No Place I'd Rather Be...

The car finally stopped in the middle of a stretch of rough dirt road. In the silvery moonlight, the road was a light-colored ribbon cutting straight through a forest of newly leafed mesquite trees. He had hoped to drive much farther before he stopped the car, but his study of Google Maps had let him down. This was a far more primitive road than he had been led to believe it would be. He had managed to pick his way around the boulder-littered crossings at the first two washes, but this one was impossible. The unfamiliar low-slung Passat wasn’t going to make it.

There was a noisy thumping from inside the trunk. That meant he was awake, and that was fine with him. He wanted him to be awake and aware. He wanted him to know what was happening and why. That was the whole point. Otherwise, it would be a lot like being struck by lightning. God reached out and got you and you had no idea what was coming. That wasn’t what this trip was about; wasn’t what he was about. For him this was far more personal.

He pressed the button on the key fob, opened the back hatch, and removed the blanket he had used to cover him. As soon as the blanket came off, his victim, Bradley Kuhn, began to struggle. That was alright. They were far enough away from civilization that no matter what he did, it wouldn’t matter. No one would hear him. Out here in the cold night air of the Arizona desert, the two of them were entirely alone except for the occasional mournful cry of a coyote.

“Up and at ‘em, Romeo,” he said. “You ready for a game of hide-and-seek.”

He knew that Bradley’s friends and female followers often called him “Romeo”, as a cute nickname. For as long as he knew, people had nicknamed him Romeo, instead of calling him Brad. Though teachers had called him Brad.

The young twenty-two year old shook his head desperately back and forth and made a whimpering noise that was probably some form of the word “please.” Through the duct tape, that was difficult to tell. Grabbing him by the underarms, he hauled him up and out of the vehicle and stood him upright, barefoot and swaying unsteadily, on the rough surface of the dirt road. He looked up at him. He could see the terror in his wide-eyed stare. He liked that. He had spent years anticipating this moment, and he didn’t want to rush it.

“I’m going to take off the gag,” he said. “You can scream your head off if you want. No one will hear you.”

He had watched enough forensic TV to know that the cops loved looking for DNA on pieces of duct tape, so he had no intention of leaving any of that behind. Ditto for the nylon tie straps he had used to secure his hands and feet. Those had ID numbers that could be traced back to certain retailers. He would take those with him as well. Ditto his brass.

When he peeled off the duct tape, he surprised him. He didn’t scream. “You don’t need to do this,” he said. “Please let me go. Please.”

“No,” he said. “That’s not how this is going to work. I’m going to let you loose now and give you a running start. Who knows? You may be able to run faster than I can shoot. Or maybe I’ll miss.”

“I can’t run,” he said. “I’m barefoot.”

“That’s your problem. If you want to live, you’ll run.”

When he pulled the box knife out of his pocket, the (once) talented theatrical singer cringed away from him. That was fine. He liked the idea that he was afraid of being cut, but cutting wasn’t what he had in mind. Instead he used the knife to slice through his restraints and then stuffed them in his pockets along with the duct tape.

“There you go,” he said. “I’ll give you to the count of ten. You run. I shoot. If I miss, you win. If I don’t miss?” He shrugged. “Well, I guess that’s the end of the story.”

“Please,” he begged again. “Please.”

He didn’t need to say any more than that. He knew what he wanted, and he had no intention of giving it to him.

“You’d better get started, because as of now, I’m counting. One!”

He hesitated for only a moment, then he wheeled and started off into the desert, back the way they had come. That surprised him. He had expected him to cross the wash and then stick to the road. That would have given him a clear shot. If he managed to do duck into a nearby thicket of mesquite trees, he’d have to go trailing after him.

So he didn’t bother waiting until the count of ten. He got as far as four and then pulled the trigger. The first shot caught him in the leg. Stumbling forward, he fell to the ground, as the second shot went over his head. He was still trying to get away, scrabbling forward on the rocky ground, dragging his crippled leg, when he came up behind him. He shot him three more times after that. The shots were meant more to maim than to kill. He had wanted him to suffer. If he died instantly, he missed the point. This was punishment, payback.

While he lay moaning on the ground, he went looking for his brass. He had shot him with a .38. He found all five castings and pocketed them as well.

Immediately after the first gunshot, a stark silence had fallen over the desert. Gradually, though, the night sounds returned. A nearby coyote howled, and another one off in the distance yipped a response. Far away he heard what sounded like a dog barking, but the barking stayed where it was without coming any closer. The shooter wasn’t especially worried about anyone hearing the gunfire. After all, it was three o’clock in the morning, and the killing ground was suitably remote.

He didn’t bother moving the body. For one thing, he didn’t want to bring any blood evidence back into the car with him. Besides, with the coyotes out and about, he was sure they would deal with the body in their own time-honored fashion.

He was still alive and breathing shallowly, as he turned to walk away. “Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,” he sneered. “And it serves you right. Dirty blonde singer!”

Notes

I was inspired by a book I just read. And also I know someone else on Archive of Our Own attempted an idea similar to this, however I didn't copy the idea and I thank them for inspiring me with this cool new idea.
Yes, more kidnapping and trouble for Kaner, but I promise nothing MAJOR will happen to our favorite little blondie. He won't die. There may be a little blood, but not as much.
Here is the start of the idea. It may change with me adding to it, but I wanted to introduce my new idea.
I was gonna wait until D&T was done, but forget that. I really wanted to get this one underway. I have a bad tendency of jumping the gun with things like this...sorry for all these stories (and plays) at once! I hope they are good!!! :)