The trestle bridge murders

“Take my soul….” she whispers, out of breath as she lies motionless on the damp ground. He leans down and touches her lips with his. They remain breathless until she brings her cracked lips together once more.

“Now give it back.”

He screeches as blood trickles down his side. His shirt quickly saturates in red while he frantically wipes his wound. 

She watches him writhe in the dirt. He looks at her with pleading eyes, but she stands and walks away, leaving him alone in the field.

“Another one last night,” he said with a grimace, looking up.

“Cause of death?” he asks as he leans over the body.

“Undetermined…”

“Again?” he asks in disbelief.

He nods, “But there do seem to be some marks on his arms,” he says as he gingerly lifts the sheet covering the body.

“Any witnesses?” as he glances around, hoping to pinpoint anything useful in the vicinity.

“No.” They both stand as the sunlight begins to trickle through the foliage.

“Wrap this up before seven, I don’t want the press hearing about it. We need to find the killer to avoid turning this place into a frenzy.”

The whistling begins as we start moving towards the old trestle bridge. I tuck my coat in closer as the wind pulls on my clothes, threatening to unwrap me. Sadie and Max giggle and shoulder each other as they skip ahead. I know it’s been a while since anything happened on this bridge, but no matter how long it had been; I was always left with shivers long after we crossed it.

I hear the whistling again but this time it almost sounds human. I jog over to them and just as I reach them, I feel a hand on my shoulder and spin around but there is no one behind me. The yellowing leaves start to tremble, and dust gets picked up by the wind swirling around me.

“Guys, did you hear something?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

Sadie glances back at me, still smiling. “No.” Max looks at her and they giggle to each other again. I race ahead, not wanting to be in the rear any longer. I reached to adjust my scarf, but the fabric suddenly felt damp. Bringing my fingers up to my face, I see they are wet with blood.

When we get home, I strip my layers off and throw them in the washing machine before anyone can ask about them. That evening, we hear about the boy who was found dead under the bridge.

“Angela, can you grab me a coffee.” I clench my fists as I walk past him. I didn’t get into this job to get anyone coffee but instead of slapping back, I grab my coat.

“Sorry, I’m on my way out.” Before he can protest, I swing open the door and escape. I hadn’t planned on leaving the office, I was just on my way to grab a case file, but I couldn’t reduce myself to getting one more man a cup of coffee. It was about lunchtime anyway, so I picked up my phone and called Sadie.

“Hey, sis.” She sounds distracted, I hear children screaming in the background.

“Are you free for lunch?”

I’m met by her Saint Bernard, Goobie before I take my first step inside. She jumps onto me, her drool sticking to my clothes as she’s dragged off.

“Sorry, I haven’t had time to walk her.” She says that every time… I assure her it’s fine and hang up my now damp coat at the door. I carefully step over the children’s toys that litter the floor and find a seat at the kitchen counter. I have to push half-eaten plates of sliced apples and soggy cereal away to clear space for my elbows to rest.

“Where are the kids?” I ask. The house is suspiciously quiet, other than the sound of TV in the background.

“I gave them screen time,” she admits. I know that was not something she was proud of, so I dropped the subject.

“Do you want coffee?” I ask as I stand to start a pot.

“Oh no! That’s my job, Angie.” I ignore her. She doesn’t protest any further. I can tell she is grateful for the opportunity to sit.

“How’s the case going?” I smile with my back to her. No matter how many times I tell her I can’t share details about an ongoing investigation, she always asks.

“Nothing to report,” I say as I struggle to find clean mugs.

“Have they found any more bodies?” I freeze.

“You know I can’t talk about that, Sadie.”

“I know, I know,” she lowers her voice, “it’s just… getting to that time of year when it starts happening again. Why do you think the killer attacks now?” I can’t answer that question, even if I want to. In the years I had been working on the case, we still didn’t have a theory on why the attacks only happened in October. We have a few days left to catch whoever was behind all this before they strike again. We were only teenagers when the first victims were found. This plague on our town had been ongoing for over a decade. Years of no suspects, no theories, and no idea of who could be next. But we couldn’t admit that to anyone. All we could tell people was to stay away from the trestle bridge to avoid any encounters. It was unbelievable that not a shred of physical evidence had been found this whole time.

“I’m sorry Angie, I worry at this time of year.”

“I know, if I had any information to help with your peace of mind, I would share it…” There were no words of comfort I could offer. She knew my tips, don’t stay out past sunset, don’t go anywhere alone, and don’t go near the trestle bridge. It wasn’t comforting that we weren’t anywhere closer to cracking the case than ten years ago. I said I had to get back to work and see myself out, but not without being cornered by Goobie again. I fight her off and quickly grab my coat, zipping out the door.

It felt especially cold. I wasn’t sure if that was because of being insulated indoors or due of the talk we had just had. The last week of this month weighed especially heavy in my office. We were readying for the massacre. A frenzy we barely understand and can do nothing to prevent.

Most of the victims were younger, early twenties or teenagers. Those who braved the bridge usually went in groups. The killer only attacked when someone strayed too far behind. The attacks feel completely random and there aren’t ever any witnesses, but all victims were male.

I got a text that the office was closed due to a gas leak, so I started driving home for the day. I can’t stop thinking about the case and suddenly find myself on the edge of town. I hadn’t meant to drive to this area but was so lost in my thoughts that I somehow ended up here. I stop the car on the side of the road and start turning back but pause. I get out of the car and begin walking down the road, loose gravel crunching under my boots.

We only have a few days left to figure out who’s behind this, and I want to survey the area to see if there’s anything we missed. I feel unreasonably safe; we weren’t sure why the killer only acted within the confines of a month or why they only chose male victims. We weren’t even sure if this was a single killer, a group, or a copycat, everything was a possibility. I always believed it was one person, but I still had no theories about why they were doing this. 

Breathing in through my nose, I smell the cottonwood trees around me. I cross my arms over my chest as the wind picks up. I can hear the water moving and the bridge creaking and moaning before I see it. Surely something has been missed.  

At the edge of the bridge, I lean over carefully, the frothing water churning below. Falling from this height into the rocky river would likely kill someone. As soon as I turn to leave, something catches my eye on one of the metal bars beneath my feet. Kneeling, I reach my hand through the bars. I have to push my arm through to my shoulder to grab the object. I pull my hand back and find a scrap of faded blue fabric. It is tattered and worn and looks to be older, based on the design. I put the scrap in my pocket and make my way back to my car.

I hear movement behind me but when I turn around the path is desolate. I start to walk faster, suddenly aware of how stupid this idea was when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I spin around to face it but there is nothing again. I ran to the car, slamming the door and locking everything behind me. My heart races as I buckle in and start backing out.

Once home, I lock the doors and double-check the windows. I breathe a sigh of relief as I slump onto the couch. After kicking off my boots, I start removing my coat but spot a dark stain on the shoulder area. Huffing, I get up and rush to the sink, grabbing a sponge, trying to rinse it before it’s permanent. It wasn’t budging. I toss it in the washer with some detergent. I can’t afford a new coat right now.

While it starts up, I convince myself to eat something. I’m tired, but I’ve been skipping dinner a lot lately. With zero interest in cooking, I opted for a microwave meal. I grab a glass and fill it at the sink, setting it down on the counter. In that short moment of peace, I let my mind wander, but jerk up when the microwave beeps. I knock the glass over with my elbow and hurry back to the laundry room to grab a towel. A pop of color coming from the washer catches my eye before I leave the room. The glass window on the front churns and bubbles with rusty red water. I quickly stop the machine. Something must be malfunctioning. Once I let the water drain, I add in more detergent and set it to go, this time watching it as it runs. The clear water sloshes around and starts turning milky. Bubbles form and obscure my view, but I begin to see the water shift. It starts with a tinge of rusty maroon but quickly changes to bright, bloody red. I shut off the machine immediately.  When I open it, the overwhelming smell of iron hits me. I grab my soaking jacket, ringing it out. It gushes thick red liquid.

I try to put everything from my mind that night. The strange encounter by the bridge, the jacket, and my general feelings of unease. I put the fabric I found under the bridge beams in an evidence bag and go to bed, telling myself everything will make sense tomorrow. When the alarm beeps for a third time, I’m already running late. I grab a banana on my way out but come back when I realize I don’t have a jacket. I don’t have a good jacket for this weather other than the one I washed last night. I gingerly walk over to the dryer and pull it out. The light tan jacket has darkened to the color of diluted red wine. Whatever malfunction occurred last night ruined it, but I put it on anyway, I don’t have a choice.

I rush to work and head straight to the main detective for the October murders. I take the evidence bag out of my pocket and slam it on his desk when he doesn’t look up at me.

“What’s this?” he asks, his glasses sliding down his nose.

“I found it at the bridge yesterday, under the beams. Does it look familiar?” I ask.

“No,” he says as he barely looks at the bag. I roll my eyes and snatch it back.

I start pouring over evidence files. By the time I look up, most people are gone for lunch, and I still haven’t found anything. I head over to my desk after putting the files back but have one more idea. I look up the bridge in our system and all related cases come up, but I scroll back further. I skim the screen, anxious to find answers.

Another murder. Twenty years ago, a young girl. The information in the case describes her wearing a blue dress. I glance down at the fabric on my desk and then click through evidence photos almost too quickly, but find what I’m looking for. The fabric and pattern are a match for her dress… This case is unsolved as well.

There is a ten-year gap with different modes of operation, it would be farfetched to think these cases are related solely due to location, but at this point, I can’t totally discount anything. It’s the last day before it all starts happening again, we need to find answers. The entire office spends the day pouring through files, re-interviewing people, and chasing old leads but it all amounts to nothing. I walk out at 11 p.m., accepting I will not find anything in those dusty files tonight.

I roll down the window as I drive home, but suddenly decide to veer off the road towards the bridge. I figured if I was still awake, I may as well stake it out, maybe I can help avoid another tragedy. I park far enough that I’m still inconspicuous, but still able to observe everything. The moon is out tonight in full force, painting everything silver. The dim yellow lights installed by the town at each end of the bridge flicker incessantly.

Everything remains quiet until close to midnight. I hear them before I see any movement. A group of rowdy twenty-something-aged boys appear on the opposite side of the bridge, laughing and shoving each other. I bend down to the passenger footwell for my flashlight but when I sit upright again the boys are gone. I get out of the car and start jogging over to the bridge as quietly as I can, my heart racing. Once I reach it, I look around warily before I start making my way across. I pull on the neck of my jacket anxiously when I start hearing the whistling.

I reach for my holster, keeping a hand on it as I move. Everything is dead silent now. Once I reach the middle of the bridge, I see a flash of movement where the boys came from.

“It’s the police,” I say as confidently as I can, but my hands shake as I hold the gun out in front of me. I clench my jaw in anticipation. My wristwatch beeps. 12:00 am, October 1^st.

I hear a scream and sprint towards the woods across the bridge.

“Hello!” I yell as I race into the brush, flashlight on my shoulder. I hear scuffling nearby but can’t pinpoint its origin.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I spin around and am met by a woman in a blue dress. I pull the trigger in shock and hit her in her chest. She stumbles back a few steps and then looks directly at me. My breath gets caught in my throat. I drop the flashlight and leap to grab it and when I point the beam in front of me, she’s gone.

I race deeper into the woods when I hear another scream. I find her again, her back to me.

“Put your hands up,” I say firmly. She slowly turns towards me. I glance at the spot where she was shot but there isn’t a splotch of blood. I hit her point blank, there is no way she came out unscathed, the only evidence of the incident was the hole in her dress where the bullet had gone through. When I look back up, she is mere inches in front of my face. I fall back and frantically start crawling away from her as she flies towards me at an unimaginable speed. A thick tree trunk hits my back and I place my gun out between us. She doesn’t say anything, glancing down at the gun.

“Put your hands up,” I say with a trembling voice. “Put your hands up and I won’t hurt you.” My arms are weak as I hold my stance. I hear movement behind her and break my eyes away to see one of the young men, eyes wide in terror. He starts to run. She races after him.

I hear the boy screaming before I find them, he is dead before I arrive. There is no blood on her, or the victim, no murder weapon, and her body is hovering several inches above the ground. She used the half-second I took to assess the scene to escape, disappearing into thin air. I round up the remaining boys and call for backup as I start the engine to take off.

“Wait! Jake is still alive out there!” I jump out of the car, handing the keys to the boys.

“Stay here.” Heart pounding, I race to the bridge. Everything is still until I hear the whistling again. I take a step back towards the edge of the bridge, the water roaring below me.

The whistling picks up, and she appears before me. I lose my footing and teeter along the edge precariously. Back and forth.

Until I start to fall. The last thing I hear is the whistling before I meet the rocks.