"For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, fornication, theft, murder, adultery, coveting, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, foolishness. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a man." (Mark 7:14-23)
The Way Back -- Finding Rachael
They had been looking through the two rooms of the small cabin and had discovered a cache of backpacks, women's purses, and clothes, under garments, jewelry and personal items that had obviously belonged to other campers or trekkers. They were stashed next to the wooden table and loosely covered with a sheet.
"We had better get going before it gets dark," Daniel Benn said to Rachael. The big man had been in the yard, standing watch, in case Woodard decided to come back.
"There so much here!" Rachael exclaimed, rummaging through the vanity items and clothing and holding up a dress, "God! These poor girls! What do you think happened to them?"
The need for reassurance is common in times of crisis. The reality is so grossly deviant or vulgar that acknowledging it condemns us all in some way; it connects us to the horror within a few degrees of separation. That one person could do so much harm to another is beyond the grasp of normal cognizance when the only perspective we have is gleaned from the Evening News or shows like NCIS, Law and Order SVU and others of that ilk. We are titillated and anaesthetized by their pithy themes. It is the quintessential aphorism: Art imitating Life.
We do not want to believe that the quiet, polite kid with glasses, who lives next door to us, is a child molester or serial killer -- as was the case with Jeffrey Dahmer. A neighbor once saw a naked boy running out of Dahmer's apartment but couldn't believe that it had anything to do with the quiet man he knew and did not report the incident. Psychologists refer to this as Cognitive Dissonance -- our inability to rationalize aberrant behavior with perception. Dahmer went on to kill twelve more people, most of them, young boys.
There was nothing the giant could have said that would have allayed Rachael's fears or coddled her sensibilities.
The big Canadian looked at her and shook his head, "Nothing good, I can assure you. This is a sick man, not right in his head!"
"It's worse than that, Daniel, he's a pathological killer! A rapist and a serial murderer!"
"You had better come and look at this! Quick!" Sarah said poking her head through the doorway.
Rachael and Danny followed her to the weathered hutch in the back. It was made from Western Red Cedar with a coarse, unfinished veneer and looked like a Storage Shed or an Outhouse. It was neither. The narrow door was open and Kyla was standing inside the doorway, her face ashen. The floor, unlike the cabin, was cemented but one look at the interior and the bizarre accoutrements anchored to the floor and walls and it was clear that this was the bastille where the acts of madness were committed.
The shackles with heavy chains and leather braces for the neck and the feet were there to keep the victims immobilized and helpless. There were four sets, three on one wall and one on the wall opposite them. The three were evenly spaced, an arm's length from each other. And judging from the galvanized gleam of the solitary station, it was obvious that it was a recent addition.
Rachael tried to imagine what it would be like to have the door closed and to be shackled like an animal, left naked in the pitch-black darkness, shivering from the freezing cold, unable to move or see; terrified by every sound but helpless to do anything. It sent a chill down her spine. The tangible proximity to this evil corruption resurrected the ghosts of her childhood giving life to those unimaginable monsters that had lurked in her closet and haunted the dark corners of her imagination.
"Look there," Kyla said pointing to the corner where the wood was discolored with a wide spattering of reddish brown stains, some blotches more recent than others.
The floor had been scrubbed clean and there was a mild smell of pine and ammonia but neither time nor disinfectant could mask the subtle stench of human death. It clung tenaciously to the walls, carried by eddies of air that filtered through their nostrils stirring in them a nauseating repugnance.
They stood quietly, eyes darting from shackles to stains, each lost in their own form of abhorrence unable to reconcile the madness with the insouciant existence of their isolated and sterile worlds. Words would have only desecrated the memory of those who had suffered here. It was obvious that they were looking at the bloody marker of some poor soul (or souls) whose single requiem lay in this Stygian origami. The sordid thoughts and images that swirled in their heads, detailing the butchering of another human, were simply too overwhelming.
It was Kyla who reacted first. She squeezed by the others, leaving the shed and turning to one side she doubled over as the bile regurgitated up in a series of dry heaves. They could hear her retching. The memory of her experience was too recent and spoliated by the clammy insinuation she had just witnessed. This was too near to her fantasies; the encounter, too morbid to be erotic and so similar that it made her sick. It was especially disgusting, the fact that she had on some level enjoyed the fantasy -- that she did it for her own survival was lost in the stark malevolence that was on display. It was the admission of taking pleasure from sex with this deviant that filled her with revulsion.
The giant, who had been standing by the door, gently stroked her back, commiserating with her, then ducked his head and came in. His immense frame blocked out most of the light. He examined the shackles and grabbed hold of the chain nearest him, wrapping it around his fist. He adjusted his grip then jerked on it, testing its resolve. It held. He pulled again, this time with greater force, causing them to creak and groan but they withstood the extraordinary strain.
"Pretty strong!" he muttered and flexed his shoulders. He was getting ready to test it further when Rachael reached out and touched his arm.
"Don't break it, Daniel, it is evidence." She cautioned softly.
"You're right," the big man admitted. He dropped the manacles and backed out of the shed.
The dull clatter of metal against cement rang with distinct clarity, a symbolic tolling of bells, the tinny reverberations spooking the women.
"Okay, let's go, this place gives me the creeps," Rachael said walking out into the small yard, squinting to adjust to the evening's sunlight after being in the shadowy dimness of the shed.
She went over to Kyla and hugged her. "Are you okay?"
They stood basking in the comfort of each other's embrace before the tall woman nodded, "I'm okay. Let's just go. I want to get as far away from this place ..."
"I know. Let's get out of here!"
"Wait! Rachael, there has to be more! There must be drivers licenses, passports and other personal items hidden somewhere here." Sarah said her words tumbling out quickly. "We owe it to these girls to try and find them. If it weren't for all of you, I would have been one of them! Their families need closure."
No one spoke until finally it was Kyla who agreed, "We all need closure."
The realization that they had come within a hair's breadth of sharing a fate worse than death weighed heavily on all of them and they stood looking at one another, their disgust and fear attenuated by a new resolve. It was Rachael who sighed loudly, a cathartic gesture, and shook her head as if to rid her mind of the gruesome images construed by morbid illusion. She was their unspoken leader.
"I agree. Let's go through the cabin again, make sure we haven't missed anything." She said and began walking back.
