Nancy Screw and the Coming of Age (18+) Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Co-Incidents

Nancy had been reading for a couple of hours before she realized how hungry she had gotten. It was about mid-afternoon when she finally put the book down. It had gone way beyond her expectations in thrill and excitement. Now she knew Charles Turner had a chance and that brought her relief aside from the act of reading itself. She still found her heart aching for Billy, but Turner’s problems were still much worse. In a way, she enjoyed the distraction from reality that fantasy provided.

Nancy went downstairs and found her parents still present where she had left them. Her mother was tending to the kitchen and her father was reading the paper that had recently been delivered. The television filled the silence in the background.

“Feeling much better,” Nancy’s mother asked as she entered the kitchen and opened the fridge.

“Oh, a little,” she replied. “I was just getting a little something to eat.”

“Help yourself,” her mother added. “You need the strength. Did you want to take something to settle your stomach?”

“Oh, it’s not so bad right now. I should be fine,” Nancy informed.

“Well, okay. We’re here just in case you do need anything, okay?”

“Thanks, mom,” she replied and kissed her on the cheek.

Nancy grabbed a few things from the fridge and started to head upstairs. The news was on the television when she walked by. Her father wished her better and turned the page of the paper to the sports section. Nancy started to head upstairs when the news caught her attention.

“A young man disappeared from Venture Park last night at around 8p.m. He is described as a white male, around 6 foot 2, slender to medium build and was last seen wearing a light gray suit. If anyone has any information please call the number flashing on the screen. His name is Charles Turner and has also been known as Charlie.”

Nancy froze in her tracks. She couldn’t move. She almost couldn’t breathe. Her mind raced from what she just heard to her book and back to the news story. It couldn’t be possible. The book was, of course, a work of fiction and this was just coincidence. It had to be. How could a book be written about a man disappearing before he disappeared? Unless the author was psychic. Strange things have happened, Nancy told herself. How many Charles Turners were there in the world? How many times had this situation happened to other people? Was Nancy going crazy? She had gotten little sleep and she did have what some might say as an overactive imagination. Still, the thought excited her and she ran up to her room the best she could with two handfuls of food to find out exactly what was going on.

Again Nancy found herself nose deep in the story. Charles Turner was now free from his captors. But for how long? Nancy flipped back to the beginning of the book, which offered little assistance to where he was when Turner was taken. After all, the book started with Turner overlooking a long drop from the rooftop of a building. Behind him were those evil men. She remembered what she had also just read and she flipped to where she left off. Turner had escaped. Perhaps they caught him again? Perhaps if she read on she may find that as the case. Nancy turned the page.

Now Turner was free. He found the exit of his cell and, holding his wounded shoulder, pushed the door open with all his might with his good one. The door swung open with a painful groan and light from the early morning overwhelmed his vision. Turner squinted and lifted his good side up to block the sun. When his vision cleared he saw salvation. The very car he had been thrown into was sitting a few hundred feet in front of him. And reflecting the light from inside the car was something better; keys. So much for professional thugs. They had left the keys in the car. Turner smiled wide and scooted his wreck of a body over to it, occasionally looking from side to side as if expecting an ambush. This was, of course, too easy.

When Turner slipped inside the car he paused for a moment to allow a rush of thoughts to flood his mind. The manners of considerations became all too real. Where would he go? How would he hide? Should he go to the police? Could he go to the police? Should he make an attempt to contact his wife and daughter? Are they safe, or have they become bait? Then he realized something that made all the aforementioned fears moot. They didn’t know he had escaped. As far as the rest of them know, he had been taken care of.

Turner got out of the car, leaving it exactly how he’d found it.

“They’re going to check in on them. They’re going to want to know what was taking them so long.” Turner took a deep breath and knew what he had to do. He stepped back inside.

The two thugs were still lying there, frozen in the agony of death. Their wounds were prominent. There was no doubt they had been murdered. A suicide pact was obviously out. There was blood. Everywhere in the immediate surrounding of the overturned chair. Turner looked back outside. The light of day was growing and soon his side of the world would be waking up, getting busy, getting nosy. He had to work fast. He had to make it look like they had finished the job then drove off to inform the rest. Maybe they would stop for a drink someplace far away. Maybe that’s what took them awhile. Maybe.

Turner walked out towards the car. He started the engine, which purred much like before, and swung it around closer to the door. He quickly turned off the engine and opened the trunk. He breathed a sigh of relief. Spacious. He could fit a body in there. Maybe two. Turner turned and started to grab one of them. Then he halted. He looked at his suit. No need to attract attention with blood all over you, sir, Turner thought to himself. He took off his slacks, jacket and dress shirt. There he stood in his underwear at the scene of the crime. Imagine the face of someone walking in at this moment…

With compromised attire safely out of stain’s reach, Turner bent down to grab the bigger sack of waste and get the worst over first. He tugged at his arms with all his might and huffed the body up against the car. With that accomplished, Turner put his full strength into lifting him up as much as he could so he would heave his hanging legs and the rest of his torso into the awaiting trunk. Turner began to sweat and pain started to travel up and down his back.

“My god,” Turner commented out loud. “What did you eat?”

After a brief moment Turner had caught his breath and threw the remainder of the thug into his coffin. Turner turned around and looked back into the room. The smaller man, the man with the yellow and now red tie lye their slumped to his side, awaiting his disposal. Turner grabbed him and dragged him over, more easily this time. He propped him up against the side of the car like some of the dolls he remembered surprising his daughter with. Only her dolls didn’t bleed so much from the sides of their mouths when their heads drooped forward like this one did. Turner shook his head and looked in the truck, eyeing it for space. No room for rent. The bigger one had hogged it all. Turner looked to the back seat. Then he looked beyond. There, the light of the early morning revealed what the night had not. He was by the harbor and, just beyond where the car originally sat, there was a sharp drop off with water just below. Turner’s plan was all lined up now. Let’s just hope that water’s deep enough, Turner thought to himself once more. Let’s just hope it’ll keep his secret safe.

Turner shifted the second thug and opened the backseat. He then heaved and slumped the withered corpse up onto the seats and slid the rest of him in from the knees. He curled the body and closed the door. Turner got in the front, started the car, and turned it towards the edge of the cliff. He stopped the car as the nose hovered over the edge. Turner looked at the passenger’s seat. He hadn’t forgotten to grab the knives. They were still bloody. He grabbed them and got out. He put them on the ground to his side alongside the car keys, and put the car into neutral. With one earnest push Turner sent the car and the two occupants inside to their watery graves. He watched in slow motion as the car plummeted the six or so feet from the edge to the surface of the water. Not three seconds later the nose broke the eerie calm of the drink and water divided and then rejoined in one grant motion. The car quickly disappeared from Turner’s sight as it sunk beneath the sea, out of sight, with only the immense releasing of bubbles to signify its existence. Turner just stood there for a moment, soaking in the preceding events. He turned to his left side and gathered the weapons and the keys. Then he headed back to the room.

Nancy flipped ahead, skimming over parts of other pages she fully intended to read in their entirety but couldn’t on account that excitement had taken the helm. Ten or so pages ahead, Nancy found something.

“Nancy.” Her mother’s voice came up the hall and through her door. Nancy replied.

“Yes?”

“Your father and I are going to go out for a movie with a few friends. Will you be okay with how you are on your own for a few?”

Nancy thought for a moment, then replied.

“I should be okay. Enjoy the movie.”

“Feel better, sweets,” her mother concluded. “We love you.”

Nancy heard the front door close and she went downstairs to the phone resting on the wall. She picked it up and dialed.