possesses a rather dark history.” He sipped his drink, his thoughts entering places where I knew Dave kept deep repositories of experience. He said, “It just might be the nation’s bloodiest ground and its most vast cemetery.”
TWENTY-FIVE
“The body of a teenager has been found in the Ocala National Forest,” came the newsbreak on Dave’s television. He reached for his remote and turned up the sound. The reporter, standing in a wooded area, said, “And police aren’t releasing the identity until the victim’s next of kin can be notified. An autopsy to determine the exact cause of death is set for tomorrow… we’ll have a complete update on Eyewitness News Sunrise.”
Dave hit the mute button and sipped his vodka. He stared at the silent screen for a few seconds, his mind working, probably dissecting scenarios as to why the girl was killed. He grunted. “Since a lot of our nation’s history began in and around what is now the Ocala National Forest, it has a history as dark as some of those merciless events.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s go back, say 450 odd years or so. A quarter-million Timucuan Indians died in and around the forest.”
“A quarter-million?”
“Maybe more. They died from diseases imported by the Europeans, in particular, the Spanish Conquistadors. Advance three hundred years and we have some of the bloodiest battles in the history of America fought in there, the Seminole wars.”
I sipped my whiskey, Max’s eyes closing. I said, “It’s a big forest. A lot of American history began there. Doesn’t mean it’s a bad place. It’s actually quite peaceful and beautiful in there.”
He swirled the ice in his drink and said, “The locals call it ‘the forest,’ because some don’t want to call it America’s largest cemetery.” Dave lifted a sheet of paper off the table next to his chair. “I printed this out about an hour ago. Campers or hunters usually are the ones to discover these corpses, and most remain unidentified. Serial killer Aileen Wuornos left one of her victims in the forest. Amber Peck and John Parker, both were camping in the forest when a man, Leo Boatman, snuck up and slaughtered them. He hitched a ride across the state, and went into the forest looking to murder.”
“So you think he was drawn there, drawn there to commit murder?”
“Who knows? This murder list here goes on, suffice to say, the forest has a certain aura about it. The forest does attract known pagan groups for various festivals and ceremonies that coincide with changes in seasons.”
“I’m betting the summer solstice was one of them.”
Dave nodded and crushed a piece of ice with his back teeth. “The Midsummer’s Eve event is a remarkable annual occurrence that has deep, sometimes sinister roots, you know. But there’s also a certain enchantment to it, captured before Shakespeare and carried into modern times. The fantasy of slipping into a forest under a full moon at just before midnight to witness fairies and gnomes dancing around a fire has fascinated people for many millennia.”
“I believe the girl found dead today was traveling, like a gypsy, with the group of so-called Rainbow people. One of them could have killed her, or it could have been Soto if he was on the prowl. Inkman told me Soto spent time with these people. But if it was Soto, why get a tattoo of your victim? Even if it doesn’t resemble the face of the girl found today, the fairy wings connect dots and can build his profile in FBI databases.”
Dave set the paper down and placed his glass on it. “You told me Inkman said Soto wanted a fairy, like medieval times, so he took one. Took as in a sexual conquest, rape perhaps… or as in taking her life?”
“Maybe neither. If he was on some kind of drug, a hallucinogen, he could have imagined the whole thing.”
“The girl’s body is no figment of
TWENTY-FIVE
“The body of a teenager has been found in the Ocala National Forest,” came the newsbreak on Dave’s television. He reached for his remote and turned up the sound. The reporter, standing in a wooded area, said, “And police aren’t releasing the identity until the victim’s next of kin can be notified. An autopsy to determine the exact cause of death is set for tomorrow… we’ll have a complete update on Eyewitness News Sunrise.”
Dave hit the mute button and sipped his vodka. He stared at the silent screen for a few seconds, his mind working, probably dissecting scenarios as to why the girl was killed. He grunted. “Since a lot of our nation’s history began in and around what is now the Ocala National Forest, it has a history as dark as some of those merciless events.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s go back, say 450 odd years or so. A quarter-million Timucuan Indians died in and around the forest.”
“A quarter-million?”
“Maybe more. They died from diseases imported by the Europeans, in particular, the Spanish Conquistadors. Advance three hundred years and we have some of the bloodiest battles in the history of America fought in there, the Seminole wars.”
I sipped my whiskey, Max’s eyes closing. I said, “It’s a big forest. A lot of American history began there. Doesn’t mean it’s a bad place. It’s actually quite peaceful and beautiful in there.”
He swirled the ice in his drink and said, “The locals call it ‘the forest,’ because some don’t want to call it America’s largest cemetery.” Dave lifted a sheet of paper off the table next to his chair. “I printed this out about an hour ago. Campers or hunters usually are the ones to discover these corpses, and most remain unidentified. Serial killer Aileen Wuornos left one of her victims in the forest. Amber Peck and John Parker, both were camping in the forest when a man, Leo Boatman, snuck up and slaughtered them. He hitched a ride across the state, and went into the forest looking to murder.”
“So you think he was drawn there, drawn there to commit murder?”
“Who knows? This murder list here goes on, suffice to say, the forest has a certain aura about it. The forest does attract known pagan groups for various festivals and ceremonies that coincide with changes in seasons.”
“I’m betting the summer solstice was one of them.”
Dave nodded and crushed a piece of ice with his back teeth. “The Midsummer’s Eve event is a remarkable annual occurrence that has deep, sometimes sinister roots, you know. But there’s also a certain enchantment to it, captured before Shakespeare and carried into modern times. The fantasy of slipping into a forest under a full moon at just before midnight to witness fairies and gnomes dancing around a fire has fascinated people for many millennia.”
“I believe the girl found dead today was traveling, like a gypsy, with the group of so-called Rainbow people. One of them could have killed her, or it could have been Soto if he was on the prowl. Inkman told me Soto spent time with these people. But if it was Soto, why get a tattoo of your victim? Even if it doesn’t resemble the face of the girl found today, the fairy wings connect dots and can build his profile in FBI databases.”
Dave set the paper down and placed his glass on it. “You told me Inkman said Soto wanted a fairy, like medieval times, so he took one. Took as in a sexual conquest, rape perhaps… or as in taking her life?”
“Maybe neither. If he was on some kind of drug, a hallucinogen, he could have imagined the whole thing.”
“The girl’s body is no figment of
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