To Whisper a Kiss

By BW Gragg

To Whisper a Kiss is a horror/crime fiction novel that launches B.W. Gragg’s Tom O'Conner series. It all began with a typical quiet night at the Simmons house. Marsha and her husband lay sleeping, blissfully unaware that their lives were about to change forever. Or rather...end in a most brutal fashion. A killer is on the loose and the only clues he is leaving behind are a series of wooden dolls modeled after his victims. Marsha Simmons has vanished in her place is a doll that emits shame upon the lead agent, Tom O’Conner. Tom, a special agent in the FBI, must discover the significance of the wooden dolls while at the same time coming to terms with his estranged wife. To Whisper a Kiss takes you deep inside the mind of a sadistic serial killer known as The Manikin Man. Tom and the task force struggle to put the pieces of the case together due to a lack of physical evidence and no bodies to examine. The question becomes not only who is The Manikin Man, but what has he done with his victims? In the end the answers to Tom’s questions become more terrifying than he ever expected and will forever change his destiny. This is a suspenseful journey into the hunt, the hunter and the hunted. B.W. Gragg’s gruesome thrill ride puts the reader into the middle of every person’s worst nightmare.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BW Gragg
• Release date: Dec 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310287800

BW Gragg

I am B.W. Gragg. I was born and raised in Sacramento, California and now reside in Hattiesburg, Mississippi with my wife and two daughters. After reading William Faulkner in high school, I knew the path of creating stories and odd characters was my calling. Always fascinated with the darker shades of human nature, I decided my best path would be to earn a B.A. in Psychology with a strong emphasis in Forensic Science from the University of Southern Mississippi. I am an avid fan of the old Southern Gothic writers along with the writers of the turn of the century. My bizarre interest in mental disease and society’s most repulsive offenders, as well as tying stories to today’s current events is evident in my various crime fiction and horror series. Each of my stories delves deep into the age old debate of nature vs. nurturer.“To understand the world, you must first understand a place like Mississippi.” – William Faulkner

Book preview

To Whisper a Kiss

By B. W. Gragg

Smashwords Edition

Text copyright © 2012 Brandon Gragg

All Rights Reserved

Dedicated to Brandon Edwards

"Yet each man kills the thing he loves

By each let this be heard

Some do it with a bitter look

Some with a flattering word

The coward does it with a kiss

The brave man with a sword"

-Oscar Wilde

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 1

Kentucky. It sounds strange when it rolls off a person’s tongue. Ken-tuck-y. Like a cadence a quarterback uses to throw off the defensive line. Of course the most common thought is the Kentucky Derby, the race of all races. The long tradition of spectacular thoroughbreds expending all their energy in front of wealthy, socialites in large, flamboyant sun hats and dresses, while their men sip on mint juleps and wait diligently for a winner so they can invest all their hard-earned dollars on sperm.

If you were to ask an avid music fan what thoughts Kentucky engenders they would most certainly mention either Elvis Presley or Neil Diamond. Although neither one is actually from Kentucky, both wrote songs about the beautiful bluegrass state and made every Kentuckian proud, especially the female ones. Others would think of Wildcat basketball, the glory years with Adolph Rupp, and how he created one of America’s elite college basketball programs and brought forth Big Blue Nation.

Every once in a while you might hear an alternative response that’s personal to the individual. You might hear about Louisville or Lexington, about eating a delicious hot brown at the Brown Hotel or about the races at Keeneland or perhaps about the rolling hills and the state’s rich history of bluegrass music. But rarely would you hear about Barren River Lake or the minuscule city of Glasgow, two nearby areas that were once filled with bright spirits, and even larger dreams.

Barren River Lake is by no means a large lake, but it’s no pond either and covers more than 10,000 acres and 140 miles of shoreline in South Central Kentucky. The name comes from its early settlers, who called the area The Barrens. Before their arrival the vast vegetation in the area was periodically burned by the Indians to produce grassland, which was attractive to the grazing buffalo–hence the territory appeared bare. The lake itself was created by an earth and rock fill dam across from the Barren River by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers to reduce flooding. As time passed, it became a lovely recreational area where families brought their children for picnics, boating, fishing, or just a day to relax and have some fun in the sun. In time, part of the area also became somewhat residential. Each year more and more people began building their summer homes up in the hills overlooking the lake. Towns such as Lucas and Austin, once considered remote and desolate, became the place for exhausted city folk looking for an escape. Some of the newfound residents even decided to call the area home on a full-time basis. But even so the area still maintained a quiet and natural appeal.

If you’re a fisherman you can test your luck with catfish, crappie, bluegill, and white or hybrid stripped bass. Or you can just sit back on your patio and watch a doe tend to her fawns or a red fox scavenge for berries in the brush. Take in a whiff of the Godly scent radiating from the tall red maple and white and black oak trees that cocoon the water as the flying squirrels go from limb to limb gathering their next meal. The area is a botanical haven of sorts, with an abundance of evergreen trees not only harboring the lake and its animal friends from the onslaught of society, but to all who enter its natural kingdom.

About fifteen miles north sits the town of Glasgow, a very small farm community where family, God, and country come first. Except for the occasional theft, crime isn’t a factor in this Southern Baptist-dominated area. With a population of about twenty thousand, including all of the surrounding areas, getting to know your neighbor isn’t an option. Whether you like them or not you are bound to see them at the grocery store, a high school football game, or in church on Sunday. The town offers everything one needs to survive including its wonderful schools, churches, grocery stores, and a mall. It is a wonderful place to raise a family. And if a person so happens to need something Glasgow doesn’t have, Nashville is only a hop, skip, and a jump away–a little under a hundred miles southwest to be exact.

Income in Glasgow is derived from beef, pork, poultry, and tobacco farms. As a child growing up in Austin, a suburb of Glasgow, I learned how to take care of all four, and I didn’t mind it either. It was part of life here. If you grew up in Glasgow, you either learned how to farm or you owned a store. The option of a higher education was rarely taken. Every house in my neighborhood was on multiple acres of land so the people you called your neighbors actually lived minutes away. The only reason we ever saw one another was because we all lived and had to travel on Shoreline Circle Street.

Unfortunately, our simple lives weren’t always that simple. Like any other farming town we were occasionally subjected to the harsh realities of our primitive society. But on one instance the entire world heard about our quiet little town and not in a positive light. On the front page of every newspaper from New York to California citizens read the names Glasgow and Austin, Kentucky for the very first time, as a result of the heinous incidents that occurred here seven years ago. One of the most disturbing events in U.S. history happened right down the street from my parent’s house on Shoreline Circle Street in Austin.

My name is Zack Thompson and everything that I am about to tell you really occurred. I was sixteen years old, and I knew Ryan Kaplar fairly well. What I didn’t know was that he was The Manikin Man.

Chapter 2

March 19, 1982

The smoky haze from the sharp morning sun softened on his sleep drenched eyes. The gunk from his eyes was still glued to his heavy lids from the long nights rest. Still he could see the sliver of light escaping through the small crack in the blinds like water dripping through the spacing between wooden planks on a sun deck. Clay Simmons knew he had overslept. He never overslept. Every morning he awoke at a quarter past six like clockwork. Today was different though. He didn’t know why. Surely his wife would have woken him, but she must have slept in as well. His long arm slowly lifted from the depths of the covers to place his bony hand in front of his eyes. He was too groggy to handle the brightness of the day. He would have figured that he would have been well rested. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case. He couldn’t remember drinking more than the one glass of red wine he enjoyed over his wife’s chicken dinner so that wasn’t the root of his condition. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers to regain his focus. It was difficult to remedy a hangover without having been drunk. His mind was foggy though. Fragments of the night were starting to fire off in his brain like bubbles in a hot cauldron. His arms stretched to the sky.

Man, I’m still so tired honey, Clay said with a yawn. I don’t know what the hell’s a matter with me.

He threw his sheet from his chest and placed his feet down on the fluffy, dark brown carpet. At first he didn’t think it was all that unusual for his wife not to answer him first thing in the morning. Marsha was not what you would call a morning person. Maybe they did have a few more glasses than he realized over dinner. Although sinister upon awakening, she wasn’t one to sleep in either. The brisk air caught his bare neck and sent tingles down his spine. Goosebumps overcame his body with a slight salute from the hairs on his forearms. He knew the morning air was merely a red herring from the confusion and strange sense he felt within. He cautiously looked back over his shoulder at his wife only to see that she was not there. Instead, neatly tucked underneath the covers, lay a doll. A doll that looked just like his Marsha was staring back into his horrified eyes, subtly smirking at him with the wag of a finger, while letting him know it had been watching him all through the night.

Marsha…Marsha!

Chapter 3

May 21, 1982

Mr. Kaplar, Mr. Kaplar, Ben asked. Are you all right?

Ryan shook his head to ground his latest daydream.

Yeah, just thinking. Did you finish putting out the New York strips and rib eyes? Ryan asked.

I sure did, Mr. Kaplar.

Good. Well go and grind some sausage then I’ll need you in the front of the store.

Ben nodded and went into the freezer. He had worked for Ryan for three years at Kaplar Meat. He didn’t mind the work, and it was nice to bring in some extra money while attending school. It was a small butcher shop, so he and Sue Gordon were Ryan’s only employees. Sue usually only worked the register, and Ben helped Ryan with the meat. Sue was a short, chunky girl with a smooth and very attractive baby face. She wasn’t the brightest girl at the fair and sometimes she was very clumsy. It was too dangerous to have her butchering. Besides, her bubbly personality was always a plus with the customers.

The people of Glasgow were all excessively carnivorous so business was always good. Kaplar Meat was open Monday through Friday from eight to five. Every once in a while he would open the store on Saturday, depending on the time of year. It wasn’t an uncommon sight for a customer to walk up to an open sign early on Saturday morning. One of the many perks of owning your own business was that Ryan could open whenever he wanted, but he normally didn’t stray away from the schedule.

Ryan was anxious about the weekend. He wished the afternoon would soon end then God willing he could head on over to Nashville. He couldn’t stop thinking about Linda Castle. About her long, blonde hair blowing over her green eyes and curvaceous body. The thought of touching her skin made him lightheaded. He saw her the first time about a month ago leaving Roger’s Steakhouse with her husband and toddler daughter. She walked right past him, running her fingers through her transparent locks. Ryan couldn’t help but follow her home. He didn’t feel dirty about following her. He was just curious and eager to get to know her. He adored her at first sight and nothing could change that.

Every weekend since he had been riding to Nashville and staying at a cheap Holiday Inn. At night he would sit behind an oak tree in her backyard and watch her through the windows. The first weekend he watched Linda and her husband glued to the television. When it was time for the two to go to sleep he continued to watch the motionless bed. He stayed for three hours, until two-thirty in the morning, memorizing her features and the contour of her sweet body. Other visits he would see the two doing a variety of things from having sex, to arguing, to watching more television and of course sleeping. His last visit he didn’t arrive at the house until one in the morning and the lights were already dim. This is when he decided that watching her wasn’t enough. He couldn’t pussyfoot around any longer.

Mr. Kaplar. I’m finished with the sausage, Ben said interrupting his reverie.

All right, Ben, Ryan answered while his mind continued to march into space. Ben sighed.

Ben thought Ryan was a little off, but he never had any problems working for him. He never once yelled at him for messing up and was normally very appreciative. Besides, Ben didn’t feel he had any room to judge others. He was an ugly young man with thin, blonde hair and a pimply face that was contorted slightly to the left and made him look like a dog that had heard something amusing. The rest of Ben wasn’t any better. He was cursed with an awkwardly thin frame and a physique which would haunt any father. Nonetheless, he was a nice kid who was well liked by his peers and happened to be one of my best childhood friends.

Ben often wondered what Ryan did at night. Did he have a big group of friends? A girlfriend? But he always came back to the same conclusion. Ryan most likely stayed at home either working or watching television. If he had a girlfriend Ben knew it would take a miracle to pry it out of him, because Ryan wasn’t the type of person who revealed his personal life. If he had exposed himself to Ben, he would only have learned that Ryan had no friends, only associates and the occasional one night stand. Most of the citizens in Glasgow liked Ryan as a result of his reclusive manner. He never once caused any harm and always kept to himself.

As a child when I would ride past his house, he was always very pleasant. But Ryan wasn’t the type of person who wanted to chit chat. Every once in a while I would hear his car drive past my house late at night, but that was about as rare as engaging in a heartfelt conversation with him. I never saw him on the weekends. It was like he vanished for a few days every week. But I just figured that he was out of town or locked up in his home. Most of the women in town thought Ryan was extremely handsome. He had a big, muscular physique and dark hair with equally dark eyes. Mesmerizing was the way most of them described Ryan’s eyes. Every once in a while a girl would get the courage to ask him out for dinner, but after he denied their request, comments such as, he is different, or he is in his own world, always followed.

My parents, on the other hand, had mixed feelings about him. My mother always thought he was a little strange, but liked him nonetheless because my mom liked everyone. She would have welcomed Charles Manson at our dinner table. My father thought Ryan was a homosexual. That was just like my dad, though. If anyone was a little peculiar it was because they were gay. Mostly no one really paid much attention to Ryan. He was just the man who owned Kaplar Meat and that was that.

Do you need us to do anything before we leave? Ben asked.

No, that will be it. I won’t need y’all tomorrow so I guess I will see y’all on Monday.

Sounds good to me. Bye, Mr. Kaplar, Ben said as he hung up his apron on a hook in the back of the store and proceeded to leave from the back entrance.

Bye, Mr. Kaplar, Sue repeated.

Ryan emptied out the register before he locked up the store. He thought about going to his home in Austin for a quick shower before heading out to Nashville, but instead decided to clean up when he got to the hotel. He needed to get to Nashville fast.

The drive to Nashville was very easy. It usually took him about an hour and a half to get there on I-65, but sometimes the traffic downtown might add fifteen to thirty minutes. Nashville is a big city on the rise and compared to Glasgow, it is New York City. More importantly, it was a place where Ryan would never be noticed.

* * *

Ryan arrived at the Holiday Inn around seven o’clock. He checked into his room and took a warm shower. As the water rolled down his face, images of Linda’s soft lips touching his hard body propelled his fantasy. He never thought about masturbating. He cared for her too deeply for that kind of degradation. If he were to touch himself he would only darken a beautiful thing. He got out of the shower, dried off, and put on an old pair of Levi’s and a shirt then combed his thick brown hair. He put on his tennis shoes and taped a flat piece of cardboard to the soles of each one so he wouldn’t leave any tracks behind. He contemplated if he should wait and put them on in the car for a long second, then decided to remove the cardboard soles. He figured it would be best to wait. He thought about eating, but he wasn’t that hungry. He had to see her.

His anticipation was unbearable. He picked up his duffle bag and headed for the door, then he remembered something very important. He had made a gift for her– a twelve-inch wooden doll that resembled her. The tan paint he used matched her olive skin tone to perfection. He even knitted a miniature sun dress like the one she had been wearing the first time he saw her. He took the doll from his bag and placed it into the duffle.

Ryan checked out because he wasn’t coming back. The plan had been to stay the night and to pay Linda a formal visit tomorrow. But the plan had changed. What he was about to do would surely draw some attention, so he had to be meticulous. One mistake and his renaissance would be destroyed. He couldn’t stand to have his heart broken again. The last and only other time that happened almost killed him.

Ryan got into his Honda Accord and looked into his backseat to see if he had everything in place. In another little bag he had left in the car were two insulin syringes, one filled with a half a cc of ketamine, an anesthetic, and the other with a half a cc of midazolam, a very potent tranquilizer, 9-mm Beretta with a silencer, a bottle of raw ether, a small white cloth rag, latex gloves, and a plethora of unmarked medical bracelets he had stolen from St. Thomas Hospital in Nashville. Ryan wanted to make sure that if he got pulled over on his way home he could explain why his lady friend was incoherent. He started his car and looked around the parking lot to see if anyone was watching. Although the lot was full, no one was around now. Ryan and his doll were ready to make a name for themselves.

The quick twenty minute drive seemed to take much longer. As he drove, Ryan thought about what he was going to do with the husband and the daughter. He really didn’t want to kill them. All he wanted was Linda. Once he had her the others could live, depending.

At around eleven o’clock he entered Lashing Street and pulled his car behind a pecan tree. The tree’s canopy hid the car from the Castle’s and their neighbor’s line of sight. He put on his latex gloves, put the little bag into the larger one, reattached his cardboard soles, grabbed the bag, and headed toward her home. He was calm and his head was clear. He felt confident that this was what had to happen. They were soul mates and destiny had to run its course.

He was pleased to see that all the lights in the house were out. He walked across the driveway and quietly hopped the wooden fence next to the garage. In the backyard Ryan tiptoed across the covered back porch to the spare key he had watched Linda’s husband use a few weeks earlier. After a few seconds of sliding his hand around the corner of the gutter closest to the door, he found it. Before he entered the home he looked through the glass of the door but he saw no one. He set the bag on the ground and got out the syringe of midazolam, and put it in his pocket. Then he took the bottle of ether and dumped a fair amount onto the white cloth. He picked up the duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. With one hand on the key and the other on the cloth, he entered the living room. He had gotten a good idea of where everything in the house was situated. He knew that about twenty feet to his left was the hallway to the bedrooms. When he got there, he saw two doors on each side. He knew the one at the end on the left was the master bedroom. But all four doors were open.

Fuck, he said to himself so quietly the devil couldn’t count it against him.

He had to be extra quiet. He didn’t want to kill her little girl, but if she woke up he would have no other choice. He headed straight to the master bedroom. By now his eyes had adjusted to the darkness and were regaining focus.

He could hear Linda’s husband snoring as he approached their bed. The more he snored, the more and more Ryan thought about changing his plan to allow the husband to live. He first walked over to the husband and placed the rag over his mouth and nose. The man’s eyes swung open then dropped back down into slumber.

Linda didn’t move as her husband sank into euphoria, which was a good thing. Ryan didn’t want to hear her scream. There would be plenty of time for that later. He reached for the syringe in his pocket and lifted the cap from the point with his teeth. With his other hand he took the cap from his mouth and put it back in his pocket. No evidence was going to be left by Ryan, that was for certain. He quietly walked over to her side of the bed. Linda looked so beautiful and serene that he didn’t want to disturb her. He carefully pulled down the covers and lifted up the right side of her nightgown. Ryan bent over and kissed her thigh before he stuck her. Oh, how sweet she tasted. Like a glass of 1976 Taittinger Blanc De Blanc with a call girl and a bowl of strawberries. Linda opened her eyes and looked around in alarm. Luckily for her daughter’s sake she was way too frightened to scream and by the time she figured things out, her eyes heavily closed. He knew that midazolam normally wouldn’t put you right to sleep, but when he took Marsha Simmons he learned that when someone is already asleep, falling back under was as easy as slicing a piece of salami.

He put a medical tag on her right wrist and took off her nightgown. The moonlight reflected off her flawless naked body, but he knew it was not yet time for admiration. He walked over to the closet and found a simple red dress and slipped it on her.  He reached into his duffle bag again and poured more ether on the cloth and placed it over her husband’s face. He didn’t want him to wake up for a while. He then gripped Linda’s feet and dragged her a few inches from her pillow. Before he picked her up he strategically laid the doll onto her pillow. Ryan then bent down and threw Linda over his shoulder, picked up the duffle bag, and headed toward the back door.

Ryan gently placed her in the car and fastened her seatbelt. He walked around and pulled his keys from his pocket. Before he started the car he reached over and stuck her with a syringe, this time full of ketamine.

***

The North Star and his constituents guided the two of them across the bluegrass state. A blue haze surrounded the hills. Every so often another car would pass momentarily blinding Ryan. All his concentration was needed to get them home safely, but every so often Ryan would glance over to his right and admire Linda. They were about ten miles away from his house. He was certain that the midazolam had lost its effects by now and soon the ketamine would as well.

She began to move around in her seat. With her eyes still closed she extended her arms and yawned. Without taking