Three Miles Out: Book One Read online

  Three Miles Out

  BOOK ONE

  By

  Jacqueline Druga

  Three Miles Out: Book One - By Jacqueline Druga

  Copyright 2017 by Jacqueline Druga

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Thank you to Paula Gibson and Shona M for your help and encouragement on this one.

  Cover Art by Christian Bentulan

  www.coversbychristian.com

  ONE - SMASH

  Another scream.

  Elsa Monroe was used to hearing them, they were quite frequent since the Cramer family moved next door three years earlier. At first, they were disturbing. Even causing her heart to jump when she heard them echo across the short distance between the two houses.

  In the fifty-three years that Elsa lived on Pearl Street, they were by far the nosiest neighbors who lived on the suburban tree lined road in Wakeman, Ohio.

  There had been some doozies beforehand. Elsa had seen them all.

  From the loud tattoo biker gang who had fire pits and played that ‘rock and roll’, to the religious guru with three wives. However, no one was quite like the Cramer family.

  Elsa was active for seventy-five. She worked out at the gym twice a week, played bingo, acted in the summer theater in Cleveland, even went to Sexy Over Sixty Singles every third Thursday. She wasn’t one of those senior women who sat around so much their imagination went wild.

  Pearl Street was a simple street and modest. No one was rich. Most of the houses were Cape Cod or ranch style frame homes. Most were white. Nothing extravagant. So when the Cramers moved in with their fancy SUV’s and minivan with bells and whistles, she figured them to be drug lords, or part of the witness protection program.

  Until she sort of got to know them. Not much, she didn’t mingle with them on a regular basis. A daily “hello”, the talk about the garden, and comments yelled across the yard about the kids.

  She didn’t know much about their lives.

  Three kids, all girls, all names that began—or at least sounded as if they did—with the letter K.

  Kaddy, Karen, Kira.

  Along with a small, fluffy, yappy dog named Spud.

  She didn’t know the father’s name, not for sure. Something like Bruce or Bob. However, she knew the Mom’s name. It was Vivian.

  Elsa would see Vivian leave every day for work in her purple scrubs. Headed off to Country Meadows Assisted Living where she worked as a nurse’s aide, or something like that. She was a pretty gal and would look nicer if she did something else with her hair besides a ponytail.

  Vivian looked older than she probably was.

  So did the husband for that matter.

  He was rarely seen. When he was, he was usually getting in a cab. He’d wave, be gone and not come back for weeks.

  Odd family.

  The first time Elsa heard one of the children scream was shortly after they moved in. It was the middle girl, Karen. She was three at the time. The youngest was just a baby. Karen had let out this long, shrill scream as if someone had died.

  Elsa raced over and Vivian assured her everything was fine.

  “Little girls tend to scream like that,” Vivian said.

  Elsa learned that fact to be true. Every time they played at least one of them would scream.

  There were days they’d all scream.

  Elsa grew used to it.

  Except on this day.

  Something was different.

  Elsa had a daily routine. She liked to sleep late, have a late breakfast, go to the gym, store, or both, then eat a light lunch while she watched her favorite block of shows played on the Game Show Channel.

  She had just fixed herself a Braunschweiger sandwich and hard-boiled egg, grabbed a bottle of beer and plopped in her easy chair.

  Just as Match Game 1976 began she heard those God awful screams.

  They were different. Not just one long shrill, playful cry, it was three in a row. The same voice, high and young … Kira. Elsa muted the television.

  The screaming stopped.

  After putting on the volume again she heard another scream ring out.

  This one caused Elsa to stand up and peek out the window. She didn’t see any of the kids in the yard.

  Once it was quiet again Elsa walked back to her chair. Before she even sat down there was another scream.

  “Sweet Lord,” Elsa gasped in shock as she grabbed her chest and took a breath. That shriek scared the heck out of her. A loud cry, deep and disturbing. It was unlike any she had ever heard coming from the Cramer house.

  The last thing Elsa wanted to do was call the sheriff and get the family in trouble. She took a big swig of her light beer, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and headed out the door.

  Once outside she could hear Spud yapping and yapping.

  Vivian’s van was parked out front, which told her the mom was home.

  No other neighbor was on the street, or raced over to see what was going on.

  Then again, it was the middle of a working day.

  Elsa walked the fifty feet to the house next door and made her way to the porch.

  ‘I’m being silly,’ Elsa thought. ‘I will knock and they’ll think I’m nosey for even coming over.’

  She stopped before she stepped on the porch, thought about turning around, but changed her mind. In the three years the Cramer family lived next to her she had only gone over there that once. This time was justified. She would rather be wrong than turn a blind eye, or deaf ear, when a family really needed help.

  Spud still yapped that annoying bark as Elsa reached the door.

  The front door was open so she hollered through the screen door. “Vivian? Everything okay?”

  Spud’s yapping bark turned into one high pitch ‘yelp’. Elsa’s heart dropped to her stomach.

  Spud’s last yelp wasn’t a good sign.

  She knew what that dreadful sound meant when a dog made it.

  “Vivian,” she called out.

  Just as she called out again she heard a sound … Clonk.

  It sounded like metal hitting against something dense.

  Clonk.

  Elsa grabbed the screen porch door and opened it.

  The moment she stepped inside the house, Elsa knew she should have run.

  Blood was splattered across the walls.

  Clonk.

  ‘Stupid old woman,’ she thought. She was no hero. She wasn’t brave. What was she doing here? She should of called 911. Elsa’s heart raced and her body trembled. A shoe lay in the middle of a thick, bloody pile of something, resembling intestines.

  Clonk.

  Not far from the bloody pile was Spud’s lifeless body. The tiny, fluffy fur ball of a dog looked like a red rag doll.

  Clonk.

  Her hand shot to her mouth, her saliva glands worked hard and overproduced as she fought her need to vomit. Elsa, confused, spun left to right, she wanted to run but thought: ‘Dear God, the children? Where are the children?’

  She didn’t see any of the girls, but the amount of blood sickened her. If they were in trouble, Elsa had to help. Or at least try.

  A landline phone was on the table next to the couch right by the archway that divided the living room and dining room.

  Clonk.

  Elsa hurried to it. When she reached for the phone she saw Kaddy, the oldest child.

  Her thin body was on the floor by the dining room doorway, twisted and laying on her side, Kaddy’s arms were above her head, eyes wide open, her neck and chest
torn apart.

  Elsa knew she had to call for help, but also knew she had to get out of there. The second she turned to leave she saw the moving legs.

  It was the father. He kicked and squirmed in some sort of struggle.

  Elsa also saw the source of the noise.

  In the doorway that separated the kitchen from dining room, Vivian hovered over her husband flailing a cast iron frying pan.

  The husband struggled, grabbing and fighting for his life as she careened the pan down on him.

  Clonk.

  On that blow, blood shot outward, yet he kept moving and not giving up. Could she help him? Should she try?

  With a maddened look, face splattered with blood, Vivian eyed Elsa.

  Elsa froze.

  “Elsa, run,” Vivian yelled, and with maddened rage she careened the frying pan down on her husband, “Get out. Run!”

  Vivian raised that pan again. Elsa didn’t wait any longer to see it strike him. She spun on her heels and as fast as she could, she raced out of that house.

  TWO – ROLL

  The coffee table was a complete and utter disaster, but Brady didn’t mind. Empty paper plates, pizza boxes, soda cans and filled ashtrays.

  He knew by grabbing a garbage bag and with one fell sweep of his arm across the surface, everything would go into the bag looking almost as good as new.

  Brady wasn’t touching it today. It was his day off. He delivered pizzas five days a week, and two of those days he ran a gaming competition at a local card and game shop. It was a work free day for him, he had plans to do nothing but sit on his sofa, watch television, binge eat, drink cheap vodka and get high.

  Despite the mess before him, he made room for his notebook.

  Brady Lawrence was a carefree, good looking guy in his late twenties. He had curly brown hair that got a little unruly when it needed a cut. For the most part he kept it tucked under a baseball cap.

  Leaning towards the coffee table, Brady held a folded cigarette paper between his thumb and forefinger, then sprinkled marijuana in the crease. Where some people preferred a pipe or e-cigarette version, Brady preferred rolling a good old fashioned joint.

  He peered up at the knock on the door. Jason stood there, his best friend since high school. After he waved hello, Jason opened the screen door and stepped inside.

  “Want me to shut this?”

  “Nah, that’s okay. Dude, you heard from Stevie?”

  “Not today.’ Jason sat down on the couch. “What’s up?”

  “He was supposed to come over. I owe him twenty bucks and I wanted to give it to him before I spend it.”

  “Why don’t you just drive over?”

  “I will. But he said he wanted to hang.” Brady shrugged. “Did you work today?’

  “I work every day.”

  “Dude, I do, too.”

  “Running pizzas.”

  “I make as much …” He sprinkled some more weed into his joint. “As you do at that bank and work half the time. Plus, I don’t have random drug testing.”

  “True,” Jason said. “How’s your mom?”

  Brady lifted his eyes to the ceiling. His mother was in the room right above. She had a knee replacement the week before and ended up with an infection that hit her harder than the pain from the surgery did. “Getting better.”

  “That’s good.” Jason reached for the remote. “Why is your phone open to a story about a chick that murdered her family?”

  “Oh, dude, thanks for reminding me.” Brady took the phone and then the notebook.

  “What are you doing?”

  “This chick, right, one minute she is making cookies, the next she fucking tears her family apart and murders her husband with a frying pan. They think she tried to make it look like he killed the kids, said she mutilated herself, too. Sick. Three kids. All little. Man.” He flipped back the notebook and started writing.

  “Why are you writing this down?”

  “Ever read one of these stories? They’re all over the news. Usually a small town family, the mom or dad goes nuts and murders everyone. No reason why. They just do it. Ever read them and wonder what happened to them?”

  “No.”

  “I do. Then usually, by the time I remember about it, I forget the details, like names and such, and I can’t find the story again. I mean, like, I want to know did they get convicted, kill themselves, or ever say why they did it. What the fuck causes someone to crush their entire family? So I got frustrated, and I started writing down details to go back and check.”

  “And?” Jason asked.

  “Half the time, nothing. You can’t find a follow up story at all.”

  “Maybe there never was one.”

  “Probably,” Brady said. “I don’t get why they don’t do a follow up. It’s like showing a really good pilot for a TV series then never making any more.”

  “It’s a twisted hobby,” Jason said.

  “Yeah, I know.” Brady finished rolling his joint.

  “I’m gonna grab something to drink.”

  “Go ahead.” Brady lifted the remote control and aimed it at the television. As soon as he turned it on the news showed aerial footage of massive police and fire presence on a small street. “Oh, shit. Shit.”

  “What?” Jason rushed back in.

  Brady pointed. “Wakeman. That’s where that chick murdered her family today.”

  “Did she escape?” Jason asked. “Looks like they’re setting up roadblocks.”

  “Oh, man, She’s on the run. I thought they had her.”

  “Wakeman is only about an hour from here.” Jason said.

  “I know. Why would they block off a town?” Brady asked. “Weird. We should take a ride over and see what’s going on.”

  “When? Now?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jason pulled out his phone. “Let me check with Corrie.” He began to text.

  “Look at you checking in.” Brady snickered.

  “Um, yeah, I am married with a kid. I’m responsible now. And …” his phone jingled and Jason looked down. “She said fine.”

  “Excellent, let’s do it. We can take my car.” Brady stood up from the couch and lifted his phone to his pocket. Both he and Jason headed toward the door. He paused at the stairs and looked up, shouting, “Hey, Ma, I’m headed out with Jason. I’ll be back.”

  “Okay,” the woman’s voice carried down. “Did you clean up for me?”

  Brady looked into the living room. “Not yet, I will when I get back. I promise.”

  “Thank you. Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Jason yelled up the stairs. “Hope you feel better Mrs. Lawrence.”

  “Thank you, Jason,” she replied.

  Jason moved from the stairs to the front door. “You know this is really weird that we’re doing this.” Jason reached for the handle.

  “Yeah, but how often do we get to see an entire town barricaded over a crazy chick?” Brady took a step toward him and stopped. “Shit. Wait.” He raced over to the coffee table, lifted the remote, shut off the television, grabbed his joint and hurriedly followed Jason out.

  <><><><>

  The wide screen television in the recreation room of Country Meadows Assisted Living played loudly even though the closed captions scrolled across the bottom. Several residents watched, shaking their heads.

  “Now the body count increases,” the reporter said. “Not only does the number include the loss of a family, this reporter has just learned that seventy-five year old, Elsa Monroe, who actually discovered the gruesome scene, has passed away from heart failure.”

  “What did she say?” Bert Daniels, one of the male residents yelled out.

  “Read the captions,” another replied.

  “I don’t have my glasses, what did she say?” Bert asked.

  “They said she killed the old lady, too.”

  “Good lord, she had a hard time lifting me off the shower floor, how the hell did she kill all those people?” Bert sa
id.

  Across the room, Alice McLaurin spoke to the Sheriff. She forced an embarrassed smile and said, “Will you excuse me for one second?”

  She walked over to the television and switched the channel, much to the vocal dismay of the residents.

  “We were watching that.”

  “Watch something else,” Alice said. ‘It’s disturbing.”

  “Wanna know what is disturbing,” a male resident, replied, “You let her go home early. If she had stayed and worked, she would have snapped here, not there.”

  “You don’t know that.” Alice shook her head. “Watch Judge Jim.” After setting down the remote control, she returned to the sheriff. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine. Why did you turn it off?”

  “I don’t want to hear it. I really don’t. I know everyone says this but … I would never have expected this from Viv. Not her.”

  “So if I heard correctly, she was here today before the incident?”

  Alice nodded. “She worked half shift yesterday as well.”

  “Was she sick?”

  “No. Her husband was ill. He was with the kids.”

  The Sherriff nodded and leaned toward the radio on his shoulder. “Confirmation received. Suspect was here. Over.” He stepped back.

  “They say she tore her kids apart,” Alice said. “Hurt herself, is that true?”

  “Really not at liberty to say. Again, thank you.” He turned and walked away.

  Alice was shaken by the events. She had known Vivian for a couple years. Granted it wasn’t that long, but she worked with her every day. Had lunch with her, was friends with her on social media. In fact, Vivian’s last post was a picture of her and her daughters in a smiling selfie.

  She loved her children, it was like one of those crazy news stories that she would see about once a day. A seemingly loving parent, for no reason, murders the entire family. Friends and relatives claim it was unlike them. Alice always thought that was crazy talk. Someone that snaps and slaughters their children had to have shown some sign.

  Yet, there Alice was, shuffling through her daily paperwork while trying to think of a single time Vivian lost her temper.