August 9, 1969 - Tate Middle
The trio approached the gate.
Tex pushed the exit gate button with his bloody finger, leaving a print to dry in day's heat yet to come.
Winnifred was hysterical. There was no way she would have had the presence of mind to worry about touching that gate button. The poor woman wanted to flee that hellscape. Who could blame her?
Officer DeRosa stated at trial he had to push the button to get out. Yes. But did he have to use his full finger to do so? A pen? Some other tool on his person?
In Officer DeRosa's defense, he could have assumed Winnifred had already touched the button to flee, already ruining Tex's original print.
Regardless, civilian or police, your instinct to get out of that living nightmare would have been strong. Tate friend and colleague, William Tennant, after identifying Sharon and Jay, ran out of the living room and vomited on the front lawn.
I fault neither poor Mrs. Chapman or Officer DeRosa. From the safety of my home, and 56 years into the future, I am Monday night quarterbacking. Holding a wishful re-do on that terrible morning.
No one can know for sure how they would react after seeing such horror. I've asked myself this question countless times. I'd want to flee. I'd see the blood on the button. I am horrified to touch it. Maybe the edge of my nail. Maybe I pick up a stick. Truly, I don't know. But like Chapman, I'd want the hell out of there.
"What are you doing? I didn't tell you to start the engine."
Tex got into the front passenger seat. Sadie and Katie slid in back. Linda hit the accelerator and wheeled the Ford down the winding road.
Inside, the three killers shed their clothes. Tex piled his blood-soaked clothes beside Linda. She refused to look. Linda stared straight ahead and drove in silence, keeping her emotions in check as best she could. Linda harbored a newfound fear of Tex Watson and the girls.
"Geez, my knuckle hurts somethin' awful. That chick was more bone than flesh! How come I kept hitting bone? Tex, you gotta re-do those knife lessons for us ‘cause I don't think I got what you were teachin' us the first time." Katie rubbed her hand while peeling off her jeans.
"Yeah, and that goddamned big motherfucker wouldn't die, just like Gary!" said Sadie. "He pulled my hair so hard, I think he actually yanked some of it out. Thanks to him, I have a raging headache, and a bald spot in the back of my head!" Sadie pulled off her black sweatshirt, the top covered more in blood than sweat.
Tex's right foot still throbbed, but he manned-up and kept his complaints to himself. When he exited the Ford at Spahn's, he limped and boasted about his "war" wound.
This night should have been coined, The Night of the Great Green Garden Hoses. Gibby tripped over and dropped blood onto the Tate pool-side hose. And another garden hose was coming their way.
It was close to 1 a.m., August 9, 1969.
The murderous trio tip-toed into Rudy's front lawn.
Rudy heard a hissing sound coming from outside. He immediately recognized it as his outside tap running. In no time, he and his wife were on their front lawn, face-to-face with three kids using their garden hose.
"What are you doing?" asked Rudy.
"We've been walking, and we needed a drink." Tex replied.
Rudy tailed them to the Ford. His wife called out, "Get the license number! Get the number!"
The killers jumped back into Johnny Swartz's trusty jalopy, this time with Tex behind the wheel. He flooded the engine in his haste and tussled with Rudy over the keys until Tex cranked up the driver's side window. The engine finally ignited, and Tex sped off, never thinking to steal from the Weber's and kill them, too.
In the valley, Tex stopped for gas, paying for it with Gibby's money. They inspected themselves in the washroom for any traces of blood. Tex, by now utterly exhausted, got Linda to drive the rest of the way home.
When the old Ford pulled into Spahn's, the car no doubt as weary as the zombie killers who rode in her, Charlie and Brenda were their welcoming party, the two sitting on the boardwalk. After a general blow by blow account of events from Tex, and a sponge bath for the Ford by Sadie, the four melted away into different parts of the ranch, bone-chillingly exhausted and licking their physical, if not emotional, wounds.
No tears were shed that night by anyone. Except from Linda.
Can you be too tired, too shocked to cry? Can you be too cold-hearted?
Tex told Charlie, "Yeah, it sure was Helter Skelter."
The four let go of their in-the-Now conscious beings and slept the sleep of the drug-addled damned. Night One of several hellish nights to come.
If there had been a calendar and clock at Spahn's, they would have shown it was somewhere around 2 a.m., August 9, 1969. Possibly the longest, most exhausting night these lazy Slippies had ever had.
Alas, the night's creepy crawl wasn't over just yet.
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