Abraham’s Trees

by Alicia Maria Smith

June 30, 1981

Josie Meredith Holmes, dressed in white shorts and a purple top, rode her bicycle in a lazy S pattern down the newly paved street in front of her house. The soft summer breeze carried the earthy scent of sagebrush. With summer came freedom. With summer came the return of her best friend, Lacy. Why Lacy had to go live with her grandmother every winter was a puzzle Josie hadn’t solved. She gripped the handlebars and stood up on the pedals, her pigtails flapping against her back. Glancing down at her new, red Converse sneakers, she listened to the clattering playing cards pinned to the spokes. She coasted along the empty pavement laughing at the burst of chickadees flying out of the large Bur Oaks that lined the sidewalk.

The sound of a dog barking with excitement brought her to a stop. It sounded like Ray. What would Ray be doing out of the yard? Her heart boomed so hard she thought it would pop out of her chest.

“Ray, is that you?” She dropped the bike and ran around a tan van parked at the curb. “Ray, where are you, boy?” The van door opened with a screech. A tall, thin man, wearing faded blue jeans jumped out. The sound of a dog barking blasted from the speakers inside the van.

“Hello, Josie.”                                                                                                     

Josie stumbled backward. Scream, she thought as his hand, smelling like Dad’s arm pit after he finished his daily run, closed over her mouth. Her feet kicked at the air sending a bright red sneaker flying as she was tossed into the van’s black interior. A lightning bolt of pain shot through her knee as the bike struck her before bouncing to a stop at the back of the van.

“Time to go,” were the last words she heard as his fist met her jaw. Chickadees settled on the branches of the Bur Oak trees watching as the van pulled away.

July 2, 1981

Abraham sat at a battered wooden table. His back straight, his feet flat on the floor. Touching his right index finger to his parched lips, he tilted his head and smiled. A brilliant blue-white flash of lightning split the cloud-drenched sky as if sliced in two by a Damascus sword. He closed his eyes and counted. One thousand and one, one thousand and two, one thousand and three, stopping when an earsplitting boom of thunder rolled over the mountain.

“Seven miles away,” Abraham opened his watery gray eyes. Reaching down, he brushed the matted strands of hair from the young girl’s face. “Let’s go.” Standing, he held out his callused hand.

            Josie scrambled backward, her muddy jeans catching on splinters that pierced the material and pricked her skin. She grimaced, her tear-stained face white behind smudges of dirt.

            “Please,” she whispered. “I want to go home.” Spatters of blood dotted the front of her T-shirt like ladybugs settling down for the night. The acrid smell of urine stung her nostrils. She rubbed her nose and sneezed. “Please.”

            Abraham pulled Josie out the door.

“Am I going home now?”

He slid the heavy wooden panel across the door opening, turned around and pointed down the path. “Walk.”

Josie gripped the man’s hand, squeezing tighter at the sound of a hooting owl. She shuddered as rain poured down, saturating her long brown hair. Momma said rainwater makes your hair soft, she thought, as tears joined the rain.

            “Am I going home now?” she whimpered. “Momma doesn’t like me out after dark.”

            Abraham dropped her hand as he stooped under a low hanging branch, avoiding a hook dangling above his head. He reached up and hung the Coleman lantern. Rain slammed on the leaves, shaking them like popcorn in a pan.

            He pointed at the large tarp laying on the ground. Josie nodded and sat down.

Abraham knelt beside her, caressed her shivering cheek and snapped her neck.

Using a branch from a scrub oak, Abraham wiped out the footprints from the burial site hidden from the Cherry Canyon Logging Trail. It was perfect. Not many hikers walked up this area of Lone Peak. No dogs were allowed. By mid-July it would be swamped with hikers. By then, the evidence would be gone. He shoved the bicycle under a thicket of chokeberries. No one dared paw through them.

Abraham didn’t consider himself a classic serial killer. No, he considered himself a perfectionist, and in his mind, a careful, successful person. Yes, he would admit, he did kill his first cat at an early age. He excelled in school, had a desirable girlfriend and he loved his parents. In fact, Abraham considered his life mid-America normal.

The spark that lit the fuse was a book. Released August 17, 1980. A Stranger Beside Me.

Abraham was mesmerized. Ann Rule could be describing me, he thought after reading the book for the eighth time. Abraham rubbed his eyes, placed the book on the glass night table and smiled. But, he laughed, I am so much smarter. He got greedy, lost control.

I have a plan, he mused. Abraham liked long hair, smooth pink skin, tight little bodies. They were made to be played with, Daddy told him. There for the taking. He knew just where to begin.

July 3, 1981

            “Ok, men, this is our new case.” Sheriff Halfinger pointed at the bulletin board covered with information about the case of a twelve-year-old girl named Josie Meredith Holmes. “Report came in this morning; kid’s been missing since late afternoon yesterday. Usual delays, parents divorced. Each thought the other had her. They live on the same street.”

            “Any chance she just ran away?” Chief Randolph put his feet up on the desk dotted with cigarette burns. “Right age, isn’t she?”

            “Not according to the parents or the neighbors. We found that sneaker lying in the road. Her parents said they were her birthday present a week ago. No signs of her bicycle. She’s just gone.”

            “We’ll give it a day or two. She’ll show up. Hiding out with friends or something; you know how flighty girls can be.” The sheriff heaved out of the chair, his distended abdomen straining his shirt. He picked up the shoe and tossed it in the bottom drawer. “Tell her parents to let us know when she comes home.”

            “But sir,” Sheriff Halfinger protested. “The evidence.”

            “Probably dropped the shoe from her bag. Go on now. We’ll check into this in a couple of days. I can assure you she will be back home all contrite.”

The news of Josie’s disappearance made the papers the next day. The daily newspapers headlined her kidnapping for a week, then relegated her story to weekly, then once a month, then not at all. Three months later, Sheriff Randolph received a demotion for his handling of the case.

Josie’s shoe, covered with dust, sat in the desk drawer, forgotten.

  Abraham sat at home and planned his next trip. Pleasant Grove.

June 30th, 1982

Annie Felder hated the Rowland Hall Middle School uniform. Who likes dresses anyway, and why on earth would anyone want to wear black buckle shoes and white tights. She sprinted down the hall and skidded into the girl’s bathroom. Ten minutes later, Annie, wearing blue shorts and a new tube top that stopped just above her bellybutton, jumped on her bicycle and sped out of the parking lot. Her Minnie Mouse backpack bounced with each turn of the pedal.

Her mother disapproved. She was determined to raise Annie in the Faith. And the Faith did not approve of showing so much skin. Dad understood her; Mom didn’t even try.

            Dad had promised to take her to the Purple Turtle Diner for dinner.

A lump of yellow fur lying beside the curb caught Annie’s eye as she turned down her street. Andy, she thought. No, it couldn’t be him. He doesn’t leave the yard unless he’s on a leash.

Annie dropped her bike and ran to Andy’s side. He nuzzled her hand as a strained whine escaped his throat.

A tan van pulled to the curb. The dog’s ears jerked at the screech of metal on metal as the sliding door opened. Abraham walked over to Annie.

            “Hello, Annie. Andy looks hurt.” Drops of spittle mixed with chewing tobacco sprayed from his mouth as he looked Annie up and down. “Help me load him in the van. I’ll take him home for you.”

Annie froze, unable to move her legs.

“Come on now; let’s go.”

The van clipped the front of Annie’s bicycle and headed in the opposite direction of her home. The front tire of her bike was still spinning as they disappeared around the corner.

Pleasant Grove, Utah woke to a new headline. Annie Felder, eleven years old, left the Rowland Hall Middle School on her bicycle and never made it home.

July 2, 1982

            Annie groaned as she opened her eyes and wiggled her numb fingers; at least she thought they wiggled. Her body wouldn’t cooperate. Her thin, bare arms were stuck behind her back. Oh, my god, she thought. Why can’t I move. Am I dead? Did he finally kill me? She squeezed her eyes shut as a piercing light hit her like bullets from gun. Goosebumps stood at attention as cold air danced on her pale skin. The previous day was a blank. She couldn’t remember why she was lying on a cold floor.

            “Mom?” she croaked at a sound across the room.

            Wooden floorboards creaked in protest as Abraham entered the drafty cabin, shining the Maglite on the quivering child struggling to move. A gust of wind slammed the rotting screen door. Slivers of rust scattered, flying on the breeze. Annie gagged at the taste of copper as desperate breaths dragged across her tongue. She squinted through her eyelids praying the man wasn’t there.

“Hello, Annie.” Abraham stood over the trembling girl. “Do you want to play with me again?” He dragged her up and danced her around the room. Settling into a wooden chair with Annie on his lap, he nodded to the Canon camera across the room.

            “Now look right at the camera.” He lifted the plunger. “Smile.”

Scrub grass crunched under heavy boots as Abraham carried Annie to her final resting place. Her feeble movements faded. Coyotes yipped at the full moon as it rose in the night sky.

He relived his first kill with each shovel of dirt. The thrill of stalking her, the taste of her skin, he delighted in following the fruitless efforts of the police.

Abraham stood beside the largest bigtooth maple tree a thousand feet from the base of the Mount Timpanogos walking trail. How fitting, he thought, as he rolled his sleeves down and picked up the shovel. Trees for a City of Trees. I hope she appreciated my choice. He sighed in satisfaction. Another job well done. He rubbed his week-old stubble and walked down the trail to his van.

June 27, 1988

            1983, Amelia, Cascade Mountains. 1984, Cindy, Provo Peak. 1985, Maria, Spanish Fork Peak. 1986, Tonya, Loafer Mountain. 1987, Sandy, Mount Nebo. Abraham flipped through the well thumbed scrapbook. This year would be his best year ever, and he knew just who would join him to play. He’d been following her for weeks, learning her routine, savoring their future together.

            Sheriff Harland MacGregor, twenty-two years old, and the youngest sheriff in the county, sprinted along the edge of the Lone Peak parking area. He was assigned to patrol the hiking trails on the Wasatch 7—a range of mountains he’d been hiking for years.

            The call of western tanagers mixed with the whirr of hummingbird wings as they searched for food. The smell of fresh spring grass reminded Harland of mowing his grandfather’s lawn every summer since he was nine. Adjusting his backpack filled with emergency equipment, he took the first step of his new assignment.

Sheriff MacGregor felt the call of nature as he reached the first mile marker. He slipped off the trail, unzipping his tan pants as he headed for a large Bur Oak. Whistling a toneless tune, he gazed around the flat grove. His eyes caught a glint of silver popping in the sunlight. Hikers avoided the area. Overgrown with chokecherry bushes, they feared the myth of cyanide poisoning from broken branches.

He zipped up and walked to the mound that looked out of place. He pulled the limbs apart and stared. A rusty bike wheel. Pulling the branches out of the spokes, he wrestled a girl’s bike into the open. The seat, once pink was gnawed in half, only tufts of stuffing remained. A tarnished silver bell with a faded sunflower sticker croaked out a chime when he pushed the lever. He knelt beside a rectangular depression in the grass falling to his knees at the sight of a small skeletal hand sticking up out of the dirt, strands of what appeared to be the remains of a tarp hanging from its fingers. He reached for his walkie talkie.

By the end of the day, the area was swarming with police, and crime scene investigators.

“Send the bicycle to forensics. See if they can lift any prints.” Chief Halfinger leaned against a tree, rubbing his eyes. “This might be our big break. The bike matches the description of the one ridden by Josie Holmes.

8 a.m. June 30, 1988

Chief Halfinger stood at the front of the room and addressed the Child Abduction task force.

            “Seven years ago, Josie Holmes was abducted near her home in Salt Lake City. Since then, six more girls have gone missing on the same day in June. Sheriff MacGregor has given us the first break in the case. A rusty bicycle identified as belonging to Josie was found half buried about a thousand feet from the trailhead at Cherry Canyon Logging Trail. We’re waiting for the forensic report on the skeletal remains found at the site.

             “Look, we know his MO; we know he always strikes on the 30th of June, and as of today, we know who he is. The results just came back on the fingerprints from the bike.” Chief Halfinger held up a booking photo of a thin man with a receding hairline. “Meet Abraham Johannson. He’s a self-appointed care-taker of that old Outlaw Cabin up at Lone Peak.”

            “He doesn’t look like much,” a voice in the back called out.

            “Maybe not. he’s probably a pedophile from way back, just been running under the radar,” said another.

            “We have a team on the way to his house with a search warrant. I’m heading over there now.”

Five hours later, Chief Halfinger stood in the evidence room staring at a charm bracelet with the letter J, a necklace, a barrette. A trophy from each of the seven missing girls. Photos of the seven girls. Each one sitting on the lap of a tall thin man wearing a baseball cap. Each one looked terrified. All taken inside the Outlaw cabin near Cherry Canyon Logging trail. Chief Halfinger drew in a deep breath cautioning himself to breathe.

“We’ve got you, you bastard.” He stood and faced his men.

“Alright, we might not know who he is going to abduct but we know where he takes them. So, here’s the plan. We’ll have units A and B posted at his house in case he goes there. The rest of you are coming with me to Lone Peak.”

Sheriff MacGregor, hat in hand, entered the room. “I’d like to go with you, Chief. I know the terrain real well.” He shoved his hand in his pocket to stop it from shaking. “That is, if you could use the help.”

7 p.m.

            “I want every man invisible. This could be a long wait, so take care of business now.” The silence felt like a blanket as they waited.

7 p.m. June 30th, 1988

Abraham pulled his tan van up to the curb. He watched as a tall, darkhaired teenager slammed the front door of a white two-story home next door to the house where Josie had lived. She skipped down the steps. Lacy Allen. My, my, he chuckled to himself as he watched her mount the blue Vespa and leave the driveway. My Omega.

Leaning back in his seat, Abraham relived the last two weeks. Lacy coming home after work. Lacy standing in front of Josie’s house. Lacy leaving for work at seven every evening. Ah, the memories, he thought. He started the van and followed Lacy.

            Two blocks later, Lacy swore under her breath as the Vespa coughed twice then stopped. I can’t be out of gas; I’m sure Dad filled it for me yesterday, she thought as she pushed it to the curb.

            “Can I help you, Lacy,”

            The soft voice startled her.

            “Uh, no thank you. I’m fine”

            “No, really. I just want to help. It’s no trouble at all. I can put the scooter in the back of my van. Why don’t you hop inside. It won’t take a minute and you’ll be home.”

            “How do you know my...” Lacy didn’t finish the sentence. A sharp chop across her neck and she fell into his arms.

            Abraham heaved Lacy over his shoulder and started the long walk to Outlaw Cabin.

‍ ‍You’re going to be as much fun as Josie. He thought of Josie, the thrill of stalking her. The delicious feeling of success as he shoveled the last bit of dirt on her grave. Every year, the feeling grew stronger. He dropped Lacy next to the cabin and shoved the heavy wooden door aside. He hesitated before entering, images of the seven girls danced in the dark. He breathed in the memory of their scent. His heart raced. His fingers twitched at the thought of soft virgin skin. Abraham bent down and picked up the tarp, turned and entered the single musty room.

            “Hello, Abraham.” Chief Halfinger smiled as he flicked on the flashlight.

“We’ve been waiting for you.”    

            Abraham dropped Lacy, coughing as a waft of dust rose clogging his nose.

            “How?” He choked on the word as Lacy began to scream.