THE EYES HAVE IT

When I was fourteen years old, I had the opportunity to go and stay with a family living in Pascoe in Washington the state. I flew from London to Vancouver and then had to get a greyhound bus across the border. I remember this hippy in full afghan coat and beads, long hair etc he sat next to me. When we got to the American border he gave me a little box and said “can you look after this for me?” Me being naïve, I say “sure” and put it in my pocket.

Later we were told to vacate the bus, and the customs checked our bags and passports, I noticed the hippy was taken off to a nearby room. When we finally got back on the bus, he says “they strip searched me.” I thought, “yuck”. I gave him his box back and I remember him smiling and saying “you are a good girl, I like the English.” He opened the box and took a pinch of white stuff and sniffed it up his nose. He grinned and said “aah, that’s better.”

The bus travelled from Vancouver to Seattle and I was thrown off at approximately midnight. My next bus was an hour or two away and I had to wait into the early hours. There were gangs of swearing thugs exchanging flick knives all around me, but I was so tired I just sat wearily on my case and ignored them.

It was at Seattle that I noticed a tall man with dark thick wavy hair. He had his whole leg in plaster and was hobbling on crutches. I didn’t give him much thought and tried to sleep. When my bus arrived I thankfully boarded it. The man with the crutches pushed someone out of the way to board directly behind me. I remember he rubbed himself up rather close to me, I didn’t like it, and elbowed him away.

I didn’t give him another thought, but had noticed he sat on the opposite side of the bus to me, and one row behind. I could feel his eyes boring into me. I was so jet lagged I went to sleep dangling my legs over the side of the seat, as no one sat next to me on that journey. Half way through the trip, a woman shook me into a wakeful state saying . “Excuse me but do you know that man?” I was sluggish and turned over to look at the man behind me with the broken leg, he was staring at me like I was his next dinner. I was sleepy and just said “No!” She said “Well he was massaging your feet.” I turned to look at him in disgust and stared indignantly right into the eyes of the depraved man. I was totally unaware; he was at that point, blissfully deliberating how he was going to kill me.

At fourteen and blessed by the power of innocence, I recoiled my feet and shrugged him off, I called him a “pervert ” and showed my disgust before falling back to sleep. About an hour or so later I had to disembark in Pascoe. As I attempted to make my way down the aisle of the greyhound bus, the man with the broken leg jumped up and again pushed himself too close behind me. I again elbowed him back away from me with annoyance.

The coach driver found my suitcase and I began to walk along the street which at approximately 5am was deserted. I needed to find a telephone box as all I had was a phone number of the people who were going to pick me up. I heard the man behind me and turned to see it was the tall dark haired man that was already a pest. He shouted out at me to stop. He said “Wait, I need help.” It was not in my nature to ignore anyone who makes a plea for help, but I think at that point, my gut instinct or an angel took over. I picked up my case and ran with it, I didn’t know where I was going but ran nevertheless.

The man who had a broken leg shouted again. “Stop, help me.” I ignored him, and looked over my shoulder only to see he had began to run after me. He chased me despite having a broken leg, and came within an inch of getting me except a deli shop on a corner was open and I fell into it. The shopkeeper showed some surprise when I told him out of breath that “A man with a broken leg chased me!”
I think he put it down to the eccentricities of the English!

I never saw the man with the broken leg again, but always wondered how odd it was that he ran after me. It was only two years ago when I was surfing the internet I came across a banner about serial killers. I noticed that two girls had been murdered near Pascoe, in the same year and close to the months I was in Washington. I looked at the next page to find out more information about the poor girls demise, and there staring at me were the burning eyes of their killer. It was the man with the broken leg: Ted Bundy.