She reached her arms around, feeling for the holster. “You looking for this, baby?” the man said waving her 38 in front of him. “What’s a cute little thing like you doing with a big ‘ole gun like this? You gonna shoot somebody?” Valerie tired to focus. She knew from her training that she had to act now, before he had any more advantage. But how, she wondered? He’s got my gun. She was handcuffed. How could she have been so stupid to let him come up on her like that? Is this what Shara felt like before he … she didn’t want to think about that? She had to do something. Then she remembered the derringer. She reached down beneath her underwear, ignoring the pain of the handcuffs cutting into her skin, and freed the small gun from the tape. “Time to get to work,” he said, as he knelt in front and spread her legs. Valerie lifted her legs and straddled the startled man’s head between her ankles. She pushed her pelvis up and out of the line of sight of the gun and fired the derringer twice. At that angle, one bullet entered his neck, the other his forehead. He sat down on the floor of the van, and then flopped backwards between the two front bucket seats. Valerie lifted herself off the floor and stood over her sister’s killer. His eyes were wide open, the look of surprise still across his face. She saw the reflection of a key sticking out of his jeans pocket. After several minutes of maneuvering her body into position above him, she was able to get the key and remove the handcuffs. She stood over him several minutes, wondering if her twin would have intuitively felt Valerie’s emotions like she had in the past. She searched the van and found a rusty hatchet in a tool bag, no doubt the one he used on Shara. “This is for you Shara,” she said, as she brought the hatchet down on the dead man’s hand, severing all of his fingers and part of his thumb. She wrapped one of the fingers in a rag and slipped it in her pocket. Before she left the van, she wiped down all the places she thought she might have touched. She slipped the 38 back into the holster, stepped out of the van and jogged south down the road towards Mrs. Wilkins’ house. It was while she jogged that she noticed the bullet that killed Briareus also nicked the back of her leg. She stopped to wipe the blood off with some wet grass and applied pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding. When she arrived at Mrs. Wilkins’ house she ran around to the backyard so as not to bleed on the carpet. She walked in the back door and looked for the old lady. “Mrs. Wilkins?” she yelled. “Are you here?’ Valerie heard a faint voice from the basement. “I’m down here, dear. Come down.” Valerie walked down the stairs to the cellar and saw Mrs. Wilkins close the doors to a wall cabinet. Valerie had never been in the cellar before and was amazed at its size. She grabbed Mrs. Wilkins’ shoulders. “I did it. I killed him! I killed Shara’s murderer. I killed Briareus!” “Oh god, Valerie!” exclaimed Mrs. Wilkins, ignoring what she said and stared at the bloody leg. “You’re hurt dear. You’re bleeding.” “I know Mrs. Wilkins. I wounded myself when I shot him. Did you hear what I just said, though? Mrs. Wilkins, I cut off his fingers, just like he did to Shara. I cut them off! I killed Briareus. He won’t hurt anyone, anymore.” “Yes dear, that’s good. Now sit here and I’ll go fetch some bandages. That’s a nasty wound. Just sit here.” Valerie sat on the chair and watched Mrs. Wilkins climb the cellar steps. She pressed hard on the wound to slow the bleeding. Suddenly she heard a noise and looked across to the cabinet to where Mrs. Wilkins was working earlier. One of the doors was ajar and Valerie saw something reflecting light from the ceiling fixture. She walked over to the cabinet and opened the door. She jumped back and screamed when she saw three jars, lined up on a shelf. Each jar contained an eyeball, floating in a green liquid. The jars were labeled: Mildred, Harriet, and Shara. “You’re not supposed to see that, dear,” Mrs. Wilkins said. She turned to see Mrs. Wilkins holding a large axe above her. The axe smashed into Valerie’s shoulder, and stuck fast into the cabinet door. Mrs. Wilkins struggled to dislodge the axe out of the wood, but it held stubbornly. Ignoring her pain, Valerie pulled the pistol from the holster and fired three shots as the old lady continued to try and free the axe. Blood sprayed onto Valerie as the grandmotherly Mrs. Wilkins fell back from the force of the bullets, her old bones cracking as her body slammed against the cellar floor. Valerie stood over her, still stunned from the attack. The red bullet holes created a bizarre triangle across the landlady’s demure face. Valerie turned to look at the grotesque jars and then back to the dead woman. She had instinctively reacted earlier to the threat and was just now realizing that the old, harmless, Mrs. Wilkins and the vicious, serial killer, Briareus were the same person. She wiped the old woman’s blood out of her eyes, stepped over the body and holstered the warm pistol as she climbed the cellar steps. Copyright 2007 J. J. White {moscomment} |
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