Carter Glenn is a young man in his late twenties who has returned home to seek revenge for a crime committed against him, twenty years ago. As an eight year old boy he was nearly beaten to death by a gang of teenage boys because they were bored and his was easy prey. Convinced he is on a mission from God, Carter sets out to excise his demons by killing the members of the gang and the old woman who could have saved him but instead chose to deliver him to hell.
Carter Glenn is a young man in his late twenties who has returned home to seek revenge for a crime committed against him, twenty years ago. As an eight year old boy he was nearly beaten to death by a gang of teenage boys because they were bored and his was easy prey. Convinced he is on a mission from God, Carter sets out to excise his demons by killing the members of the gang and the old woman who could have saved him but instead chose to deliver him to hell.
The members of the gang have long since stopped associating with each other and have found different paths in life. As Carter begins extracting his revenge one of the gang members, who changed his identity and now holds the position of Lead Detective on the local Police force. is assigned to track down the unknown killer of his childhood friends. With each new murder, Carter Glenn draws that much closer to exposing the detective’s hidden past.
One by One the bodies fall and One by One the pressure mounts on the detective to solve the case, leading to the final confrontation where the secret is revealed and justice prevails. Carter Glenn will have his revenge provided, he can keep one step ahead of his executioner.
Author Cliff Popkey paints a chilling picture of a young man whose twisted mind is bent upon the destruction of the demons that haunt his soul, his dreams and his every waking moment.
One by One until there are none! Ruthless entertainment.
Excerpt
Amy Grant’s voice filled the old Bonneville’s interior with the sweet sounds of gospel, indicating just how long it had been since his mother bought music. Amy Grant had been a force in gospel when he was a kid. His mother listened to her night and day, and hearing it once again gave him a strange feeling of comfort.
He had found the tape in the glove box and stuck the tape in the cassette player as he drove out of the parking lot at Saint Thomas’s Catholic Church in the heart of downtown Manchester. He was headed for the west side of town. He had been parked looking out over the river for the last hour, pondering if it was truly God telling him today was the day, to return to the old neighborhood.
He had spent most of his morning inside the church praying. Well, it was more like debating with God, than praying to God. The debate was about the choices he had made in life and the troubles he had experienced. He couldn’t help but wonder what lesson God had intended for him to learn from those experiences, because so far, all he had managed to take away from them was that God was quite a joker and he was butt of everyone he told. It was fair. It was right. He tried his best to follow God’s rules and yet all he got from God was sorrow.
Today he had hoped for a somewhat clearer answer to his questions but so far, God hadn’t chosen to provide them. Once again he was silent and left it up to him to figure out what he should do.
He had picked today to begin his new journey, because today was the anniversary of an event, twenty years ago, that had been the defining moment of his life, until now. Today he would begin the journey that would define the rest of his life and lead him either to Heaven or to Hell.
As he rounded the corner at Main Street and Junction Drive, he slowed way down to look closely at the homes that lined both sides of the street. They were all a story and a half, clapboard or brick-sided bungalows. Most were well maintained and painted either white or a light pastel color. The landscaping, for the most part, was neatly trimmed and attractive. Though as landscaping went, there wasn’t much of it. Most of the homes had a few small bushes, maybe a small tree between the sidewalk and the street, and a few widely spaced flowers in beds up close to the house. This was a working class neighborhood, the neighborhood in which he had grown up.
The majority of the homes appeared to be buttoned up tight, with their shades drawn, doors locked and the dog, if they had one, was in the yard behind the driveway gate. Most of the dogs he saw, were just laying there in the shade next to their two best friends, their water and food bowls, waiting for their masters to return.
If pressed, he would have guessed that the majority of the homeowners were currently at work or asleep after having worked the night shift. He knew for a fact, many of the homeowners in the neighborhood were either widows or single mothers. He felt it was a sad state of human affairs when most women had to work, just to keep food on the table. Somehow, America had slipped into a third world status. It had happened so gradually, many Americans hadn’t even noticed the change in their life styles until it was too late.
At the end of the block, he pulled into the parking area of a small neighborhood playground. He sat there in silence for a several moments, just looking at the playground. He had played in this playground as child and the sight of it, brought back many childhood memories. Most of which still haunted him today.
He left the car parked in plain sight next to the jungle gym, a few feet from the teeter totter. Every suspense novel he had ever read, had said it was best to hide in plain sight, so that was exactly what he was doing. He doubted that anyone would notice him or his car. No one would realize that this was the first day of his mission, his mission to pay back all the kindnesses he had received from the fine, upstanding Christian folk of the Junction Drive neighborhood.
His large size made him appear to wobble, as he made his way down the block. His wobbling bulk, lumbered passed the first several homes, which were all buttoned up against the daylight. As he walked he counted the squares in the sidewalk, just as he had that night. When he reached the right number, he stopped. For the longest of time, he stood staring at the walkway that led to the house he’d been afraid of most of his life. It was the house right next door to his childhood home.
Home was meant to be the place of pleasant childhood memories, a place that each of us strives to return to for those comforting memories, but not him. Coming home had meant fear and emptiness. It wasn’t a rational fear but something deep rooted and festering, that was left over from his childhood. It was seductive and overwhelming, raw and foreboding. Something evil was lurking just under his calm exterior.
The true source of his fear was the elderly woman who lived in the house next door. To say she was antisocial was an astronomical understatement. In his entire life the woman had never once passed out candy at Halloween, had never put up Christmas lights for the holidays or even waved hello to the neighbors.
As a child, if his ball bounced into her yard, his mother would get a call and the lady would proceed to scream insults over the phone at her. On several occasions this had caused his mother to breakdown in tears while she endured the verbal abuse. Though eventfully her skin had toughened and she gave as good as she got.
More than once, he had gotten his bottom tanned with a belt, for having caused his mother to endure a brow beating from the witch. That alone was more than enough to place her high on the worlds most easy to hate list.
But the most heinous crime she had committed, as far as he was concerned, was committed the night he mistakenly ran up the wrong walkway, in a moment of desperation.
*********
CHAPTER TWO
It was just before dark on a late summers evening and he was being chased by several older boys. He no longer remembered what had started their harassment of him but he had been afraid for his life as he ran down the block. He was hoping against hope, he could reach his house before they caught him. Home was his oasis of safety, his sanctuary from those who wished to persecute him. All he had to do was reach it before they caught him.
He raced up the block, as fast as he could. As he ran, he counted his running strides, just as he had a hundred times before. With each stride he drew closer to the sanctuary of home.
His heart soared with elation when he had reached the correct number of strides, for he had out raced the devil and was steps from safety now. He turned and raced up the walkway, climbed the steps to the porch, reached out, grabbed the door, and froze.
The door was locked! He knew instantly he had counted wrong and his life was about to be sacrificed. Overwhelmed with panic he was unable to think coherently and his body trembled with fear. Then she, “The Witch of Junction Drive”, opened the door and began screaming obscenities at him, at a volume that would make a bullhorn envious.
“What the hell do you want? You’re trying to break into my house, aren’t you, you little bastard? I’m calling the police! Get the hell off my porch, you sawed off piece of shit! I’m calling your mother!” She bellowed at him through the screen door, a cigarette dangling from her lip. She was a small skinny woman. Her hair was in curlers with some sort of net draped over her head, just as it had been every time he’d ever seen her. He’d often wondered if the curlers hadn’t simply grown there. She was dressed in her usual housecoat covered in pink and blue flowers.
He remembered that night as though it had been just last night. His mind had been screaming, run! But his feet wouldn’t move, couldn’t move! He had been frozen to the spot, like a human icicle. He stood trembling as he stared at the Witch, his eyes wide with fear and confusion, his mouth dangling open. Then the really bad part happened, his tormentors arrived.
She noticed them first and she opened her storm door wide and fast. The door struck him in the face and he stumbled backwards, lost his footing on the edge of the porch and fell off. His fall was broken by several small bushes that were filled with thorns, which seemed to be the only kind she used in her landscaping. The thorns scraped and stabbed his face and arms on the way down. The Witch upon seeing him fall stepped forward onto the porch, where she continued her tirade. She hurtled insults at him with such vehemence that when the words reached his ears, they struck his body, as if they were physical blows.
“You little asshole, you ruined my flowers! You’re going to pay for those, you bastard!” She spat at him and then turned on the older boys. The ash from her cigarette falling off and landing on his chest.
“What the Hell do you limp, pecker headed, assholes want?” The group of five older boys stood on the sidewalk at the edge of her yard even they weren’t brazen enough to step into her yard without permission. They stood watching her and glaring at him menacingly.
“Get the hell out of here! I’m calling all of your mothers on you, you stupid shit, asshole bastards!”
“Eat shit and die, you ugly old hag! We’re here to rid the neighborhood of that fagot!” One of the boys yelled. At the time he was sure but as the years past he knew who dared challenge the witch, it was Jackie.
The Witch stopped threatening the older boys and eyed him with a piecing gaze as he lay writhing on the ground among her bushes. It felt like an eternity to him but it was only a moment or two before she spoke in a normal volume voice.
“Well, why didn’t you say so, you dumb bunch of dirt kickin’, raggedy ass bastards, get this piece of shit off my property and I’ll forget you were even here.” A wicked grin crossed her face as she took one last look at him before turning around and stepping back into her house, slamming the door behind her.
He had tried to get to his feet as she turned away, but the group of boys had been on him faster than his mind could comprehend. He shrieked in horror as they pounced upon him. The blows rained down upon him, battering his face, splitting his lip, bloodying his nose and knocking the wind out of him. He flailed his arms in an effort to protect his face but he failed. Two of the boys grabbed his arms in mid flail and two others, grabbed his legs. The gang’s leader, Jackie Wilson stuffed a dirty rag in his mouth, then slugged him in the stomach and laughed, as tears streamed down his cheeks.
The boys carried him the half block back to the park. Once there, they beat him mercilessly and subjected him to things he’d never shared with anyone, ever. They tortured him and forced him to do unspeakable things. Then they beat him some more with sticks and rocks until his face was a swollen bloody mess. Then they stripped him of his clothes and with four of the boys holding him down Jackie smashed his genitals with a large rock, over and over until he passed out. Then they tied him over the brace of the teeter-totter and used a large stick to sodomize him. The beating stopped only after they had thought they had killed him. They based that judgment on the amount of blood he had vomited before passing out. He had been eight years old and his crime had been that he wore glasses and his attackers were bored.
He remembered how he couldn’t believe the “Witch” had just let them take him. They made it clear, they were going to hurt him, and still she let it happen. She didn’t care. He’d carried the mental scars from that night for twenty years and now, he was going to repay her for all her kindness.
After that night, his life had taken a downward spiral. He had been forced to go and live with his aunt in a nearby town, in order to have someone around to watch him at all times. He barely made it through high school and he failed to finish college despite being a fairly good student, after inadvertently crossing words with one of the school’s football players. The guy had threatened to beat the crap out of him, so he quit, rather than deal with the guy. He was unable to deal with conflict and avoided relationships because of it.
In his work life, he changed jobs frequently, usually at the first sign of conflict. His poor work record, forced him to wander aimlessly from menial job to menial job.
He shunned relationships with women for fear that somehow they’d discover his secret and would think less of him because as an eight year old child he had been forced to perform sex acts on a group of teenage boys. He was deeply ashamed and cringed at the thought of being sexually intimate with a woman. What if the woman, wanted him to do some of the perverted things, they had made him do?
As he slowly walked up the walkway, he felt his heart racing, heard it pounding in his ears, as he nervously adjusted his black sport coat and tie. He then slowed to a stop, allowing time for him to reach into his pocket, pull out a pair of latex gloves and slip them on before he reached the door. While he climbed the first of the four steps that led to the porch, he pulled a bible from his coat pocket and nervously fumbled with the page marker as his climbed the rest of the way.
He glanced towards his childhood home. It was still the same pale white aluminum sided, clapboard bungalow he’d known his whole life. The new owner hadn’t changed anything since he was here last, which was the day of his mother’s funeral. He had managed to do the final cleanup of his mother’s home the same day, allowing for the sale of the home to close the next day.
He had been hoping his mother’s passing would have provided some sort of mental closure for him but it hadn’t. Seeing the old neighborhood had brought back the vividness of it all. It was that day, two weeks ago, he decided to repay the people who had destroyed his life, no matter what the personal cost would be. He had to end the nightly terror that haunted his every waking moment.
He was secretly glad his mother had passed away. He wasn’t sure he could have done this if she were alive to see it or hear about it. If she hadn’t passed away, he would have been left with only one choice, suicide.
She had felt ashamed over what had happen to him, as if she had caused it all. She wouldn’t have understood his need to seek vengeance. She just wouldn’t have been able to accept it. It would have devastated her and her God fearing ways. He remembered after the attack, her only real words of comfort were, “Vengeance is mine, sayth the Lord, judge not less ye be judged.”
The words may have comforted her, but they meant nothing to him. For the next couple of years he threw eggs and rotten fruit at the Witch’s house. He had even spray painted dirty words on her sidewalk and front porch. That behavior had been a key factor in his having to go live with his aunt, in a town about an hour away.
The move had been good for him though. It gave him a respite from the constant harassment he endured at school and in the neighborhood. At his aunt’s he was inconspicuous, invisible and above all else, safe.
Now that he was older and he didn’t have to worry about offending his mother, he was back to seek justice. The justice he was seeking was going to be far worse than throwing eggs or spray painting dirty words.
Upon reaching the top of the porch, he hesitated before knocking on the door. He stood frozen, his hand ready to knock. He didn’t know if she would be home, though he hoped she would be. In fact, he didn’t even know if she still lived here. Part of him hoped she wasn’t home, because this was going to be bad.
Over the years he had tried to convince himself that he’d remembered that night wrong. That he had been mistaken about the events that led to his humiliation and physical abuse. That she wasn’t as bad a person as he remembered, but then he would have another nightmare and realize, yes, she was.
He rationalized his confused feelings this way. If she was home, God would have answered him and he would know what he needed to do. If she wasn’t home, God would have answered him and he would know what to do then also. Either way, he would have his answer. He just had to have some faith.
He rapped solidly on the door and stepped back to avoid her slamming the door into him, as she had done that night. Once again, he stood frozen waiting at the door, the seconds turning to forever, waiting for the “Witch” to appear. The door looked exactly as it had that night, weather beaten and in need of a fresh coat of paint. He then glanced at the bushes, they had to be different, he told himself, but no, they were small thorny bushes just as he remembered them. The door creaked as it opened, jolting him from his trip down memory lane.
“What the hell do ya want?” barked a gruff and craggy voice from just inside the shadow of the door, it sounded female but he wasn’t sure it was her.
“Dear Lady, I’m Brother Thomas and I’m here today, to share the good words of Jesus and offer our church’s help to those, in need. I’d…”
She cut him off, “Go away, I don’t want any and get off my porch, you asshole. I’ve better things to do than listen to some idiot read me the bible.” She started to close the door but he continued speaking.
“Dear Lady, if you’ll just accept this bible from me, you’ll receive this crisp new hundred dollar bill for your trouble.” He informed her.
She stopped and the door slowly opened though she remained in the shadows. “Now that’s a new one.” She stated. “You assholes got more money than brains, huh? Just slip the hundred in the mail slot.” She ordered.
“I’m sorry, I cannot do that. I have to give you the bible or I can’t give you the hundred.” He stated in his most patronizing voice, as he reached out for the door handle with his left hand, while holding up the bible in his right.
Slowly she leaned forward, the smell of stale cigarettes wafting from the house. She opened the screen slightly, but remained in the shadows, just inside the door.
Then, a woman several doors down on the opposite side of the street yelled something about not wasting his time there, her comment startled him and he quickly looked towards the noise, making sure the person yelling, wasn’t headed this way. Relieved that the person wasn’t, he looked back at the door just in time to see her lean out into the sunlight.
“That bitch is always sticking her nose in, where it doesn’t belong.” The Witch cursed, as she pulled back into the shadow.
It was her! Twenty ugly years older, but it was her! His heart started beating fast and his hands began to sweat. Then without warning, his heart began to pound heavily in his chest. For a moment, he thought he might pass out but no, he managed a deep breath and his racing heart slowed. The voice and the manners had told him it was her, but he wasn’t positive until just now. She was older. Her hair was now, whitish gray in color. She was scrawnier than he’d remembered, and her skin was heavily wrinkled on her face and hands. Her skin hung in large flaps about her neck, reminding him of a Turkey.
He smiled. God had answered his prayers! His path was clear and he was ready to exercise God’s just punishment upon her. God had spoken to him. It was as plain as the nose on her face.
A moment passed as he looked at her, the rage continuing to build within him. His face belied nothing of it. He kept a smile plastered across his face, though his eyes, if she’d bothered to look, were steely cold and distant. He said nothing. She took the silence as his disapproval of her calling the neighbor a bitch.
“Get over it goody two shoes. You’ve heard people call it like it is, before. Now, where’s my damn hundred!” She cursed trying to gain control of the situation and get rid of him.
“Well…,” He struggled to speak as he stepped forward propping the door open with his right foot.
“Here’s the bible,” he stated as he tossed the book from his right hand to his left, her eyes following the misdirection of the book toss. “And here’s your damn hundred,” he grunted as he shook his right arm in a downward motion, causing a knife about a foot long to pop out of his sleeve.
Her gaze slowly swung back to the right hand, but not fast enough to react. Her eyes grew wide with fear as he lunged forward and plunged the knife deeply into her chest, just under her left breast, what there was of it. The knife slid in with only the slightest of resistance. He felt bone scraping against the blade, as he drove it through her and out her back a quarter of an inch.
He stood there for a moment enjoying the satisfaction of knowing he had killed her. Then he shoved her back, pulling the blade out of her and letting it slide back up his sleeve again. A low moan escaped her lips, as she settled against the inside door and then slowly sank to the floor.
He leaned in close and looked her in the eyes as he spoke, “That’s gotta hurt. You should have been more careful, bitch! You never know when some asshole will stab you in the heart for shits and grins. You should have tried being more friendly to the people who came to your door. You know, I bet the next time, oh yeah, I almost forgot, there won’t be a next time, you piece of dog turd. You turned me away, Carter Glenn, an eight year old boy, when I needed you most and now you’ve gotten what you deserve, Bitch!” He snapped at the old woman as her life slowly ebbed away.
He kicked her left foot back inside the threshold, as he checked to see if anyone noticed him. He took one last look at her completely astonished face, as her life drained away.
It was then he felt he needed to do the right thing and offer her hope, after all he had promised to share Jesus with her. So in a soft comforting voice he spoke to her fading spirit.
“You’re about to meet Jesus, You better ask for forgiveness, bitch!” He then turned and walked back down the walkway, as the storm door closed behind him.
He walked back down the block to the park, slowly pulling off the latex gloves, now covered in blood and stuffing them into his suit coat pocket. Then he reached in to the inside pocket of his suit coat and pulled out another pair of latex gloves and slipped them on.
When he reached the car, he didn’t hesitate for a moment. He got right in, started the car and drove off in the same direction from which he had come. As he drove away, he softly hummed the old Beatle’s tune, “Here comes the Sun.” Yes, I had a good day, he thought to himself, and he smiled widely!
Fifteen minutes later, he drove into the underground parking garage of the Manchester Metro Mall and drove to the bottom level. There he found a dark corner parking space, which always seemed to be available. It had to do with the fact that most shoppers felt the lower level was unsafe because it was so poorly lit and the roving security patrols never seemed to reach the lowest level. Perhaps they too, felt unsafe in the bowels of the structure.
Not him though. For him the darkness and shadows meant safety and anonymity. Once parked, he opened his car door and he stood up, taking a measured look into the darkness to be sure he was alone before he started pulling off his disguise. He dropped the suit coat on the floor of the garage and then he stood on it. He quickly pulled the wig off his head revealing closely cropped blond hair. It was completely different from the dark brown, business length hair of the wig. He dropped it on the suit coat and began pulling off the fake dark brown mustache, which he dropped on to the suit coat as well. He then quickly removed his tie, shirt, shoes and pants. Every item was dropped on to the suit coat, leaving him standing there in his underwear and wearing an air blatter.
He had worn the blatter to make himself look larger than he was. Once deflated, the air blatter went onto the floor of the backseat. He’d keep that. He might need it later. He then changed rubber gloves again, before he dressed in a jogging suit and jogging shoes he had sitting on the back seat. He put them on and then pulled out a black plastic trash bag from a box on the floor of the backseat. He stuffed the soiled clothes from the floor into it, being careful not to get any stray blood on himself. Then finally, he pulled a Macy’s bag from the back seat that he’d salvaged from a trash bin here at the mall yesterday and stuffed the black plastic trash bag into it.
Leaving the parking structure, he drove around behind the mall and tossed the Macy’s bag into one of the large dumpsters that the mall used for trash. From there he drove to the library. He needed some information and he would use the internet access there to find it. If things went well, he would know the location of old Jackie Wilson within the hour and he would be dead by the end of the week. God had indeed spoken, loud and clear!
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