Road to Murder

By Janet Bryant

Osborne Pruitt is a young Creole-Cajun boy, who turns out to be a serial killer. He grows up in Venice, Louisiana, 75 miles south of New Orleans. His mother leaves frequently to work in New Orleans for Crescent City Inc. Due to his abandonment, Osborne kills in an extremely grotesque manner. Two keen and shrewd New Orleans detectives track him from New Orleans, to Venice, and California.

Veronica Miles who is wealthy and beautiful is celebrating her fourth wedding anniversary to Ross Carter. They have a beautiful home in Bel Air, California. She has no idea what her husband and her two best friends are capable of. When she finds out the truth, she was shocked beyond belief.

These two stories intertwine as Osborne travels to California to meet his father. His father helps him out of an impossible situation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781491797365

Janet Bryant

Janet Bryant was previously in corporate sales for several large corporations. Currently holds a Masters in Counseling Psychology from Argosy University, Orange, California. Presently writing the sequel to Road to Murder.

Book preview

1

Louisiana State Penitentiary, November 1989

Osborne Pruitt tottered down the corridor toward the foreboding chamber. His ankles and wrists ached and were becoming numb from the cuffs that were chained tightly and close to his body.

As he arrived at the death chamber and walked inside, he was completely unaware of the spectators and reporters surrounding the outside area. He stood motionless for a moment, his body stiffening. He peered at the shackles attached to the wooden chair that the inmates had aptly nicknamed Gruesome Gertie. He held his shaved head high as he slipped into the chair. The unsecuring of his wrists and ankles took but seconds. A prison guard had shaved his right lower leg moments ago and now secured an electrode to his sweaty skin. The guard placed another electrode on the top of his head that would send an electrical current to his brain. Osborne felt no terror at the moment, as he knew the brain was targeted first and he would feel no pain. He understood that his body would be used as a conductor once the electricity was turned on. The final step was the black hood that a guard now placed over his head.

At long last the chamber door clanged shut. Complete silence followed. His lip curled into a sickening smile. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as his life flashed before him. He slipped into his last personal darkness.

2

New Orleans, Louisiana, March 1978

Monique tossed and turned; she could not get comfortable, and her leg was throbbing with pain. She vaguely remembered receiving a pain shot not long ago. She squinted over at the clock, which read 6:10 a.m. Her eyelids grew heavy as she yawned, and she slipped quickly into a deep sleep.

She dreamed of the day her son had been born in February 1970. She had lain in the same hospital, New Orleans General that she was in now. She remembered the first time she’d laid her eyes on Osborne, named after her uncle, whom she’d only met twice. In her dream the nurses were commenting on how large her baby was at twelve pounds and ten ounces. He was tall, at twenty inches long, with large, strong hands curled up in fists. He looked up at her with beautiful sea-green eyes circled with long, curly eyelashes. She smiled as she thought about how adorable he was. She was pleased to see that Osborne had inherited her intense aquatic-green eyes. She had received numerous flattering compliments on her eyes.

She attempted to breast-feed, but Osborne wanted nothing to do with her. Looking down into his eyes, she noted a vacant stare that disturbed her.

Don’t worry, Mrs. Pruitt, the nurse said. Some babies take a day or two to get adjusted to breast-feeding. It comes naturally. Let me take him, and we will get you ready to check out later today.

Monique smiled; she liked being called Mrs. Pruitt. She’d told the hospital staff that her husband, an officer in the navy, was currently at sea and unable to witness the birth of his son. She felt sad that she and Scott were not married and she had no husband. Several months ago she had purchased an inexpensive gold band so she would appear to be married. She twisted the band with her left hand and wondered where Scott was.

She had thought about an abortion for the first few months, but after the first trimester had passed, she’d decided she had waited too long to make that decision. She was not all that thrilled with the idea of raising a child in her complicated life, but she was certain that, one day, Scott Pruitt would come back for her. She knew he loved her, and she would proudly present him with his handsome son.

Nine months had passed and still no word from Scott. Monique had fallen into a substantial depression. She had spoken to various wives who had husbands in the navy. Some were stationed in the Mediterranean, and some were stationed in the South China Sea. Monique had no idea where Scott was stationed. All the wives had heard from their husbands in some form or another. Why hadn’t Scott at least written her a letter? She simply did not understand. She would much rather have Scott and not his child, but fate had handed her a horrible twist in a different direction.

She’d remembered not long ago, feeling nothing but anger and loneliness. She was tired and emotionally spent at being left alone with a pregnancy she did not want and no other family members or friends to assist her. She was six months pregnant, and out of sheer desperation she’d screamed at the top of her lungs, Curse this baby in my womb, and let it die when I give birth! A remarkable sense of relief had washed over her entire body, and she’d hoped that this would undoubtedly come true.

Osborne was born on Fat Tuesday, or more commonly known as Mardi Gras. This was a time for parties, parades, and celebration. Started by the Catholic Church, the Knights of Columbus had the finest and most magnificent floats for the main day of Mardi Gras. This was the last and most important day of the weeklong celebration. The following day was Ash Wednesday, a time for mass and reflection.

Harriett, the nurse, brought Osborne to her again in the next few hours. Monique reached out to cuddle him and gazed into his eyes. She blinked and peered again. There was no mistake this time; it was the same vapid stare she’d seen a few hours ago. She examined his eyes again, and a cold chill ran down her spine. She suddenly felt he knew he was not wanted. Had he heard her that day she’d wished him dead? This insipid stare with no emotions was not a look of innocence but of something else that she could not identify.

The nurse wandered in to take Osborne and prepare him for his departure from the hospital. Osborne disturbed Monique, and she said to the nurse, Something does not appear to be right with my baby. Maybe we should run some tests? Monique looked up, but she was alone.

3

South of Venice, Louisiana, March 1978

Osborne woke up in a cold sweat. He’d been having the same terrifying nightmare about the ugly green gator with large, sharp teeth preparing to chomp on his leg for a tasty dinner treat. He smiled; he liked this dream, as he always managed to swim away. One day he knew he would turn around and capture that nasty gator and set him on fire, or maybe he would keep him for a pet.

It was hot and sticky in the small room where he slept. He looked down at the new mattress his mama had bought him for his bed, his sheets strewn at the bottom and soaked in sweat. Extremely humid air wafted through the window, which was open all the way. Osborne looked over at the large fan by his bed and wondered if he should have turned it on last night. Oh well, he thought, he liked the window open at night anyway. Daylight appeared to be breaking, so Osborne decided to start his day. Wondering if his mama was around, he walked down the hall to her bedroom. The bedroom was empty, with the bed neatly made and only his mother’s silver brush and comb visible on her antique dresser.

Osborne sauntered into the living room to inspect the couch where his mama slept on occasion. The couch was bare, so apparently she had not come home again last night. He could not remember how long she had been away this time. It seemed much longer than usual. He scooted across the kitchen and opened the screen door into the early light.

Mama, are you here? Mama, where are you? he yelled as loudly as he could. All he heard in response were several frogs croaking and the regular sounds of the swamp. He wanted to speak to his mama and tell her all about his dream. He glared into the dawn and stared at his large backyard. He hated his mama at the moment as feelings of rage and isolation seemed to swallow him up. Suddenly a horrible thought flashed into his mind. What if she never comes back and I never see her again! He thought in near panic.

Osborne crouched down on the back steps after shutting the screen door. A tear trickled down his face, and he wrinkled his nose. He wondered what that moisture was. He wiped the tears from his eyes and looked down at his wet fingers. He did not remember ever doing this before. He shrugged. All he wanted to do was talk to his mama.

Osborne was confident he could deal with any situation that came along. His mama had told him so. After all, he was king of his world. He thought of a game he could occupy his morning with. He went back into the kitchen and searched under the sink, peering into the darkness where he kept all his tools. He grabbed his favorite orange crate, which already had his hammer, a small box of nails, and matches inside. He spotted several pieces of small plywood and decided they would come in handy.

He scampered outside to hunt for the opossum that he’d spotted last night by the bulky bush in the corner of the yard. He crawled around on his hands and knees and then froze when he spotted the animal. He was delighted to find she was not alone. She in fact had three babies at her side that she was attempting to protect. Cornered, she exposed her ugly teeth and hissed.

A fishhook with a crawdad attached was embedded in her ugly mouth, trickling with blood. The fishhook was attached to a durable cord that Osborne had tied and secured at the large base of the bush. He kept very still while staring the mother opossum in the face. He distracted her for but a moment as he swiftly grabbed the tails of the three babies in his right hand and placed them on a piece of flat plywood he had waiting. He removed the nails he had placed in his pocket and proceeded to nail the heads and feet of the babies to the wood as they squealed in pain. Osborne was delighted as he entertained himself. Next he snatched the wooden kitchen matches and struck one hard on the side of the box. He loved striking matches. The flame was so captivating and stunning with the blue on the bottom and the yellow on top. It mesmerized and excited him. He held the match at a right angle until the flame bit his thumb. He then lit the wood on fire and stared with pleasure as the baby opossums burned and screamed in pain. He watched motionless as their flesh scorched and a stench filled the air. He could not hear the mother opossum hissing in protest.

He then took out a metal barbecue spit he kept in his orange crate. He crawled over to the mother opossum, grabbed her by the tail, and stuck the sharp metal spit into her. She let out a screeching cry in excruciating pain. He then cut her loose from the heavy cord and ripped the fishhook carelessly from her mouth. He lit her tail on fire and laughed. He had not had this much fun in weeks.

He strolled over to his fire pit in the center of the backyard and started a fire using kindling and various other pieces of wood. His mama had taught him well. He added the babies to the spit and set it over the fire. The fire burned the opossums’ tails off and charred their fur. It was distressing to him that he could not watch the animals’ burn slowly, but he was far too hungry to care at this point. He turned them on his spit, a mouthwatering aroma filling the air as his dinner cooked. When they were finished, he sank his teeth into the meat and chewed. They were delicious and cooked to perfection. Osborne could not remember the last time he had eaten.

4

New Orleans, Louisiana, March 1978

Monique Doucette woke up in the hospital with her mind muzzy from all the pain medication. She was glad she had Costa looking after her and paying the hospital bills. She could certainly manage on the money she was making, but it was much more comfortable to have help financially and a good companion.

She remembered her dream and thought of her son, Osborne. She trusted he was providing for himself and keeping busy. She had been away longer than expected this time, over a month. Oh well, she thought, nothing she could do about it now. As soon as she was able to leave the hospital, she would head down south and check on him. He was capable of taking care of himself at the age of eight.

The thought of Osborne always produced painful memories of his father, Scott. Monique closed her eyes and remembered how handsome he’d been. She’d known from the first time she’d laid eyes on him that he was the one for her. They’d met at Pat O’Brien’s, outside on the patio. He was tall and muscular with large biceps underneath his dress shirt. He had thick, layered blond hair and startling light-blue eyes. He had just completed Officers’ Training Corps and was in New Orleans for one year.

During that year, Monique saw Scott Pruitt as much as possible. It seemed they were inseparable. He took her dancing and out to dinner at various favorite restaurants, such as Court of Two Sisters and Brennan’s for breakfast. The Café Du Monde was one of their preferred places to meet and chat endlessly. He was smart, good-looking, and a gentleman and seemed to be well off. Monique felt sure he was going to propose to her, but that day never came.

She arranged to meet him for dinner one evening, but he never arrived. After waiting for one hour, she went home and desperately called him several times in the next hours, only to receive no answer. She called the restaurant and checked several places in the Quarter they frequented, but her efforts were to no avail.

She called his superior officer the next morning and asked to speak to Scott, advising she had an urgent message for him. The officer very kindly told her that Scott had been shipped out of New Orleans and would not be returning.

No, I must speak to him. It is very important! Please, where is he? She tried not to sound desperate, but she knew she did.

The officer kindly informed her again that he could not divulge Scott’s whereabouts, as it was confidential. I’m sure Scott will contact you as soon as he is able to. He abruptly hung up the phone and left Monique speechless on the other end.

She’d waited for weeks for him to call, but he never had. The pain of not knowing why the relationship had ended had almost been more than she could bear. Not spending time with Scott and feeling his strong arms around her while he made love to her had been an ache she almost could not live with. She sometimes questioned if he had found out her line of work, but she had been extremely careful and had covered all her bases. She had countless contacts from the police to law and city clerks, lawyers, and private detectives that she had paid off to make sure he would never find out she was a high-paid escort for Crescent City Inc.

Monique rubbed her weary eyes. She’d tried desperately over the past nine years to forget the feelings she still harbored for Scott, but he kept haunting her subconscious. She presumed she had become pregnant sometime in the last two weeks she’d been with Scott. She could not remember if she’d ever told Osborne his last name. She would let him know as soon as she arrived home.

5

Journey to Venice, Louisiana, March 1978

Osborne slipped on his new shirt and pants for his first day of school. He wasn’t sure if he should wear socks but decided to just in case. He looked around to see if he should take anything with him. Nothing looked of interest, so he decided not to take anything.

He set out on a beautiful morning and found his way to the bayou. His mama had told him to follow the dirt path past the tall grass and continue until there was a crossing in the road. He arrived quickly and spotted two large trees with Spanish moss hanging down in the water. To his delight he found the boat his mama had told him about almost completely camouflaged with the moss. He had never seen trees like this and was entirely in awe. The bayou looked immense to him, as this was the first time he’d laid his eyes on it. He was thrilled to be out of his own backyard. Mama would not like him going outside, but she was not around to tell him what to do anymore. Besides, she had been gone for weeks this time. Who knew if she would come back? Osborne burned with hatred for her at this time and did not miss her as he seized the boat’s