Loose Thread
Story
by Stephen Collicoat
They saw him far ahead.
He was lounging by a long, flat stretch of highway, smoking as he leant
against a tree. Seeing the car slow, he flicked his glowing cigarette
butt away and sauntered forward. He wore a plain black T-shirt; its
sleeves cut off to reveal muscular arms, black jeans and dusty black
sneakers with grubby white laces. There was nothing about him - from his
greased back hair, his lazy sneer, the twin tattooed blue snakes twisting
around his arms to the large, leather-sheathed knife dangling from his
studded belt - that Dallas liked.
'Pull over,' Aaron Cripp ordered.
Dallas bristled. 'No,' she shook her head. 'Why should I?'
'Because I said so. Pull over.'
This had gone far enough. She was only doing him a favor. Now, he acted
as though in charge. 'Get out of my car,' she flared. 'Your lift's
over.'
'I said pull over. He's my brother and we're picking him up.'
'No way!' she began, then saw the gun in his hand.
'Do it now!' he snarled, pressing the barrel against her forehead.
'Hey, watch what you're doing! You almost wiped us out on that tree! Slow
down. That's better. Ease off the gas. Brake gently. That's it. Nice and
easy.' His tone had become patronizing as though he were her first
driving instructor. 'That- t-s the way.'
The back door was flung open.
'Hey, good one bro,' the youth said, climbing in the car. He leered
appreciatively at Dallas.
'We'll have fun with this one.' He licked one
finger and drew it slowly across the nape of Dallas' neck. Her skin
crawled.
Aaron gestured her to put the car in gear and they moved off. The youth
in the back seat sat back. 'Nice wheels,' he observed, running his hand
over the leather upholstery and timber inlay. 'Pity we can't keep it. I
like style in both cars and ladies.'
'Can't we keep it?' Aaron pleaded, 'Just for a while?'
The youth, who was about four years older than his brother, considered
then shook his head. 'Too risky. We could switch plates, but Hondas are
too distinctive. Better to sell it to the chop shop in Leichardt. Get a
bit. Sweet motor. Low k's. Only one owner: a woman, sadly she's no
longer in mint condition.'
The two laughed cruelly. Then Dallas heard her handbag, which she had
thrown in the back seat being snapped open, its contents, spilled across
the seat. 'What have we got here?' the youth asked.
'Get out of my stuff!' she ordered, rage overcoming her fear.
Suddenly, a hand gripped her at the base of her neck and she gave an
involuntary scream of pain.
'Respect, bitch! R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Like the song. Heard the word before?'
'Yes,' she grunted as his grip tightened.
'Then show some. Aaron and I don't appreciate talkback, do we?'
'Naw,' Aaron confirmed, 'Keep it zipped.'
'Dallas,' Aaron's brother was reading her driver's license. 'Dallas
Thornton. Funny name for a girl. Your parents Kennedy freaks?' When she
didn't answer, he continued conversationally, 'Anyway, my name's Hayden.
Hayden Cripp. Hay if you like. I'm the Hay you make while the sun
shines.' He snorted at his pun. You're a real gag, Dallas thought with
contempt. 'You might as well know my name,' he added chillingly, It won't do
you any good.'
She shuddered and Aaron Cripp, seated in the front passenger seat
noticed the sudden gleam of her necklace. 'Nice piece,' he stretched across
and touched it. 'Terri will like this.'
Suddenly, it was all clear. Dallas recalled Terri was the name the
waitress at the roadhouse had sewn on to her breast pocket. She remembered
the girl even complimented her on the necklace and she had told Terri
it was an heirloom piece, once worn by her grandmother.
'I don't know, bro,' Hayden was saying. 'You've got to stop giving
Terri trophies. You know where she hides her brains. If she keeps wearing
the stuff, it's only time before someone - a relative or friend - comes
snooping around, sees it and puts two and two together.'
'Terri's part of the team,' Aaron sulked. 'We need her to set up the
marks.'
Hayden released his grip on Dallas' neck and cuffed his brother. Aaron
cursed, then whined, 'What's that for?'
'Listen to me. Who's the brains behind this?'
'You are.'
'And who's always covered for you and always will?'
'You have.'
'Then don't act like a jerk when I tell you Terri needs to lift her
game. She's not indispensable. I could always send her the way of the
others. Maybe it would be best if she did. Once less mouth to blab.'
'Gees, don't do that!' Aaron pleaded. 'She's my girl.'
'Yeah, well you know what to do to keep her that way. Follow what I say
and we'll all stay sweet.'
This can't be happening, Dallas thought. With Hayden's hand no longer
gripping her neck, her mind was no longer distracted by pain. But freed
from physical pain, terror threatened to overwhelm her.
Two days before, she decided on a whim to take a short break. She
always traveled light and being alone, the decision was easy. Although she
felt stale, Dallas generally loved her home; a split-level flat at
Picnic Point. From the large window of her study, she could look up from her
computer screen where she designed web pages and gaze across the
sparkling water, often seeing yachts sailing past in graceful silence. While
the arbor seemed lost in rural seclusion, it was actually convenient to
the city - less than 30 minutes by speedboat across Sydney Harbor to
bustling Circular Quay.
Since breaking up with Klaus Jaeger three months before, Dallas had
concentrated on pushing her already fit body to the limits. The simple,
clean challenges of sport were far easier than Kurt's convoluted,
self-absorbed demands. She could easily track his movements in Iraq, Syria,
Somalia, Belurez or some other international hot spot, but she wasn't
interested enough to buy the news magazine featuring his photo journalism.
She realised soon after Kurt moved in, he had a nasty side. Priding
himself on being an intellectual, he sneered at her physical interests -
running, strength training, pistol shooting or unarmed combat - as well
as her passion for early American gospel music. One of the records
Dallas most prized was the now rare 1958 Newport concert recording of
'Didn't It Rain' by Mahalia Jackson. One night, in a drunken rage, Kurt torn
the disc from her record player and smashed it into fragments. He
instantly turned remorseful. Seeing Dallas shaking as she turned her back to
him, he begged her not to cry, but it was rage she struggled to
contain. Her hands, hardened to split a brick, itched to slice into his fleshy
neck.
'It's only a record,' he complained, stepping back as he saw her fierce
expression. But it was more than that. It was a world he didn't
understand and hated because she did.
'I'm not arguing with you,' she said levelly. 'I'm going for a run.
I'll be gone two hours. Pack your stuff and clear out. I don't want you
here when I get back. And don't bother phoning: I won't pick up.'
'You're kidding, right? All this over breaking a dumb record?'
'Two hours,' she repeated, tying up her laces and making for the door.
'You bitch!' he bawled at her departing back. 'You've always been a
stone-cold bitch!' He was still screaming abuse as she shut the door and
began sprinting down the driveway. Leaving him alone in her house was
probably a really bad idea, she reflected. Kurt was just the sort of
vindictive creep who would enjoy trashing the place. If he did, she could
charge him with property damage, but there'd be Buckley's Chance of
winning costs back from someone who lived so often overseas. Am I really as
hard as people think, Dallas wondered as she settled into jogging at a
steady pace that clicked through the kilometers of sealed road that
rose or dipped along the quiet foreshore.
It's true, she conceded, I never cried at Dad's funeral, but he didn't
give me much to grieve over. The less I think about my vain, shallow
mother, who died six months ago, the better. Dallas felt sure there were
softer sides to her nature. When her old cat was finally put down, for
instance, she had wept for weeks, always careful to make sure Kurt
didn't see her grief. At 28, I've time to grow. For now, I'll just stay
strong.
Two hours later, she returned, dreading what she might find. To her
relief, Kurt had left the house clean and she swiftly put him out of her
mind. For weeks now, she had been pouring energy into building up her
small, but profitable home-based business. She had just finished putting
together an interactive annual report for a major steel company, which
had both delighted her clients and won a design award. Clients were
clamoring for her ideas, but she knew that she'd quickly burn out if she
didn't take a break.
Leaving Picnic Point, she had driven slowly up the North Coast of New
South Wales. It was a luxury not to be tied to strict times and places.
The night before, she had drifted into Coffs Harbor and the following
day, spent hours sunbathing and swimming in a secluded cove near Byron
Bay. She didn't bother to check the time, when she headed back to the
highway. Perhaps she'd find a motel for the night or drive through till
it was dark, maybe cross the Queensland border and head up to Brisbane.
She was driving through a heavily wooded section of countryside; towns
you could miss if you blinked, with letterboxes cut from 44 gallon
drums, farm gates or winding drives the only sign of habitation, when she
saw the roadhouse. At first, she was inclined to drive past, then she
felt hungry and remembered her last meal - if you could call it that -
was a piece of dry toast with coffee for breakfast. So it was hunger that
made her park in the deserted roadside carpark and now it seemed it was
hunger that would cost her life.
The diner, which had no patrons, was shabby but clean so Dallas ordered
a plate of medium grilled steak, eggs and chips. If the food's too
horrible, I'll leave it, she promised herself. The waitress - Terri - took
her order, then came back to set the table and chat before going to the
kitchen to cook the food. The girl seemed pleasant enough, asking if
Dallas was traveling to meet someone. She nodded understandingly when
Dallas said the trip was taken on the spur of the moment. Certainly, there
was no disguising her interest when she saw Dallas's necklace.
A young man - Dallas guessed he was about 19 - came out of the kitchen.
He looked troubled and spoke softly to Terri, before smiling vaguely at
Dallas then walking out the front door.
Dallas finished her meal, drank the last sip of coffee and Terri
brought the bill.
'That was good,' she said warmly.
'Oh, thanks. Look, I hope you don't think me a stickybeak but where are
you going from here?'
'Just up the coast. No firm plans.'
'It's just I wondered if you could do me a favor. I know it's a cheek
asking, seeing as you hardly know me, but you saw that guy I was talking
to?'
Dallas nodded.
'He's my boyfriend. Aaron Cripp. Real nice guy. Not like some around
here. Very family oriented, you know. He works down at Bryon most of the
time and he's trying to get home. His Mum's been real crook. He
hitchhiked all the way up here, but he's stuck for a lift for the rest of the
way. His place isn't far by car - about 50 k's, but it's a hell of a
way on foot. I sort of wondered if you could give him a lift.' She
hurried on, seeing Dallas frown. 'I know you wouldn't probably pick up a
hitchhiker - nice lady like you - and I wouldn't normally ask. Aaron didn't
want me to ask, but I said you looked kind, so I'd try. I mean he's a
really nice guy and he's stuck here and it wouldn't be out of your way.
His place is straight up the highway and you could drop him off at the
front gate. What do you say?'
So Dallas had agreed. Now, too late, she realised what a clever scam
Terri and the Cripp brothers had devised. Terri helped set up the marks
and was rewarded with trophies from the victims that Hayden and Aaron
raped, tortured and murdered. Because from the disgusting filth Hayden
was now gloatingly whispering in her ear this was exactly what the
brothers had in mind.
Aaron watched Dallas narrowly. Something about her made him uneasy.
Normally, they were gibbering with fear by now. Pleading for mercy that
was never shown. Not this one. She hadn't spoken since Hayden tipped out
her handbag and he sensed it wasn't because of fear. Her face gave
nothing away. Pale, lips tight shut. Someone knowing she was being driven
to her death shouldn't look that cool.
'Something's wrong,' he blurted. 'She's not the same.'
Hayden stopped whispering and looked at Aaron with surprised
irritation.
'Aw, crap!' he laughed scornfully. 'Course she's the same. Bloody
terrified! She's just too proud to show it. Don't worry. It'll make her all
the more fun. You'll see.'
As he spoke, Dallas turned and for the first time since her ordeal
began looked hard at Aaron before turning her gaze back to the road. Dallas
was very attractive from her high cheekbones, olive skin, short-cropped
jet-black hair, good figure but something in her eyes - intensity in
her gaze made Aaron feel illogically afraid. He suddenly felt as though
he was looking down a corridor to some bleak and lonely place from which
he'd never escape. She feels like Death, he thought with a slight
shudder and as though reading his thought he caught the trace of a knowing
smile for a moment on her lips.
'I don't like this,' Aaron muttered, stuffing his gun back into his
belt and fumbling for a cigarette. 'It doesn't feel right.'
Hayden cursed and lunged forward, again gripping Dallas by the back of
her neck. This time, Aaron noted with disquiet, she didn't react to the
pain.
'This is meat, ' Hayden told his brother dismissively. 'Nothing more,
nothing less. Don't make her out to be something she isn't. Big mistake
with women. Believe me, she'll beg to die by the time I've finished
with her. Just like the others. Tell you what. As a special treat, you can
go first this time.'
Dallas felt an adrenaline rush of white-hot rage. Two low lifes think
they can take me out? Bring it on! She wondered briefly what had turned
the brothers into disgusting perverts, then decided she didn't care.
She was locked in a deadly contest with only one winner.
'Turn off at that letterbox,' Hayden ordered, removing his hand from
her neck and settling back into his seat. She spun the wheel and they
bounced along a grassy track. Several bends in the track and they reached
a farm gate.
'Well come on,' Hayden impatiently ordered Aaron, 'The gate won't open
itself. I'm really looking forward to this one.'
Aaron obediently left the car and going to the gate, began to swing it
open. Dallas left the car idling, the automatic in drive with her foot
on the brake. As Aaron came level with the middle of the bonnet, she
flicked her foot off the brake, gunning the engine, praying it didn't
stall.
The powerful six-cylinder engine roared in protest but thrust the car
forward at speed from its standing stop. It hit the youth with a heavy
smack and with a cry; he fell backwards, disappearing out of sight. She
trod the gas pedal to the floor and it rolled over him. Then she
stabbed the brake, ripped the transmission lever into reverse and the car was
speeding backwards, once more rolling over him. This time, there was a
sickening crunch of breaking bone and a scream from under the car. She
braked again, unclipped her safety harness and spun around in her seat.
Hayden Cripp had been thrown violently across the back seat and was
cursing as he fumbled to unclip his razor-sharp Bowie knife. As he gripped
the handle, Dallas brought her right hand scything down, chopping
savagely into the killer's neck and crushing his larynx. He died from
suffocation within 90 seconds.
Time to take out the garbage, Dallas thought exultantly. She left the
car, opened the back door and gripping the youth by his belt, dragged
him out, tossing the body down beside the track. Then she walked over to
Aaron Cripp and picked up his gun. Blood was seeping from the corners
of his mouth and his left ear. The car had crushed his chest. As she
bent over, his eyes flickered open and he begged softly, 'Help me. I'm
dying.'
'You know, Aaron,' she said conversationally. 'It's funny but I just
don't feel inclined to help. As I recall, the last favor I did brought me
here.'
'Please,' he groaned. 'I'm dying.'
'Yes, you are,' Dallas said coldly. 'And the pity of it is you won't
suffer nearly as long or as much as all the others you put to death.'
'I'm sorry,' he breathed, his eyes closing and breath slowing.
'Don't be,' Dallas smiled sardonically. 'I enjoyed killing you.'
Slipping the safety catch off the gun, Dallas took out the ignition
keys and left her car, warily following the track beyond the gate. Her
first instinct was to jump into the Honda and reverse back down the track
to the highway, where she would put as many k's between herself and the
Cripps as possible. Then she realised that they may still have a victim
in their house, perhaps in terrible pain. She couldn't leave someone
there. Although every instinct warned her to flee, Dallas continued
creeping down the track. The Cripp farm, she reflected, was the ideal spot
for torture and death. Set far from the road and surrounded by thick
bush, they could do whatever they wished.
She rounded several bends and then in a clearing saw the house - a
ramshackle building of rusty iron, peeling weatherboards, sagging guttering
and a water tank oozing a long line of rust. There were three rocking
chairs on the weathered verandah, an old horsehair sofa and various
engine parts, including a half-assembled trail bike. Beside the house was a
mud-spattered tractor with scoop. All around, the yellow clay earth had
been disturbed. For a moment, the tractor puzzled her, then the full
horror struck her. This was where the Cripps buried the bodies of their
victims, so many over a period that they needed mechanical aid.
Dallas eased onto the verandah; the gun steadied in a two-handed grip
at the 25 to 7 position. She stood to one side of the door, paused then
spun a swift kick into the panels, smashing the door open.
All was quiet and though afraid she might be stepping into a shotgun
blast, she steeled herself to enter. She swiftly checked each room and
finding the house deserted, began a careful examination. The rooms were
filled with a strange mixture of items - backpacks, wallets or purses,
watches and mobile phones, as well as small piles of rings, necklaces
and credit cards. There was underwear, both male and female; some
streaked with blood and rolls of money. The trophies were grim enough but it
was the Polaroid photos taped to the walls that made Dallas catch her
breath. They showed men and women, wrists bound with gaffer tape, baling
twine or wire suffering appalling torture and sexual violation: their
faces twisted in agony. Any remorse Dallas might have felt for killing
the two brothers disappeared. And it wasn't just the two youths: Terri
was in many photos, laughing fiendishly or carrying out some filthy act.
And there was a third man: older, thin, grey hair drawn back into a
ponytail, yet with an unmistakable likeness to Hayden. Dallas stared at
the man. This must be their father. There was no sign of their mother:
perhaps she had deserted her husband when she realised what she had
married. A search among the bills on the kitchen table put a name to the
older man's face - Michael Cripp. Where was Mike Cripp, she wondered.
Lurking outside with a shotgun or rifle? She crouched down beside the front
door, scanning the bush, but saw no movement. All was quiet as though
the house waited for the last act of this sordid drama. After a long
pause, she left the house, swiftly scrambling down the verandah steps. As
she passed the tractor, she was tempted to find its ignition keys and
use it to tear down this house of horrors. Yeah, brilliant move, she
thought derisively and be sitting up there as neat a target as you could
imagine when Mike Cripp heard his house being ripped down and ran back
to investigate.
She stood in the trees, watching her car. Finally, risking an ambush,
she made a crouching dash past the two bodies and opened the driver's
door. Funny, I thought I locked it, she wondered, sliding behind the
wheel. Careless: just too many things on my mind. It was then Dallas
realised, she had made a terrible mistake. Even as she slid the key into the
ignition, she sensed someone hiding behind her seat.
She glanced sideways at the pistol where she had tossed it on the
passenger's seat. Close, but it might have been a thousand miles away.
Exerting iron will, she forced herself not to tense her muscles. He has a
knife or sickle, she thought. If it was a gun, he'd have it at my head.
He's going to wait until I move off. I have a chance.
Something on the floor caught her eye. It was a packet of cigarettes
that must have slid from Aaron's pocket before he left the car to open
the gate. Perfect!
Dallas reached down with slow casualness to pick up the soft pack. She
shook out a cigarette and placed it between her lips, pushing the car's
cigarette lighter down. She started the engine and holding the car in
neutral, appeared to waiting to light the cigarette before putting the
car in gear. The lighter took only seconds to pop up, but it felt like
hours. Does he think I'm a fool that I can't smell his sweat: that I
can't sense his rage and his urging me to start the car so he can put a
blade to my throat when my hands are both on the wheel. If he wanted me
to die quickly, he would have stabbed me by now, but he wants to play.
The lighter popped up. Let the game begin, she thought with savage joy.
She pulled out the lighter, moving the glowing end to her cigarette.
Then, Dallas threw herself to the side and with a fluid movement spun
around drawing her legs back until she was crouching on the seat, turning
to see Michael Cripp's face looking up. With her right hand, she drove
the glowing cigarette lighter down, missing his left eye, only because
he flinched at the last moment. Millimeters from his iris, the flesh
burnt and as she drew the lighter back she saw a vivid red circle form
millimeters from his iris. Cripp shrieked in pained surprise and she saw
a skinning knife fall from his grip. Then she was out of the car,
dragging the killer from the back seat with a long, sharp tug to the
pigtail. She kicked his legs away and when he fell, grabbed the pistol from
the driver's seat. Dallas stood well back from the killer, but he was
fully occupied clutching his face where a boil was forming and screaming
obscenities.
'Get up! ' she ordered. 'You know, you're unbelievably lucky. I'm going
to let you go. Now start running before I change my mind.'
Cripp slowly got to his feet. His left eye was closed and streaming
tears, but there was no mistaking the virulent hate in his good eye.
'There you are,' Dallas remarked mordantly. 'Nothing a little antiseptic
cream can't fix. You'll soon be good as new.'
As he backed away, Michael Cripp spat, 'You bitch! You killed my sons.
If it takes forever, I'll get to you, then I'll slice you apart strip
by bloody strip. You've seen what I've done to the others. I'll do the
same to you, but worse; far worse. I know how to make people die
slowly.'
'Of course, you do,' Dallas called at his departing back. 'You've had
plenty of practice.' His threats didn't concern her. They only confirmed
her decision. She waited until he was almost at the corner of the
track, then called out softly, 'Mr. Cripp.'
He turned in puzzlement, then his expression froze in fear.
'You know how I said you were free to go?' she asked conversationally,
the gun leveled at him.
His face turned ashen.
'Well, I lied,' Dallas said, squeezing the trigger.
Forty minutes later, two women emerged from the roadhouse. 'Wait,' Dallas
told Terri, the pistol pressed hard into her back. 'O.k.,' she
continued, 'No cars passing. Now walk quickly to that clump of trees where you
can see my car.'
Terri stumbled, but pushed by Dallas, recovered and was hurried
forward.
'Don't do this!' she begged.
'You mean like all the others who begged for mercy? Come on, I've got
other, nicer things to do. I don't know why you're complaining: you'll
soon be with your boyfriend.
'Anyway,' Dallas added as they reached the trees that screened the car
from the road, 'you signed your death warrant when you first got mixed
up with those two. Did you know Hayden was talking of killing you
minutes before I took him out?'
'You're a liar!' Terri flared. 'Aaron would never let anything happen
to me.'
'You silly cow! Aaron would do exactly what his brother said. Anyway,
you can discuss that with him soon enough. Kneel down.'
'Let me go,' Terri wailed, sinking to her knees. Dallas noted sadly the
girl was wetting herself in fear. 'Let me go. I won't say anything.'
'Of course you will,' Dallas contradicted her gently. 'The first thing
you'll do when the police arrest you is offer to tell them all you know
about me for a reduced sentence.'
'I don't know anything about you.'
'You can describe me, my car and probably remember the Honda's license
plate number. You see, even if I could overlook the fact you're an evil
person, my problem is you're a loose thread. Without you, noone can
place me near the murders, especially as it will probably be weeks before
the bodies are found. All I need to do now is have my car panel beaten
and I'll have that done back in Sydney. I'll claim I hit a kangaroo at
dusk. It happens all the time.'
'But...' Terri began as Dallas squeezed the trigger.
Loose Thread© COPYRIGHT 2005 Stephen Collicoat. Reproduction prohibited without permission from the author. 06/27/05
