Excerpts from my book "Cryptic"

Later, the young man stood and talked with a sheriff's deputy as the sheriff stood in front of the shack and looked at the bodies. The deputy questioned the young man.

      “So you were walking with your dog and he wandered over to this shack?” 

      “Yes, he wouldn't come back so I walked over and found the bodies.” 

      “And you did what?” 

      “I grabbed the dog and ran toward my car, drove to a pay phone, and called you guys. Then drove back here.” 

      The sheriff walked over to them. 

      “This guy tried to burn the shack down but it looks like the fire went out.” 

      He looked at the young man. 

      “You didn't see anyone around?” 

      “No sir, Sheriff, no one.” 

The sheriff glanced all around and looked at the shack again, before he turned his gaze back toward the deputy. 

      “Get some guys down here and rope off this beach.  It's obvious he killed them out near their blanket before dragging them to the shack.” 

      “Yes sir, the coroner should be here any minute.”

      “Good, and don't forget, this is a sandy area, make sure you guys are careful searching it.”

But Gus was growing edgy. He would sit at the kitchen table in the morning as he ate breakfast, and then take his new coffee mug filled with coffee and retreat to his office closing the door. He did not pay any attention to the New Year being rung in. He was, in fact, trying to sleep, and at midnight, he had no feeling for celebrating. Seeing the children happy worked for a while, but the killer inside was starting to eat away at his gut. He always became edgy when this was happening. When the killer came forth, he was actually thrilled and filled with high anxiety for another murder. But leading up to it, he was moody. He still smiled at the kids and talked decently, but he tried to avoid the family as much as possible. Finally, he could not deny the monster within; so he instead welcomed it.

      Toward the end of January, he started riding around in his car. He visited other counties, desolate places, and looked at people. As he drove down a little-used road, he noticed a hitchhiker, a young man maybe twenty years old, with longish hair and the looks of a college kid. He looked in the rear-view mirror and saw no traffic and none up ahead either. As he passed the kid, he took a snub nose .38 revolver from his coat pocket. Stopping the car, he backed up some for the hitchhiker, who ran up to the car. As the kid opened the door, Gus said.

      “Happy Holidays.” 

Then he shot him in the chest. The hitchhiker grabbed his chest and slumped backwards into the weeds. Gus moved over and looked out the open door at him. He was dead, but to make sure he shot him in the head. Then he closed the door and drove off. At the next side road, he turned and sped away toward another highway. While he drove along he realized that even though he had enjoyed that, the kill wasn't really all that great; he knew he could do better. So he drove to another county, stopping for gas and a cup of coffee along the way. Then, he headed for an area where he knew there was a lake.