Ilene arrived from the gate, walking toward Lola. She smiled warmly, they hugged and walked toward the baggage claim. She fanned her kilt that she was wearing over a pair of dark blue jeans, the aroma of pot filled the immediate area. She laughed and Lola smacked her arm.
“You have to stop that.”
“I don’t know what you all are so worried about out here…Can you smell that?”
“Yes, I’m pretty sure everyone in terminal C can smell it!” They collided shoulders in a friendly manner and waited for the luggage to drop.
On the drive back to the house they made plans to go to Lawrence on Saturday. “There just has to be a scene here, Lo, you just aren’t finding it.” She lit a cigarette. “There just has to be.” Ilene was convinced every visit to Kansas City that there was some sort of artistic/musical/hipster underground that they just weren’t finding.
“So, I was reading your newspaper online and I see you have a serial killer on the loose.” She pressed a button on the passenger door and the window released the scent of cloves into the air.
“Yeah. And you know what all the victims have in common? Green eyes and black hair.” They both sniggered. Both of them had brilliant green eyes and curly black hair. Ilene’s was hidden under a make-shift hat from a scarf that embodied the essence of a Russian hat. Her eyes were accented by the “magic” she called black eye shadow lightly dabbed around the eyes in a fashionable smudge. Lola was less hip to such escapades and lacquered her eyelashes in thick mascara. Both quite effectively shone their features.
“Can you imagine?” Ilene said. “They say he removes the eyes from the victims. They’ve found bodies along the highway.”
“Yeah. Creepy.”
“And the trail leads us back to Kansas City,” Ilene quoted from almost every crime show they both were enamored with. For some reason, crime always had a trail, and it always led back to Kansas City.
“More specifically, Olathe.” Lola added. She’d discovered the suburb just outside of Kansas City in Kansas was full of predators, fire bugs, pedophiles and other unusual crime garden varieties.
“We’ll take the back roads to Lawrence, I will do the map, you do the driving. Did Bidwell lend you his truck?” Lola was presently driving her fiancé’s car which wasn’t sturdy enough for any trips outside the city. She’d asked her friend to borrow his 4 Runner for the weekend and he happily agreed. He’d even given her smoking rights if she rolled down the windows.
“Yeah. Ilene, all the roads here are back roads.”
“No, Lo, I will show you. It will be fun, just sit back and relax, we’ll have fun, I promise. Have we ever not?” She defenestrated her cigarette.
Ilene had mapped and printed directions to Lawrence. So had Lola in case Ilene’s back roads proved to be amiss. With the exception of one turn off the directions were very similar. It was roughly a forty-minute drive and the highway 24, incidentally the highway that the bodies had been left on, was the back road. Along the route, as with many Missouri or Kansas small towns, there were always signs for a “business route”. This tickled both Ilene and Lola. Ilene was from New York. Lola from Los Angeles. Their city-slickness was always intrigued by what these small towns considered their business districts.
Each business district usually consisted of a thrift shop, the town hall, a VFA center and a local bar. The kind of rinky-dink bar that would have pick-up trucks on tractor wheels in the lot. Any foreign car would turn the heads of the patrons with unease. The thrift shops were run by odd lots, sometimes special education graduates milling time or families with poor taste in garage sale collections.
They stopped into one of the business districts and went into the thrift shop with high hopes of finding some unique treasure. “Look at this Lo, it’s knobby and it has initials on the bottom, someone made this. Maybe even in jail.” It was a basket with triangular spikes come from the basket and lid. “I have to have it.” She declared. “It’s in the dollar bin too!” What a deal.
Among the other items in the thrift store there were dirty stuffed animals, none of any collectors value. Paintings of cabins, cats and floral arrangements. Mismatched plates, glassware and other kitchen items. Paperback books that held no intrigue, not even in a cult fashion. Rope, various miniature hardware, betamax tapes with God knows what recorded, Christian Rock cassettes and a few doily’s. The basket had been the only interesting item and it was with those that were considered “trash” of the lot.
After purchasing the basket, they returned to the car and found some other stores in Bonner Springs, a quiet and nice looking suburban area on the way to Lawrence. “On the way back, we’ll go to that bar.” Ilene pointed at the bar on the Main Street of Anywhereville, KS. Lola agreed. “Let them get a load of us.” They laughed.
Lawrence didn’t prove to have anything hipster about it. In fact, to the two city girls who were accustom to being around fashion and fast paced environments, the area proved to be ultra normal and somewhat scary. Everyone was dressed in the college football teams colors or logos in various styles from sweatsuits to diamond studded tank tops. The babies were also donned in t-shirts, hoodies and other fan garments. Every other store had the latest fashion with the team logo available from jewelry to shoes, there was no stone unturned for the Kansas Jayhawks.
“Can you imagine?” Ilene said at various window displays.
“No, I really can’t.” Lola said. They walked around the main street and found nothing of excitement or oddity.
“There must be a scene somewhere.”
“I’m telling you, there’s just not.” Lola said. She’d given up trying to explain the Midwest to Ilene so she’d caved in to showing her that really, there was nothing but corn and Jayhawk gear.
They settled into an Indian restaurant off the “strip” and sat down for food. Ilene ordered luxuriously with various types of Indian dishes Lola never had the nerve to try. While waiting for their food, they saw a cockroach meander its way to the next booth that had luckily finished their meal.
“You know, Lo, when I go to an Indian restaurant I keep my eyes ahead of me above the table.” She tried to brush off the disgust that Lola felt creeping into her veins.
“I’m going to be convinced now that they are in my shoes.”
“They are not in your shoes.”
“Well I can’t go and look under the table now can I?”
“Get over it.” The food came, they ate and paid the bill. It was now late afternoon and the sun was going down somewhere – just where seemed a question. In the Midwest, if it wasn’t morning or night, how did anyone ever know which way was East or West? When the sun set, it generally just slipped past the flat lands ahead, convincing anyone living in the middle of America that the world was flat and ended just there. There was no ocean. Whenever they would pass by a creek or river Ilene would ask Lola “is this your ocean?” It was very disturbing for people from the coasts to understand the lay of the land. No skyline, no beach, nothing but flat endless land ahead.
As they drove Lola attempted to open the moon roof, which decided to become difficult allowing a thumping like sound into the car due to the wind feeling stuck inside the vehicle. The noise was unbearable.
“Let’s get off the highway and figure this out.” Ilene suggested, Lola turned off the highway, they went down a dark and windy road. Lola used the brights to guide her way but could not get them to stay on and was fumbling uncomfortably in a vehicle that was not her own.
Finally pulling over they managed to close the moonroof and leave it alone. Lola still had not figured out the brights and managed the windy road back toward the exit with her hands on the lights and steering. They’d gone too far in one direction.
“Go back that way and we’ll figure it out.” It was very dark now and only eight o’clock. Lola drove back the way they came and they noticed in the middle of a dusty town that had only shown a steeple in the distance that there was a Martin Luther King Blvd.
“Do you think?” Lola said.
“Let’s go look.” Lola turned right down Martin Luther King – Avenue? Street? Couldn’t have been a Boulevard. They saw lights on in the houses and rolled by slowly to see if the inhabitants were in any way black and or ghetto. The neighborhood looked fairly normal with ranch style housing and or pre-made mobile homes on squarely cut grass. Mini-vans, pick up trucks, nothing out of the ordinary.
After the MLK detour, they found themselves lost in the tiny town, of which, they had no idea the name of. They seemed to drift farther from the main highway and in trying to map their way back through obvious turns they ended up centrally located in the middle of nowhere.
As they made circles and decided to venture out of the continuous right or left turns and up and down the same street, they came across the familiar bar they’d promised to attend earlier.
“Why not?” Ilene said. Lola shrugged and they pulled the truck up to the bar. Ilene exited with extreme confidence, she adjusted her Russian hat-scarf, pushed the wrinkles out of her Edie Bauer green shirt and flashed her diamond smile. “I fit in.”
“No you don’t.”
“I blend.” She said defensively.
“Where?”
“In New York no one would even notice me on the subway, I blend, I can go anywhere.” She insisted. Lola shook her head smiling. She pulled the tails of her shirt down over her jeans and walked with Ilene into the bar. To the right the pool table was under a Budweiser chandelier. There was a couple playing against each other, bottles of beer at each edge, cigarettes in hand or mouth. The woman had dirty blond hair with a Farah Fauset fanning style. The man wore jeans and a dickie’s shirt with his name on it.
At the right end of the bar, a man in his mid-fifties sat playing video poker, smoking Winston 100s, a shot glass and beer in front of him. In the center of the bar a man in a trucker hat nursed a whiskey neat and tapped his fingers with intent. The bartender was something out of a wax museum, barring a cop mustache, perfectly coiffed hair split to the side, decent sideburns and a jean shirt. He was flipping channels on the overhead TV. To the left of the bar sat a man in clean coveralls sipping a jack n coke and eating popcorn one piece at a time slowly out of a red basket.
Ilene and Lola sat between the popcorn eater and the finger tapper. It was as they sat down that Lola realized what Ilene was going to do and they were not absolutely not going to blend.
“What’ll it be?” The bartender asked with a smile that made his mustache tickle his lips in a twitching fashion.
“What kind of beer do you have?” Ilene asked. It seemed pretty obvious to Lola that they had Bud, Bud Light and Pabst Blue Ribbon, standard whiskey, vodka, tonic and RC soda. “I have a friend who runs a bar in New York, it’s such a privilege to drink good beer. You know they have a Hebrew beer, it’s the chosen beer. Do you have anything in dark bottles? Anything that’s in green or lighter bottles isn’t as good of quality. I know my beer. “ Her New York charm and know all was lost on the bartender who became impatient while waiting for her order.
“We got what’s behind me.” He pointed to the mirrored wall with various shelves. The choices were domestic and the import was Heineken.
“Do you have anything locally brewed? I think if I like it I could tell my friend and maybe he would use it in his bar, micro-brews are the thing right now.”
“Budweiser is made in St. Louis, is that local enough for you?” The bartender wasn’t too slow which made Ilene smirk. Lola was nearly underneath the bar looking in her purse for nothing.
“What do you have on tap? Any dark beers?” Ilene was not pleased with her choices. Lola wanted to die.
“Same stuff on tap that we have on the wall.” The bartender replied.
“I’ll have a PBR.” She settled.
“And for you ma’am?” He popped the top off a brown bottled PBR and got a cold glass for Ilene.
“Remember, you’re driving.” Ilene said. Ilene detested drinking, particularly heavy drinking. Lola was known to intake more than her share at times which disturbed her friend to no end. There was no point in it. Lola, however, was well aware that she was driving and that this bar moment had nothing to do with drinking but soaking in another world they would not normally even imagine.
“I’ll have the same.” She paused and just to annoy Ilene she ordered a shot of whiskey.
“Why?” Ilene asked her as the bartender left to pour her shot.
“I don’t know. Seemed like the thing to do.” Lola answered. Truth be known, Lola hated the taste of whiskey straight, it nearly always made her want to run and throw up immediately.
“Where are you girls from?” The bartender asked them.
“Well, I’m visiting from New York and Lola moved to Kansas City from Los Angeles about a year ago. We went to Lawrence today for a day trip, do you know where the people in Lawrence go to have a good time?” Ilene asked. He named the street that they’d toured.
“See.” Lola said. There was no underground spot!
“What would he know?” She whispered into Lola’s ear.
The finger tapper got up and went toward the window and stared out.
Across the parking lot were houses with gigantic yards. Some with neatly trimmed grass, others with a small car lot of broken down vehicles and tricycles.
The popcorn eater got up from his stool, retrieving more popcorn and moving his drinks closer to Ilene and Lola.
“How did you come to be here?” He asked earnestly.
“We got lost.” Lola said.
“We figured we’d stop in and have a drink and ask for directions.” Ilene said. “Can I smoke in here?” The bartender overheard her and slid an ashtray down the bar her way.
“Where are you going back to?” The stranger asked.
“The trail leads us back to … Kansas City.” Ilene said, the girls laughed in unison. The stranger smiled warmly and asked for a pen and napkin. He drew a map of where they were and how to get back to the highway and stated he’d be glad to show them. They thanked him and Lola tucked the napkin in her purse.
Over their drinks they conversed with the popcorn eater and he indulged them into a game of pool. Ilene with her forever tricks up her sleeves turned out to be quite the pool shark. And unfortunately, quite the instructor. For every move the popcorn eater and Lola made she commented on how she would do it or was taught and the statistics of success each would have from their vantage points. She won and neither Lola or the popcorn eater would challenge her again.
“One more?”
“No, thanks.”
“What?” She said. “No one ever wants to play pool with me. I’m not that good.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s how you let everyone else know they aren’t that good.” Lola told her.
“I just know things, I was trying to show you. I talk aloud when I play pool, I’m not criticizing you.”
“No, I know. You just take the fun out of being amateur.” Lola said, Ilene scoffed.
“We should have played for money.” She ended the subject. In a past life, Ilene could have made a fortune off of backgammon, pool, scrabble and other types of entertainment. The popcorn eater confessed he was getting kind of drunk while entertaining the girls with stories about the tiny towns happenings, the preacher who was caught soliciting children, the various insurance fires that consumed some of the businesses, the divorces and bizarre rate of severed arms due to farming accidents.
“Ladies, I think I might have to head off soon and I was wondering if we might be able to do each other both a solid.” He paused studying their trust. “My house is on the way to the highway and I can show you how to get out of here if you can drop me off on your way, I’m literally just off the highway.” The women had spent the last two hours with the popcorn eater and although neither of them could remember his name no matter how many times they elbowed each other to ask, they thought it seemed like a fair plan to them.
The threesome walked to the parking lot and Lola pointed out her truck to the stranger. Ilene went to her side of the car and warned the popcorn eater not to sit on her nubby basket. He obliged. He instructed them to turn right out of the parking lot. Lola followed his directions down the dark roads, which had been dark to begin with so the eerie feeling that consumed her, had really existed with or without the stranger in the back seat.
“That’s the house there, turn into the drive way.” He pointed between them and Lola turned into his driveway. Another modest ranch style house. “Hey, hang on, I got a map in my house I can give you for the road.”
“Oh, we don’t need that, just point me in the right direction and I can figure it out from there.” Lola said as she slid the car in park.
“No, I’ll feel better if you know where you are going, it’s late now and it’s dark, people drink too much around here and there are a lot of accidents, I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Okay, thank you.” Lola lit a cigarette as did Ilene. They sat in the car and waited for the popcorn eater to come out. He came out, with a shotgun in his hand. Lola put the car into reverse, slamming on the gas pedal but he shot out the front two tires with ease. The car made it to the end of the driveway but the gate had locked behind them and there wasn’t enough muscle to push through.
“You think?” Ilene asked.
“Yeah, I do.” Lola resigned.
“Well, fuck.” Ilene looked around the area for help, there was nothing. The nearest house, which looked fairly run down was far down the street. There wasn’t anywhere to run. “Do we have any tools?”
“Nope.” Lola said, thinking the same thing. The popcorn eater came toward the car and opened Lola’s door dragging her out. Ilene jumped out and went to aid her friend confronted by the shotgun.
“Don’t do anything stupid.” The popcorn eater said. He smacked the back of Ilene’s head with the gun and inched them into his house. “Walk toward the kitchen.” They did. “Open that door.” They both realized they were going to enter a basement, the kind of basement that they had only imagined from horror serial killer stories they consistently read on trutv.com. This was it. They were going to be eye-less.
“You know, you don’t have to do this.” Ilene said futilely. “I have ample money, I can send you off, you can go to Germany and conduct all the experiments you want.” Germany?
“Go down the stairs.” They obeyed. The further down the stairs they went the more they realized escape was becoming nil. Their eyes darted around the dimlit room, there were rooms separated by dry wall. They passed a room with dark marks on the floor they took to be blood, a gurney in the corner and what reminded Lola of a dentists tray – she was sure full of scaples for the eye removal. He guided them to a corner of the basement.
“Sit in that chair and put that hand cuff on.” He told Lola. She looked at him with disbelief.
“What are you going to do if I say no?” People get brave or weak in the face of death and she was feeling pretty brave. There were two of them, they could over take him.
He shot the gun just past her foot. She sat down and he cuffed her hand, then he pushed Ilene into the chair and cuffed her hand to the chair. He walked away momentarily. Both women tried to get to their feet with the chair attached to them, they realized the chair was bolted down. They sat in thought, like dogs on a short leash.
He came back with a rag and shoved it in their faces one by one. Lola realized it was chloroform (often a serial killers way of sedating a victim). She held her breath and fell back. Ilene muzzled away from him and tried to hit him with her free hand eventually succumbing to the air suffocating her. Both were passed out despite their attempts to revoke the situation. Fortunately, they had not inhaled deeply and they were both addicted to aderall and had taken an ample dosage before heading home. What would normally have allotted the popcorn eater hours, gave him half an hour before they woke.
While they’d knocked out, he’d handcuffed the other hands to the chairs. It was frustrating to sit handcuffed at each side and not be able to scoot forward or figure a way loose.
“Lo…Lo….” Ilene said repeatedly and Lola came to.
“I’m up.” She said weakly.
“Those aren’t pickled eggs over there are they?” Ilene butted her nose toward the corner of the room where a large jar had a dozen or so white round objects.
“I’m guessing those are eyes.” Lola whispered. They surveyed the room.
“We need to find a window.” Ilene said.
“Yes, that would be nice, a crow bar to get out of these chairs, a flare, fuck anything.” Lola wriggled in her chair trying to sense any weakness.
“Save your energy. We’re not going to die. I can feel it.” Ilene said.
“Yeah, maybe we’ll just be blind…” Lola sneered.
The stairs creaked and they heard the popcorn eaters foot steps. He puttered around the other rooms. Sounds of metal on metal, plastic snaps, like tarp falling onto a floor. Lola swallowed the ample saliva in her mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.
He walked in, still in coveralls, this time they weren’t so clean. “I didn’t expect you to be awake.” He said dully.
“We didn’t expect to be chained to chairs.” Lola muttered.
“So, I just need to know a few things. I mean, if I’m going to die, I need to know why.” Ilene said matter of factly. The popcorn eater seemed entitled to listen. “Why don’t you just prey on MySpace or something? I mean, you’re the green eyed killer right?”
“That’s what they call me, I guess that’s what I am.” He rubbed his chin, perplexed by the calmness of his victims. “I don’t own a computer and I don’t really look for my victims, they just kind of fall into my lap.”
“Why dark hair and green eyes?” Ilene asked, flipping her hands in an inquisitive manner through the cuffs.
He seemed confused by her directness. “I guess I’m a collector.” He’d thought it over.
“You know most serial killers are set off by something, like molestation or lack of parenting, quite often they have had an awful head injury….” Ilene trailed on with rhetoric of the obvious serial killer. Lola could not believe that Ilene was trying to tell him the psychology of serial killing, as if he wasn’t the serial killer, as if he’d agree on any given fact or fallacy she was providing. He seemed intrigued with her information and listened attentively.
“My mother was a southern Baptist-“
“Well, that’s enough reason in and of itself.” Lola interjected.
“My father was a truck driver. He never laid a hand on me. My mother didn’t understand me, I guess. I never fell on my head or tortured small animals. I didn’t light fires in the church, I just got this feeling – a gift, I think.” Ilene listened and Lola was agape that she was listening to a serial killer discuss his history and motive with them. “I want to make a wall of ‘em. All staring, watching, the only and the last thing they see, is me.”
“You need an audience?” Ilene asked.
“No, I need Him to see.” The girls surmised who He was. “I need Him to see my work, for Him.”
“What’s your work?” Ilene inquired.
“Only He would understand. “ The popcorn eater said offended.
“Why do you need someone else’s eyes to show Him?” Lola asked.
“Because all eyes are his eyes. “
“Then why green?” Ilene asked, not that she wasn’t flattered her eyes had been “chosen”.
“Blonde hair, blue eyes – everywhere. Red hair, blue eyes, freaks. Brown eyes, nothing. But dark hair and green – they have so much clarity, they – they see.” Lola thought over the time she went to Minnesota and she was the only one among her ex-boyfriend’s family who had dark hair and green eyes, they were all of Nordic decent with blue eyes and blonde hair. She thought of the typical mid-west girl with sandy blonde hair, brown eyes, thick or big boned. For this nut, in this vicinity, he’d thought he’d found something unique. Eyes to see him clearly. But without the features, they weren’t any more unique than a set of fake contacts.
He began to fidget under their stare and exited with haste.
“We are so fucked.” Lola turned to Ilene and she nodded.
“Lo, we have to think.” Ilene paused, “I have my blackberry.” She adjusted herself in her chair and reached for her pocket and could not get into it. “If I push it up and out, I can message for help.”
“The map is in my pocket!” Lola burst out. “We can figure out where we are!” Ilene stretched out her legs from the chair and aimed her hand underneath the bottom of the pocket, using her fingers to push her blackberry up toward the opening. Slowly it started to slide out – she could not grasp it with her hands. It feel to the floor, blinking. Horror filled them both, it continued to blink – still working.
“Grab it with your feet and hide it under your leg.” Lola said terrified. Ilene tapped her feet until they found the phone and pushed her feet together lifting it between her closed legs, kicking upward to try and land it on her lap. Eventually, she succeeded.
“Lo, you have to get that map out.” The napkin protruded slightly from her hip pocket. She stretched in various positions trying to aim her hips closer to her hands and eventually slumped to her side pulling the napkin with two fingers. Shaking, she succeeded. The napkin fluttered in her hand like a flag.
Ilene moved her leg until the phone slid toward one of her hands. She dialed 911 and put the call on speaker. She told the operator to listen, not to speak, she told the operator that they were in a basement; then the signal died.
She redialed and nothing happened. She tried to aim the phone but her hand did not have much direction to aim from the cuffs.
“Lo, you gotta try.” She slid the phone down her legs and kicked it to Lola. Lola slid off her shoes and slid the phone beneath her feet. She couldn’t get it to kick up toward her torso as Ilene had. The blackberry became useless. Footsteps creaked again and there were no pauses to other rooms. The popcorn eater was back.
Of the two, he’d decided that Lola was the weakest link. He’d kill Ilene first. When Lola heard his footsteps she’d slid her feet back in her shoes and stepped on top of the phone. Her knees were shaking so hard she thought that the phone would tap on the concrete beneath but it remained quiet.
“You know, I have a collection of marvelous glass eyes at home. I saw them and had to have them, they were so magnificent. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them yet but the colors, they are so amazing.” Lola looked over to Ilene, was she one-upping the serial killer? Was she really discussing her glass eye collection? “One of the eyes was even used by Sandy Dunkin.” No, she didn’t just say that. She just didn’t. “Have you ever thought about using glass eyes? I mean, if someone used them for their own, wouldn’t that be similar?”
“They couldn’t see through the glass eye.” The popcorn eater said in the same dull voice he’d produced since he was home and comfortable.
He uncuffed one of Ilene’s hands and put it behind her back, he tied it to the other hand and then uncuffed the second hand. Ilene was technically free. Lola closed her eyes and prayed for courage, for Ilene’s courage, promising false promises of attending church regularly, drinking less, having children, settling down and never using His name in vain again. Just save us, she begged and tears escaped through her closed eyes, she opened them to see Ilene stand up. Only then did it dawn on her how much taller Ilene was than the popcorn eater. He looked like a dwarf next to the six foot woman, she realized that Ilene too had realized this. He attempted to push Ilene from behind off the chair, Ilene’s knees gave in a little before she stood, fear, it must be her fear too that made her knees lock but when she stood – she was ready to beat Goliath.
Ilene winked at Lola and Lola shuddered inside. The popcorn eater grabbed Ilene’s elbow to lead her forward and Ilene kicked him in the knees, then the crotch, then the face, the ribs, the popcorn eater was stuck on the concrete and with each blow she kept him down. It looked like he was attempting a million sit-ups to get to his feet and with each one Ilene kicked harder.
“Ilene!” Lola screamed from her chair, Ilene continued to kick. “Ilene, the rag – it’s right over there!” Ilene glanced behind her and ran to the table with the chloroform rag, with her hands behind her she reached for it and grabbed it running back to the popcorn eater. She kicked some more, he was floor bound, she sat down on him as he twisted beneath her weight, her hands finally reached his face as she shoved the rag haphazardly into his face, his twisting became slower until sedated. She searched him blindly for the keys he’d used to uncuff her, found them and uncuffed Lola.
Lola dialed 911. When asked where she was, she turned to Ilene, “Olathe?” She said jokingly, still scared, she looked at the map and instructed the operator that she was near the 24 highway, on a street named Mill not far from the bar that was on Main. The operator repeated the information back and she agreed, they would find them shortly, she asked her to leave the phone on so that they might be able to trace the signal.
The popcorn eater was asleep. Ilene cuffed him to the side of the chair. Lola grabbed her hand and they walked slowly out of the room. Curiosity couldn’t kill them, so they walked into the sub-sections of the basement. The gurney and metal tray contained devices they assumed were scalpel s and other medical tools to remove the eyes from the skull, blood protruded on the floor of the “operating room”.
The pickled eye jar in their room was only a glance of the popcorn eaters collection, he’d begun his wall in another room similar to any man’s working garage. He’d created a wall to adorn his eyes onto in various positions staring at him – his gift for Him was unknown.
They ascended the basement stairs and entered the kitchen. Ilene opened the fridge. There wasn’t much to see. A few beers, eggs and American cheese. The small kitchen table held hunting magazines. They walked toward the living room and got side-tracked by the hallway. Again, nothing could kill the cat, they walked into his bedroom. He’d cut out eyes from various magazines and collaged them on his wall – all green in various shades of eye-shadow, liner – children, adults --- an obsessed wall of eyes. On the dresser a picture of his mother in black and white, in front of their community church. In another picture there was the entire family together and a little girl stood by the side of what they assumed was the popcorn eater. They left the bedroom and found more family pictures in the hall, the little girl had green eyes. A memorial plaque was beneath her 8th grade school photo. Another picture held newspaper clippings with vague information. The girl, presumably his sister, was killed in the 1970s, her body was found along highway 24, her remains were in tact, less her eyes.
The police arrived in droves. The popcorn eater was awake when the arrived, whimpering and upset. Lola and Ilene were asked to stay for questioning and put up in a room that resembled the hotel in the movie Psycho – “Pilot’s Landing” – the hotel featured a neon sign with a plane landing onto a strip, not too far from a landing base that existed for farmers and been abandoned by air force.
When they got to the room and closed the door, Ilene pulled a plastic bag from her pocket.
“Now, we can smoke and relax. See, I told you. We’d find something.”
“You have to stop that.”
“I don’t know what you all are so worried about out here…Can you smell that?”
“Yes, I’m pretty sure everyone in terminal C can smell it!” They collided shoulders in a friendly manner and waited for the luggage to drop.
On the drive back to the house they made plans to go to Lawrence on Saturday. “There just has to be a scene here, Lo, you just aren’t finding it.” She lit a cigarette. “There just has to be.” Ilene was convinced every visit to Kansas City that there was some sort of artistic/musical/hipster underground that they just weren’t finding.
“So, I was reading your newspaper online and I see you have a serial killer on the loose.” She pressed a button on the passenger door and the window released the scent of cloves into the air.
“Yeah. And you know what all the victims have in common? Green eyes and black hair.” They both sniggered. Both of them had brilliant green eyes and curly black hair. Ilene’s was hidden under a make-shift hat from a scarf that embodied the essence of a Russian hat. Her eyes were accented by the “magic” she called black eye shadow lightly dabbed around the eyes in a fashionable smudge. Lola was less hip to such escapades and lacquered her eyelashes in thick mascara. Both quite effectively shone their features.
“Can you imagine?” Ilene said. “They say he removes the eyes from the victims. They’ve found bodies along the highway.”
“Yeah. Creepy.”
“And the trail leads us back to Kansas City,” Ilene quoted from almost every crime show they both were enamored with. For some reason, crime always had a trail, and it always led back to Kansas City.
“More specifically, Olathe.” Lola added. She’d discovered the suburb just outside of Kansas City in Kansas was full of predators, fire bugs, pedophiles and other unusual crime garden varieties.
“We’ll take the back roads to Lawrence, I will do the map, you do the driving. Did Bidwell lend you his truck?” Lola was presently driving her fiancé’s car which wasn’t sturdy enough for any trips outside the city. She’d asked her friend to borrow his 4 Runner for the weekend and he happily agreed. He’d even given her smoking rights if she rolled down the windows.
“Yeah. Ilene, all the roads here are back roads.”
“No, Lo, I will show you. It will be fun, just sit back and relax, we’ll have fun, I promise. Have we ever not?” She defenestrated her cigarette.
Ilene had mapped and printed directions to Lawrence. So had Lola in case Ilene’s back roads proved to be amiss. With the exception of one turn off the directions were very similar. It was roughly a forty-minute drive and the highway 24, incidentally the highway that the bodies had been left on, was the back road. Along the route, as with many Missouri or Kansas small towns, there were always signs for a “business route”. This tickled both Ilene and Lola. Ilene was from New York. Lola from Los Angeles. Their city-slickness was always intrigued by what these small towns considered their business districts.
Each business district usually consisted of a thrift shop, the town hall, a VFA center and a local bar. The kind of rinky-dink bar that would have pick-up trucks on tractor wheels in the lot. Any foreign car would turn the heads of the patrons with unease. The thrift shops were run by odd lots, sometimes special education graduates milling time or families with poor taste in garage sale collections.
They stopped into one of the business districts and went into the thrift shop with high hopes of finding some unique treasure. “Look at this Lo, it’s knobby and it has initials on the bottom, someone made this. Maybe even in jail.” It was a basket with triangular spikes come from the basket and lid. “I have to have it.” She declared. “It’s in the dollar bin too!” What a deal.
Among the other items in the thrift store there were dirty stuffed animals, none of any collectors value. Paintings of cabins, cats and floral arrangements. Mismatched plates, glassware and other kitchen items. Paperback books that held no intrigue, not even in a cult fashion. Rope, various miniature hardware, betamax tapes with God knows what recorded, Christian Rock cassettes and a few doily’s. The basket had been the only interesting item and it was with those that were considered “trash” of the lot.
After purchasing the basket, they returned to the car and found some other stores in Bonner Springs, a quiet and nice looking suburban area on the way to Lawrence. “On the way back, we’ll go to that bar.” Ilene pointed at the bar on the Main Street of Anywhereville, KS. Lola agreed. “Let them get a load of us.” They laughed.
Lawrence didn’t prove to have anything hipster about it. In fact, to the two city girls who were accustom to being around fashion and fast paced environments, the area proved to be ultra normal and somewhat scary. Everyone was dressed in the college football teams colors or logos in various styles from sweatsuits to diamond studded tank tops. The babies were also donned in t-shirts, hoodies and other fan garments. Every other store had the latest fashion with the team logo available from jewelry to shoes, there was no stone unturned for the Kansas Jayhawks.
“Can you imagine?” Ilene said at various window displays.
“No, I really can’t.” Lola said. They walked around the main street and found nothing of excitement or oddity.
“There must be a scene somewhere.”
“I’m telling you, there’s just not.” Lola said. She’d given up trying to explain the Midwest to Ilene so she’d caved in to showing her that really, there was nothing but corn and Jayhawk gear.
They settled into an Indian restaurant off the “strip” and sat down for food. Ilene ordered luxuriously with various types of Indian dishes Lola never had the nerve to try. While waiting for their food, they saw a cockroach meander its way to the next booth that had luckily finished their meal.
“You know, Lo, when I go to an Indian restaurant I keep my eyes ahead of me above the table.” She tried to brush off the disgust that Lola felt creeping into her veins.
“I’m going to be convinced now that they are in my shoes.”
“They are not in your shoes.”
“Well I can’t go and look under the table now can I?”
“Get over it.” The food came, they ate and paid the bill. It was now late afternoon and the sun was going down somewhere – just where seemed a question. In the Midwest, if it wasn’t morning or night, how did anyone ever know which way was East or West? When the sun set, it generally just slipped past the flat lands ahead, convincing anyone living in the middle of America that the world was flat and ended just there. There was no ocean. Whenever they would pass by a creek or river Ilene would ask Lola “is this your ocean?” It was very disturbing for people from the coasts to understand the lay of the land. No skyline, no beach, nothing but flat endless land ahead.
As they drove Lola attempted to open the moon roof, which decided to become difficult allowing a thumping like sound into the car due to the wind feeling stuck inside the vehicle. The noise was unbearable.
“Let’s get off the highway and figure this out.” Ilene suggested, Lola turned off the highway, they went down a dark and windy road. Lola used the brights to guide her way but could not get them to stay on and was fumbling uncomfortably in a vehicle that was not her own.
Finally pulling over they managed to close the moonroof and leave it alone. Lola still had not figured out the brights and managed the windy road back toward the exit with her hands on the lights and steering. They’d gone too far in one direction.
“Go back that way and we’ll figure it out.” It was very dark now and only eight o’clock. Lola drove back the way they came and they noticed in the middle of a dusty town that had only shown a steeple in the distance that there was a Martin Luther King Blvd.
“Do you think?” Lola said.
“Let’s go look.” Lola turned right down Martin Luther King – Avenue? Street? Couldn’t have been a Boulevard. They saw lights on in the houses and rolled by slowly to see if the inhabitants were in any way black and or ghetto. The neighborhood looked fairly normal with ranch style housing and or pre-made mobile homes on squarely cut grass. Mini-vans, pick up trucks, nothing out of the ordinary.
After the MLK detour, they found themselves lost in the tiny town, of which, they had no idea the name of. They seemed to drift farther from the main highway and in trying to map their way back through obvious turns they ended up centrally located in the middle of nowhere.
As they made circles and decided to venture out of the continuous right or left turns and up and down the same street, they came across the familiar bar they’d promised to attend earlier.
“Why not?” Ilene said. Lola shrugged and they pulled the truck up to the bar. Ilene exited with extreme confidence, she adjusted her Russian hat-scarf, pushed the wrinkles out of her Edie Bauer green shirt and flashed her diamond smile. “I fit in.”
“No you don’t.”
“I blend.” She said defensively.
“Where?”
“In New York no one would even notice me on the subway, I blend, I can go anywhere.” She insisted. Lola shook her head smiling. She pulled the tails of her shirt down over her jeans and walked with Ilene into the bar. To the right the pool table was under a Budweiser chandelier. There was a couple playing against each other, bottles of beer at each edge, cigarettes in hand or mouth. The woman had dirty blond hair with a Farah Fauset fanning style. The man wore jeans and a dickie’s shirt with his name on it.
At the right end of the bar, a man in his mid-fifties sat playing video poker, smoking Winston 100s, a shot glass and beer in front of him. In the center of the bar a man in a trucker hat nursed a whiskey neat and tapped his fingers with intent. The bartender was something out of a wax museum, barring a cop mustache, perfectly coiffed hair split to the side, decent sideburns and a jean shirt. He was flipping channels on the overhead TV. To the left of the bar sat a man in clean coveralls sipping a jack n coke and eating popcorn one piece at a time slowly out of a red basket.
Ilene and Lola sat between the popcorn eater and the finger tapper. It was as they sat down that Lola realized what Ilene was going to do and they were not absolutely not going to blend.
“What’ll it be?” The bartender asked with a smile that made his mustache tickle his lips in a twitching fashion.
“What kind of beer do you have?” Ilene asked. It seemed pretty obvious to Lola that they had Bud, Bud Light and Pabst Blue Ribbon, standard whiskey, vodka, tonic and RC soda. “I have a friend who runs a bar in New York, it’s such a privilege to drink good beer. You know they have a Hebrew beer, it’s the chosen beer. Do you have anything in dark bottles? Anything that’s in green or lighter bottles isn’t as good of quality. I know my beer. “ Her New York charm and know all was lost on the bartender who became impatient while waiting for her order.
“We got what’s behind me.” He pointed to the mirrored wall with various shelves. The choices were domestic and the import was Heineken.
“Do you have anything locally brewed? I think if I like it I could tell my friend and maybe he would use it in his bar, micro-brews are the thing right now.”
“Budweiser is made in St. Louis, is that local enough for you?” The bartender wasn’t too slow which made Ilene smirk. Lola was nearly underneath the bar looking in her purse for nothing.
“What do you have on tap? Any dark beers?” Ilene was not pleased with her choices. Lola wanted to die.
“Same stuff on tap that we have on the wall.” The bartender replied.
“I’ll have a PBR.” She settled.
“And for you ma’am?” He popped the top off a brown bottled PBR and got a cold glass for Ilene.
“Remember, you’re driving.” Ilene said. Ilene detested drinking, particularly heavy drinking. Lola was known to intake more than her share at times which disturbed her friend to no end. There was no point in it. Lola, however, was well aware that she was driving and that this bar moment had nothing to do with drinking but soaking in another world they would not normally even imagine.
“I’ll have the same.” She paused and just to annoy Ilene she ordered a shot of whiskey.
“Why?” Ilene asked her as the bartender left to pour her shot.
“I don’t know. Seemed like the thing to do.” Lola answered. Truth be known, Lola hated the taste of whiskey straight, it nearly always made her want to run and throw up immediately.
“Where are you girls from?” The bartender asked them.
“Well, I’m visiting from New York and Lola moved to Kansas City from Los Angeles about a year ago. We went to Lawrence today for a day trip, do you know where the people in Lawrence go to have a good time?” Ilene asked. He named the street that they’d toured.
“See.” Lola said. There was no underground spot!
“What would he know?” She whispered into Lola’s ear.
The finger tapper got up and went toward the window and stared out.
Across the parking lot were houses with gigantic yards. Some with neatly trimmed grass, others with a small car lot of broken down vehicles and tricycles.
The popcorn eater got up from his stool, retrieving more popcorn and moving his drinks closer to Ilene and Lola.
“How did you come to be here?” He asked earnestly.
“We got lost.” Lola said.
“We figured we’d stop in and have a drink and ask for directions.” Ilene said. “Can I smoke in here?” The bartender overheard her and slid an ashtray down the bar her way.
“Where are you going back to?” The stranger asked.
“The trail leads us back to … Kansas City.” Ilene said, the girls laughed in unison. The stranger smiled warmly and asked for a pen and napkin. He drew a map of where they were and how to get back to the highway and stated he’d be glad to show them. They thanked him and Lola tucked the napkin in her purse.
Over their drinks they conversed with the popcorn eater and he indulged them into a game of pool. Ilene with her forever tricks up her sleeves turned out to be quite the pool shark. And unfortunately, quite the instructor. For every move the popcorn eater and Lola made she commented on how she would do it or was taught and the statistics of success each would have from their vantage points. She won and neither Lola or the popcorn eater would challenge her again.
“One more?”
“No, thanks.”
“What?” She said. “No one ever wants to play pool with me. I’m not that good.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s how you let everyone else know they aren’t that good.” Lola told her.
“I just know things, I was trying to show you. I talk aloud when I play pool, I’m not criticizing you.”
“No, I know. You just take the fun out of being amateur.” Lola said, Ilene scoffed.
“We should have played for money.” She ended the subject. In a past life, Ilene could have made a fortune off of backgammon, pool, scrabble and other types of entertainment. The popcorn eater confessed he was getting kind of drunk while entertaining the girls with stories about the tiny towns happenings, the preacher who was caught soliciting children, the various insurance fires that consumed some of the businesses, the divorces and bizarre rate of severed arms due to farming accidents.
“Ladies, I think I might have to head off soon and I was wondering if we might be able to do each other both a solid.” He paused studying their trust. “My house is on the way to the highway and I can show you how to get out of here if you can drop me off on your way, I’m literally just off the highway.” The women had spent the last two hours with the popcorn eater and although neither of them could remember his name no matter how many times they elbowed each other to ask, they thought it seemed like a fair plan to them.
The threesome walked to the parking lot and Lola pointed out her truck to the stranger. Ilene went to her side of the car and warned the popcorn eater not to sit on her nubby basket. He obliged. He instructed them to turn right out of the parking lot. Lola followed his directions down the dark roads, which had been dark to begin with so the eerie feeling that consumed her, had really existed with or without the stranger in the back seat.
“That’s the house there, turn into the drive way.” He pointed between them and Lola turned into his driveway. Another modest ranch style house. “Hey, hang on, I got a map in my house I can give you for the road.”
“Oh, we don’t need that, just point me in the right direction and I can figure it out from there.” Lola said as she slid the car in park.
“No, I’ll feel better if you know where you are going, it’s late now and it’s dark, people drink too much around here and there are a lot of accidents, I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Okay, thank you.” Lola lit a cigarette as did Ilene. They sat in the car and waited for the popcorn eater to come out. He came out, with a shotgun in his hand. Lola put the car into reverse, slamming on the gas pedal but he shot out the front two tires with ease. The car made it to the end of the driveway but the gate had locked behind them and there wasn’t enough muscle to push through.
“You think?” Ilene asked.
“Yeah, I do.” Lola resigned.
“Well, fuck.” Ilene looked around the area for help, there was nothing. The nearest house, which looked fairly run down was far down the street. There wasn’t anywhere to run. “Do we have any tools?”
“Nope.” Lola said, thinking the same thing. The popcorn eater came toward the car and opened Lola’s door dragging her out. Ilene jumped out and went to aid her friend confronted by the shotgun.
“Don’t do anything stupid.” The popcorn eater said. He smacked the back of Ilene’s head with the gun and inched them into his house. “Walk toward the kitchen.” They did. “Open that door.” They both realized they were going to enter a basement, the kind of basement that they had only imagined from horror serial killer stories they consistently read on trutv.com. This was it. They were going to be eye-less.
“You know, you don’t have to do this.” Ilene said futilely. “I have ample money, I can send you off, you can go to Germany and conduct all the experiments you want.” Germany?
“Go down the stairs.” They obeyed. The further down the stairs they went the more they realized escape was becoming nil. Their eyes darted around the dimlit room, there were rooms separated by dry wall. They passed a room with dark marks on the floor they took to be blood, a gurney in the corner and what reminded Lola of a dentists tray – she was sure full of scaples for the eye removal. He guided them to a corner of the basement.
“Sit in that chair and put that hand cuff on.” He told Lola. She looked at him with disbelief.
“What are you going to do if I say no?” People get brave or weak in the face of death and she was feeling pretty brave. There were two of them, they could over take him.
He shot the gun just past her foot. She sat down and he cuffed her hand, then he pushed Ilene into the chair and cuffed her hand to the chair. He walked away momentarily. Both women tried to get to their feet with the chair attached to them, they realized the chair was bolted down. They sat in thought, like dogs on a short leash.
He came back with a rag and shoved it in their faces one by one. Lola realized it was chloroform (often a serial killers way of sedating a victim). She held her breath and fell back. Ilene muzzled away from him and tried to hit him with her free hand eventually succumbing to the air suffocating her. Both were passed out despite their attempts to revoke the situation. Fortunately, they had not inhaled deeply and they were both addicted to aderall and had taken an ample dosage before heading home. What would normally have allotted the popcorn eater hours, gave him half an hour before they woke.
While they’d knocked out, he’d handcuffed the other hands to the chairs. It was frustrating to sit handcuffed at each side and not be able to scoot forward or figure a way loose.
“Lo…Lo….” Ilene said repeatedly and Lola came to.
“I’m up.” She said weakly.
“Those aren’t pickled eggs over there are they?” Ilene butted her nose toward the corner of the room where a large jar had a dozen or so white round objects.
“I’m guessing those are eyes.” Lola whispered. They surveyed the room.
“We need to find a window.” Ilene said.
“Yes, that would be nice, a crow bar to get out of these chairs, a flare, fuck anything.” Lola wriggled in her chair trying to sense any weakness.
“Save your energy. We’re not going to die. I can feel it.” Ilene said.
“Yeah, maybe we’ll just be blind…” Lola sneered.
The stairs creaked and they heard the popcorn eaters foot steps. He puttered around the other rooms. Sounds of metal on metal, plastic snaps, like tarp falling onto a floor. Lola swallowed the ample saliva in her mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.
He walked in, still in coveralls, this time they weren’t so clean. “I didn’t expect you to be awake.” He said dully.
“We didn’t expect to be chained to chairs.” Lola muttered.
“So, I just need to know a few things. I mean, if I’m going to die, I need to know why.” Ilene said matter of factly. The popcorn eater seemed entitled to listen. “Why don’t you just prey on MySpace or something? I mean, you’re the green eyed killer right?”
“That’s what they call me, I guess that’s what I am.” He rubbed his chin, perplexed by the calmness of his victims. “I don’t own a computer and I don’t really look for my victims, they just kind of fall into my lap.”
“Why dark hair and green eyes?” Ilene asked, flipping her hands in an inquisitive manner through the cuffs.
He seemed confused by her directness. “I guess I’m a collector.” He’d thought it over.
“You know most serial killers are set off by something, like molestation or lack of parenting, quite often they have had an awful head injury….” Ilene trailed on with rhetoric of the obvious serial killer. Lola could not believe that Ilene was trying to tell him the psychology of serial killing, as if he wasn’t the serial killer, as if he’d agree on any given fact or fallacy she was providing. He seemed intrigued with her information and listened attentively.
“My mother was a southern Baptist-“
“Well, that’s enough reason in and of itself.” Lola interjected.
“My father was a truck driver. He never laid a hand on me. My mother didn’t understand me, I guess. I never fell on my head or tortured small animals. I didn’t light fires in the church, I just got this feeling – a gift, I think.” Ilene listened and Lola was agape that she was listening to a serial killer discuss his history and motive with them. “I want to make a wall of ‘em. All staring, watching, the only and the last thing they see, is me.”
“You need an audience?” Ilene asked.
“No, I need Him to see.” The girls surmised who He was. “I need Him to see my work, for Him.”
“What’s your work?” Ilene inquired.
“Only He would understand. “ The popcorn eater said offended.
“Why do you need someone else’s eyes to show Him?” Lola asked.
“Because all eyes are his eyes. “
“Then why green?” Ilene asked, not that she wasn’t flattered her eyes had been “chosen”.
“Blonde hair, blue eyes – everywhere. Red hair, blue eyes, freaks. Brown eyes, nothing. But dark hair and green – they have so much clarity, they – they see.” Lola thought over the time she went to Minnesota and she was the only one among her ex-boyfriend’s family who had dark hair and green eyes, they were all of Nordic decent with blue eyes and blonde hair. She thought of the typical mid-west girl with sandy blonde hair, brown eyes, thick or big boned. For this nut, in this vicinity, he’d thought he’d found something unique. Eyes to see him clearly. But without the features, they weren’t any more unique than a set of fake contacts.
He began to fidget under their stare and exited with haste.
“We are so fucked.” Lola turned to Ilene and she nodded.
“Lo, we have to think.” Ilene paused, “I have my blackberry.” She adjusted herself in her chair and reached for her pocket and could not get into it. “If I push it up and out, I can message for help.”
“The map is in my pocket!” Lola burst out. “We can figure out where we are!” Ilene stretched out her legs from the chair and aimed her hand underneath the bottom of the pocket, using her fingers to push her blackberry up toward the opening. Slowly it started to slide out – she could not grasp it with her hands. It feel to the floor, blinking. Horror filled them both, it continued to blink – still working.
“Grab it with your feet and hide it under your leg.” Lola said terrified. Ilene tapped her feet until they found the phone and pushed her feet together lifting it between her closed legs, kicking upward to try and land it on her lap. Eventually, she succeeded.
“Lo, you have to get that map out.” The napkin protruded slightly from her hip pocket. She stretched in various positions trying to aim her hips closer to her hands and eventually slumped to her side pulling the napkin with two fingers. Shaking, she succeeded. The napkin fluttered in her hand like a flag.
Ilene moved her leg until the phone slid toward one of her hands. She dialed 911 and put the call on speaker. She told the operator to listen, not to speak, she told the operator that they were in a basement; then the signal died.
She redialed and nothing happened. She tried to aim the phone but her hand did not have much direction to aim from the cuffs.
“Lo, you gotta try.” She slid the phone down her legs and kicked it to Lola. Lola slid off her shoes and slid the phone beneath her feet. She couldn’t get it to kick up toward her torso as Ilene had. The blackberry became useless. Footsteps creaked again and there were no pauses to other rooms. The popcorn eater was back.
Of the two, he’d decided that Lola was the weakest link. He’d kill Ilene first. When Lola heard his footsteps she’d slid her feet back in her shoes and stepped on top of the phone. Her knees were shaking so hard she thought that the phone would tap on the concrete beneath but it remained quiet.
“You know, I have a collection of marvelous glass eyes at home. I saw them and had to have them, they were so magnificent. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them yet but the colors, they are so amazing.” Lola looked over to Ilene, was she one-upping the serial killer? Was she really discussing her glass eye collection? “One of the eyes was even used by Sandy Dunkin.” No, she didn’t just say that. She just didn’t. “Have you ever thought about using glass eyes? I mean, if someone used them for their own, wouldn’t that be similar?”
“They couldn’t see through the glass eye.” The popcorn eater said in the same dull voice he’d produced since he was home and comfortable.
He uncuffed one of Ilene’s hands and put it behind her back, he tied it to the other hand and then uncuffed the second hand. Ilene was technically free. Lola closed her eyes and prayed for courage, for Ilene’s courage, promising false promises of attending church regularly, drinking less, having children, settling down and never using His name in vain again. Just save us, she begged and tears escaped through her closed eyes, she opened them to see Ilene stand up. Only then did it dawn on her how much taller Ilene was than the popcorn eater. He looked like a dwarf next to the six foot woman, she realized that Ilene too had realized this. He attempted to push Ilene from behind off the chair, Ilene’s knees gave in a little before she stood, fear, it must be her fear too that made her knees lock but when she stood – she was ready to beat Goliath.
Ilene winked at Lola and Lola shuddered inside. The popcorn eater grabbed Ilene’s elbow to lead her forward and Ilene kicked him in the knees, then the crotch, then the face, the ribs, the popcorn eater was stuck on the concrete and with each blow she kept him down. It looked like he was attempting a million sit-ups to get to his feet and with each one Ilene kicked harder.
“Ilene!” Lola screamed from her chair, Ilene continued to kick. “Ilene, the rag – it’s right over there!” Ilene glanced behind her and ran to the table with the chloroform rag, with her hands behind her she reached for it and grabbed it running back to the popcorn eater. She kicked some more, he was floor bound, she sat down on him as he twisted beneath her weight, her hands finally reached his face as she shoved the rag haphazardly into his face, his twisting became slower until sedated. She searched him blindly for the keys he’d used to uncuff her, found them and uncuffed Lola.
Lola dialed 911. When asked where she was, she turned to Ilene, “Olathe?” She said jokingly, still scared, she looked at the map and instructed the operator that she was near the 24 highway, on a street named Mill not far from the bar that was on Main. The operator repeated the information back and she agreed, they would find them shortly, she asked her to leave the phone on so that they might be able to trace the signal.
The popcorn eater was asleep. Ilene cuffed him to the side of the chair. Lola grabbed her hand and they walked slowly out of the room. Curiosity couldn’t kill them, so they walked into the sub-sections of the basement. The gurney and metal tray contained devices they assumed were scalpel s and other medical tools to remove the eyes from the skull, blood protruded on the floor of the “operating room”.
The pickled eye jar in their room was only a glance of the popcorn eaters collection, he’d begun his wall in another room similar to any man’s working garage. He’d created a wall to adorn his eyes onto in various positions staring at him – his gift for Him was unknown.
They ascended the basement stairs and entered the kitchen. Ilene opened the fridge. There wasn’t much to see. A few beers, eggs and American cheese. The small kitchen table held hunting magazines. They walked toward the living room and got side-tracked by the hallway. Again, nothing could kill the cat, they walked into his bedroom. He’d cut out eyes from various magazines and collaged them on his wall – all green in various shades of eye-shadow, liner – children, adults --- an obsessed wall of eyes. On the dresser a picture of his mother in black and white, in front of their community church. In another picture there was the entire family together and a little girl stood by the side of what they assumed was the popcorn eater. They left the bedroom and found more family pictures in the hall, the little girl had green eyes. A memorial plaque was beneath her 8th grade school photo. Another picture held newspaper clippings with vague information. The girl, presumably his sister, was killed in the 1970s, her body was found along highway 24, her remains were in tact, less her eyes.
The police arrived in droves. The popcorn eater was awake when the arrived, whimpering and upset. Lola and Ilene were asked to stay for questioning and put up in a room that resembled the hotel in the movie Psycho – “Pilot’s Landing” – the hotel featured a neon sign with a plane landing onto a strip, not too far from a landing base that existed for farmers and been abandoned by air force.
When they got to the room and closed the door, Ilene pulled a plastic bag from her pocket.
“Now, we can smoke and relax. See, I told you. We’d find something.”
Comments
Post a Comment