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Lucas Riggs thought he was untouchable, rich, arrogant, and above consequence,
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but when his obsession with photography turns into something far
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more sinister, he learns the hard way that art may
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live forever, but some things simply never die. What's that
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You want to be scared? Come with me? He will
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experience tales over opera, ghosts, and death. He does not
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recommended a butt of week at heart heart listeners in
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the dark, It's more fun at that way way. This
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is Weekly Speaking. Hello, my spookies, It's Wednesday, and you
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know what that means. It's time for a little spooky
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in your weekly. I'm your host and narrator, Enrique Kuto,
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and tonight's story is a bit of sick and tumultuous terror.
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I know you're going to enjoy from friend of the
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show and prolific author Travis van Hoos. But before we
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get to that story, I want to say thank you
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all so much for joining us tonight and for allowing
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us to make your week a little bit creepier in
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the best way possible. If you haven't already, please subscribe
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on your favorite podcasting app because you do not want
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to miss all that we have in store for you,
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and while you're over at Apple Podcasts and Spotify, leave
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a five star rating. It really does make a big
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difference for the show. And if you love what we're
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doing and want to support us directly, go to Weekly
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Spooky dot slash Join for as little as one dollar
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a month. You get two bonus shows every month, exclusive audiobooks,
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creepypasta readings, and so much more at Weeklyspooky dot com
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slash join. But as for tonight, some people think they
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can do whatever they want, that the world is theirs
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to step on, break and toss aside. But what if
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the things they hurt could hurt them back. We're going
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to meet a young man named Lucas Riggs who had
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everything money, a fast car, and a hobby that made
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people squirm. See, Lucas wasn't like other people. He had
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a fascination with roadkill. But one night on a lonely road,
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Lucas is going to realize his macabre interest may just
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come back to bite him. So get comfortable, get cozy,
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and get ready for a relax mixing ride down a
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dark highway where things are not exactly as they seem.
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We'll meet up with Lucas and find out exactly what
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happens right after this roadkill by Travis van Houss. Lucas
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Riggs was on top of the world. For years, he
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had struggled to make it as a professional photographer, a
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career he believed he was destined for, Yet he had
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never made a sale like the one he had just closed.
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He attributed his sudden success to the unorthodox and disturbing
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subject matter of his latest series of photographs. Multiple buyers
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had placed competitive bids on the series, resulting in a
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crisp check for one hundred thousand thousand dollars folded neatly
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in his back pocket. It's been a long time coming,
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Lucas thought. He always knew he was talented, and could
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hardly believe it had taken until age thirty three to
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get his first big break. He had flown home to
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Ohio with a shit eating grin plastered on his face.
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He was eager to spread the word of his good fortune.
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His few friends would refer to him as arrogant. They
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believed he expected the world to hand him everything on
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a silver platter, and his obsession with status defined him.
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They all knew he was living life on his parents' dime.
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Those in the art world despised him. Lucas had a
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habit of dismissing their work as amateurish and lacking inspiration,
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even though he had not sold a s single peace
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since college. He was a hypocrite with many enemies. Lucas Riggs.
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His arrogance extended far beyond his photography, seeping into every
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aspect of his life, especially his interactions with women. Lucas
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believed he was God's gift to women and would seethe
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with rage whenever he was rejected. When he looked in
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the mirror, he saw a masterpiece and couldn't understand why
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any woman would ever consider turning him down. He believed
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they should feel honored to be in his presence. When
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a woman rejected him, he always found a way to
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get his revenge. He wasn't violent by nature, but he
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acted out when he felt slighted. Once he had been
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snubbed by a girl at a bar. When he saw
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her kissing another guy. Recognizing the car she drove to
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the bar, he slashed all four tires with the switchblade
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he always carried. Physically, Lucas was undeniably attractive. He worked
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out and took care of his body. He had well
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defined muscles and a strong jawline. His arms were covered
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with expensive tattoos. His smile revealed full lips, perfect teeth,
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and deep dimples. His eyebrows and lashes were dark and striking,
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framing his hazel eyes. His hair, short on the sides
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and tussled on top, seemed casually perfect, though he spent
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at least half an hour each morning creating the just
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rolled out of bed look. Rolling down the window of
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his red BM doubly, Lucas lit a cigarette and cranked
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up the stereo. An old rock tune blasted through the
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speakers as he drummed his fingers in time with the
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music on the steering wheel. The cocaine he had snorted
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in the airport parking lot was still coursing through his veins,
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and his buzz was keeping him sharp and jittery. He
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couldn't wait to get home to keep the party going.
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The night stretched on as he drove down an old
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road known as Route seven forty seven that led to
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Rigg's Manor, where he lived with his wealthy parents. He
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had the guesthouse to himself and rarely engaged with his
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mother and father. In his mind, their only purpose was
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to fund the extravagant lifestyle he had been accustomed to
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since birth. He never set it out last. But he
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couldn't wait until they died so he could inherit their fortune,
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something he felt he was entitled to. Lucas's father was
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a day trader and his mother was a famous lifestyle blogger. Together,
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they brought in nearly thirty million dollars a year. Lucas
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couldn't understand why they lived in Ohio. He continuously encouraged
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them to relocate to the West Coast, but they refused,
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explaining that they loved the tranquility of their small Ohio town,
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hobbs End, believing it kept them grounded. They feared moving
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to a big city would change them and challenge their humility.
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Mister and Missus Riggs knew they were solely responsible for
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Lucas's behavior. They spoiled him as a child and often
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disgust cutting him off to find his own way in
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the world, but neither of them could bear the guilt
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of actually doing it. Towering stalks of corn flanked the
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road the BMW was speeding down. Lucas's sharp eyes scanned
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the road ahead. The cocaine heightened his senses and his
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wide eyes were overly alert. Deer were notorious for darting
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out from the sides of the road this time of year,
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and he had no intention of damaging his pristine BMW
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by hitting one. Just a month earlier, he hit a
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deer on this road, but unlike the others who might
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swerve to avoid the deer, Lucas deliberately hid it for
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his art. An art professor once told Lucas that there
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is beauty in everything, even death. He was referring to
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the vibrant hues of the leaves changing color in the fall,
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but Lucas took this to the extreme. His mind fixated
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on Route seven forty seven, the desolate stretch of road
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to his home. It was the kind of road where
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you could speed for miles before passing another car. For
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this reason, it was also littered with road kill. All
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types of wild life lived in the woods and fed
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in the cornfields surrounding the road. Almost everyone who lived
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along Root seven forty seven had at some point hit
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a helpless critter on this stretch of asphalt. Once a
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week a city the cleanup crew arrived to collect and
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dispose of the dead carcasses. Lucas often wondered what type
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of man could do such a job. In his eyes,
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public waste workers were beneath him. What a sad fucking existence,
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he would think with a sneer when he saw them working.
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On more than one occasion, he'd even tossed an empty
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bottle from his window at them, his lips curling in satisfaction.
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Beauty in everything, even death, the Professor's words echoed in
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Lucas's mind the day he pulled his car to the
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side of Route seven forty seven, where he spotted what
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looked like a dead raccoon in the middle of the road.
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Grabbing his camera, he slung the strap over his neck
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and stepped on to the hot asphalt. He could smell
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the decay as the animal rotted in the beating sun,
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but the odor didn't bother Lucas. To him, the scent
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represented art. When he arrived within touching distance of the
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dead and bloated animal, his brilliant white teeth appeared behind
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a smile that would have been disturbing if anyone else
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had witnessed it. Large black flies buzzed around the rotting
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corpse and maggots were already feasting on the critter. A
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black beetle crawled from a hole where one of the
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raccoon's eyes used to be. Raising the camera, Lucas began
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shooting the raccoon. The camera clicked and the film inside rolled.
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As Lucas collected photograph after photograph, he knelt to adjust
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his angle, then lay flat on the hot asphalt to
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snap an even lower perspective of the poor animal. As
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he stood up, he noticed large black winged vultures circling above.
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Their slow, ominous movements told him they would descend to
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feast the moment he left, he made a mental note
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to return in a few hours to capture the gruesome
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act of the circle of life. Throughout that afternoon, Lucas
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captured what he considered beautiful photographs of raccoons, squirrels, a possum,
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and even a dog. He had found his inspiration in
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death and believed each photograph was a work of art,
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But he craved something more, something significant, smashed and strewn
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across the road, something big and fresh. Don't go away, weekly,
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spooky will be right back. Lucas spent the rest of
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the day developing film in his photo lab tucked in
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the back of the guesthouse of Rigg's manor. His parents
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had paid for every piece of expensive equipment. As he
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watched the pictures slowly develop, he was consumed with excitement.
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He had never seen something so beautiful as the entrails
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of roadkills spilled on Route seven forty seven. He was
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amazed at how the white maggots shined in the bloody
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folds of the dark fur. This calls for a celebration,
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Lucas said aloud, patting himself on the back. As he
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admired his work, he poured himself tall glasses of whiskey
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and coke, and he was thoroughly drunk by nightfall. That
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is when inspiration struck a brilliant, twisted idea to complete
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his collection of photographs. He'd take the gardener's truck head
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down Root seven forty seven and scatter apples from the
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family orchard along the deserted road. He'd bust them open,
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hoping the scent would lure a deer, maybe even an
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entire family, on to the road. When the moment was right,
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he would floor the truck, propelling it forward, metal meeting
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flesh and bone. He'd then take his camera and create
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another photographic masterpiece, the perfect work of art, to complete
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his collection. Returning from his art exhibit in California, Lucas
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hadn't seen a single piece of roadkill on Route seven
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forty seven. He was still thirty miles from home and
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eager to tell his parents about his good fortune, letting
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them know he would relocate to California. He couldn't wait
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to hold up his check and prove to his parents
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he had finally made it. He'd have called ahead, but
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had left his cell phone in the hotel room in California.
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It was being shipped back to Rigg's manor the next day.
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Up ahead, something caught his eye. This time it wasn't roadkill.
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It was a woman, a stunning woman. She stood on
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the edge of the road with a brown suitcase in
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one hand and her skirt hiked up with the other.
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Her leg gleamed in the moonlight and the headlights of
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his car. Even from a distance, he could see the
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woman smile. Her long blonde hair blew gently in the
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evening breeze. Lucas eased his foot off the gas pedal,
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pulling the car to the side of the road. He
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assumed the woman needed a ride, and Lucas was more
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than willing to offer one, perhaps even more if the
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opportunity presented itself. As the car rolled to a stop,
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the woman swiftly moved toward the vehicle, her suitcase gone.
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Lucas barely bled linked his eyes before both the front
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and back passenger doors swung open. The vixen slid gracefully
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into the front seat, while a strangely dark, rough looking
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man slid into the back. What the fuck, Lucas froze
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as both the doors slammed shut. I thought she was alone.
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He became instantly nervous, jumping slightly. When the cigarette he
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had been smoking had burned down to his finger tips,
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searing his skin. He flicked the butt out the window
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without taking his eyes off his passengers. His eyes darted
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to the rear view mirror. He had seen enough movies
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to know he might be in a terrible predicament. Thanks
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for picking us up, the blue eyed vixen said, with
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a comforting smile. I'm Doris, and that's my boyfriend, Derek.
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She nodded toward the back seat. No problem. Lucas's tone
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was sharp and steady, although he was nervous. His hand
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trembled as he gripped the steering wheel so tight his
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knuckles turned white. He didn't like the idea of a
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strange guy sitting behind him. Too many horror stories about
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people picking up hitchhikers and being robbed or murdered started
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this way. Don't worry, we're not psychopaths. Doris laughed lightly,
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as if she could read his mind. We were riding
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with another guy, but he kept getting handsy, so we
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had him drop us off. He's not the type of
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guy Derek and I would invite into our bedroom, she
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remarked playfully. Lucas's shoulders relaxed slightly. He wasn't against the
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idea of joining Doris and her boyfriend in the bedroom,
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as he couldn't take his eyes off her. Yeah, you
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have to be careful who you ride with or pick
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up these days, Lucas said, glancing at Derek in the
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rear view mirror. He was tall and lanky, and Lucas
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knew he could take him in a fight, as long