Twisted Retribution Read online

  Copyright © 2019

  Howard Bond Media Group, LLC

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This story has been inspired by a series of true events. However, names and identifying details may have been changed in order to protect the privacy of individuals. In certain incidents, characters and timelines have been changed for dramatic purposes. Certain characters may be composites, or entirely fictitious. Any resemblance that fictional elements may have with actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  To all the women who suffer abuse

  and resulting mental health struggles.

  I pray your journey brings safety and peace.

  Other books by Donna Arp Weitzman

  Cinderella Has Cellulite and Other Musings of a Last Wife

  Sex & the Siren: Tales of a Later Dater

  The Wind Blew Innocent: A Memoir

  Dear Melania: Love Advice from a Relationship Expert

  Foreword

  I grew up on a farm in Montague County, Texas, near the Red River. The dirty river derived its name from the red mud that stuck to everything that came into contact with it. Montague County was the northern border, a 1930s iconic bridge separating the states of Texas and Oklahoma.

  In 1979 cell phones didn’t exist in Montague County, but the gossip that ensued on the party line phones served as the information source for most of its residents. I moved to the Dallas area for work, but being a Southern girl, I made sure to call my mother every week. She kept up with the local news through the thin weekly paper, the three available television stations, and of course, the hotline: her white wall phone.

  One day she answered my call saying, “Donna, you’ll never guess what happened!” I was mildly curious, thinking one of my mother’s elderly friends had baked a festival-winning cake or a grandchild had helped win a local basketball tournament.

  “Mrs. Rich was found murdered!” she breathed into the line. Murder in Montague County was rare, typically saved for dysfunctional families.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. What? Who? And why would anyone kill Mrs. Rich?

  My mother went on to tell me that a drifter had stayed with Mrs. Rich for several days working as her handyman. Mrs. Rich was a widow and would sometimes take in borders to help her meager social security check stretch farther.

  “His name is Henry Lee Lucas,” my mom said. “They say he chopped up her body and put it in a pot-bellied stove! Now he’s on the run.”

  I was horrified by the thought of the elderly and frail Mrs. Rich dying in such a grizzly manner. The name Henry Lee Lucas has haunted me for four decades through the memories of a tiny town, a lonely old woman trying to survive, a knife sharp enough to cut bone, and a nasty, black potbellied stove serving as the corpse’s coffin.

  Later when I heard Lucas was caught, we learned he had likely killed other people. Rumors around Texas were that he was a cannibal, he had killed more than 500 people, and was a necrophiliac. Henry Lee became an informant with the state agencies and served as a consultant on murders committed throughout the US. He often admitted guilt to unlikely homicides so he could stay out of federal prison in Huntsville, Texas—a maximum security facility housing only the hardest of criminals. Henry Lee would live there until he died. Rumors again said he was a model inmate and even found religion, as many of the incarcerated do.

  I hated this man although, thankfully, I never met him. My mother was not a close friend to Kate Rich but had known her most of her life. If Mrs. Rich could die at the hands of a deranged maniac, no one was safe.

  Since 1979, every television show and news outlet reporting on serial killers always revived the image of Lucas in my mind. When considering writing a crime thriller, he was my natural interest.

  Twisted Retribution is not based on real life characters, nor are the names of any persons in the book accurate except the public names of Henry Lee Lucas and Ottis Toole. The book’s characters are fictional accounts based on actual people who may or may not have committed any crimes in their lifetimes and are composites of some people I have known.

  These characters, as all of us do, have periodically twisted thoughts, bizarre fantasies, and unmet needs. The difference between normal people and the characters in Twisted Retribution is a healthy psyche and loving heart. I’m not sure the people I dreamed up in this book possess either.

  I hope you enjoy Twisted Retribution and momentarily put yourself in some of the situations the characters face. What would you do?

  Donna Arp Weitzman

  1

  “Dear God, my face hurts.”

  Sarah prayed silently as she wiped the cuts across her cheek. Her mind raced, and she dabbed at the fresh blood stains covering previous scars made by her husband’s right hand.

  Sarah had made a promise to God that for better or worse, she’d stay with Pete forever. She told herself that God would reward her in Heaven for staying with her husband.

  Blood erased and makeup applied, Sarah went downstairs to start dinner. “I’ll make Pete’s favorite tonight, pan-fried steak and potatoes,” she told herself and then added, “I promise, God, to be a better wife.”

  Sarah was a fast and efficient cook because Pete had no patience for slow or messy. He wanted everything on the kitchen cleaned up by the time he sat down to eat.

  “Put a lid on that meat,” she scolded herself, knowing that any spattering grease spots from the frying pan might cause Pete to administer another blow to her body anywhere he could reach first.

  “Stop the tears,” she commanded. “God is with me! I’m a good wife.” She prayed that her punishments from Pete remained the secrets of the Sears family. No one could ever know. He’d beat her to death if word ever got out.

  “Honey, come to supper,” she called up the staircase to her husband. Pete had worked as a telemarketer for many years, a new and growing trend in sales that allowed employees to work from home. The job required only a phone, and working at home proved ideal for Pete. He had free time to hunt and take on handy man projects as he chose. Money was much looser when Pete was officially employed. He was on the phone most of the day talking to customers in stilted, pseudo-friendly conversation. Pete hated most everyone he spoke to.

  Sarah learned quickly never to interrupt his conversations. Any disturbance by her could set Pete off in a rampage. Someone would pay, either a sudden blow to the little black rescue dog they had early in their marriage or Sarah with some form of punishment.

  “Honey, come to supper,” she called softly again outside the door of an upstairs bedroom that Pete used as an office.

  His steak and potatoes were half-finished when the house phone rang. Sarah picked up the receiver and greeted her daughter Olivia.

  “Mom, I’m at church and won’t be home until late,” the teen informed her mother. Olivia was a church regular, unlike most fifteen-year-olds. Sarah’s deep faith had penetrated Olivia’s soul early in her life. For this, Sarah was grateful to God and especially to Reverend Thomas who headed their local congregation.

  “Okay, baby. Say a prayer to God for me,” Sarah said and hung up.

  Pete, who had made his way downstairs to the kitchen by then, scowled at Sarah. “That kid just uses the church as an excuse to get out of housework. Can’t you see that?”

  Sarah nodded, afraid to disagree. She was thankful that Pete never lost his temper with Olivia. A loving mother will willingly take the abuse to save her children. Sarah accepted her fate alone, happy she could withstand the situation.

  Sara
h never gave up hope that Pete’s temper would soften and he’d take Jesus in his heart. Jesus was the only way to salvation in Sarah’s eyes.

  Pete had nasty manners, never waiting for Sarah to join the meal. He was silent other than making chewing sounds with the meat. He peered at Sarah, finally barking, “Cover up your face. It’s ugly and bruised.”

  Sarah immediately hurried up the stairs to do a better makeup job.

  After his meal, her husband went back upstairs to watch his favorite Westerns on a small, black and white television in his office. Sarah cleaned the kitchen and later silently slid between the bed covers hoping he wouldn’t demand sex. Sometimes after a beating, Pete was sexually aroused and forced Sarah to relent.

  The clock seemed to tick faster as Sarah listened for Olivia walking down the upstairs hall to her bedroom. Finally, around 11:00, the familiar screech of the kitchen screen door announced Olivia had returned. Sarah, who was still alone in the bed, half-smiled and hoped to remain undisturbed the rest of the night. Maybe Pete would fall asleep on his office couch and not enter their bed tonight.

  Saturday mornings were dangerous, as Pete didn’t work. It was highly likely he would have a temper flare-up over something, with only God knowing the reason. Sarah busied herself, staying out of his line of sight. Olivia slept until after noon on many Saturdays.

  Pete paid all the household and family expenses. Inflation was biting into the Sears household, especially with Pete’s company spending less and less on their telemarketing division.

  Pete’s hours were dwindling, and the strain showed on the Sears family budget. “Goddammit!” Pete yelled one Saturday morning, throwing the family checkbook across the kitchen table. “Why in the hell do you spend so much?”

  Sarah was silent.

  She prayed that she might find outside work and Pete might agree for her to take a job. She knew this scenario could cause him to punish her, but maybe God could convince him it would help the family. Sarah glanced at Pete and barely made a sound when she spoke.

  “Maybe I could find a job,” she offered. Pete glared at her without responding and walked out the back door.

  Sarah thought about the Sears’ neighbor Johnny Campbell who worked for the Montague County sheriff’s department as a deputy. He often chatted with Pete across the wire fence between their two properties, telling him the goings on in the little rural county. Sarah was fascinated by law enforcement. She believed wholeheartedly in the Old Testament principle of “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” This summed up Sarah’s beliefs, except when it came to marriage. The woman must take a backseat only to her husband, not other men. Sarah had schooled Olivia early about never letting a man hit or abuse her.

  “I promise, Mom. Nobody will hit me and get away with it,” her daughter had assured her.

  Today Johnny was cutting his grass close to the Sears’ fence line. Olivia was out visiting friends. He waved at Pete, who started to walk his way. Sarah could hear the two men laughing and hoped Johnny’s local stories would put Pete in a good mood.

  She went out on the front porch and waved at Johnny, who called out, “Hey, Sarah, come here a minute.” Sarah had a habit of doing what she was commanded, so she walked over to the men.

  “Didn’t you go to college?” Johnny asked, looking at her intently.

  “Just for two years,” Sarah answered apologetically, wary of Pete’s demeanor. Pete never liked Sarah having any power over him, and Sarah never mentioned her two years at community college since she got her degree before Pete did.

  “What did you study?” Johnny persisted.

  Sarah hoped his conversation would end quickly. “Psychology,” she murmured.

  “Wow,” Johnny smiled and continued. “We’re gonna have an opening in the county sheriff’s office. Having a little college might give you a leg up. Shoot, having a little extra money around the house is never bad. Right, Pete?”

  Sarah was acutely aware of the danger lurking in this conversation. Pete was hiding his fury from Johnny but would unleash it when he and Sarah were alone later. His manhood had been threatened by his wife’s discussing her uppity education with another man. Sarah would pay for this.

  She hurried back in the house, leaving Pete silently fuming and Johnny unaware of the harm he’d done. She started rattling pans, making it obvious she was cooking supper and prayed Pete would collapse on the couch and let this one go.

  She was opening the refrigerator just as Pete came charging through the back door. Stunned, she couldn’t deflect Pete’s fist jammed into her face and reeled from the blow. Pete wasn’t finished with one hit. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head inside the cold ice box, its contents spilling on top of her head and falling on the floor.

  Demeaned and injured, Sarah began to cry.

  “Yeah, cry you stupid bitch. Call your mama,” Pete taunted. “Pray, pray. That’s all you do. How did I get stuck with such a bitch?” He stomped into the living room.

  Sarah’s head pounded and hands shook as she cleaned splashes of milk on the shelf where he had jammed her head. Pete would use any handy prop to get across his message.

  Since it was a Saturday, Olivia would be home any moment now. Sarah had to hurry to finish dinner. Pete was quick to blame Sarah if it wasn’t ready when he wanted to eat. He liked the family to sit together, the storybook family.

  Sarah had learned efficiency was far better than the punishment for being slow. A pan-fried steak and microwave baked potato would do in a hurry. Sarah sliced the lettuce, marveling briefly at the clean, sharp blades whisking through the lettuce head. Only for the briefest of moments, she allowed a morbid fantasy of running the kitchen knife across Pete’s bearded neck and watching oxblood liquid ooze out among the scraggly hairs.

  Sarah immediately said a prayer to Jesus, asking his forgiveness. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she whispered faintly. Trusting Jesus, she felt relieved she had such a powerful supporter. Her devout belief made life bearable.

  Olivia slammed the kitchen door, announcing her arrival. “Where’ve you been?” Sarah asked lovingly, but curiously. “I thought you’d be home a couple of hours ago.”

  Olivia grimaced but answered, “I stopped by the church. Reverend Thomas needed a volunteer for some things.” Innocently wanting to help God’s house. Sarah felt proud of her daughter.

  “Do I need to offer to help too?” Sarah asked.

  “No!” Olivia snapped. “I’m volunteering, and that’s all the help he needs. You’re always butting in.”

  “Well, let’s eat then,” Sarah said and left the subject alone. Olivia could be so difficult at times. Pete’s temper was always boiling in her psyche, and Sarah certainly didn’t need two difficult companions.

  “Olivia, would you call your father?” Sarah was fighting back the tears, momentarily remembering the demeaning and hostile behavior Pete had administered only minutes before.

  Entering the kitchen door, Pete blew a kiss to Olivia. He loved his daughter as only a man with his limitations could do. She was his blood, which was paramount to Pete.

  Sarah sat down after Pete and Olivia had taken their seats. She was a good cook, and the steak was juicy and filling. The all-American family ate mostly in silence, emotional distance overwhelming the need to connect.

  Olivia suddenly announced she had to go and left the table. Pete frowned, but Sarah never disciplined Olivia in Pete’s presence. The girl seemed hurried and ran upstairs to her room. She returned donning a jacket, as the fall weather brought chilly nights.

  “Where are you off to?” Pete questioned Olivia.

  “Just with friends, Daddy,” she answered as the door slammed and she was gone.

  Sarah’s instincts had been on high alert with Olivia over the last few months. She suspected an unknown boyfriend, maybe alcohol, and even drugs.

  But what could she do? God said in the bible, “Spare the rod and spoil the child” didn’t he? Sarah felt that Olivia was getting away with
things she shouldn’t because Pete provided cover for his only daughter.

  Sarah observed Pete carefully as he slid the chair back to get up from the table. She desperately hoped for no more altercations. All she looked forward to for the remainder of this Saturday evening was being left alone, cleaning the kitchen quickly, and praying under the covers that Pete was too tired to say a word.

  Sundays were Sarah’s favorite day. She left early for Sunday school and always stayed for Reverend Thomas’ powerful message from God. This weekly four-hour respite provided Sarah with the strength and sanity for another six and one-half days.

  There were many weeks Pete didn’t lay a hand on Sarah but instead chose to batter her emotionally. Belittling her looks, her aptitude for most anything, and speaking in harsh tones were his specialties. Pete only complimented his wife in the presence of others, and it served him well. He particularly liked to mention how he’d married a woman of God and that she’d never do anything to disappoint God.

  “Sarah doesn’t believe in divorce,” he’d proudly state when neighbors announced another couple was breaking up. Sarah would nod dutifully in agreement.

  Through beatings and insults, Sarah had begun to question her family bible. Weren’t there instances when a broken family was better than an abusive one?

  She trusted Reverend Thomas completely and stopped by his office to discuss this issue on a Wednesday afternoon under the guise of taking food to church members in need. His door was ajar and she saw the ever patient and wise Reverend Thomas bent over his bible in deep thought and obvious communion with God. Sarah was hesitant to interrupt. Lightly moving the heavy wooden door to his chambers, the reverend called out, “Sarah, is that you?”

  Startled at his use of her name, Sarah instantly recoiled, afraid Pete would somehow find out she was discussing their marriage with a stranger. This might be grounds for another trip to the hospital where Sarah would have to feign a nasty fall again.