Read Online The Camaro Murders by Ian Lewis - Free Book Online

There’s just too much coincidence for my liking.
    Where would I pick things up after all this time? There’s nothing the girl can offer, because an empty field offers no evidence. And the boy…I have no idea where he is anymore. I would have to ask around—friends of the family and whatnot.
    No, the best place to start is the Mendelssohn farm. I don’t know what I’ll find, but it’s nearby and hopefully accessible. The last I heard, the estate was stuck in probate. That was maybe eight to ten years ago…but I have to start somewhere.
    I roll over and throw my other arm over Josie. Sometimes I think she’s the only thing that keeps me sane. Still, I’m hesitant to bring her in on this one. She’s too grounded to go for phantom cars and the like.
    Normally I confide in her just about anything, and she’s always willing to support me. But I can’t have her questioning my good sense on top of everything else. I don’t want to shake her confidence in me. It just won’t do.
    I close my eyes because I feel like I made up my mind, but there’s another gust of wind—and something else. I almost don’t hear it and so I listen for it again. There—it sounds like a motor. Somebody’s revving their motor outside.
    It keeps up and gets louder, almost like it wants to be noticed, and I know I’ve heard that sound before. I slip out of bed, not believing what I hear. It can’t be. Through parted blinds, I confirm the worst.
    The Camaro is out on the road, rocking with each thrust of the engine. The exhaust is drifting across the yard. God bless it! I’ve got to get my gun.
    No—there’s no time. The tires smoke and the car drifts forward, the rubber waiting to catch. Then, howling like the motor is going to blow, the car is gone.
    I feel my sanity drop like dead weight. “It can’t be,” I say to myself. “It just can’t.”
    â€œEustace?” Josie sits up in bed; I’ve woken her. “What’s the matter?”
    â€œNothing, honey. Go back to sleep.” I can’t tell her. I won’t.

The Driver’s Bequest
    October 30th, 1986
    The Driver keeping watch
    The little girl on the cot is silent, curled up in the fetal position. The last of the daylight is waning through the cottage’s only window and falls near her feet.
    I have a lot to explain to her, but I don’t know where to start. A year ago I found myself on one of the cots like her, and Jasper was sitting in the folding chair like I am now. The role reversal doesn’t make it easier.
    It doesn’t matter that they tell you not to watch the first time, because you know what’s coming. You know what’s going to take place in a bedroom, an alley, or some desolate field.
    A life will be taken by force, and however it comes to be, you will watch with the fascination of a child seeing something hideous, twisted, or gross for the first time. By then it’s too late to look away.
    They warn you for good reason. What unfolds is often brutal. The first time, most usually double over and retch, and then wait for the bile and stomach juices which never come. Protests go unheard; screams are in vain. The most dangerous thing is to pity or empathize with the victim. This is the mistake I made with the girl.
    â€œI saw you running through the woods, and then out into the field,” I say to let her know I was there. She needs to understand it wasn’t a dream. “The biting air and rapid breathing stung your throat, and your vision blurred as your eyes began to water. But you didn’t cry, even though you were scared.
    â€œHe was following you; you could hear his gasps as he pursued you. The sky was like the pale water colors you painted in class. Could he hear your heart beating? It must have been so loud. It was echoing in your head.
    â€œYou wondered why your legs wouldn’t move faster. They were short,