Nancy Grace: The Eleventh Victim

“This is Your creation I’m trying to save. This beautiful beach, and all Your creatures that call it home. I’ve kind of run out of ideas. Show me what to do. Help me, please. Amen.”

She fell silent-and so, it seemed, did the world around her. The water lapped ever so gently; even the breeze seemed to ebb.

Gazing out at the dark sky, she wondered if God had heard her prayer, and whether He had a plan, because she certainly did not.

Suddenly, coming out of the dark behind her, a car motor, the gas gunning. Virginia jerked around, twisting from the waist up to look backward.

She spotted headlights just a few yards away, barreling toward her on the beach.

Scrambling frantically out of the way, she had no time to move…it was too fast and too close…a huge Escalade with the brights on, plowing across the sand, straight at her.

“No, no!! God, no!”

Face down, she braced herself, throwing her arms over her head in what she knew would be a futile effort to protect herself from the SUV’s crushing tires. For just a second, she heard nothing but her own panicked breathing and music blaring from the car’s stereo, and…

A miracle. The tires on the white metal behemoth ground to a halt, wedging down into deep, wet sand just feet from where she lay, arms still over her head.

She had been so sure it was gunning for her, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe-

The driver’s side door flung open, and a man stumbled out. The Escalade’s stereo continued pumping out Glen Campbell’s “Wichita Lineman.”

She got to her feet quickly, peering at him. She couldn’t make out his features against the headlights cutting through the dark, but his voice was slurred and angry. Did he actually try to run her down?

“Who the hell are you?” he shouted out.

“I’m Virginia Gunn, who the hell are you?”

Eugene sagged against the car. Virginia Gunn…Virginia Gunn…he knew that name

It came to him through a haze of alcohol. Here was the thorn in his side…the thorn that had already cost him hundreds of thousands and possibly millions if investors started to pull out. Obviously the two “friends” he hired to take care of Gunn didn’t finish the job. Here she was…alone…on the beach…an isolated beach.

His prayers were answered.

He quickly closed the few feet between them, pulled back, and threw a right punch straight to her face, landing just below her left eye. She went down hard, sprawled on the beach again.

The blow was blinding and the next thing Virginia knew, she was facedown on the beach with a mouthful of sand.

He aimed a hard kick straight to her right thigh…and she cried out in pain. But she scrambled with amazing tenacity, clawing at the sand to get up and run, her feet digging into the sand, slowing her down.

She took off running toward the dense undergrowth surrounding the construction site.

Enraged, Eugene gave chase and, just as she made it to the edge of the site, caught her by the shoulder of her jean jacket. Wrenching her backward, he felt the two of them tumble to the earth together.

When they landed hard on the sand, she was on her back and his hands were around her neck, clamped hard, determined to rid himself of her, for good.

Virginia could see the stars shining behind Eugene’s face, just inches from her own, and she clawed at his hands as they locked around her neck. She was too tired, she couldn’t fight him off.

The stars were going out; the world was turning dark.

She knew she was dying, there on the beach she had tried to save. Somehow, it seemed fitting…for a moment.

Then, instinctively, she doubled her legs in front of her chest and, using her knees and feet, heaved Eugene’s weight off her body.

Suddenly, she could breathe again; the stars reappeared twinkling above her. Sucking in air through burning lungs, she careened toward the trees with Eugene at her heels.

He caught up with her just as she reached the edge of the forest, grabbing her at the waist and spinning her around. A pair of brutally strong hands encircled her throat once more, closing off her windpipe.

It was at that precise moment she became aware of a rustling in the undergrowth, and then, erratic barking.

The wieners . The wieners had managed to squeeze their little bodies through the cracks she’d left them in the windows to breathe, escaping the cab of the Jeep and were there, beside her, beneath her, all around her.

The barking took on a fever pitch and they began yapping, gnashing the air, nearly screaming, and all the while biting every inch of Eugene’s suited body they could get their teeth into.

“What the hell?” He released Virginia’s neck and batted his arms at the fierce little dogs, blindly stumbling back to fend them off.

Sidney leapt through the air and managed to take a bite of the upper thigh, latching there and hanging on wildly, his eyes glaring straight up into Eugene’s face. Kicking and hitting at them all, Eugene stumbled back and lost his balance, landing with a dull thud.

Everything went quiet.

The wieners encircled the spot where he lay, all of them wheezing for air.

Virginia stood up, peering through the dark. What happened?

In the moonlight, she could see Eugene sprawled out on the grass at the sandy base of the tree, eyes wide open staring straight up into the night sky.

She edged closer.

Was he playing possum, trying to lure her into a trap?

Or was he really…dead?

Cautiously, she circled him a few times and then went closer. His foot was still entangled in the vine that tripped him. Surely he hadn’t hit his head hard enough on the roots to kill him…had he?

Cautiously, Virginia inched over to his side.

Blood was oozing from the back of his head into the white sand.

She crouched beside him, trying to revive him.

Placing her hand under the back of his head, just under his skull at the top of his neck, she found it…the top of a rock protruding up from the sand…the rock that tore into Eugene’s skull.

But it wasn’t just a rock; something was carved deep into the bloodied stone.

Pushing him aside, she dug away the sand with her bare hands.

It was a marker.

A slave marker dated 1843.

LUCY MINERVA AND OVID STOKES

FROM PALM POINT PLANTATION.

PROPERTY OF PIERCE BUTLER NO MORE.

IN DEATH WE ARE FREE.

1843

Virginia looked up at the night sky and smiled. They weren’t just building high-rise condos on the beach…they were building high-rise condos on a sacred slave burial ground.

Her fight was over.

God had taken her call after all.

New York City

CANCELING THE DAY’S APPOINTMENTS TO STAY HOME HAD seemed like a good idea this morning.

But now that Hailey had spent hours alone in her apartment, pacing, paranoid despite the lowered shades, locks, and a.38 at her side…

Maybe she’d feel safer somewhere else.

Here, she couldn’t help but feel like a sitting duck. He’d gotten past the doorman and locks once before. He could do it again.

She paced relentlessly from room to room, making tea, straightening things that didn’t need to be straightened, ignoring the phone every time it rang.

It had been ringing a lot.

Dana had called several times, leaving messages.

“Hailey, are you sick? Why aren’t you here today? Call me. I need you.” She sounded like she was crying. “Greg dumped me.”

Of course. Hailey knew he sounded too good to be true.

“Hailey, it’s me again. Please call me back. I’m so upset.”

Man trouble.

“Hailey, come on…I’m sorry to keep bugging you, but where are you? Pick up if you’re there.”