REAP

Chapter 1

“He’s torturing an animal! My God, I can’t listen to it!” Carol Abbey clutched the landline phone and sobbed. Screeches and animal cries sounded in the distance. “Can’t you hear that?” She shrieked.

The 911-dispatcher could indeed hear the yelps of an animal in distress. “I am sending a deputy, ma’am.”

“Please hurry,” Carol cried. She replaced the receiver and paced around the living room of the comfortable manufactured home she rented in Grand Ronde. All at once she stopped and ripped open her front door. “Stop it! Stop hurting that animal!” She hurled toward Roy’s house, at the top of her lungs. She heard more screeching. “I’m getting my gun, asshole!” she yelled as loud as she could. The noise stopped. She cocked her head and listened. Not a sound. Carol jumped back inside her house, locked the deadbolt to the front door and turned the lights off. She chewed another fingernail and waited for the police to arrive. It seemed to take an eternity before she heard the crunching of tires on her neighbor’s rock-lined driveway. A sheriff’s deputy pulled up the long drive and parked in front of Roy’s house. As the deputy steps out of his vehicle he glances in the direction of the neighbor who called in the complaint. Her kitchen light was still burning, even though it was after 2 in the morning. The deputy rapped firmly on Roy’s front door.

Roy Sanders closed a door at the end of a long hallway and stepped into a small bathroom, where he began to wash blood off of his hands. He surveyed his clothing and smiled at his reflection in the mirror. He took his sweet time answering his door while drying his hands on a small towel. He opened the door a crack.

“Good evening Mr. Sanders. I’m Deputy Jorie, with the Polk County Sheriff’s office. Am I interrupting something, sir?” The deputy noted the man was fully dressed at two a.m.

“Nope,” Roy answered. He flashed a quick, disingenuous smile.

Deputy Jorie was certain he had heard water running somewhere in the back of the house, just before the man opened the door. “Sir, is there anyone else in the house with you?”

Roy rotated his head to inspect his living room. It was theater, meant as a sarcastic reply to the deputy’s question. “Nope.” He smiled again.

Well, this guy’s a dick. Jorie thought to himself. “Okay. Well, Mr. Sanders, I am here because we’ve had some complaints from neighbors about an animal being in distress here—“

“You don’t say,” Roy interrupted. He once again grinned inappropriately.

“Yes, I do say, sir.” Jorie stated firmly, and sans any sort of smile of his own. “Do you own a dog, Mr. Sanders?”

“Someone complained about me?” He pointed to his chest with an exaggerated motion.

“Do you own a dog, sir?” Jorie tried to rubberneck a look around inside, but the homeowner allowed only a sliver of a view.

“Nope. No dog here.”

There he goes again with that oily grin. What is up with this guy? Jorie was starting to fume. “Alright. Well, I know it’s late, Mr. Sanders. But I did drive all the way out here to check out a complaint specific to this property. Would you mind if I came in and took a quick look around, you know, to satisfy the callers?”

The smile vanished from Roy Sanders’ face faster than snowflakes in hell. “Yes, I would mind. And I’m betting there was just one bitch—I mean, caller.” He looked past the deputy toward his neighbor’s property. “Have a good night, Officer.” He shut the door in the deputy’s face and sauntered back down the long, dark hallway.

The deputy stood a few more moments on the stoop, shaking his head in frustration. He looked about the property perimeter, taking in as much as he could in the dark, from the driveway vantage point. He mock-saluted the darkened doorstep. “Yeah, I’ll do that.” He muttered under his breath as he climbed back into his cruiser.

XXXXX

Carol Abbey was no stranger to abusive men. She had finally divorced one such man after eighteen years as a battered woman. She could say men like Roy Sanders didn’t scare her anymore, but she would be lying. She gnawed more raw skin around her thumbnail as she waited for the deputy to haul Roy’s ass away. She heard the sound of a car’s engine protest. She pulled aside the curtain panel to peek at the cruiser exiting down the long, serpentine driveway to the highway; Roy’s ass was not in the backseat.

“Crap.” She chewed viciously at her thumb, her agitation building. To an empty room she pleaded, “how could they not arrest that psycho? Crap. Crap. Crap.” Her back safely against the solid front door, she allowed herself to slide to the floor and sit for a moment while she contemplated what to do next. Roy had to suspect she was the neighbor who reported him. She lifted the curtain again: the lights were still on next door. He wouldn’t traverse the acreage between them at nearly 3 a.m. to assault her, would he?

The telephone rang. It so surprised Carol that she screamed aloud and visibly jumped. She crossed the room and cautiously lifted the handset. Before she could greet the caller, the unmistakable viciousness of Roy Sanders was shouting at her through the telephone.

“Did you call the cops on me, you bitch? I will freaking kill you. Do you hear me? I will end your fucking life!” Roy slammed his phone down loudly. A few beats later, Carol thought she heard a door slamming from somewhere in the vicinity of Roy’s property. He was only a couple of acres and one ridiculously high fence away.