Read Parts One & Two.

***TRIGGER WARNING*** CHILD MOLESTATION

Hank wasn’t quite sure when his murderous rage began to build up. It could have occurred when he was a young boy or in the service. Did it matter? 

His parents were devout, Democrat Christians. “Do as I say, not as I do.”

His rage certainly stemmed from the conflicting messages they both cast upon him in life and now, in death. He hated they were still around haunting him.

He often communicated with his mother’s spirit at night as he was dosing off to sleep, his filthy crusted up old sheets covering him. “Now, honey, your Pa and I didn’t teach you this way. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. Remember, God’s watching.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he’d answer. 

“God’s will should not be questioned,” she’d reprimand in a firm, friendly voice. And then more gently, “You rest now, honey. God’s got great plans for you.” 

He took this as a message. Closing his eyes, he’d fall into a fitful sleep. When he’d awaken the following morning, he would be disappointed he hadn’t gotten a call during the night.

As he pulled the covers off this particular morning, he got a strong whiff of sour body odor—time to shower and wash the clothes. 

As he undressed, he threw his dirty overalls in the tub. Today may be a good day to repair the washing machine. Good thing the dryer still worked.

The washcloth Hank was using smelled as sour as his body, so he threw it on top of his clothes and used his hands to wash. His round belly had gotten a little bigger, and as he looked down, he couldn’t see his penis. He grabbed it with his soapy hands.

Slippery from the soap, it began to grow. When he was younger, he remembered how it didn’t take him long to ejaculate, afraid his mother would catch him. He didn’t hear her open the door the first time she walked in on him; he had been deep into his fantasy. She stood behind the curtain, quiet as a mouse, peeking in through a small opening, as she observed him jerking off. When he’d finished, she slowly opened the curtain. Startled at first and then embarrassed, he couldn’t look at her.

She knelt next to the tub, took the bar of soap from him, and began washing his back. “Next time you need any help with that, don’t be afraid to ask me. I know what you like. Remember? I used to change your diapers. I could get you to stop crying almost instantly. You always slept through the night afterward.” She laughed. “You can always come to me for anything, remember that.”  

Her hand moved around to his now flaccid penis. “Lay back, son, let mama show you what I can do.” He knew not to disobey her. When she completed her mission, she got up from the tub, straighten out her skirt, looked in the bathroom mirror, and fixed a curl that had fallen onto her forehead. She smiled back at Hank and walked out of the bathroom. Before closing the door behind her, she whispered, “See, baby boy. Mama knows what she’s doing. Now finish up here. We’ve got chores to do.” 

The next time Hank took a bath, his mother again appeared in the bathroom. “Ready for me to wash your back?” she asked. When Hank didn’t answer right away, she added, “No need to be embarrassed honey, it’s a very natural thing. I can show you in the Bible where Lot bed his daughters in Genesis.” And so, the bath ritual began.

Afterward, he felt guilty; he loved it so much. Bath time was anticipated, and she never had to tell him twice.

The older Hank got, his mother’s visits during bath time decreased. He wasn’t sure if it was something he had done. He felt abandoned. By then, he was addicted to the feeling of releasing himself and not just in the bathtub.

His days in the service were difficult. It was rare he was ever alone anymore. Boot camp was especially challenging for him. He had to sleep in a room with twenty-five other guys in underwear. He had to shower with them. If they were caught touching themselves, the punishment was severe. They kept a close eye on them from the glassed-in enclosure facing out into the barracks. 

Once one of his barracks buddies was sleeping and inadvertently put his hands onto the front of his boxers. The commander came running into the room, grabbed the guy by the shirt, and dragged him out of his bunk. They both disappeared into the glassed-in room. 

Hank, curious about what happened, pulled his buddy aside the next morning after chow. “So, what’d they do to you in that room last night?”

The young man, known to be a smart ass, said, “He made me strip naked in front of him. Had to do fifty pushups. Then, he shut the blinds and proceeded to get me off. It blew my mind!” The guy started to laugh at Hank. “Man, you should see the look on your face. Seriously, dude, just kidding about the last part.” He slapped Hank on the back and walked away.

Hanks arousal set the rage inside of him off. He was an abomination in the eyes of God. His mother wouldn’t be proud. God would punish him for his thoughts.

By the time his Afghanistan tour was up, his mental well-being had come under fire. Though he wanted to sign up for another four years, his re-enlistment was denied. Hank was shipped back to the US, and he returned home.

His parents were frail by this time. His mom, who had tended to the growing of vegetables on the farmland, had let the fields turn into weeds. His father’s business had slowed down due to the new mechanic shop in town, so he bought a tow truck in hopes it would help with the mounting medical expenses they were incurring.

“Son, your mamma, and I ain’t young anymore. We hired a lawyer in town who done up our will. You get everything when the time comes, and we’re no longer walking this good earth. I taught you some, and I know you will make us proud.” It was right after the father/son talk Hank dreamed God had given him permission to end his parents’ lives. “Let them sleep in eternal peace,” He told Hank.

The following morning, Hank crushed up several morphine pills and put an overdose amount into his mother’s coffee. He sat across from her, watching her drink. “It’s a beautiful day out today; what say I take you out on the porch so you can enjoy the sunshine?”

“That would be lovely, son.” She spoke. “I’d like that very much. But be sure to give me my blanket. It seems I chill easily these days.”

Hank grabbed her blanket and helped her into the wheelchair. He gently lifted the wheels over the threshold, placed her on the porch, covered up her legs, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “You holler if you need anything.” She patted his hand.

Several hours later, his father, wanting lunch, walked out onto the porch. “Vera? Time for you to make my lunch.” She didn’t acknowledge his request. His eyesight was failing him, so he didn’t notice the small amount of foam around the corners of her mouth. He walked closer to the wheelchair. Vera’s head was tilted to one side, her eyes closed, mouth slightly open. “Vera? Did you hear me?” He nudged her shoulder, and she fell forward, head first onto the termite eaten wood planks of the porch.

Hank’s father knelt down and gathered his wife of sixty years into his arms. Tears filled his old eyes. “You was a good woman to me, Vera. All these years, you stood by me. Now you’re with our Lord.” He continued to rock her body until Hank came from around the back of the garage. Upon seeing his father on the porch rocking his dead wife’s body, Hank said to himself, “One down, one to go.”

Hank waited a few months to do the same to his father. He buried him alongside his wife. This time it was just Hank and the preacher praying over the grave.

With the money his parents left him, Hank purchased a scanner. He set it up to listen to dispatch calls from Triple-A and the state and local police. He also purchased two rusty shipping containers from a Filipino woman named Pearl, who had placed an ad on Craigslist. She wanted a credit card, but Hank didn’t believe in paying with credit. He preferred to work with cash. 

Pearl was a tough old broad. She spoke broken English and was a force to be reckoned with. Pearl ran a storage area for truckers and their containers. If they neglected to pay their rental fees, she’d sell their shipping containers to whoever wanted them. Pearl drove the delivery truck to his place because Hank was paying cash. She didn’t trust anyone with her money. Pearl was a woman Hank could respect.

Hank started filling up the containers with his parents’ junk from the house when the idea struck him. He had brought down an old mattress from an upstairs bedroom. Exhausted from the haul, he placed it inside the container and lay down. It was a hot day, and the shipping container seemed to be cooler inside. The darkness engulfed him, and a plan formed in his head.

Kate Thornbird came into his life a few weeks later. He’d been lying in bed when he heard the call. The Triple-A tow driver told his dispatch he was about an hour out from helping a stranded female motorist on the Interstate 70 westbound. An hour would give Hank plenty of time to gather her up and bring her home.

She was a pretty little thing. Local girl going to party with her friends at the hot springs outside of town. She dressed provocatively. It told Hank she was looking for a good time. He had wanted to take her right then and there on the highway, but he knew anticipation was part of the foreplay. He couldn’t believe how easy it was to lure her to his place on the premise of giving her a free ride. He gave her a free ride, alright. Her screams assured him she enjoyed it. He’d kept her alive for a couple weeks. But when he heard how the police were going door to door questioning everyone, he knew his fun had to come to an end.

It was pure luck when Naomi Watters approached him at the Main Street Café a week after Kate’s death. She was more of a pleaser than the first one. Did whatever she was told and seemed to enjoy the attention he paid her. She didn’t scream as much as Kate, but older women had more experience. When she bit down on his penis, he had no other choice but to strangle her. She had fooled him. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

Getting rid of the bodies turned out to be easy. The old oil drums dad had on the property served as a metal coffin, and placing them around the perimeter of the property, well, that was pure genius on his part. The first time the police came around, they never gave those drums a second thought. 

* * * * *

As Daniella drove up the long, gravel driveway, something seemed off about the place. The first time she met Hank, her flesh prickled as her hair stood on end. Maybe Daniella should have waited for Rodriquez. She suddenly didn’t feel safe. He had appeared out of nowhere—sneaky bastard.

“Special Agent Keezer,” she said, introducing herself. “Are you Harold Reginald Decker?”

“I prefer Hank if you don’t mind.”

“You live here alone?”

“Sometimes.”

“It’s a yes or no answer.”

Hank chuckled.

Featured Image by Jo Deng on Pixabay.