Cast of Characters:

Cody Schroder - main character
Brock Daniels - Sheriff of Astatula and Cody's father
Beth Sorensen - Sheriff Daniels confidant ppl
Ron Wilson - Channel 13 News' dolly grip
Ralph Steiner - Channel 13 News' weatherman
Bob Trumby - Channel 13 News' anchorman
Jim Kearney - Editor-in-Chief of the Astatula Gazette newspaper
Astatula Assassin - unidentified, cold-blooded, killer terrorizing the town



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"I ain't never murdered nobody, but the State of Texas is gonna kill me!" Lionel Simmons proclaimed. Neither wisdom or maturity were evidenced in the condemned serial killer's unkempt grey beard. Nor did the covering look mesmerizing with his elongated nose and bald head. Its snags and tangles in bad need of a cleansing trim, the unwashed and uncombed facial hair sprouted a rogue appearance.

The inward depression in his chest, an obvious case of pectus excavatum, was strapped taunt to a stainless-steel, heavy-duty, reinforced stretcher-framed gurney. Ponderous because of his enormous weight, the girth around his middle, and his disproportionate spindly legs, held other restraints. In a violent struggle, cold, metallic buckles fought against themselves to remain secured in place as a saline solution began to flow through the IV lines in his veins.

All present remained on high alert in case the new straps somehow failed and the six-nine behemoth became free. They witnessed the foot-controlled hydraulic backrest, casters with their central lock, padded armboards, and the gurney's beech wood powder coat finish. Simmons scanned the room in silence and plotted. Easy breaths were not drawn.

In his deliberate Tejano English East Texas drawl, with the region's famous linguistic twist, Warden Darren MacMurphy looked down at the low-class pelado bound in death's throes and snarled, "There is one person alone who can halt your demise, Simmons. However, Governor Santos has demonstrated no intention to spare your worthless life."

Simmons spit a loaded goober in the warden's face. In anger he retorted, "Vete a la chingada!"

Warden MacMurphy wiped his face dry with the back of his hand and stated, "You filthy warthog! I've already been there. The flames of Hell await you. Roast in them!"

The trenchant syringe of pentobarbital penetrated deep into the vein in Simmons' arm. The hooded executioner depressed A reticent telephone hung on the turquoise wall of the execution chamber. Stillness filled the air.

TV cameras rolled outside the Polunsky Unit of the Texas Death Chamber in Huntsville. Sweet, and full of allure, the ginger coquette Amanda Norton reported, "Listed among the crimes Lionel Simmons has been convicted of is the savage machete murder of his fifteen year old nephew Elijah Thompson in Abilene that occurred on March 26, 2007, for which he received the death penalty."

A gift from someone she once knew, Amanda looked at the Piaget Altiplano watch clasped around her left wrist. The diamonds afforded her self-worth. The reporter witnessed no protesters on the street. Eerieness settled over her as a slow F150, with a far-too noticeable dented front fender, approached. George Strait's "Check Yes Or No" blared from the radio. The dark Stetson perched on top of the tenderoni's head, and his dimpled chin, caught Amanda's flirtatious eye. The truck braked to a halt along the curb.

Raspberry Sorbet the flavor of the night, Amanda inhaled a deep breath and licked her creamy lips in anticipation. The feline purred into her microphone, "The local time is 8:13pm. Soon, Lionel Simmons will pay for his atrocities."



I ask you, does cannibalism sound like something a sane man would do? I've left cannibalism to the likes of the Milwaukee Monster Jeffrey Dahmer, and the Crossbow Cannibal Stephen Griffiths. All these years I've rotted away in my fifty-four square foot cage, I've remained in full control of my faculties. Now, they are prepared to strap me to this gurney. Condemn me if you must. The facts surrounding my case are detailed in the trial transcript."...

CHANNEL 13 NEWS COMES ON THE AIR IN A DIMINUTIVE WEST TEXAS PUEBLO.

"Good day, Astatula! I'm Bob Trumby and this is your noontime report. Once again China announces they will increase tariffs on more than 25 billion in US goods. This hike is made in response to President Pamela Donaldson's declaration she plans to increase taxes on 250 billion in products imported from China. Caught up in this trade war are American citizens who foot the bill for these taxes. President Donaldson calls for patience and patriotism, but the little man continues to suffer." Trumby rolls his eyes, pauses, then says, "We'll continue with other news in a moment, but first let's get a quick look at our weather with meteorologist Ralph Steiner."

Ron Wilson, Channel 13's dolly grip, zooms in on the weatherman. Small beads of perspiration dot Steiner's forehead. They are observed through the lens of the jib camera. A stylish wig covers Steiner's receding hairline. He wears a royal blue business suit and a coordinated grey striped tie. Steiner's patent leather wing-tips shine in the bright light of the studio. Behind him, an oversized wall chart depicts the high and low temperatures for the coming week. The graph accents the highs in periwinkle and the lows in crescent.

"We continue to monitor the imminent threat to South Padre Island Hurricane Darius poses. With landfall from the massive Category 4 storm anticipated to occur inside of the next thirty-six hours, all residents of the popular resort are ordered to evacuate for their safety. Meanwhile, much closer to home a ferocious heatwave persists in Crosby County. Scorching temperatures will remain in the high nineties at least through the middle of next week," Steiner's clear timbre rebounds.

From his seat at the anchor desk, Trumby shakes his head in disbelief.

"That makes sixteen days in a row, Bob, with no relief in sight," Steiner says.

In his Pepto-Bismol pink suit, the copper-haired newscaster chides the flamboyant weatherman. "That's not what we wanted to hear, Ralph. Don't you have any good news for us?"

"The news isn't all bad, Bob," Steiner beams.

Steiner's comment draws a look of consternation from Trumby. A broad smile crosses his face as he approaches the desk and explains, "Ten local, impoverished, families were the proud beneficiaries of shopping sprees to Wal-Mart last night in Channel 13's Clothe-A-Child community service project. Each of them received a hundred dollar gift card to purchase new clothes for their youngsters. Bright smiles and appreciative hearts abounded."

"Channel 13 would like to thank Hayden Feed and Seed, Tori's Motors, and Davis Farm Equipment. The continued support of our local sponsors helps make Clothe-A-Child a huge success. Be sure to visit them today and say much obliged," Trumby adds. He picks up a stack of papers, taps them together on top of his desk, and stares into the camera. "AFD Chief Ron Walton attributes last Tuesday's fire at the mall, that destroyed Imogene's Stitchery, to arson. Walton further reminds us fires are more susceptible to dry weather this time of year. A burn ban is in effect. And, in other news, the elusive Astatula Assassin remains at large."

King of his castle, Sheriff Brock Daniels picked up the remote control. Looking down at his uniform shirt he noticed a wrinkle. The furrow did not set well with the lawman. A swipe of his hand smoothed it out. Daniels grumbled, "Where in the world did you come from? I hate wrinkles. They make me look sloppy, and since I am a public figure I can not look like a grungy slipshod artiste."

He aimed the unit at his wall-mounted Emerson, pressed a button and said, "Bye-bye boob tube. Always the same old same old, but never anything informative."

Meticulous, the sheriff placed the clicker back in its rightful location as Beth Sorenson entered the room. She overheard his grousing and stated, "At least, our little hamlet allows you to work at home, Brock. That's a commodity you can't get in the big city."

The sheriff replied, "Believe me, Beth, working at home is a luxury I do not take frivolous."

The file the sheriff hunted swam somewhere within the sea of manila folders on the table. Frustrated at his inability to put his hands on it, his brooded tone sharpened. He said, "Didn't I ask Cody Michael to leave these files alone this morning while he ate his cornflakes before going to school?"

Daniels drummed his fingers on top of the table and fought off the festering mood he sensed about to explode. "That boy can be stubborn as a Great Dane when he sets his mind to such foolishness. Perhaps being grounded for two weeks will get the message through his obstinate, thick head and make him listen better when I ask him not to do something."

A devout crafter of small talk, Beth placed a cup of hot java in front of him and slipped into a high-backed chair. She replied, "Cody doesn't need to be grounded. He's a good kid in spite of all the scandalous rumors we here about him. Because of his background people sometimes misunderstand his intentions. That's all." Quickly, she changed the subject, "How did the killer come to be known as the Astatula Assassin, Brock?"

Sheriff Daniels sipped his coffee and explained, "Because of the savage peculiarity in which his first two victims epitomized butchery, Jim Kearney, the Editor-in-Chief of the Astatula Gazette newspaper penned the pseudonym on him." He looked up at Beth and remarked, "This coffee is hot! See the steam coming off it?"

Beth commented, "Well, trip the light fantastic. So, you still haven't found what you seek."

Sheriff Daniels feigned a grin, "No, I haven't, wiseacre. But, I will. That file's got to be here somewhere."

He rifled through them again as Beth layed her napkin on her lap.

The sheriff recalled, "It seems to me the newspaper enjoyed record sales the first day the headlines about the Astatula Assassin broke. In fact, some people have told me that edition is the only mullet wrapper they ever purchased."

Silent, Beth remained attentive.

"In some sadistic manner, I reckon the front page feature must have brought notoriety to the killer. As Andy Warhol once said, 'Everyone's entitled to their fifteen minutes of fame.'"

"In a case like this, doesn't it always?"

Sheriff Daniels noticed a plate Beth had placed on the table. Hungry, he queried, "Are those cheesy, double beef, burritos ready to eat?"

"Yes they are. I made them just for you, Brock. So enjoy!"

She sat one in front of the sheriff.

"Ah-ha!" He exclaimed locating the missing folder he stalked and jested, "You tried to escape from me you little rascal, but there you are." Proud of his discovery, he told Beth, "Clipped together inside this miniscule widget are several controversial comments pertaining to the Astatula Assassin. These crop up in the scandal sheets on a daily basis."

Beth observed the thickness of the file, "It seems everybody in town provides you with their own opinions about what you should do to make Astatula safe again and solve these murders, Brock,"

"That is what they pay me for."

The sheriff tossed the file into the garbage can that stood on the floor beside his chair and took a bite out of his exquisite burrito. His taste buds locked on the creamy chipolte sauce that flavored them. The tangy combination of adobe and smoked jalapenos excited his taste buds

"Mighty fine," he complimented Beth.

"Thanks, Brock. Glad you enjoy my creations. But, back the stallions up a moment, Cowboy. Didn't Cody cut those accounts out of the newspapers for his scrapbook?"

"The little munchkin'll never miss them."

"Where are you at on the investigation, Brock?"

"The normal rigmarole. I've assured the public my office does all that can be done to catch the killer."

"And, you looked cute on TV," Beth interrupts with a sly grin.

The sheriff studied her gregariousness and enjoyed her attractiveness. He stated, "I've also advised them to keep their doors and windows locked at all times." Not stupid, the seasoned lawman understood those protocols only went so far. "And, I've urged them to travel with at least one other companion, to stay off the streets after dark, and take whatever measures necessary to protect themselves."

"The Astatula Assassin is dangerous to the extreme," Beth agreed.

"I know this psycho's mode of operation, and I've seen his type before. But, what baffles me the most about him, Beth, is his penchant to acquire body parts like ears, noses, fingers, and toes as trophies of his defilement. What kind of demented abnormality does something like that?"

"A mentally de-arranged one."

Beth retrieved the half-emptied cask on the edge of the table and refilled their brandy snifters. Warm to the palate, the sweet digestif refreshed them and provided a pleasant end to their mid-day brunch. The chore completed, she expressed, "He reminds me of the Corpus Christie Cannibal. That animal butchered seventeen men and boys before he was stopped."

"As part of the task force assigned to bring that psychopathic whack job down, I know him well. And, I'll be damned if that's happening in Astatula!"

Beth smiled. She appreciated the sheriff's self-assured confidence.

Sheriff Daniels concluded, "You see, a brilliant woman once told me the key to unriddle the finer nuances of this mystery is to think the unthinkable, then do them. I'm close . I can feel it in my bones. I've got the grapes. Now it's time to discover the wine."