October 20th, 1976
Hollow Creek, Pennsylvania
6:08 P.M.
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The Millers' living room was illuminated by the glow of their television. Plates lay empty on the coffee table, roast potatoes half-eaten and left behind as Mr.Miller and his wife sat on the floor, their eyes fixed on the television. Their daughter, Sarah, sat cross-legged on the carpet, pencil held but notebook untouched.
On camera, Anchor Rebecca Holden spoke with a grave bias in her tone:
"Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen the Police have created a new suspect for last Tuesday and Wednesdays Hollow Creek murders: Vietnam Veteran Thomas Bell, age thirty-three. The police have given him the name, 'The Silent Soldier' due to the frightening precision and stealth displayed at the crime scene."
Beside Holden was a tiny, grainy picture of a black-and-white military headshot. Bell's neatly trimmed dress uniform and smoothly shaved jaw glared out at the screen in a dead-eye stare. No mud. No war paint. The calm, untroubled eye of a man accustomed to following orders.
On the screen graphic displayed the following information:
SUSPECT: THOMAS BELL
ALIAS: THE SILENT SOLDIER
PHOTO: U.S. Army Service Record headshot.
Mr. Miller stroked his hair saying to himself, "He was in the service..." He silently whispering to himself saying, "What fucking soldier would do that to his own country people.. Fucking coward.."
Mrs. Miller gazed at her husband responding towards his self comments, "Honey, dont be saying that around your daughter!" She sighed as she commented. "Don't stress out the family then it already is. We already have a Soldier killing people in our own town."
She looked over her shoulder at the screen, brow furrowed, her thumb tracing the rim of her mug. "After all.. I think I might've seen that man yesterday outside.. It was foggy, but maybe it was just a racoon.. or deer.. I dont know."
Sarah's pencil still paused over her notebook. "Why do they call him 'The Silent Soldier,' again..?"
Mr. Miller's jaw hardened. "Honey, didn't you just hear what the Anchor said? The guy kills people before the victim notices or hears him at all."
He reached across and turned up the volume a notch. The hum of the TV was more pronounced, sounding almost like static breathing.
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Later that night, at Burns' Coffee Shop...
Two old acquaintances leaned forward over the steaming cups.
"I heard from a young fella, that soldier.. or some shit, attacked at broad daylight," one said stirring the sugar in their coffee. "No warning. No shots fired. One minute the guy is breathing, next minute on the floor dead."
The other one nodded. "Every witness said the same goddamn thing: they never knew the old man died."
He leaned forward, his voice low. "They said to me there wasn't even a scream. There was just. silence. And then the poor guy laying there strangled to death.."
The first man shook his head slowly. "Used to think stuff like this only happened in Philly. Or on the late-night news."
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Outside Carter's Gulf Station downtown, the attendant polished the counter while customers walked past.
"That soldier's profile just came in," he told a co-worker. "Tim's cousin saw a guy in a green jacket and scuffed-up boots, early morning, walking down Maple Street. Looked... off.."
The co-worker raised an eyebrow. "Oh please, you gotta be bullshitting me, Off how?"
Carter said responding back, "I ain't bullshitting you man! Like. like a man who wasn't walking anywhere in particular," the attendant said. "Like he didn't even know what town he was in."
They both looked at the door, as if expecting someone to push it open any second.
"Anyway," the attendant muttered, "I'm locking up early. Don't wanna be caught out and being killed in the middle of the street.. Not a death that I would prefer."
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On Screen, the headline displayed: STATEMENT FROM PENNSYLVANIA STATE POLICE & HOLLOW CREEK SHERIFFS DEPARTMENT.
Lieutenant Andrew Cross of the Pennsylvania State Police stood behind a podium, flanked by uniformed deputies. A silent crowd of reporters strained to hear, before Lieutenant Cross leaned in at the microphone saying. "Thomas Bell is believed to be using his military training to avoid capture. And has been placed a arrest warrant on his head. We are requesting that the residents of Hollow Creek lock all doors after dark and keep watch. If you notice anyone who matches this description, do not approach—call 911 immediately."
A freeze-frame image of Bell's army portrait again flashed on: serene, expressionless.
Sheriff Benham switched positions with Lieutenant Andrew Cross and leaning infront of the Podium Microphone announcing to the press. "As stated by the Lieutenant Cross this suspect is dangerous and armed. Bring children and pets inside, call your neighbors, and report anything unusual. We also highly encourage you to arm yourself and protect your loved ones from this suspect. We will not stop until he is caught, either dead or alive."
Cameras snapped. Journalists took notes, mumbling to one another.
One of the young reporters in the back turned over and whispered to a friend, "He's probably not even hiding. He's stalking some people probably.."
The other nodded. "And he's most likely going to strike again..."
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Back to the Millers
The screen snapped off. The room was silent. Only the faint tick of the grandfather clock moved in the room.
Sarah clung to her knees. "Mom... Dad.. I'm scared..," she breathed with some pauses then and there of fear.
Her mother moved across the room to the window and peered out into the accumulating darkness. The streetlights flickered on, one by one, casting the dark silhouettes of houses across the street. One set of headlights haunted the pavement, then vanished around the bend.
She pulled the curtain across, fingers lingering there for a moment.
Mr. Miller walked out to the front door and reached out to touch the deadbolt. "It's locked," he said, more or less to himself.
But out there, somewhere beyond the halo of their porch light, Branch Street was nothing but shadow.
Yet The Silent Soldier watched from a distance.