Kevin O'Brien - One Last Scream

Jessie stared at him, and didn’t say another thing.

George was driving down Rural Route 17 about a mile away from Sherry’s Corner Food amp; Deli when he saw the patrol car in the distance. The red strobe lights on the roof flashed and glowed in the darkness ahead. He heard the siren’s wail.

“Oh, no,” he muttered. If that was the sheriff on her way to the Schlessinger ranch, he didn’t have time to talk with her or answer questions. He couldn’t stop for anything. He needed to get back to Seattle. He could tell from talking with Jessie earlier that he hadn’t gotten the full story about the situation at home. Something was terribly wrong.

He watched the cop car, speeding toward him. The flashers were getting brighter.

Tyler must have found a body. Why else would the sheriff be speeding toward the ranch? Well, they could carry on without him.

George saw a mailbox and the driveway to a farm on his right. Switching off his headlights, he made the turn. He navigated down the dark, narrow, gravel road that wound behind some trees. Then he slowly turned the car around. The sound of the police siren grew louder, closer. Hands on the steering wheel, George watched the police car speed by.

His cell phone rang. The deputy had given him his cell number earlier. George recognized it. “Tyler?” he said.

“I found another skeleton,” the deputy said. “It wasn’t a cat this time. You were right. There are human remains out here.” He let out a sigh. “Jesus, I still can’t believe it. This could be what’s left of Sandra Hartman right here in front of me.”

“Did you call the sheriff and tell her?” George asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Yeah, she’s on her way,” Tyler answered. “She wants you to come back and show us exactly where you found the waitress’s name tag. The state police are on their way, too. This place is going to be like Grand Central Station in about an hour.”

George winced. “Listen, Tyler, do me a favor. Pretend you couldn’t get ahold of me. I can’t stick around. I need to get home to my kids. It’s an emergency.”

There was no response on the other end.

“Tyler?”

“Okay, but I don’t think she’ll believe me.”

“Thanks.” George switched his headlights on again, and started back onto Rural Route 17. He didn’t see the police flashers in his rearview mirror. The sheriff’s car had sped down the road, out of sight.

“Could you do me another favor?” George asked. “Don’t tell them where I’m going, okay?”

“Well, I can’t guarantee they won’t figure it out, but I’ll try to stall them.”

“Good. Thanks. And hey, don’t let that creep of a sheriff grab any credit for finding those bodies. You’re the one who did it.”

“Okay,” he said, with a dazed laugh. “Jesus. I’m really blown away. I still can’t believe it. I’m standing here, looking down at this skeleton, and it could be Sandra.”

His eyes on the dark road ahead, George didn’t say anything for a moment. He was thinking that Sandra had been the last young woman to vanish. And Annabelle was still alive.

“I wouldn’t expect to find Sandra Hartman’s corpse out there on the ranch,” George said finally. “You’re more likely to find her buried in Arbor Heights Cemetery-beside Lon Schlessinger.”

The Schlessinger ranch-July 2004

“Sandra, can you hear me?”

She leapt up from the cot. Hobbling toward the big, bulky door, she accidentally kicked a few empty tin cans. She’d been living on Purrfect Kitty cat food, canned sliced peaches, and water for the last several days and nights. As long as she’d cooperated with him, she’d gotten food.

“Annabelle?” she cried, leaning against the door. “Is that you?”

“I’m getting you out of here now ,” Annabelle called. There was a knocking sound, and then a loud clank, as if something metal had dropped to the concrete floor.

It was the same noise Sandra had become accustomed to hearing before he came in to beat her or screw her, or whatever he had an itch to do to her that particular night. “Assume the position!” he’d call, before opening that big door. She had to kneel by the cot, her back to him, and her arms at her sides. Then he’d start in on her.

But this was Annabelle. For several days now, Annabelle Schlessinger had promised to help her escape. Each time, she’d said the same thing. “If I spring you out of here, you have to help me get away and start someplace new, okay?” Annabelle had kept telling her to be patient and hang in there. It would only be another day or two.

They’d always talked through the closed, bolted door. But now that thick, cumbersome door squeaked open. Sandra felt her whole body trembling. She couldn’t wait to get out of there. She didn’t even think to grab her shoes. She just started pushing at the door.

Annabelle stood and blocked the door opening for a moment. Her hair was cut short and dyed blonde. “Do I look different?” she asked with a hopeful smile.

Sandra balked.

“I told you, I’m getting out, too,” Annabelle said.

“Well, you-you look great!” Sandra gasped, not sure what to say. “Let’s go, okay? All right?”

Annabelle grabbed her hand and led her toward the basement stairs. “C’mon, we just need to get some stuff out of my room….”

Sandra’s legs buckled as she raced up the stairs with Annabelle. She hadn’t run for days; she hadn’t even been able to walk more than a few steps without turning around in that cramped, filthy cell. She stumbled on the stairs, but quickly got up again and kept moving.

At the top step, she noticed the kitchen door directly ahead. It had a window in it. She could see outside. It was night.

Annabelle started to run past the door. Sandra stopped abruptly. “Wait!” she whispered. “I thought we were getting out of here.”

“I told you,” Annabelle said, tugging at her arm. “I need to get some stuff in my room first.”

“But he might come back. Please, for God’s sake….”

“He might come back?” Annabelle repeated, laughing. “He’s upstairs, out cold. He had too much to drink, as usual. He passed out on the bed.”

Sandra tried to pull away, but Annabelle wouldn’t let her go. “What if he wakes up?” she asked, tears in her eyes. “Please, Annabelle, I just want to get the hell out of here!”

“Would you relax?” Annabelle said, dragging her into the kitchen. “I know what I’m doing. I gave him the same stuff he used on you the other night, chloroform. Believe me, he won’t wake up. I told you I’d do this right, Sandra. We’re walking out of here in ten minutes.”

As Annabelle led her through the kitchen, Sandra noticed the telephone on the wall. “Why don’t we just call the police? Everyone must be looking for me.”

Annabelle swiveled around. “We can’t involve the police, stupid!” she hissed. “Goddammit, don’t you remember? I’m the one who set you up, the same way I set up Gina and all the others. I’m as guilty as he is.” She grabbed a lock of her recently dyed blond hair. “Why do you think I went to all this trouble to look different? I need to get away and start new someplace else. You promised you’d help me….”

“I will,” Sandra said, flustered.

“I stole a car yesterday, and stashed it behind some bushes near the end of the driveway,” Annabelle said, leading her to the front hallway. “The thing’s an ugly piece of crap, an old Tempo. I just moved it a few minutes ago-our getaway car . It’s parked outside the front door right now.”

They started up the stairs to the second floor. “I’ve secretly been taking money out of my father’s account for months,” Annabelle explained. “Plus I’ve got some of my mother’s jewelry. I can hock that.” She paused at the top of the stairs. “Oh, speaking of jewelry…” She took off her bracelet.