Naked, on the Edge

Fisherman Joe

Katie Flory had gone on ahead, her Toyota’s backseat crammed full with groceries, lighter fluid, matches, and target pistols. She knew where they had planned on camping, and by the time Bill Flory and friends Joshua and Melinda Asterton had finished packing the van and caught up with her, she had promised cleared tent spots, gathered wood, and a cozy campfire blazing. It was obvious to Melinda that Katie needed to do this to prove she was okay, that she was at least on the road to becoming okay.

“Just wait ’til you see it,” Katie had said. “I wasn’t a Girl Scout for nothing.”

She left a full hour before the other three had found the lanterns hiding behind the Easter baskets in their garage. By the time all was secured in the van and ready to roll, it was past two o’clock.

The camping spot was isolated, a good forty-five-minute drive from the city, back in the mountains where roads no longer qualified for paving and there could be a mile or more between houses. Most of the homes along the steep, graveled roads were small and colorless, sitting inside wire-fenced yards with cows and goats grazing nearby.

“It’s Americana,” I said Melinda with a chuckle to Bill and Josh as the van groaned into another gear. “I wonder how many of these people all look mysteriously like each other.” Bill glanced in the rearview mirror at Melinda in the backseat. His eyes, nervous and twitching, blinked several times before he spoke. “Quite a few, I’d bet,” he said. “I’ve seen them come out of the mountains to the emergency room, and the resemblance to each other is amazing.”

Josh, seated in the front passenger’s seat, took a bite out of the Hostess cupcake he’d bought at the service station.

The two couples had discovered the camping spot on a Sunday afternoon drive just weeks before. Just inside the boundary of the National Forest, it was off the road several hundred feet, down a dirt path in the dense trees. There was a creek, a canopy of sycamores and oaks, and across from the creek, a sheer cliff of rock that seemed to beg to be climbed by weekend vacationers. Large patches of humus would make great spots to pitch tents. A central dirt area could be honed into quite the place for a fire.

“Turn here,” said Josh, his mouth full of cupcake. Bill steered from the main road onto the unpaved stretch. Melinda settled against the door as the van began its climb up the foothill. Sunlight winked through the branches of the tall pines and deciduous trees. It was a beautiful afternoon, just as Melinda had hoped. They all needed a beautiful afternoon, but for Katie and Bill, it was more a necessity than a luxury. Katie was managing, it seemed. But Bill, sweet little chubby Bill, a nurse at St. John’s Memorial Hospital, was still struggling to keep his sanity.

The van hit a bump. Josh said, “Hey, I dropped part of my cupcake!”

“Sorry,” said Bill. His voice was soft and anxious.

“No problem,” said Josh, leaning over. “There’s more where that came from.” And he held up a second pack he’d bought.

“Katie said she was going to make us a snack,” said Melinda. “It’ll be ready when we get there. Baked apples with raisins. Banana boats with nuts and chocolate and marshmallows. Maybe deep-dish peach cobbler, cooked in the coals. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

“Katie’s a good cook,” said Bill. “She never could teach me how, but she tried, bless her. She was teaching Gillian, though, and Gillian was getting pretty good.”

Josh said nothing.

Melinda said, “That’s nice, Bill. That’s really sweet.”

Not having a child of her own, Melinda couldn’t fathom the anguish at the death of a child. Gillian Flory, seven years old, had been killed by a drunken, hit-and-run driver who had slammed into her on the sidewalk in front of the Florys’ house six months earlier. No one had been caught or convicted. Katie still grieved, but her stoicism helped keep her rational. Bill’s grief, however, had the man walking an edge that was sharp and dangerous.

It was Melinda who had talked Bill out of suicide two week after Gillian’s death.

Melinda poked Josh in the shoulder. “You aren’t going to have room for Katie’s snack after eating that.”

Josh swallowed a bite of the chocolate cupcake, turned around, and grinned. There was chocolate on his tooth. “I always have room.”

“Watch to the left,” said Melinda. “The dirt path to the site will be any minute.”

They watched. The van bumped along, spraying gravel dust out behind it, dipping around curves and smacking potholes. And then out of nowhere a man stepped into the roadin front of them. He turned and stared like a deer caught in headlights. His black hair was greasy, his eyebrows as bushy as a bear’s. Over one shoulder was a fishing pole and tackle bag. In the other arm was an ax.

Bill stomped the brake and laid on the horn. The van shuddered and skidded to a halt.

Bill’s head shot from the window. “Get the fuck off the road, asshole!”

Melinda’s heart jumped at Bill’s shout. The man in the road squinted then sauntered off into the trees.

“Goddamned moron,” Bill said. His shoulders began to shake; his voice was tremulous. He sounded close to tears. “Goddamned inbred insipid moron. Why don’t people look?” All three sat for a moment. Bill’s breathing was heavy and loud, like a steam engine roaring. His neck was flushed red. Josh caught Melinda’s hand and gave it a squeeze. After a long moment, Bill said, in a near whisper, “I m sorry.”

“No problem,” said Josh.

“It’s okay,” Melinda managed. Goddamn it all!

“I want us all to have a good time,” said Bill.

“So do we,” said Josh. “We’re going to have a good time. I promise.”

“Thanks for being our friends,” Bill said. “I’ve never had such good friends as you two.”

Melinda said softly, “You’re welcome.” Goddamn it to hell, we don’t need any scares this week.

Bill pressed the accelerator; the van moved on.

And then the dirt path was there. Bill slowed the vehicle. “Ah,” said Josh. “My bet is banana boats. Please let them be banana boats.”

“I forgot my camera,” said Melinda. She smacked Josh on the shoulder. “You let me forget my camera!”

“Nothing to take pictures of, ’cept lions and tigers and bears.”

“Oh, my,” said Melinda.

Bill steered the van onto the rutted pathway. The branches above were quite low, and Melinda instinctively dipped her head a bit as they drove under them.

The van stopped beside the trunk of a wide sycamore. The three friends hopped out and stretched. A cheerful fire burned in the center dirt spot. A pile of wood was gathered and laid beside the fire. Two tent spaces had been cleared of twigs and rocks.

“Hey, nature girl really does know what she’s doing,” said Melinda.

“Katie?” called Bill.

“Open the back,” said Josh.

Bill reached in and popped the hatch, still staring out among the trees for Katie. His hands crawled slowly into his pockets. “Katie? Where are you?”

Melinda walked past Bill to the campfire, picked up a stick, and lifted the lid of a large pan that was nestled within the glowing logs. Above, a small breeze rustled the leaves and a red-winged blackbird squawked.

“No banana boats,” she said. “It’s peach cobbler.”

“Okay, that’s the next best,” said Josh.

Bill walked to the back of the van, pulled out his blue tent case, and carried it to one of the raked tent spots. “I wonder where Katie is?”

“Probably taking a nature break,” said Melinda. She put the lid back on the pot, then walked to the other raked tent spot, where Josh had already upended their red tent bag onto the ground.

“Well,” Bill said, dusting off his hands. “I don’t remember how to set this thing up.”

“Just wait a few minutes and we’ll help you,” said Melinda. Josh untied the strings and flipped the tent open on the ground. Melinda picked up the stake bag. Bill looked around, his eyes drawn up in concern. “I’ll find Katie. You have your own tent. We can certainly do ours.”

Melinda shrugged. She dumped the stakes onto the pine needles by her foot.

Bill walked through the spiny branches of young dogwoods and disappeared down the knoll leading to the creek.

“Don’t worry. The weekend’ll be fine,” Josh said to Melinda.

“I hope so,” said Melinda as she picked up a tent pole and unfolded it to snap it into place.

From down near the stream, they could hear Bill calling, “Okay, Katie! Finish your business. Your man is a wimp in the woods and needs your cunning to put up the tent!”

“God, I’m glad to hear a little humor coming back to him,” said Josh. “Remember his sense of humor? He used to have us rolling in the aisles.” Melinda nodded.

Down at the creek, Bill belted out a Tarzan howl.

“Listen to him. Maybe we’re going to loosen him up a little too much,” said Josh. “He’ll want to go in to work Monday with a chimp and a loincloth. Won’t the sick people just love that?”

“Would that be considered sexual harassment?”

“Depends on how bad Bill looks in a loincloth.” Josh helped Melinda thread the first pole through the tabs on the tent, then poked the ends through the metal rings into the ground. The tent swayed like a kite.

“Get that other pole,” said Melinda.

Bill howled again.

“He won’t be fit to live with,” said Josh, shaking his head, bemused.

Melinda stopped, and tilted her head in the direction of the creek. The howl was longer this time and didn’t end with the traditional wavering Tarzan vibrato. It held in the air, guttural, clear, and loud.

Melinda dropped the pole.

“What?” Josh asked.

Bill’s howl cut off, then resumed. It was not a shout of playfulness.

“Oh, God!” said Melinda. She stepped forward toward the small trees, her mouth caught in her hand.

It was a cry of torment.

Melinda raced toward the trees, batting branches away and skidding down the knoll to the creek. Behind her, she could hear Josh drop the tent stakes and call after her.

“Bill!” Melinda shouted. She looked up the creek, where water swirled around rocks and rotting branches, carrying leaves and minnows down its course. She stumbled several yards down the creek and saw the top of Bill’s head above a thick jam of logs on the bank.

“Bill!”

Bill looked up over the top of the jam.

His face was the stretched face of a haunted, demented clown. Melinda made herself walk to the jam. She looked over. Katie lay on the creek bank. Her neck, face, and chest were covered with gaping wounds. Blood covered her clothes and body like a slick coating of dark, nearly black oil. Her eyes were open to the sky, but she was beyond seeing. Her red hair was matted in dried gore.

Melinda dropped to the bank in the sand, her knees instantly soaked. She threw back her head and screamed.

“We have to call the police!” said Josh. Bill had loaded the semiautomatic target pistols and was filling his pockets with clips.

“We’ve got to call the police!” Josh repeated. “Bill, are you listening?”

Melinda stood, holding on to the branch of an oak, the remains of her breakfast spattered on the toes of her shoes.

“We’re the law now,” Bill said. His voice cracked, broke.

“Bill, I’ll drive,” said Josh. “There’s no phone reception here but a few miles down the road, yes. Come on. Let’s call the police and let them find the murderer!”

“We’re the flicking law,” said Bill, his words barely audible. He turned and pointed the pistol at Josh and Melinda. “These uncivilized people don’t know the law.”

“Don’t point the gun at us,” said Josh.

Bill licked his lips. “I’m sorry.” He held the gun down. “You’re my friends. Help me.”

“Bill,” said Josh. “We’ll help you. Let us drive you out of here and find help. The sooner, the better.”

“Help?” screamed Bill. “She’s dead! What do you mean the sooner the better? I have to go find that guy now! No one else cares! No one else will care! I’ve seen how it fucking works! Help me, please!”

“We’ll help you,” said Melinda, and Josh glanced at her, shocked. But she knew Bill was right. She knew if they didn’t find the murderer, no one would. Gillian was un-avenged. Katie couldn’t be left the same way.

“Melinda!” said Josh.

“You know I’m right,” she said. “Bill, too. It’s now or never, Josh.”

“We catch him, then what?”

“Drive him to town. Citizen’s arrest.”

Josh bared his clenched teeth, shook his head.

Bill winked, a mad, appreciative move in Melinda’s direction. “Thanks,” he said.

“Give us the other guns,” Melinda said. Bill handed her a pistol and clip; she loaded it and held it out. Josh hesitated, then picked up the third gun and jammed in a clip.

“Bless you guys,” Bill said. He sobbed once and wiped his hand beneath his eyes, leaving a long, dark streak of soot. He turned then, and led the other two on foot up the dirt path toward the road.

The murderer had not gone far. He was sitting, blood smearing his jeans, on a boulder just across the road from where the van had almost hit him. He was eating a sandwich from his tackle box; his fishing pole and ax were propped against his foot. The ax had dried blood on the blade.

He looked up as the three approached him. He raised one hand as if in greeting. His mouth was lopsided.

Fucking shit, he’s retarded, Melinda thought.

And before the reality of the situation could register on the man’s face, Bill was on him.

It took very little for the three friends to subdue him and drag the man and ax back to the campsite, his legs kicking, his sandwich forgotten in the dirt.

“Time for court,” Bill whispered to the man before he had jammed a handkerchief into the screaming mouth. Yes, thought Melinda. Let justice be done this time.

The man doubled over with the blows of Bill’s boot. Then Bill lifted the man and threw him against the sycamore tree. His new strength was astonishing, and Melinda stared with wonder.

“Help me!” Bill called to Josh. Josh held the man up on the tree, seeming not to want to look at the man’s face, as Bill cut a length of nylon rope. Then he lashed the man to the trunk with a rope around his neck, waist, and knees. The man coughed and opened his eyes. They were red and wet and wild.

“Caught me an uncivilized asshole murderer! Caught a redneck Fisherman Joe!” shouted Bill. He balled his fist and drove it into the man’s jaw. There was a crack. The man cried out. Bill swung his boot out and caught the man squarely in the crotch. The man screamed.

Melinda drew her hands into her pockets. Her heart thundered. Her breaths were jagged, shallow. Let this be done quickly, she thought. Justice can be swift, I heard somewhere.

“You like this, don’t ya, Fisherman Joe?” said Bill. He leaned in to the man on the tree and pulled the wadded handkerchief from the man’s mouth. Bill’s teeth clacked together; he was beyond anything but the job at hand. “You like this? I’m a creative son of a bitch, more creative than you were with Katie. You haven’t seen the first of it!”

“Bill,” said Josh. “Please. That’s enough now. Reconsider. You’ve caught him now; he’s tied up. The police won’t have to go looking. We can drive him in to the station, for Christ’s sake.”

“Got to do the justice ourselves,” Bill said. “Got to be judge and jury. There’s no justice in the justice system.”

Melinda felt Josh’s eyes turn on her. She didn’t look back but said, “Bill’s right. He’ll be free in a few years. Katie will never be free now. But Bill, please, do it quickly.”

Justice can be swift. Justice should be swift.

Fisherman Joe struggled violently, back and forth against the nylon rope. At last he spoke. “Please don’t! What you doin’ this for?”

“Katie said that, I bet!” laughed Bill, ignoring Melinda. “No, Katie yelled it, I bet. She screamed it, begging for her very life, I bet! ‘No, don’t! What you doin’ this for?’ Did it make you hard, you flicking redneck bastard?” Bill stepped up to Fisherman Joe and almost pressed his lips against those of the bound man. “Did you get hard when you cut my wife into ribbons?”

“I didn’t do nothin’!”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth!” Bill cried. He picked up a stick and slashed it across Fisherman Joe’s mouth. The skin split apart on contact, leaving the man with a wide, bloody grin-like wound. Joe sobbed.

“Now,” said Bill. He began to pace back and forth before the tree, rubbing his chin.

“Let me see if I can recreate this little scene for you. Stop me if I leave out any important details. You found Katie building a campfire, and she looked like a good piece of ass. Yes?”

Joe, blubbering, shook his head. Tears, blood, and spit ran down his face to his shirt:

I thought so,” said Bill. “Good-looking piece of ass that would have nothing to do with an uncivilized thug from the backwoods. So you throw down your fishing pole and go for her. Hey, pussy tastes better than trout any day, doesn’t it!”

“I never even seen her!” screamed Joe. “I killed…”

Bill hurled his fist into the man’s face. Fisherman Joe coughed and sputtered.

Bill strode to the campfire. He felt around inside the utensil bag until he found long handled barbecue tongs. From the fire he fished a glowing, bright red piece of wood. He went back to the sycamore tree. “Open his mouth,” he said to Josh.

Josh said, “Bill, good Lord, would you let the law—!”

“Open his mouth, Josh! Let’s have it done!”

“No!” cried the man on the tree. “Stop it! I killed–”

“I fucking know you did!” screamed Bill. He slapped Joe’s bloody, drooling mouth.

Josh went to the tree and pried Fisherman Joe’s jaws apart. The man gasped and gurgled, tossing his head back and forth. Bill shoved the burning coal into the mouth. The cries covered the sounds of sizzling, although Melinda could see steam rising from between the lips and out both sides of the bloody gash.

Bill dropped the tongs. “Man was perjuring himself,” he said. “Can’t have that in a court of law. Now, the evidence will continue.”

Melinda felt her gorge rise, but she couldn’t look away. Kill him if you’re going to, she thought. Get it over with!

“She struggled, not wanting you to put your filthy claws on her,” said Bill. “And so you picked up your ax and gave her a few chops. That old, trusty, rusty ax.”

Fisherman Joe cried, coughed, and shook his head. Melinda glanced at the man’s ax on the ground, at the dried blood and the black hairs stuck in it.

Katie’s hair is red, she thought.

“Sliced her good and left her to die on the creek bank,” said Bill. “You know, I’m trained to heal people, but I bet I can’t heal Katie. You think I can, Joe?”

Fisherman Joe’s head wavered, his eyes rolled in the sockets.

“I’ll give you what Katie got. A little pain before you must be going.” Bill took the pistol from his jacket pocket, and aimed at the man’s foot. He pulled the trigger. Joe’s shoe exploded with red. The man howled around his ruined tongue. Then Bill shot the man’s other foot. Joe slumped, no longer able to keep his weight up.

“Get it over,” said Melinda.

I love you guys,” said Bill, looking over his shoulder. His face softened for a moment. “Kill him,” said Melinda.

Bill shot Joe’s knees out, then put bullets through both of the man’s palms.

“He looks too much like Christ that way,” Bill said. He shook his head. “Can’t have that. This man is no Christ.” He picked up the ax, lifted it, testing the weight. “Nice tool. Sharp and heavy.” He walked to the tree and with a grunt, swung the ax at Joe’s heaving chest. It smacked deep into the flesh and bone. Josh groaned and turned away.

“No more Christ,” said Bill.

“No more Fisherman Joe,” said Melinda. Bill looked up at the man’s face. He was indeed, dead. His mouth hung open. His eyes were glazed globes.

“Hmmm,” said Bill. “And I had some other ideas.” Beside Melinda, it was Josh’s turn to lose control. He doubled up and barfed bile into the leaves.

Bill took the ax to the campfire and dropped it in the center of the flame. He collected the three pistols, wiped them off, and put them back into the van. “We were never here,” he said to Melinda and Josh. “Get the tents, put them away. Douse the fire, stir it up. I’ll take the Toyota, you two the van. We found Katie’s body in the ghetto. You understand me? Then the justice system can begin its tailspin.”

The tents went into the van, all traces of camping packed and swept away. Fisherman Joe remained tied to the tree.

“If he can feed the buzzards,” said Bill, “then his life wasn’t a total waste.”

“Now,” said Bill as he closed the hatch of the van. “Let’s get Katie.”

As the three walked through the dogwoods and down the knoll to the stream, Bill caught both Melinda and Josh’s hands and gave them a squeeze. “Thank you. Greater love has no man than he who will help take a life for a friend.” He was nearly giddy in his torment.

Josh and Bill gently lifted the butchered body from beside the jam of logs and leaves. One shoe fell from the dead woman’s foot into the water. As Bill and Josh carried Katie up the bank toward the van, Melinda followed alongside the creek to catch the shoe and take it back with them. No evidence could be left. Melinda grabbed a stick from the bank and tried to reach the shoe but it floated on, just out of reach.

The creek made a sharp turn around the rock shelf on the other side. Melinda, holding branches so not to fall in, went around the turn, watching the shoe.

She stopped.

She dropped the stick she was holding.

From somewhere behind, up at the campsite, she heard Josh call, “Melinda! We have to get out of here! Hurry up!”

Katie’s shoe was snagged on a small creek rock within reach. Several yards beyond the shoe, lying on the creek’s bank with its head split open was a black bear. Melinda took several steps closer. Her lungs were caught on the spikes of her ribs.

The bear’s paws were splayed out, one on the ground, one across its chest. The ax-sharp claws were clotted with blood. A hank of red hair was tangled in one set of claws.

Katie’s hair.

Melinda stepped into the stream and picked up the shoe. She hurried back to the campsite, where the van and car were turned around, engines revving.

As she climbed into front seat she was careful not to glance into the back where Katie lay wrapped in a tarp. But she did look at Fisherman Joe on the tree, mouth open and still, his expression one of terror and righteousness.

I never seen her!

“Let’s go,” Melinda said to Bill.

I never killed her, I killed….

She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. The van hit the road and sped toward the city.