The Cherry Pie Massacre

January 7, 2008
By Jordan Hurst, Foster, VA

She was a stunning girl. Her golden blonde hair reached just past her shoulder blades and her smile always turned heads. Her brown eyes were irresistible for many. When you spied her slender figure against the sunset, the only thing visible was her glistening lips coated with her favorite lip gloss. Her cherry lip gloss could still be seen on his lips, but that didn’t bother him. Mr. Turner was an unusual man.
Mr. Turner did not expect young Olivia to strike him the way she did, but after their first meeting in The Lonestar Café located in a small town in Texas, Olivia’s smile filled his mind. Mr. Turner had slumped in the dusty glass planes of the door to the café. He nonchalantly grabbed a menu and slide into booth number six, his lucky number.
“Maybe today will be my lucky day,” thought Mr. Turner.
When Mr. Turner noticed Olivia straddling the corner of the bar, a smile spread across his face. She reminded him of the first Mrs. Turner. She had the same brown eyes and big smile that sent flash backs into his mind. Mr. Turner did not like thinking about the late Mrs. Turner, this is the woman who changed his life forever.
Olivia came strutting over to the table with a fresh, steaming coffee pot.
“Interested?” asked Olivia.
“In you or the coffee, young lady?” replied Mr. Turner slyly.
“Not to be the barer of bad news sir, but I am only 19. You must be 40. I never date older than 30. Plus, you’re not my type. Do you want any coffee, or not?” said Olivia.
By this time, Olivia was beginning to become frustrated. Her shift has started seven hours earlier, and she was ready for a hot bath.
“If you’re going to be a pest, I will get someone to cover this table, sir. Not to be a crab, but I have had a long day, and I am just trying to do my job,” Olivia remarked with an attitude.
“Don’t worry. I just want some coffee and pie. My goal was not to bother you, but rather to make friends. I am alone in my new large home. I am a widower. I moved to this small town after my wife died two years ago. My name is Craig Turner, and I am only 29,” said Mr. Turner.
“Oh, sorry about that comment earlier. Maybe you just looked 40 in that light. I can now see the younger, saddened side. Nice to meet you, sir. My name is Olivia. Olivia Sharp,” said Olivia in a much lighter tone.
“Nice to meet you Olivia. Now, can I get that pie? Is cherry available? That is my favorite. Also, I take cream with my coffee,” said Mr. Turner.
“Sure Craig, coming right up,” replied Olivia annoyed.
Minutes later, Olivia returned with his pie. She had decorated the edges of the pie plate with some extra touches of whipped cream. Any good waitress knows garnishes on plates mean bigger tips. If Mr. Turner was going to flaunt his large home and money, why not utilize it?
“Here you go. Enjoy,” said Olivia, leaving the table briskly.
Mr. Turner greatly bothered her. She could tell with his worried green eyes that something was wrong with him, but she did not want to stick around to find out. Mr. Turner did just as she wished. He ate his pie quickly, inhaled his coffee, and left the money on the table, not even requesting the bill. He left the café and never looked back because he knew he would see young Olivia again soon.
When Olivia arrived at the table to clear the empty pie plate, she found a crisp $100 bill. This was way too much money for some pie and coffee. Was this a bribe? Olivia began to question Mr. Turner. She quickly snapped back in to reality, pocketing the money. Generosity is loved by waitresses, even weird generosity in bad times. Olivia quickly wanted to leave work. Her tired legs needed a rest, and she knew so. Olivia told her boss that she was not feeling good, leaving work about 20 minutes early expecting to head home to her hot bathtub and scented candles. Once she stepped outside the door, she felt a rain drop hit her cheek. When she watched the weather before work, she had noticed the rain cloud on the seven day forecast. Olivia rushed to her 2005 Ford Mustang and began to count her tip money.
Mr. Turner had several tricks up his sleeve. He had done this before. After leaving the restaurant, he jumped into his corvette. He had work to do. He drove about ten miles down the road. Before leaving the restaurant, he had some small talk with another waitress obtaining the information that Olivia lived near the town’s center. Mr. Turner knew exactly which direction to head. The rain drops were starting to fall harder, perfect for his plan. He pulled the corvette over into a well lit place. The setting sun made the black paint sparkle, making a young woman not be able to resist stopping to check on poor rich Mr. Turner.
Olivia finished her counting. She earned 150 dollars in her eight hour shift, thanks to Mr. Turner. After pocketing the cash, she pulled her red car out of the parking lot speeding towards Mr. Turner without even knowing. She pushed the speed limit on the way, that bath was in great anticipation. Corner after corner, Olivia was reaching her destination. Suddenly, she turned the last corner before her lonely apartment to spy a black corvette with the hood up. Under the hood was a pair of sweat gleaming muscles. Any girl knows that boys combined with muscles combined with sweat are a dangerous combination. A cowboy hat shaded his eyes. She did not recognize the stranger, but she always had a thing for cowboys. Olivia toyed with the idea in her mind. Should she stop? A hot bath alone or meeting the hottest cowboy alive that drives a corvette, the problem at hand was quickly solved. Olivia had been single for quite some time. She pulled her car alongside the broken down car to see if she could give him a lift.
Mr. Turner’s grin was immense. He knew when the speedy red car turned the corner that it had to belong to his next victim.

He had positioned his car carefully on the road, in a perfect location to save the soon to be damsel in distress. When her car hit the spikes, the mustang jolted every which way. The car twisted and flung off the road. A crash sounded when the car flung into a tree. Olivia hit her head on the steering wheel. She was instantly knocked out. This was perfect for Mr. Turner’s plan.

With Olivia knocked out behind the wheel, Mr. Turner jumped out of his car and walked towards her car. He stared down at her limp body. She looked more and more like the late Mrs. Turner at this point. It reminded him of a time two years ago, on his wife’s death bed. Mr. Turner grabbed Olivia’s limp body. The sun had just set. It was dark in the field in which Olivia’s car had crashed. On the outline of the field, about 300 yards away, lay tall trees. This is the direction in which Mr. Turner headed with Olivia in his arms.

Olivia awoke minutes later, lying in the dark. Her head pounded. She reached to touch her forehead, which was covered in her own blood. She slowly sat up. What happened? Where was she? Olivia realized she was in the woods. She seemed to be alone, but how could she end up in the woods alone? Olivia heard a slight crunch, leaves breaking. In the dark, she could not see. Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and in the dark she saw a familiar site, the cowboy hat. She heard noise.

“Hello dear Olivia,” whispered the cowboy.

“Where am I? What is going on?” questioned the scared girl.

“Do you want to hear a story Olivia? I was married once before to a woman named Amanda. She has blonde hair, brown eyes, a slender body, and shiny lips. She looked just like you. Mrs. Turner cheated on me with my brother. I was so in love with her. She devastated me. From that point on, I knew women were all evil, especially women who reminded me of my Amanda. When Amanda got home from work the day I found out, I killed her. From that day on, I have killed anyone who reminded me of her. Today at the café, you looked so much like her. I am sorry Olivia. You seem like a nice girl, but all women are the same. Good bye, Olivia,” shouted Mr. Turner.

Mr. Turner grabbed Olivia’s head. He kissed her lip-gloss covered lips and grabbed the axe. When the axe hit her head, she died instantly. If only, Mr. Turner had not been craving that cherry pie.

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