Sara Read online

  Sara

  By: Tony Hayden

  -Are you free?

  Or are you trapped with those

  whose vengeance, is not of God?

  Who even some, were bound by jealousy,

  with eyes that fixed you in formulated phrase-

  words expressing the tenderness of age,

  while murmuring prayers of which...

  were not meant for thee.

  From the closed door- the cold heart...

  are you free?

  David Culver – Poems for the Missing

  one

  The sharp whine of a diesel engine pierced through the heart of the darkened forest. Bright headlights penetrated the night, throwing shadows of trees against boulders in wild gyrations. A black ’97 Ford one-ton tow truck bucked and leapt over rutted dirt and exposed pine roots, while springs and welded joints groaned in shared agony. The truck, finally finding level ground, lurched to a sudden stop. The engine revved then fell silent as compression was removed from fuel. A rhythmic ticking escaped the cooling engine and darkness was restored to the remote mountains of northern Colorado.

  The forest held its breath, unsure what to make of this raucous invasion. Hinged doors screeched loudly as two men climbed from the cab of the aging vehicle. They did not speak, but moved with rehearsed simplicity. The driver, a lean man of about twenty years, stepped to the back of the truck and removed a filthy twin-sized mattress, letting it flop to the ground. The passenger, a larger man, easily in excess of two-hundred and fifty pounds, unlocked and opened an oversized, crossover toolbox made from diamond-plate aluminum. The hinge objected loudly as the door raised and locked into position. The driver, now breathing heavily, climbed onto the bed of the truck, reached into the opened toolbox, and extracted a young woman, gagged, with arms bound behind her. Dirt on her face was streaked by tears. Muffled grunts escaped the rag in her mouth as she struggled to breathe around its ragged edges. Sara Jean Haller would not make it to her freshman year at the University of Wyoming in Laramie.

  Earlier that morning, Sara had said goodbye to her mother and father in the quiet mountain town of Eagle, Colorado. She had been accepted into the nursing program at UW and was anxious to explore her new freedom after graduating top of her class at Eagle Valley High School.

  Her father, the overprotective sheriff’s deputy, inundated her with “what if” scenarios as she loaded the last of her things into the trunk and prepared to leave.

  “What do you do if you get a flat tire?”

  Sara rolled her eyes and regurgitated her father’s instructions.

  “I pull to the far edge of the road, clear from traffic, activate my hazard flashers and use my cell phone to call for roadside service.”

  “Do you get out of your car and wander around?”

  By rote, Sara continued, “I stay in my car, turn off the engine, and crack a back window for fresh air.”

  Hanging her favorite blouse on a peg above the rear seat, she added, “I lock all the doors and do not open them for anyone but a properly identified police officer or the service technician responding to my call.”

  Sara faced her worried father and cocked her head. “Happy?”

  “No, Squeaky, I am not happy. I have been dreading this day for the past eighteen years.”

  Sara smiled big at her father’s use of the long forgotten nickname. He started calling her Squeaky after her prolonged squealing during bath time when she was a baby. On her fifteenth birthday, she had demanded that he stop using the pet name and start referring to her only by her proper Christian name. With sadness in his eyes, he had grudgingly complied with her wishes.

  Stepping forward and hugging her father closely, Sara whispered, “Daddy, stop worrying. You and Mom did a terrific job preparing me for the big, bad world out there.”

  Prying herself from his grip, she stepped back and looked into his misty eyes. “I’ll be okay, Daddy. I promise!”

  Sara was lowered from the truck and her bonds were removed. She gasped for breath as the saliva soaked cloth was ripped from her mouth, then struggled to stand under the awkward weight of a mattress that was thrust onto her back.

  “You get to carry this,” the driver informed her.

  A loop of strong rope was secured around her neck, the other end held firmly by the heavy-set man who began to lead her up the steep and rocky trail. After several minutes, Sara slowed when her left sandal came off, only to be viciously jerked by the man holding the rope. Her mind swam to make sense of the situation.

  This can’t be happening, she thought to herself. This has to be a bad dream.

  Sara sobbed out loud. “Please,” she pleaded. “You don’t have to do this.”

  The younger man behind her laughed. “Why do they always say that, Pop?” In a mocking voice, he continued, “Please, you don’t have to do this. Every one of them says that very same thing.”

  “Shut up!” Pop said. “Both of you.”

  Sara’s stomach heaved at the brutality of her situation. Her knees buckled and she fell to the trail under the weight of the mattress. She wanted to scream and fight and run into the night, but a tiny thread of hope burned inside of her. Maybe these men would change their minds and let her go. Maybe they would choose not to hurt her. Maybe, in a flash of mercy, they would actually acknowledge her as a living, breathing, human soul and let her live.

  A sweet odor of wood and spice and sour sweat filled Sara’s senses as Pop leaned close to her face and spoke. “If you don’t get off your knees you little whore, I will open up your guts right here and let the coyotes feed from you.”

  Sara vomited, then slowly raised her head to the shadowed figure of the heavy man. “Please,” she pleaded. “Please don’t do this.”

  “Please, please, please,” chided the driver as he lifted the mattress off the ground. “Maybe if you say pretty please, we won’t cut your tits off.” He laughed out loud again.

  The rope tightened around Sara’s neck as the heavy man stood and hauled her to her feet. Stars danced in her oxygen deprived brain and she gasped as she struggled to stand upright. The weight of the mattress pushed against her back and the rope pulled on her neck. Sara was once again being forced up the darkened trail.

  Sara left home earlier that morning with a full tank of gas and a heart full of excitement. Making her way east, out of the Rocky Mountains, she stopped in Denver just long enough to fill her fuel tank and slip through the drive-up at Dairy Queen. Then she was back on her way. Traveling north on the interstate highway toward Wyoming, she quickly grew tired of the endless urban sprawl and short brown grass of the drought stricken eastern plains of Colorado. Exercising her first act of independence, Sara left the interstate at Fort Collins to take a shortcut through the winding foothills directly to Laramie, Wyoming. Her father adamantly advised against such a route.

  “Less traffic, less chance for help if you break down,” he said. “Stick to the interstate and drive the speed limit.”

  Sara found herself enjoying the lush mountain meadows and winding two-lane highway. She pressed the accelerator of her Honda Civic to the floor and smiled with exhilaration at the performance of her graduation gift from Mom and Dad.

  Around one of the many turns, Sara slowed as she passed through the small mountain town of Ranch Springs. A beautiful Victorian structure, painted brilliant white, housed a small general store and local café. Several quaint homes dotted the green hillsides. A spacious country church with white-washed bell tower stood vigilantly over the quiet town. The scene reminded Sara of home. “Honest living” is what her father called it. Smiling to herself, she stepped on the gas and took note of a sign that informed her that Laramie, Wyoming, was forty-five miles ahead.

  Rounding another curve, Sara noticed too late that a rusted muffler
lay in the middle of her lane. Not having enough time to slow or maneuver around it, she clipped the muffler with her right front tire and cussed as the tire blew, pulling at her steering wheel. Easing her foot off the gas and onto the brake, she expertly slowed the car and pulled onto the grassy shoulder, away from traffic. Turning her hazard lights on, Sara checked her cell phone for service and was surprised to find two bars on the display.

  Searching through her contact list, she found the toll free number for roadside service, punched the send button and said, “Thank you, Daddy!”

  The operator on the other end informed Sara that a tow truck was on the way.

  At the top of the trail, Sara was told to drop the mattress on the rocky ground. The heavy man began to untie her leash as the tow truck driver used a shovel to begin digging a shallow hole in the earth. Loud metallic scrapes and tiny sparks invaded the dark night as the shovel forced jagged rocks from their resting place. Sara wept silently and winced while the rope was yanked from her neck.

  Pop began tearing at her blouse and pulled her bra harshly up over her head, exposing her breasts to the night’s chill. Sara cried out and used her arms to cover herself.

  “This isn’t happening. Please, God, don’t let this happen to me.”

  Her breath was forced from her lungs as the heavy man shoved her hard to the mattress. Sara tried to curl into a fetal position to protect herself but her attacker seemed to grow even more crazed by her cries and resistance. She grabbed at her panties as he pulled them from her hips and tossed them to one side. Sara screamed and tried to push him away but he was on her like a beast, forcing her legs apart and suffocating her under his tremendous weight.

  She lay pinned beneath the heaving man, gagging at the odor of his putrid sweat and sweet cologne. She screamed as he entered her and struggled against a vice-like grip that pinned her wrists to the mattress. Unable to stop the attack, Sara began to shut out her physical body, searching for a safe place in the dark corners of her mind. Her screams quieted. She could fight no more.

  Warm drool drained from the man’s mouth and found the grooves in her neck as he grunted like a savage animal. Stiffening, he emptied his disgusting seed inside her in a great spasm of brutality. The rape was over, and Sara lay still. The heavy man finally relaxed on top of her and breathed heavily into her hair.

  “The grave is dug, what do you want me to do now?” This was the tow truck driver, standing nervously, hugging himself to ward off the icy vapor that rolled down from the highest peaks.

  The heavy man pushed himself off the girl, breaking her left wrist with the weight of his body. The driver heard the bones snap and watched in fascination as the pain registered on her dirty face.

  “Kill her. It’s about time you learn how,” was all the man said.

  Zipping his fly, Pop drew a hunting knife from his boot and handed it to the driver before walking into the darkness.

  The young man stood looking at the battered shell of the girl who only six hours before, sat at the side of the road waiting for a flat tire to be changed. He walked to the head of the filthy mattress and tried hard to avoid her eyes. This would be his first kill. He had only watched in the past.

  The girl looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Please,” she said in a whisper, “I just want to go home.”

  The driver ignored her and studied the broad silver blade of the knife. The girl was attempting what every girl before her had.

  “What is your name?” she asked, still speaking in a whisper. “I am Sara Haller.”

  The driver knew what she was thinking---that murderers remain distant to their victims, sometimes regarding them as no more than animals for an easier kill. He knew that she was trying to present herself to him as a human so he would feel sorry for her and spare her life. Pop had prepared him for this moment.

  “I’m eighteen years old and I am going to be a nurse. I want to be a pediatric nurse because I love children. Do you like children?”

  The young man grew more agitated and looked over his shoulder toward the trail. He didn’t like being left alone on this dark mountain to do the dirty work.

  “Please, you don’t have to do this,” she continued. “I won’t tell a soul about what happened here. I just want to live.” The girl sobbed. “I just want to see my mom and dad again. Please don’t do this,” she pleaded.

  The driver raised his hands to his ears. “I’m not listening, bitch!” he said.

  Refusing to make eye contact with the girl, he dropped to his knees. Using his left hand to cover her mouth, he brought the knife around and pulled it hard across her exposed throat. Blood covered the blade but the artery failed to open as it should have. She flailed under his grip. Through a pond of tears, her frightened eyes revealed a sense of betrayal.

  “Your knife is dull, Pop,” he yelled. “It won’t even cut her throat.”

  Only silence greeted his revelation.

  “What the hell do you want me to do now?” he asked louder.

  From a distance down the trail, Pop scolded, “Watch your language, young man.” After a brief pause, he ordered, “Stab her in the heart and bury her.”

  Releasing his left hand from her mouth, the driver circled around the terrified girl to complete his grisly task. She began screaming, causing him to panic. In a flailing motion, he dropped to one knee and drove the knife into her chest. The girl’s eyes rolled back, the screaming stopped, and the forest became dead silent.

  For several seconds, all the driver could hear was his own heavy breathing. Finally, a shutter of breeze forced its way through boughs of lodge pole pine and spruce, causing limbs to groan against the force of Mother Nature’s resentment.

  A cold chill climbed the young man’s spine as he stood and kicked the broken body of the girl off the mattress and into the shallow grave. He began to panic as sounds from the darkened forest came back to life with accusing tones. An owl in the distance demanded the name of this helpless victim, while toads, in deafening chorus, called for the demons of hell to rise and collect the souls of these murdering men.

  Instead of burying the girl as instructed, the young man quickly turned the mattress over on top of her, retrieved his shovel and her panties from the ground, and hurried down the long dark trail.

  two

  The Eagle County Sheriff’s vehicle sat on the shoulder of Brush Creek Road, fifteen miles south of Eagle, Colorado. Emergency lights on top waltzed in a dazzling rotation of blues to reds to yellows, signaling caution, but eliciting excitement in the hearts of those who passed on the dark mountain road.

  Deputy Mike Haller sat behind the wheel of his Ford Explorer, filling in blanks on the probable cause affidavit used to justify the DUI arrest. Locals in this area had been complaining for months that “old man” Vossler had been driving recklessly up and down this stretch of county road. Deputy Haller had tried unsuccessfully several times to catch the recluse in his vehicle, but this evening, he finally got lucky. Ron Vossler had driven his GMC pickup back and forth along the dusty road looking for his Collie which had finally run away from home.

  From the back seat, Vossler yelled, “What the hell did you do with ‘Dog’?”

  The drunk fancied himself a cowboy, consequently naming his dog after a similar looking mutt from the classic movie “Big Jake” starring John Wayne.

  The smell of alcohol and vomit saturated the closed environment as Mike Haller lowered his window to let in some fresh air.

  “Settle down, Mr. Vossler. I’m sure your ‘Dog’ ran away because you wouldn’t give him a proper name. A dog needs a proper name.”

  Deputy Haller’s radio crackled to life with a female voice from the main office in Eagle.

  “Echo 7, this is dispatch.”

  Mike picked up his handset and replied, “Echo 7.”

  “Echo 7, your wife is trying to reach you. She says it’s urgent.”

  Mike retrieved his cell phone from the dashboard and frowned at the “no service” message on the dis
play screen.

  “Debbie, can you patch her through please?”

  “Sure thing, Mike. Wait one.”

  Deputy Haller was not excited to have a personal conversation broadcast over the airwaves for anyone with a scanner to listen to, but Jean would never call unless it was important.

  The radio came to life again, this time with his wife’s voice.

  “Mike? I’ve been trying to reach you all evening. Is your cell phone turned off?” She sounded flustered and anxious.

  Mike pressed the transmit button on his handset.

  “Honey, we are broadcasting over the radio so be brief, okay? My cell phone is out of range. What’s going on?”

  “Mike, Sara hasn’t checked into her dorm room yet. The staff at the college say they haven’t seen her, she won’t answer her cell phone, and she hasn’t made contact with any of her friends.”

  Deputy Haller’s heart skipped a beat as he tried to calm his wife.

  “Jean, have you tried to send her a text message? She may be taking a break from the road and sitting in a coffee shop in Cheyenne or something.”

  “Mike, I have sent her at least ten messages. She’s not responded to any of them.” Jean’s voice broke, “Mike, oh my God, you should have gone with her. I told you that! I begged you!”

  Mike sat quietly for a second as his mind raced through the possible scenarios.

  “Sweetheart, I’ll be home in thirty minutes. Contact the Colorado Highway Patrol and ask them if they have any reports of Sara’s vehicle stalled on the interstate. Then contact the Wyoming State Troopers and ask them the same.”

  After a brief pause, he continued, “Sara is okay, Jean. She’s just exercising her independence a little and showing us she can make it on her own.”

  Jean’s voice whispered back over the airwaves, “God please, I hope you are right.”