A Summertime Journey

of us. “Ryan was too weak to go with us, and I can’t have any dead weight,” Charlie quips, “so, unfortunately, he had to meet his maker a little sooner than any of us wanted. Now saddle up, boys; our journey awaits.”
“What about Ryan, his body—we have to tell his mom or something,” I’m able to say.
Charlie replies, “Don’t worry about Ryan; they will take him.”
“Who—who will take him?” As we reluctantly follow Charlie out of the lot, my question goes unanswered.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
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IN A PAST LIFE, Charlie was a serial killer, a rapist, and a sadist. For a decade, he terrorized the towns along the Oregon and Washington coasts. He was a meticulous and smart man, choosing his prey carefully and planning every detail of his crimes, right down to the disposal of the bodies so they would never be recovered. Dumb luck eventually caught him.
He hijacked what he thought was an abandoned cabin deep in the Washington forest, accessible only by a crude trail that was overgrown and showed no current signs of use. The cabin was small—just one room that served as the kitchen, living room, and bedroom. The windows had boards across them to protect from weather or nosy neighbors of the four-legged kind, so it was dark and damp. Water had to be brought in, and the only light came from candles or the old black wood stove in the center. The closest humans were more than ten miles away. Ponderosa pines surrounded the cabin and nearly impossible to find unless you accidentally walked upon it. By all accounts, it should have been the perfect hideaway. The day Charlie was caught, he was enjoying his seventh victim.
She was a beautiful, seventeen-year-old runaway named Lori. Charlie watched her on the streets of Yakima for hours before making his move. He watched her get off the Greyhound bus with only a small brown suitcase. As soon as she stepped off, she sat down, clueless what to do next. She looked terrified, sitting on the bench in front of the bus station. Charlie didn’t know if she was waiting to be picked up by someone, but he doubted it. So he continued to stalk his prey.
She sat for nearly an hour before picking up her bag and walking down the dingy, littered street. She found an all-night diner and spent another hour sipping coffee and nibbling on a doughnut trying to figure out her next move. When she’d decided to run away, it was in haste, and she didn’t have a plan. She was wrestling with her thoughts on whether she should return home and admit defeat or try to make this work. Her reason for running away was stupid; She snuck out of her house to meet her boyfriend and got caught, and her dad grounded her for a month. Lori’s home life was great; she got good grades and never missed school, didn’t smoke, drink, or do drugs, and her parents loved and cared for her. That’s why she was so mad. One, she turns eighteen in less than a week. Two, she never got in trouble, so to be grounded for a month for a first offense was too extreme for her.
She finally looked up from her coffee cup and asked the weathered-looking waitress, “Do you know where I can find a motel?” Rosie, the waitress, was numb to these young runaways. They came and went as often as the buses themselves. They all have the same sad story—parents don’t understand them, parents are too strict, boyfriend cheated on them. Rosie pointed west and said there was a cheap motel about a quarter of a mile down the road. This girl struck Rosie as different; she seemed sincere, well-behaved, and didn’t offer a sad story. The teenager sipped her coffee, asked for directions, paid, and left Rosie a decent tip. As Rosie watched her walk out the door, suitcase in hand, she hoped this girl would be okay out there alone.
Lori was walking past a dark construction zone, the sky was cloud-covered, threatening rain showers when he came to a screeching halt next to her in his car. Her heart was beating out of her chest, and for the umpteenth time, she regretted her decision to run away.
Charlie leaped out of the running car with the precision of a seasoned boxer, no wasted movement or energy, muscle memory taking over. He grabbed her from behind and placed her in a bear hug and forced his hand over her mouth, careful that none of his fingers were exposed. He wrapped his hand in a cloth, and the more she fought and tried to scream, the weaker she felt. Lori’s life flashed before her eyes before the chloroform did its job.
Under his control, she was tied spread eagle to a filthy bed in the corner of the room for days in the cabin. The abrasive rope slowly chafed her soft skin around her wrists and ankles. She felt hopeless and feared she would die there in the middle of nowhere from the vicious beatings and rapes. He was taking his time with this one since he thought he was safe. He didn’t talk to her, except when he was abusing her, and it was a flurry of cuss words and insults. A black latex mask covered her head with only nostril holes and a zippered mouth that he never unzipped except to let her eat or drink. She felt like she was constantly suffocating and could not draw enough air from the small holes. The mask muffled her hearing, and she was in a constant discombobulated state from fear, hunger, and loss of her senses. He liked her this way, unable to think clearly. He knew she would not try to escape.
Eventually, she had to go to the bathroom; and when she asked, this angered him. There was no bathroom in the cabin, so he would have to take her outside. He didn’t want her