Resting. Story for the picture "Deserted" Bony Fingered Limbs story contest

Resting by, L. Anne Wooley Final draft

        On the surface, this lot is empty. Yet it is full of secrets. Secrets one man hopes, will go with him to his grave. This lot is his dumping ground, my cemetery. I am not the only one. He buried us here, all ten of us. My death was quick. He tortured the others. But someone came along, and mine was rushed. The others were not so lucky, and are somewhat envious of me.

        I remember much of what happened. How he hit me on the back of the head, and the nightmare of waking up, seeing the knife descend, disappearing from view. The quick pain, and the warmth of the blood pouring out of me. I know the authorities probably found the blood, nothing really got rid of it. He killed me because I would have caught him, I was a forensic specialist. I'd seen him around the courthouse, when I had testified in murder cases, and he gave me the creeps. I did not make the connection until it was too late.

        Sarah, his first was 12, and his sloppiest. He left tons of evidence, did not have control of his emotions. He never raped any of us, which was a blessing. Killing gave him that sexual high.

        Julie was fifteen. She was the most tortured of us. He had days with her. Julie often hangs out near me, she relives her murder constantly. I try to help by bringing up her family to get her out of that loop.

       The next girl was Millicent. She was from a rich family; a wrong place at the wrong time opportunity for our killer. She had never known violence before. She was even worse then Julie at times.

      I was Vicki. I was finally getting close to him, narrowing down his killing zone by using soil samples, when he killed me. I regretted that I had not caught him in time, and that he had killed my daughter. I would have named her Estella. She was five months along at the time of her death, She really doesn't have a clue that she was an unborn baby. I wish Estella could be set free, it didn't matter to me what happened to me, but my daughter was innocent... not saying I'm not innocent, but she was more so.

         I have asked the others if they have been able to leave. They say they tried to leave, but they could not. I tried, and there was a barrier. I could see through it, but not touch it. It made me feel as if I were dying all over again.

      He came to visit us...our remains. He knew where each of us were buried. And he kept telling us nobody would ever, ever find us. I learned to ignore it over time, but the others, it tortured them so badly, I learned to hate him even more for their sake.

      We discussed ways of trying to stop him. I found out that I could move objects, not far, but I could interact with the living world. I showed the others, and they too were able to do this. I wondered if this could be used against him. I suspected that he had to die before we could move on, and we couldn't, he locked us here in this “cemetery” with no headstones.

      Estella appears beside me, pointing to our killer. He is holding a garbage bag...if I had been alive with a stomach to fall, it would have been falling. Another one. This one had been bad, she came up beside me, watching her body with sad eyes. She was just now coming to the conclusion that she was not alive anymore.

      'I'm sorry,” I whispered.

      She jerked in response. “Who are you?”

      “I'm a sort of 'sister' to you. He killed me too, and the others as well,” I responded sadly. I was tired of having to be a surrogate mother. I held no answers as to why she had been chosen.

      He began to laugh with glee, putting knife up with the new girls blood on the blade taunting us. Hate wells up inside of us... I concentrate on the knife; reaching out with my hand, I grab the blade and start to turn it towards him. He let out a muffled “What the....” and then started turning it back.

      I let out a moan, yelling “Help!” Estella melds with me, I feel her love fill me. Others start to join me. I feel their love and their anger and their pain manifest, adding to my strength. Again the knife turns, and I am about to push it in, when the new girl starts to freak out. She has not joined us, and I know in an instant she must, or else this would not work.

      “Come, join us sister, we need you.”

      “I can't.”
      “You must,” the others and I say, the melding of our voices become one.

      She begins to leave when my beautiful daughter reaches out to her. The new girl sees my Estella's hand. She grabs it, and then moves in with us. Our strength gives her the courage, and we shove the knife into his throat, severing his jugular.

      The ground begins to seep up his blood as he gurgles out the last of it, and we release his body. It falls to the ground. We look at each other, laughing and dancing. He is gone, and we are free, no more Sisters would join us. We begin to discuss what we should do with the body, when the tunnel appears in front of us, We cry now able to move on, as one by one we ascend until I am the last. Turning back I see that he is now imprisoned, and we are free.