Out of Mercy

By G. J. Duemling

Every few years a new talent with a unique voice emerges. Watch for Duemling. Shes going to be around for years to come.Brandt Dodson, Suspense Novelist

Julia Crawford is no ordinary serial killer but an angel of mercy. She is fulfilling her purpose in life: giving escape to her victims from a life filled with abuse, grief or suffering. She took her first victim at the age of nine, a neighbor boy, brutally abused by his parents.

As an adult, Julia evolves, becoming two separate entities. Manipulating and cunning she excuses her actions as necessary for the continuation of her purpose. Controlling everyone in her life is a necessity, as she continues to kill Out Of Mercy. You will love Julia, sympathize with her and even cheer for her...although her actions are pure evil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491725672

G. J. Duemling

G. J. Duemling graduated with highest honors earning a BFA from the Herron School of Art at Indiana University. She is an accomplished author, photographer, sculptor, and graphic designer. She has three children and seven grandchildren and lives in Danville, Indiana, with her husband.

Book preview

PART ONE

1

Five-year-old Julia lay quietly in her bed, anticipating the sound of the footsteps she knew might come. Her breathing controlled, she tried not to move; any noise she made muffled the distant sounds. Concentrating on the silence, she waited.

For as long as she could remember, the routine never changed. He would quietly slip into her bed, pulling her close to him and stroking her soft hair, twirling it around and weaving it gently through his fingers.

Her father was obsessed with her hair. Tender curls of copper that fell gently around her small shoulders. He would never allow anyone to cut it as long as he lived. Ever so gently, he would envelope her small body with his. Cupping her hands within his, he would communicate with her the only way he could, signing the words, I love you, baby girl.

Julia’s first language was that of the deaf; her second, the spoken word. Although both her parents were born deaf, they were able to speak crudely. This was enough to teach their daughter both methods of communication, sign and speech.

When the sun rose, he would leave, but not before reminding her of their secret. She was afraid of what he did, not of him. She had separated his actions from his presence. In her innocent mind, he was her protector. Not knowing that her father was different from anyone else’s father, she did not question their relationship.

That next morning, her mother complained of back pain. It was disturbing for Julia to see her mother in such discomfort. She cuddled with her on and off throughout the day. After dinner, Julia’s mother told her to go upstairs to play.

Julia signed in protest, No, Mama; I want to stay here with you.

No, you do as I say. Stay in your room. Her mother’s fingers moved with determined zest.

Do as your mother asks, Julia, her father signed.

Julia climbed the stairs as slowly as she could to show her dismay, glancing back at her parents with hateful squints. Shortly thereafter, she heard the loud slam of her parents’ bedroom door. She could hear her mother’s cries through the wall.

Julia snuck stealthily down the hallway on her hands and knees until she reached their bedroom door. She lay on the floor, peering under the door. She could see her father’s feet pacing back and forth at a frantic tempo. Her mother’s cries were so loud that Julia had to cover her ears with her hands to muffle the disturbing sounds.

Not being able to control the urge to push the door open and rescue her mother from whatever was happening to her. She grabbed the doorknob with both hands and turned it slowly, pushing just enough to create a crack wide enough to see into the room.

Julia saw her mother lying on the bed with a wad of wet bloody towels between her legs. Wiping tears from her own eyes with the sleeve of her shirt, Julia tried to think of something she could do. Her mother’s arms were extended upward, her hands grasping the headboard so tightly her knuckles were white from the pressure. She was drenched with sweat and weeping uncontrollably. Julia watched the conversation between her parents, their hands cutting through the air with lightning speed. Julia could pick up enough to understand what was being said:

We should go to the hospital now.

I told you, it’s too late; we must stay here and deliver the baby ourselves.

Julia’s father saw her at the door and quickly shut it with determined force, locking it as soon as he felt the latch engage.

This did not deter Julia. She crawled into the bedroom that adjoined theirs and entered the bathroom that the two rooms shared. She could see her father sitting on the foot of the bed.

Suddenly, the crying stopped. Julia sat posed on her knees waiting; the weak cry of a baby was all she heard until both her parents began to cry out. She did not understand what was happening. Her father stood and began to pace again. She watched him sign repeatedly:

We have to. It is the merciful thing to do. We have no choice.

Her mother would wail every time he would say it. Once again, Julia’s father discovered her presence. He came straight for her, jerking her up by the arm and dragging her down the hallway to her room. He plopped her down in the middle of her room and commanded her to stay there. Julia clung to his pant leg sobbing.

Daddy, please don’t leave me here alone. I’m so scared. What’s happening? Julia signed.

Ignoring her pleadings, he shook his leg to free himself of her and left, closing the door behind him. Julia pressed her ear to the cold, wooden floor. She could hear scuffling and other strange noises. Deciding she had better stay put, she pulled a blanket from the bed and snuggled into the only comfort she had.

Familiar footsteps approached her door. Through the darkness, she could see the shadow of her father’s feet cast by the illuminated hallway outside her door. He stood there, motionless for some time. When he finally opened the door, all Julia could see was his silhouette. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see that he was holding a box that had been taped shut. He pulled Julia up to a standing position and handed her the box.

Take this to the trash pile and put it in the barrel; don’t open it, he signed frantically. Your mother needs me. Promise me. You are my big girl, and I need your help. Can you help me? Please, I have nobody else to ask that I trust. This needs to be done now!

Julia extended her small, trembling hands outward to receive the box. The cardboard box was heavy for its small size. The tape had been wound around it several times. The lid was no longer visible, but she could feel the hump where it met the box beneath the layers of tape. Julia walked slowly toward the back of the house, having to put the box down to open the door. She left the kitchen door open to give her some light as she walked out to the trash barrel. She clutched the tattered, well-used box tightly, her tiny fingers gripping it with all her strength. Standing in the moonlight she made a decision she knew was wrong, but her curiosity compelled her.

Julia desperately searched the ground around the trash area for something to cut the tape. She spotted a burnt, tin-can lid with a jagged edge. It took several minutes to saw through the tape. Peering down into the box, she began to cry. Julia understood what her father had done… and why. Tugging at the gnarled tape, she attempted to reseal the box. All she wanted now was to get rid of it and forget what she had seen. She threw it into the trash pile and kicked ashes over it to hide it from view. She ran into the house and straight for her bed. She wanted to sleep… sleep and forget.

2

The next morning when Julia entered the kitchen, her mother and father were busily packing boxes. They had already created a huge stack that hugged the wall. They didn’t acknowledge her presence. Julia went into the pantry and pulled a box of dry cereal from the shelf. She shoved her arm deep into the box and retrieved the crumbs at the bottom. She didn’t need to ask what was happening. Soon she would have a new home in a town far from here. There were no questions and no answers, just acceptance. After what had happened last night, she also wanted to leave.

They worked feverishly through the day and into the night. Her father rented a trailer and packed it quickly. Julia climbed into the car and buckled herself into the car seat. The gentle sway of the car and the constant humming of the tires on the pavement lulled Julia into a peaceful sleep.

*   *   *

The heat from the sun, magnified by the glass in the car window, woke Julia. She was still in the back seat. Her parents were unloading the trailer. Exiting the car, she saw her father tugging at a For Rent sign firmly installed on the front lawn of a huge white house. She watched as he kicked it in one direction, then another, until he triumphantly pulled it from the ground. With his dirt-crusted hands, he greeted his daughter, who was still groggy from sleep.

Good morning, my sweet girl, did you sleep well? he signed.

Yes, Daddy, I did, Julia signed back.

What do you think of our new home?

It’s okay.

You can go in and see your room; it’s upstairs.

Is your room upstairs too?

No, Mommy and I have a room off the living room. It has its own bathroom.

Oh… She didn’t want to be upstairs alone.

Julia stood in the front yard looking at their new home. It was a duplex; another family was already living in the other side. Julia walked around the house, surveying the area. When she reached the backyard, she saw an old man sitting on a dented milk box. The box was tilted backward, teetering on its edge and balanced by the reclining man with his back against the house. He was whittling on a piece of wood that he held snuggly between his knees. The right sleeve of his shirt was rolled and pinned at the top where his arm had once hung. He wore tattered denim overalls and cowboy boots. Upon his head was a straw hat. His skin was overly tanned and deeply wrinkled.

When he spotted Julia, he was not distracted from his whittling by her presence. He spoke without making eye contact with her.

So I see we are going to be neighbors; what’s your name, missy?

Julia did not respond; she ran into the house through the back door to search for her mother. She circled the downstairs without finding her. Bounding up the narrow staircase, she entered the room that was to be hers. She found her mother lying on the bed, curled up in a ball, crying.

Tears poured from her mother’s eyes in a steady stream. She quickly wiped them away with the back or her hand when she spotted Julia standing in the doorway. What are doing, honey? her mother signed to her.

Looking for you, Mommy.

You look scared, sweetie. What’s wrong?

That old man sitting out back… he scared me.

What did he do?

Nothing. He just looks scary. He only has one arm.

I’m sure he is a very nice man. He probably had a terrible accident. We need to be nice to him. Can you do that?

Yes. Mommy, why were you crying? Is it about the baby?

Julia, you must listen to Mommy very closely and do exactly as I ask. Do you understand? Her mother now was now signing to Julia quickly and with force.

Yes, I will, Mommy.

You are such a good girl. Never talk about the baby again. Don’t tell anyone about the baby that was in my tummy; do you understand? Julia’s mother was now holding her by the shoulders and shaking her.

Stop, Mommy, you’re hurting me.

Julia was the one shedding tears now. Scared, she turned and ran from the room. She jumped as far as she could down the stairs and tumbled down the rest. Rising up without notice of the large lump forming on her forehead, she headed out the back door. The old man was still sitting on the milk box.

Julia stood on the back step staring off into the distance, not knowing what to do or where to go… and with no one to comfort her.

Hey there, that’s quite a goose egg you got there. Where’s your mother?

She’s inside resting.

Come on. I’ll get some butter for that bump; that’s what my mom always did for me.

Julia followed the old man into his apartment. Once inside, he went directly to the refrigerator and removed a stick of butter. He laid it on the table and asked her to hold one end of the stick while he used his whittling knife to cut off a pat. He wiped his knife on the front of his overalls to clean off the greasy residue left by the butter. After handing her the severed pat he returned the remaining stick to the refrigerator.

Now hold that on your bump; it will take the swelling down. How’s about a glass of chocolate milk?

Sure.

Bet you’re wondering about how I lost my arm—most folks do.

My mom says it was probably a terrible accident.

She would be right. Do you want to hear the story?

Sure.

Me and Jimmy, my son, were huntin’ for deer. It was around Thanksgiving, twenty years ago. We got tired and hadn’t seen nary a deer all day. We walked and walked, it seemed like for miles. We decided to rest. There was this here log laying on the ground—a perfect spot for sittin.’ Jimmy was standing behind me when I propped my ole shotgun up against that log… it fell as soon as I let it go. I had started to sit, so I was bent over. My son was still standing. The blast hit my arm and blew it clean off. That deer slug hit my son in the middle of his chest… he never knew what happened. Killed my son. Nearly bled to death before I got to the hospital. So it’s my fault—my arm and my son.

That’s a sad story, mister.

You can call me Jeemsy—that’s my name.

Sorry, Jeemsy, about your arm and your little boy.

It was a long time ago, and you are a very sweet and pretty girl—you know that, don’t you?

My daddy tells me that I am.

Well then, he is a very smart man. Run along now, I have some business to take care of. You come back and see me tomorrow, all right?

I will, Mister Jeemsy.

Julia skipped to the back door. She reached up, touching the shrinking bump on her forehead. The butter had done its job.

3

Julia lay in bed waiting, listening, but she heard no footsteps. Night after night, she waited, but her father never came to her room again. She thought that her daddy didn’t love her anymore, and that was that. Part of her was relieved, but the isolation she felt was not only confusing but also hurtful. She thought that maybe he was mad at her; did he know she had looked inside the box?

The days passed quickly and Julia’s sixth birthday was tomorrow.

"You know that people who are born in a year that ends in two of the same number like you—1977—are very special people," Julia’s mother signed.

Really, Mommy?

Yes Julia, it’s true. I promise.

After breakfast, Julia went out back to tell Jeemsy about her birthday. There he sat on the old milk box, whittling as usual.

Good morning, Mister Jeemsy!

Well, you are in a good mood this morning, little one.

I am! Tomorrow, I will be six years old, and do you know why that is special?

No, but I am sure I am about to find out.

Because, when you get to be six, you can go to school.

Oh, I see, and you want to go to school and leave your old friend Jeemsy here alone, do you?

I will still come and see you every day. I will tell you all about school.

Well, I suppose if you have to go, you have to go.

It will be fun for me. I want to find friends my own age to play with—not that you are not my friend; I just…

I understand honey, but you must promise to come see me each day, all right?

I promise I will. Don’t worry, I won’t forget about you.

All right then, I won’t fret about it. Are you having a birthday party?

No, I never do. Mommy just bakes me a cake, and we have it after supper.

Doesn’t that make you sad, that you don’t get a party?

No, you have to have friends to have a party, and I don’t have any yet.

"Oh, I