Brush Creek Charlie by D. B. Reynolds (which ebook reader .txt) 📖

before she’d executed them. The laughing of two Vietnamese hookers rung into his ears. Sounds of ammunition taunted him. Demonic forces took over his mind. Kim was more frightened than she’d ever been.
Charlie clamped both of his powerful hands around her frail neck. He choked her with all his might. Her kicking and swinging were useless. Strength from unbelievable sources gained control of his body. She gasped for air, but all supply of oxygen was cut off. A sheet of purplish blood covered her whole face.
Gradually, she slumped to the ground. Her eyes bulged far out from the sockets. The death of a wandering hooker from Independence Avenue was over in less than six minutes. Charlie stared down at Kim like a worthless piece of garbage. As far as he was concerned, she deserved it. To say the least, he instigated the murder. The fun hadn’t even begun. He slung open the closet door and produced his favorite weapon of choice. The brightness of the full moon launched a sparkle to the blade of the Full Tang Monster Machete. The edges were scrupulously sharp. Charlie was ready to rip through some human flesh.
He dragged Kim’s body to the middle of the floor. To drown out noticeable sounds, he turned the television and stereo up to camouflaging levels. Her clothing was removed. The mutilating expedition began. Unlike his first victim, he sliced into areas near the limbs and torso. Blood squirted in every direction. The machete ripped through the tender flesh and bones of Kim like wet tissue. Charlie worked up a tiresome sweat. He was proud of his sophomore killing. Kim’s mutilated body parts were scattered all over the floor.
Charlie went into the kitchen and brought out two large trashbags. Piece by piece, the body parts were stuffed inside. Heavy blood dripped from the torso while thick puddles formed across the floor. Rotted blood carried odors which sent vultures flying the other direction. Charlie went under the kitchen sink to bring out his cleaning supplies. Ammonia and Lysol and Pinesol were spread evenly across the floor. Scalding hot water and a mop made the bloody mess disappear. Sneaking the bags out of his apartment and into his car was the next challenge.
He jumped at the sound of a vicious knock to his front door. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Derrick and Mitchell from downstairs,” Derrick replied, his voice at its angriest.
“What this time?”
“The loud stereo and television playing.”
“Guys, you have to forgive me. My hearing’s going bad.”
“Do know about a hearing aid?”
“You’re right.”
“What’s with all the pounding noises?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Charlie, it sounded like you’re up here chopping something up.”
“Nobody’s chopping anything up,” Charlie lied, his own fear being produced.
“Are you in there doing something you’ve got no business?”
Charlie felt victimized. Gay men were the most bothersome people in the world. To him, they were nosier than women. “Everything that goes on inside my apartment is legit.”
“Could you open the door, Charlie?”
“Right now I’m busy.”
“Next time, Mitchell and I are going to show up at your door with the police. Now, I’ve warned you before about disturbing people here at The Rosenburg. People do have to get up and go to work in the morning.”
“Sorry guys, it won’t happen again.”
Derrick and Mitchell went back downstairs to their apartment. Peace and quiet were the only things they desired. Besides enjoying one another, they looked after other residents at The Rosenburg. Good cooking and steamy homosexual activities were their favorite pasttimes. Charlie played it smart. He waited at least two hours before transporting the trashbags out of his apartment. He cracked his door and peeped out. A level of quietness faltered throughout the first and second floors. He looked out the windows and the streets were clear. The bags were snatched off the floor and the journey to his car began.
Coming to the bottom of the stairs, Charlie unexpectedly met up with Mrs. Hazel Robinson. She was old, but still as sharp as the wisest serpent. Mrs. Robinson possessed a meticulous inner sense which told her when something suspicious went on.
“Taking your trash out, Charlie?” she asked Charlie, her voice layered with doubt.
Charlie only hoped she wouldn’t notice any odors coming from the trashbags. “Yes, taking it out for the trashmen to collect.”
“This late at night?”
“Like they say, better late than never,” Charlie smiled, his nerves shot.
“But the trashmen don’t come until next week.”
Old women were pesty to him. They were lonely and disenchanted. Between Derrick and Mitchell or Hazel Robinson, who was worse? Charlie saw them as the greater or lesser of the nerve-wrecking parasites.
“Mrs. Robinson, sometimes the bags fill up with trash, and the smell stinks up my apartment. The only way to keep my apartment fresh is to take the trash out early.”
“Know what you should do?”
“And what’s that?”
“Spray air freshener, burn candles, and light incense.”
“Sounds good, but I’d rather do it my.”
“If you insist.”
Mrs. Robinson stepped back into her apartment and locked the door. Charlie wasted no time racing for his car.


CHAPTER—16

A single bright star dominated the clear nighttime skies above Kansas City, Missouri. The time was 2:33 a.m. A glowing full moon poured an alluring burst of light down onto Brush Creek. While being new at his title of “serial killer”, Charlie operated in a covert and systematic manner. He dumped the mutilated body of Lisa Wallace close to The Country Club Plaza. Dropping another body near the same area would’ve been juxtaposed. Charlie parked his car near the intersection of Cleveland Avenue and Blue Parkway. He looked around and then popped the trunk to his car.
The bags came out of his trunk. He scanned nearby neighborhoods to make sure none of the residents were on their porches or looked out their windows. Rabbits, squirrels, possums, birds, and even geese and hawks, they traveled to and from their inner sanctums in Brush Creek. The creek waters were calm. A mild breeze of ten miles per hour blew from the north. The usual noises of traffic from out on Brush Creek Boulevard had long ceased.
All pedestrians were gone. Charlie carried the bags to the concrete walkway of the creek. A perversed, yet feeling of monstrosity, overtook him. The bloodthirsty maniac stood at the banks of the water holding the bags to the sky. The untamed beast started his ritual. A rage detonated deep inside of him.
“War has no fucking beginning, and it has no end!” Charlie yelled, his voice not heard by nearby residents.
Sweat dampened the skin around his face and neck. Rabbits and squirrels jumped from trees and out of their holes after he made his cry.
“Brush Creek!” Charlie squalled, trembles rocking his body. “I make this sacrifice to you. I make no amends that you are the greatest marvel ever known to man. Brush Creek, I live you, I breathe you, I think you, I eat you, I sleep you, I dream you, I work you, and I will certainly die for you. Please accept my sacrifice. Please take this whore that I have mutilated and accept her as my sacrifice.”
Charlie looked out at the rippling waters. His reflection casted a picture he wasn’t pleased with. Emotional scars stabbed deep into his heart. Large sewer rats from tunnels on the other side of the creek showed up for their early morning hunting. Fish were tucked under the creek bed. The rats sifted through the brush of the woods. Charlie threw the bags into the water and watched them float downstream. The crack of daylight hadn’t come. A steady stream of cars drove up and down Brush Creek Boulevard. Street lights lit up the surrounding wooded area. Charlie had accomplished what he’d set out to do. Another mutilated body stuffed in trashbags floated unnoticed through the waters of Brush Creek.


CHAPTER—17

Workers with the Department of Parks and Recreation were assigned to clean up trash around the more littered parts of Brush Creek. Near the intersection of Brush Creek Boulevard and Blue Parkway, maintenance crews policed the area for cans, bottles, fast food sacks, old car tires, and garbage bags. People were just too lazy to set their trash out for city workers. Maintenance crew supervisor Michael Scott worked alongside his employees to help rid Brush Creek of trash and excess tree brush.
Michael noticed two trashbags floating at the middle of the creek waters. A stomach-twisting stench came from the bags. Insects crawled from out of tiny holes. Something rattled rather wildly from inside. Michael had a feeling, and the feeling wasn’t good. Using a long tree branch, he poked at the bags until they floated to the banks. The stench became more irritable. The rattling of the creature inside intensified. Parks and Recreation workers stopped their duties to see what their boss had discovered.
“These lazy ass people who live close to Brush Creek,” Michael complained, using the tree branch as a protective tool. “They’ve worked my last good nerve. I’ll bet there’s a bunch of rotted food inside these bags. Anybody wants to make a ten dollar bet? Bets are open, guys.”
“What’s that rattling noise?” asked Johnny Davis, one of Michael’s veteran workers.
“Probably a possum.”
“Or some creature that lives here in Brush Creek.”
Michael ripped the bags open. The ghastly sight inside made him and his group of workers jump back and cup their mouths. The stench rushed up their noses, nearly giving them migraine headaches. Between both trashbags, five large sewer rats jumped out, then diving under the murky creek waters. They’d been feasting on the decaying mutilated body parts. Thousands of voracious maggots did some feasting of their own.
“Jeeeeeeesh!” Michael shrieked, one hand covering his nose, the other hand covering his mouth. “That’s a cut up body inside both of these bags.”
“Nothing’s hardly left of that body,” Johnny added, wanting to throw up.
“The rats and the maggots left little meat and lots of bones.”
“Think we should call the police?”