FINALE

     The ringing of the phone echoed throughout the house and down the wood paneled hallway. J.W. walked out of the bathroom and into the master bedroom of the house. A pair of white cotton boxers lay at the foot of his bed, folded neatly. The towel around his waist dropped as he pulled the boxers up onto himself, taking his time. The phone rang impatiently.

     He walked through the house slowly and steadily, without any impending purpose. Rounding the doorway to the kitchen, he lifted his hand to reach for the long cord phone that was fixed to the wall. The ringing stopped as he lifted the receiver. He put it to his ear without saying a word. He listened silently.

“J.W.?.....Is that you?....It’s Travis.”

“Yeah it’s me. What is it?”

“Most people answer the phone by saying hello.”

“Well, most people ain't suppose to be dead.”

“I guess it would seem odd if a dead man picked up if you called someone’s house. Been layin' low?
Listen, I got word from my man. I know where she’s stayin’ and I know her shifts. All we gotta do is wait till she’s working and grab her. No fuss, it's done.”

“Nah, we ain't hittin’ her at work. Somebody could see us and call the law. When she gets home, she’ll have someone waiting on her.”


     Travis sighed through the telephone.

“Whatever man, it’s your town. Your rodeo.”

“Give me the address.”

“It’s out on Big Woods Road, go down about a half mile, its got a red roof and a broke down chevy in the driveway.”

“3 am, she should be coming home from her shift at the bar. You take care of your end, make sure no one comes into that house behind her. I’ll take care of mine.”

“J.W., you think we oughta just tell them what happened? Let her face her judgement? This just doesn't seem right.”

“You held her, just the same as I did, Travis. Did that seem right to you? She will face her judgement,  but this is beyond the law.”

     The receiver clicked as he set it back on the wall, and the cord tangled beneath it. J.W. leaned his hand against the refrigerator that stood beside him and hung his head. When he closed his eyes he could only see one thing, Rebecca’s pale face staring back.

     He choked back the lump rising in his throat and blinked away tears. For once in his life, he felt that he had control over his life. What happened next was up to him alone, and he intended to find justice. Maybe not the kind of justice that was morally or ethically right, but justice nonetheless.

     As he made his way back to his bedroom he stopped at his nightstand. Sitting on top where he had left it, was his Bible. A thick, black leather bound book that has been with him since childhood. He smiled slightly as he brushed his fingers across the cover. They skipped over every bump and wrinkle.
     He sat on the edge of his bed and began to pull on his black lace up boots. He pulled the strings tight and knotted them at the top, tucking the loose ends inside so they couldn't be seen.

     He stood in silence as he buttoned down his shirt, all the while thinking of Rebecca. The cold touch of her hand that he could still feel. The stickiness of the drying blood that covered her hair. All of the memories he had, all of the smiles and laughter, had been blotted over with these images. He could no longer imagine the day they met or the day they married. Everything was a black void, and at the bottom of that void was her lifeless body.

     J.W. reached one arm into the air and shoved it through the arm hole of his department issued Kevlar vest. His head and second arm followed behind it. Tightening the Velcro straps around the chest, he grunted slightly. A full length mirror across the room shown back his reflection.

     He stared back at it for a moment. This would be the first time in his life he had ever put his uniform on to do anything but enforce the law. And this could very well be the last time in his life that he put it on at all.

******

     At the police station, in the small town of Zwolle, which was now the working headquarters of the state police, people swarmed liked bees. Files upon files were spread out across desks and tables. The entire building buzzed with conversations and the sound of papers flipping.

In a backroom, a long conference table sat with one man at the head of it. His uniform was a dark blue with yellow lining, and a wide brimmed hat of the same color sat on the table to his right. He read the papers of the file, as a younger officer approached him with a manila file folder. The man sitting spoke first.

“Ain't this a damn cluster of police work? It’s a wonder this town hasn’t eaten itself alive. Uncharged murders, domestic abuse, stabbings. Look here, this is a report of a body being found in the parking lot of a bar called Coon Ridge. That’s it. You know what they did? Nothing. No arrest. The family didn’t even file a complaint.”

“Yessir, it has that reputation.”

“It’s a damn shame is what it is. This ain't the wild west. There has to be law. All this frontier justice is chaos. That’s all it is. What’s this one you got?”

     The man reached over to grab the file that the young officer was holding.

“Reported as a hit and run. Young girl found beaten and bloody, left in a ditch a few years back. No arrests. The girl never described a vehicle or anything.”

“She live?”

“I didn’t see a matching name in the system or a report of death. I’ll ask the dispatcher if she knows anything about it.”

     The young officer turned to walk out of the room just as another entered. He seemed nervous and a bit excited as he began to speak.

“Sir, there’s a call for you out front.”

“Take a name and number, tell them I’ll call them back.”

“You might wanna take this one sir. He asked for you by name and said it was urgent.”

     The man let out an irritated groan and stood himself up from his chair. He shoved his hat down on his head and stepped heavily toward the front of the building. When he reached the front office desk, he rested one arm down on the table, and picked the phone up with the other.

“Hello……speaking….”

******

     J.W cut the engine of his truck off half a mile from the house Morgan was staying at. He parked off the road, into a small trail so that some trees covered his truck from sight of any passing vehicles.  With ease, he snapped the door shut , before heading out. As he walked past, he dropped his keys into the bed of the truck. He had no intentions of coming back for it.

     For thirty minutes, he stepped through the woods. He zigged in between trees and ducked under branches, trying to make as little noise as possible. The moon was covered by a thick layer of dark clouds, making it that much harder to see. He could hear cicadas buzzing in the distance, singing the soundtrack of his arrival.

     The porch light of the house came into view just on the other side of a tree line. His palms began to sweat. His heart beat began to increase rapidly. He had never even fired a gun at someone his entire career before he killed Campbell. Now, 2 days later, he planned to use it again.

     Every light in the house was off. Darkness bled from inside, while the light from the porch fought against it. The grass in the yard was tall and wet with the dew of the dampening air. As silent as he had arrived, his shape disappeared behind the house.

     The knob of the back door resisted as J.W.’s hand clenched around it and attempted to turn. He took one look around before slamming his fist through one of the four glass panes. Shining splinters rained down onto the floor. Reaching down, he unlocked the door from the inside and turned the knob, which this time cooperated.

     The glass crunched beneath his boots as he crossed the threshold. Blood from his hand dripped along the tile of the kitchen floor as he made his way through. The house was fairly clean on the inside, besides a few dirty dishes lining the sink. On top of the kitchen table sat a stack of 2 or 3 envelopes. He flipped through them, all addressed to Morgan.

“Hmmmmm….”

     He sat them back down and looked to his right, down a dark hallway toward one solemn room at the end. The red letters of a digital clock illuminated the bed. A few clothing items lay on the floor, that were clearly that of a female.

     His steps thundered down the hall. He looked around the room briefly, before removing the pistol that had been resting in the waistband of his pants. Gently, he sat down on the edge of the bed, his boots firmly on the floor. Then, almost robotically, he placed each hand down directly on top of his knees. His right hand clutched the gun.

     For twenty minutes he sat still, the only movement being the blinking of his eyes. They focused so that he could see clearly into the darkness. What began as shadowy blobs were now clear forms to him. Stillness and silence ruled the night. The only sound was his steady breathing.

     J.W.’s thoughts flickered in and out like an old home movie. He thought of his time with the police department. Working with and studying Campbell to learn everything that he knew. As a young man, he looked up to him in many ways. And still, as hard as he had studied him, he hadn’t known him at all.
     For years, Campbell had lived as a mad man and presented only a mask to J.W. Even now, he could not remember his face. Now, he was left wondering, if he could be fooled that easily, what else he could have gotten wrong in his life.

     His wife had certainly seen something in him that made her leave. The love they shared disappeared overnight and as hard as he fought, he could not get it back.

     Suddenly, headlights poured in through the windows of the house and J.W. could hear the engine of the car approaching. Brakes squealed to a stop under the carport and the engine killed. J.W. waited. The door of the car creaked open and then shut behind the driver. J.W. waited. Footsteps up to the front door and a jingle of keys. J.W. waited. Metal slid against metal as the key entered the door. The knob turned and the door swung open. Still, J.W. waited.

     Morgan entered the living room, walking right past the light switch, she left the room dark and tossed her purse onto the couch, with a thud. Next, a polo shirt, with the logo of the bar she worked at, flung across the top of the sofa. In her jeans and bra, Morgan walked toward the kitchen in order to flip on the light.

     As the sole of her shoe hit the tile of the floor, it squeaked and slid a few inches forward. She stopped to look down at the floor and picked up the bottom of her shoe. Her fingers ran across the ridges and she brought them close to her face to examine the wet substance she had stepped in. Her stomach sank as the red blood came into focus. Without looking around, she turned to walk quickly back toward the door.

“Stop!”

     Morgan froze in fear, reaching up only to cover her exposed bra with crossed arms. She began to shake. A voice from the back room spoke.

“Walk in here, slowly.”

“I knew this wasn’t over. I knew it in my heart.”

     As she turned to face him, J.W. used the tip of the gun to flip the light switch on in the bedroom. He waved the gun, motioning  her to walk forward. She did so, hanging her head.

     Morgan walked to the opposite side of the room, while J.W. stood at the door. Tears rolled down her face as she stood cowering, covering herself. J.W. held the gun up, pointed it at her.

“Tell me why! Why?!”

     Morgan looked toward the floor.

“I am broken. Everything was taken from me. My innocence. My Safety. My sight. I lived in fear. Fear that never went away.”

“That had nothing to do with me, that had nothing to do with Rebecca, you bitch!”

     J.W. screamed through his own tears.

“Sometimes you can get buried so slowly, you don’t even know you’re dead. You shoulda killed me in that cemetery, J.W.”

     J.W. shook his head.

“You tried to kill ME. You killed Rebecca!”

     Morgan lifted her head and brushed back the hair away from her blind eye.

“No….the first time….when you did this.”

     Confused, J.W. looked back at her. The gun trembled in his hand.

“Campbell. It was Campbell, you said. You told me.”

“Wake up J.W.! There’s no fucking Campbell. It’s you. You did this to me. You did it to Elizabeth. It was you.”

“No! That’s not true. What are you trying to do?”

     Flashes of memories jumbled through J.W.’s mind. He saw Elizabeth in her car smiling at him, then she screamed as he grabbed her arm. He saw Rebecca’s face as he punched her and dragged her into the back of his truck. He saw Morgan as she crawled away from him crying.

     J.W.’s eyes filled with tears. He shook his head in disbelief, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “It wasn’t me,” he repeated. Morgan rushed across the room. J.W. screamed as her knee jammed into his groin, causing him to buckle over and drop his gun.

     Frantically, they wrestled to retrieve the weapon. J.W. grabbed a handful of her hair as she crawled toward it. She quickly turned and scratched him across the face. With both hands, J.W. held his face and screamed. He only stopped when he heard the cocking of the gun.

“Get up you bastard!”

   J.W. sat, staring up at her, as she now stood over him. The gun was pointed right at his face, held by Morgan’s delicate hands. Suddenly, she swung the gun up toward the door of the bedroom as footsteps bounded in their direction. Travis’ voice yelled.

“J.W.!”

     As he entered the room a shot rang out and J.W. put both hands over his ears. He felt a warm spray of blood across his skin as his eyes clamped down tight. The floor shook as Travis’ body collapsed behind him.

J.W.’s breathing was quickly increasing and he could feel himself hyperventilating. For the first time, he was afraid. He waited for another shot and expected his own death to follow. When it did not come, he slowly allowed his eyes to creep open.

     Standing across the room, Morgan stood crying. She held the point of the gun under her chin with both hands. Her finger rested on the trigger.

“It was you, J.W. It was always you.”

     Red and blue lights broke through the darkness of the night, just as the shot went off. Debris from Morgan’s skull stuck to the wall and slowly dripped down in a red parade of macabre. Her body lay lifeless in front of J.W.

     Police cars filled the yard of the house, every one with lights swirling on top. Officers descended on the property like a swarm of ants. What was once a dark, silent night was now chaos. Guns drawn, yelling at the top of their lungs, officers order J.W. to put his hands behind his head.

     Just beyond the cars and out of the yard, two tires sat on the cool, black highway. A long haired man sat atop a bicycle looking on at the madness. He shifted the bandanna around his head as he put his feet down on the peddles. Redman Smiled as he rode away.

END.

     In 1995, J.W. was committed to the Angola State Prison system. Charged with four counts of first degree murder, he pled guilty.

     Two life sentences without parole kept him there until he succumbed to a heart attack in 2015, spurring the telling of this story.

     In a transcript of the court proceedings and sentencing, it was shown that the judge that handed down the sentence was quoted as saying,

“Evil men will do evil deeds, but in the end, your sin will find you out.”

Episode 16

    
Ephesians 4: 26-27
         Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and give no opportunity to the devil.

     We are only here for a short period and then we leave this world. It has been said that in the last moments of life, all of your days pass before your eyes in an instant. All of your deeds, all of your missteps and judgements. All played back for you like an old film projector.
     What if your entire life has been suffering? Should we be made to suffer again? Life is one long line of opportunities. Whether we realize it or not, we are presented with choices everyday. Little moments in time, that while seeming meaningless in the moment, will one day be played back for us to witness our wickedness or our victory, in front of the Great Judge.
     The one small hang-up in this entire system, is that the opportunity to do evil is much more prevalent than that to do good. We are given an unlimited amount of opportunities in this life to do evil, but the chance to do something good, something really meaningful, comes around very seldom.
     Nicodemus said that when he found God, the man he was died, and he was reborn as a new creature. A man without the bindings of the old man's sins. A man free from vengeance.

******

     The hand that gripped the one clawing it’s way through the dirt of the grave, grasped tightly. The soles of boots bared down against the ground and arms pulled as hard as they could. Travis let out a loud groan as he used every ounce of energy to pull forth the man struggling through the brown heap.

     A figure began to rise from beneath the Earth, the fingernails of his free hand digging into the ground so hard that they threatened to break. Finally, the mound grew large enough so that the dirt pushed itself aside and began to tumble down the sides revealing a head. A deep wheezing broke into the darkness, followed by struggling coughs.

      The man collapsed across the ground with his face lying in the grass. The green blades moved forward and back as he sucked in deep, troubled breaths. Travis grabbed him underneath the arms, dragging his body completely out of the dirt. He rolled him over onto his back and slapped his face lightly.

“Wake up, dammit!”

     Travis pried his mouth open with his hands and stuck two fingers down between his teeth. He dug out several large globs of mud that had accumulated during the struggle. He slung them out and continued working. One final ball came out of the man’s throat forcefully and Travis sighed with relief as he could hear unobstructed breathing. The man continued to cough and wheeze. Travis sat back on the ground, panting, gathering his composure.

“I always said I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, I guess I’ll have to eat crow on this one.”

     Through a deep wheeze and a rough, scratchy voice, J.W. answered back.

“You…..shoulda…let me die.. you bastard.”

“Looked like you was fightin’ pretty hard against it, hell I take pity even on dogs. Had to do something.”

     J.W. rolled over to his stomach and climbed up shakily to his hands and knees. He coughed hard and spit out a patch of dark brown onto the grass.

“Rebecca….."

“Just stay put, you ain't got your bearings back yet.”

“Where is she?”

      Travis’ eyes began to glass over with tears and his voice cracked with emotion. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“She’s here, J.W…..she’s here.”

     Sticking out from behind Travis, J.W. could see Rebecca’s legs laying across the ground. They lay motionless. He choked back his own emotion and shook his head back and forth in refusal to believe what he already knew.

     With an unsure body, he crawled slowly in her direction. Travis grabbed his shoulder.

“J.W., stop. You don’t want…..”

     In anger, J.W. tossed aside Travis’ hand and continued crawling. Rebecca’s face came into view, pale blue, and covered in blood. She stared back at him with hollow eyes. The love and laughter had faded as grey as her skin. The hand he held in his heart for years vanished into ashes.

     With the remaining energy he had left, he pulled his legs underneath him into a seated position, while at the same time pulling Rebecca’s lifeless body into his lap. He unwrapped the electrical tape that was spun around her wrists, cutting into her skin. Her hands fell to her sides and J.W. picked one up and held it in his hand. With the other, he brushed her hair back away from her face. He looked at her expressionless face and saw the many years they had together escaping. Slowly, he rocked back and forth as the tears began to roll.

      Travis knelt beside J.W. and placed a hand on his back. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to. At that moment, every difference the two men had in the past, the hatred they felt, faded away. In it’s place grew a feeling that would bind them together with a greater force than hate could ever separate them. Vengeance.

******

      The fallout of the revelation of Campbell’s activities were widespread. Officials from the state took over the Zwolle Police Department, sifting through filing cabinets, putting every case in the last twenty years into question. The district attorney announced an official investigation into the involvement of any other city employees.

      On the news that night they described the death of the town’s sheriff. “Suspicious Circumstances” is what they called it. In reality, Campbell’s death was the only one that was anything but suspicious. J.W. had admitted to his involvement and that he had killed Campbell. The only thing there was left to investigate was who attacked J.W. and killed Rebecca.

      Nevertheless, the town of Zwolle was in an uproar over the murder of their beloved friend. State agents advised J.W. that if he didn’t want to remain in protective custody, that he would be best advised to lay low and not be seen in town, until they could make an official statement.

      Travis was also questioned on the same day, as they were brought in together after being found on the scene. His explanations were more extensive, as a cop from another district, the eye of suspicion was heavily upon him.

      The two men barely spoke inside the police station. That much had been agreed upon. Any conversations they have would be in private. So, walking through the parking lot, back to their trucks, that’s exactly what they did.

“How hard did they hit you?”

“About what you’d expect. Told them I don’t know shit. Coulda been anyone that hit me with that stun gun.”

“That ain't gonna buy us much time. These ain't parish cops, this is state, they’ll find something.”

“What we gonna do ain't gonna take long. Get with your source, call me when you get something.”

“What you gonna do ‘till then?”

      J.W. looked off into the passing steam form the mill, rising in the sky.

“I’m gonna get lost for a bit.”

      Travis watched as J.W. climbed into his truck and turned to watch as it rattled across the railroad tracks next to the police station, and then drove away. He fished around in his pocket for his keys and then pulled the one for his truck forward. As he sat down in the seat, he let out a sigh and reached up to adjust his mirror. The reflection bent down toward him and he could see three men standing in the front window of the police station. All three men watched his truck, one of the men’s lips moved as he shook his head slowly.

      Travis stared back at them until they turned back into the office. His hands gripped down on the steering wheel until his knuckles shown white. He knew that the round of questioning he had just endured was the first of many and he had done nothing to quell their suspicions. But soon it all wouldn’t matter.

       Driving away, he knew he likely wouldn’t see the police station again. Just two blocks over, a familiar face sat on the curb in front of the Kwik Trip gas station. Looking disheveled and hung over, the man didn’t even look up as the truck approached.  Travis rode past him slowly and gave his horn a quick honk, which seemed to startle the man awake.

      He pulled his truck around to the side of the building, out of sight. In his side mirror, Redman walked toward him, lazily. He adjusted the bandana covering his head as Travis rolled his window down, resting his elbow across the door.

“Well, you look like hot shit on a stick, don’t you?”

“Careful white man, you’re in enough trouble I hear.”

“Temporary my friend, everything in this life is temporary. In the meantime, I need your services in finding someone.”

“Someone additional? Last man you had me find ended up in that shootout at Bayou Scie. People don’t know if he’s dead or alive. Ain't nobody seen him.”

“This time it ain't a man.”

      Travis pulled a picture out of his jean pocket and handed it over to Redman. He studied it closely, and tapped it against his hand, before handing it back.

“You sure about this, white man?”

      Travis shoved a $100 bill into Redman’s front shirt pocket, rolled up his window, and drove away.

******

     That night, J.W. stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom. With one hand, he wiped away the fog that had built up while he showered. He put both palms down onto the sink and watched the water swirl down the drain. He held his hands under the running water and scooped it into his face.

      Everything in his mind was numb. His life felt like a fading impression of what it used to be, and soon it would fade completely. The cool water dripped from his face as he reached up to grab a hand towel hanging on the wall from a hook.

      He stared at himself in the mirror as he placed the end of a spool of gauze on his neck and began wrapping the roll around. The white cotton in the gauze soaked up and immediately became the color of the yellowish, brown blister bubbling from his neck. The burned skin ached and leaked fluid.

      On the edge of the porcelain sink sat a black handgun. It called to J.W. like a ghost. A ghost with the voice of Rebecca. He lifted his hand and it trembled as it reached over toward the gun. Only when it rested down onto the cold black metal did it become steady.

      And then, from the kitchen, the phone rang.

Episode 15

     

       In the last days, it is said that there will come upon the Earth, three days of darkness. Just as God punished the Egyptians, the theory states that God will chastise the world with darkness at the end of times. The Earth will be enveloped in a darkness lasting three days and three nights, the only light source able to be seen will be blessed candles.
       Various Catholic visionaries agree that the faithful should stay within their homes during this period as most of the Earth's inhabatins shall die.


"There shall come over the whole earth an intense darkness lasting three days and three nights. Nothing can be seen, and the air will be laden with pestilence which will claim mainly, but not only, the enemies of religion.
It will be impossible to use any man-made lighting during this darkness, except blessed candles. He, who out of curiosity, opens his window to look out, or leaves his home, will fall dead on the spot.
During these three days, people should remain in their homes, pray the Rosary and beg God for mercy. All the enemies of the Church, whether known or unknown, will perish over the whole earth during that universal darkness, with the exception of a few whom God will soon convert. The air shall be infected by demons who will appear under all sorts of hideous forms."

******

      J.W. followed far behind the glowing red taillights, until they finally illuminated the darkness as Campbell pressed the brakes. Under the street light, in front of the church, he could see the truck slowly pulling behind the building, and then out of sight. The night appeared dark and still once again.
      J.W.parked his own truck about 200 yards away, just off the side of the road. He eased the door closed behind him until he could just barely hear the click of the hinge. He pulled his baseball cap down tight, lifted up the back of his jacket, and shoved a pistol down in his waistband, at the small of his back.
      He did not know what he would find. He wasn't sure if Rebecca was still alive or dead. But he did know that whatever the situation was, whatever the outcome, it ended tonight.
      The light of the moon bounced off his back as he jogged lightly, hunched over at the waist, like a soldier headed into battle. Gravel softly crunched under the soles of his boots. The only ones aware of his presence were the tall pine trees that lined the roadway, their needles trembling in the breeze.
      As he ran, he thought about the day he and Rebecca had been married. The way she smiled and looked into his eyes as they held hands in front of their friends and family. They thought they had figured it all out and life would be easy sailing from that point. He thought about the fights that they had, and things he could have said differently. Finally, he remembered the day she left, telling him that they both knew it had been over for a while. If she was still alive, he thought of how he would tell her that it wasn't over for him, never had been. Not even close. To him, he was still holding her hand and she was still the girl smiling back at him.
     Headlights grew softly from around a curve in the road that ran in front of the church. J.W. ducked into the thicket of the woods and squatted still, as to not be seen. The lights grew bright and a random traveller passed and disappeared as the sound of his tires on the road grew silent.
     J.W. stepped out of the woods, walking as easily as possible. He crossed the parking lot and quickly put his back against the side of the church, facing away from the cemetary. Reaching around to his back, he pulled the gun from his waistband and held it up vertical to his chest. Patiently, he listened for any noise, any sign of movement.
     Sliding around the edge of the building, he could now see Campbell's truck. The engine ticked as it cooled and sat dormant. J.W. held the gun pointed at the truck and walked over to it. There was no one sitting inside. He ran his hand along the top edge of the truck's bed. Near the tailgate, he felt moisture, that when he looked closely at, was bright red blood.
      The driver's side window was left rolled down. J.W. reached in through it and felt along where the ignition would be. A set of keys sat jingling between his fingers. Slowly, he pulled them out and placed them in his pocket.
      Coming from across the cemetary, the sound of metal scraping against dirt and rocks sifted through the air. A repetitive pattern of the sound continued for minutes. J.W. began walking cautiously toward it.
      Small pieces of crime scene tape still hung from the chain link fence, from when the officers ripping it down and leaving behind the haunting memory of crimes. The gate was left open, and J.W. walked through, entering the field of marbel headstones. He stepped around and over place markers, until he could see movement.
      The moonlight shone bright enough to see Campbell hunched over in front of his tied victim. J.W. watched as he grabbed her by the arms and legs and dragged her until she lay parallel to the grave he had uncovered.
      J.W. held his gun with both hands, his heart raced in his chest. When he got within a few feet of Campbell, he stopped. Campbell was squatted down with one arm across his knee, and the other hand was patting Rebecca across the face lightly.


"Wake up girl. You not gonna sleep through this. You won't learn anything that way."


      Rebecca moaned, and then the sound of a gun cocking rattled across the humid air. J.W.'s gun aimed directly at Campbell's head. Today his hands did not tremble, today they were steady. Campbell froze in his place and didn't look back.


"Get up. Stand up you piece of shit."


      Slowly, Campbell stood up and put his hand up at chest level as if to mockingly surrender. He turned to see J.W. and he smiled. He nodded toward the gun.


"What, J.W., you gonna shoot the sheriff? Hell son, you have worked for me for eleven years and you ain't fired that thing once. You sure the powder in them bullets is still good?"


"Before you die, I'll give you one chance to tell me why you done it. If you're sick in the head, that's what I'll tell them, but you need to say it. You don't want to go to your grave with people thinkin' you're just a cold hearted bastard."


 Campbell laughed.


"Sick? Is that what you think? I been sheriff of this town for longer than you was able to piss standin' up. You know what I've accomplished? Shit.
People are still as wild as they want to be. You can't change 'em. Hell, you can barely control them. I'm tired J.W. I'm tired of not doing anything of meaning."


"And this has meaning?"


"It's a cleansing. These girls were trash. Whores. Nobody gonna miss them for too long. Look at this one. You gave her everything J.W., everything you had. I seen it. And what'd she do? She ran off with the first man who showed her a little attention.
She didn't love you, never did. I'm not the heartless bastard, J.W., she is. Do what needs to be done. Cleanse her."


      Tears welled in J.W.'s eyes, he lowered the gun slightly. His breathing quickened. He aimed the gun again. A shot rang out and defeaned him. His ears rang and he dropped the gun to his side.
      As he looked down, Rebecca's eyes pleaded with him. He knelt down and brushed her hair back out of her eyes. She began to weep openly.


"I'm so sorry. It's over now. It's over."


      J.W. stood back up and walked to the head of the grave. Inside, Campbell lay on his back, sprawled out. A hole had formed in the middle of his forhead and a red trail trickled down his face. J.W. stared at him. All of the admiration he once had was gone. All those years of friendship, dashed. Now just a shell of a man with a bullet hole.
     As J.W. stood looking, a shadowy figure appeared behind him. It inched closer, silently. Rebecca's head jerked in the direction as she noticed it. She looked on with eyes of confusion.
      Suddenly, her eyes grew wider and she began to scream behind the tape covering her mouth. She thrashed her body around in an attempt to get J.W.'s attention. He looked over to her.


"What is it?"


       At that moment a blue light of electricity filled the cemetary. The buzzing and crackling sound grew louder as the hand held tazer made contact with J.W.'s neck. His body convulsed as it held there, smoke rising and the smell of burned skin filled the air.
      J.W. dropped to his knees, and before he could fall over unconsious, a foot connected with his back and pushed him into the grave, on top of Campbell. Looking down on the bodies, Morgan smiled. She dug into her pocket and pulled out the napkin she had written on that led J.W. to persue Campbell. It crumpled in her hand as she balled it up tight and then tossed it into the grave beside the two men.
      Her hands grabbed the shovel that Campbell had left sticking straight up in the ground. Fresh dirt pounded across the bodies of Campbell and J.W., one shovel full at a time. The moon shone down, as they slowly disappeared from sight and only brown dirt could be seen.
      Out of her back pocket, Morgan pulled out a pack of cigarettes and pulled out the next fresh stick. Rebecca watched as the flash of light from the lighter illuminated her face. She screamed in a muffled voice of anger.
      Morgan took a long drag and leaned her head back and blew the smoke out in a loud sigh.  Beside the grave she picked up J.W.'s pistol from the ground. She turned it back and forth in her hand, inspecting it. She looked toward the highway and began walking. And in one cold, fluid motion, while looking at Rebecca, she pointed the gun at her head while walking past her.


"You shoulda stayed in Texas."


      A shot blasted out, and echoed against the pine trees. Rebecca's body fell limp and a pool of blood gathered around her head.  Morgan disappeared into the night.

******

      A short time later, as Rebecca's body began to cool, there was a disturbance in the soil next to her body. A mound began to form in the fresh dirt. Clumps of red clay began to push aside.
      What appeared to be worms at first were five fingers clawing their way through, from beneath. They shook and struggled until the whole hand reached out and touched the night air. And from the surface, another hand reached out and grabbed hold of it.

"Big Woods" on KTBS News

http://www.ktbs.com/story/32057179/local-author-putting-zwolle-on-the-map

Episode 14

      By the time the news of Rebecca's kidnapping reached the town of Zwolle, people are on edge. Police from Texas came over the bridge and spent a day at the station. They went through all the evidence and reports that Campbell allowed them access to. Cop cars from out of state lined the small street that ran through the main part of town.
      That evening, a news station out of Shreveport set up a conference right on the outside of the little building used as city hall. A small podium was centered in front of a line of police officers from Sabine Parish and Joauqin, Texas. They stood stoic as Campbell rustled through papers, preparing to speak.
      A crowd gathered behind the cameras. Local people who had heard there was going to be a statement, family members, and employees of the police station alike. All huddle behind the cameras, out of sight.
      A reporter had one ear piece of a headset squeezed between his tilted head and his shoulder. Through the ear piece he could hear the live feed of the evening news being fed through. As the newscaster on air began to introduce the sheriff, the reporter held his hand high in the air, with all of his fingers spread out wide.......
5..........
4.........
3.........
2.........
1.........
      He pointed to Campbell, who cleared his throat.


"Today, the Zwolle Police Department, Sabine Parish Sheriff's Department, and the Sheriff's office out of Shelby County, Texas have worked in a concerted effort to resolve some open cases. These cases involve both communities.
The details of our case here in Zwolle have been highly publicized and we are working on naming a suspect very soon. However, we have been approached with new information of a missing person, who had recently visited this area.
I would like to make it very clear, that at this time, there is no evidence suggesting the two cases are in any way connected. I will refrain from any further details, as both of these cases are open and active.
We ask that if anyone out there has any information about the disappearance of these two women, that you call our office. For the time being, let me assure our community, that this is in the capable hands of your local law enforcement. And in those hands, you will find swift justice."


      From the back of the group, J.W. eyed Campbell. He watched him and listened as each word dripped from his mouth like a poisonous lie. He watched as Campbell gathered up his papers and walked away from the podium, as a reporter shouted out questions behind him.
      He walked over to the sheriff out of Shelby County and shook his hand with a sympathetic look on his face.


"We'll call ya if we get anything on your girl."


      The other sheriff looked over at J.W. and nodded. He then motioned to his deputies that it was time to leave. J.W. stood beside Campbell and they watched the out of state cruisers pull off into the distance. Campbell spit a line of tobacco juice down by his boots. J.W. broke the silence.


"You think that put them at ease?"


"The town or them boys from Joaquin?"


"Either."


"Town just needs to see a face, to know we are out here doing what we can. That's enough to calm that storm. The others, couldn't say. Last thing we need is some out of state dicks swingin' through our door. They don't know this town. All they'd do is confuse the whole situation. Trust me on that, J.W."


      Campbell spit again, before the two men walked through the front door of the police station. The plywood mill hissed through the air as the door closed behind them. Campbell hung his hat on a hook sticking out from the wall and turned back to J.W.


"Listen, I don't know where your head is at. I can only imagine you're bought to go crazy. But we're gonna find Rebecca. We just have to work the leads, and beat the bushes to see what we can flush out.
The last thing we need to do is let our minds run wild and lose focus. I'm gonna bring her home to you. I promise."


      With that, he turned to walk down the hall and the bathroom door clicked as he locked it. J.W. stepped lightly as he walked halfway in that direction and made a sharp left into Campbell's office. He darted around the desk and flipped through papers frantically. Nothing.
      He quickly pulled drawers open and rifled through their contents. When he made his way to the middle drawer, right on top, lay a copy of that week's Sabine Index folded open to the obituaries page. Staring back at him were two faces. Two men who had lived their lives and passed on to the next one. He skimmed over the first one until he got to the line, "services to be held with his family in his home state of Oklahoma."
      His eyes darted to the next notice. "Services to be held Friday at Bayou Scie Methodist Church in Zwolle." He snatched the paper up, and looked closely at the words. The paper trembled in his hands. He quickly dropped it and slammed the drawer shut. The hinges on the door of the building were still rattling shut when his truck cranked up. He slung one arm up on the top of the seat, looked back and spun into reverse.
     RedMan stood outside of the Kwik Trip gas station, one leg cocked back leaning against the concrete wall. Smoke from his cigarette rose into the air.
      The engine of J.W.'s truck raged as he zoomed past the store, heading out of town. RedMan dropped his cigarette, stepped on it with the tip of his boot, and ground it into the pavement. He reached to his left and grabbed the receiver of a payphone that was fixed to the building.
With his other free hand, he reached into his pocket and sorted out two quarters. As each one dropped into the machine with a clinking noise, he began to dial a number.

******

      Rebecca woke to a barely lit room. From the slit between the doors, she couldn't tell if it was just before morning or just before night. She had slipped in and out of consciousness so many times that it was impossible for her to know.
      Beside her sat a plate with what appeared to be a sandwich wrapped up in a paper towel. She scooted it with the point of her toes as if she was afraid it was booby trapped. She then stretched out her leg to drag the plate over to herself with her heel.
She fragilely picked up the wrapped sandwich and unfolded it by one end, exposing the bread. She touched it and it felt like it had already begun to harden. There was no way to know how long it had been there or who had put it there.
      In a fit of anger, she slung it against the wall, the pieces falling to the floor. Again, she cried. Her hands ran along the links of the chain binding her to the wall. She followed them all the way around to her back and felt the wooden beam it was attached to. She felt all the way around until she finally felt a small lock. One single lock separated her from her freedom. One lock.
      Here eyes moved back and forth around the floor around her. She looked for anything that could be used to break or pick the lock. In her mind, she knew she had never picked a lock but doing nothing felt like accepting her own death. And she wasn't ready to do that.
      The floor was bare, except for the light layer of saw dust that was scattered about. The only metal she could see were the nails holding down the plywood floor. She ran her fingers over the one nearest to her. The head of the nail sat just barely raised above the wood.
      Her fingernail clicked as she slipped it beneath and tried to pry it free. It did not budge. Still, she persisted. It felt like hours had gone by as she picked at the nail.
      A red stain began to grow on the wood around the nail. Rebecca's fingernails had broken and torn. The skin on her fingertips had long since begun to bleed. Still, like a crazed person, she picked at the nail.
      Darkness had fallen, and it was clear to her now that it was nightfall and not morning. In the dark of night she continued her work, when light began to pour through the cracks. A pair of headlights illuminated the front of the building. In a panic, she whimpered and picked at the nail as blood dripped from her fingers.
      She heard the door open to the truck and keys jingle against the latch to the barn doors. She watched in fear as the two doors swung open and a dark figure was back lit by the headlights. She shielded her eyes.


"J....J.W."


      The man walked forward and his face came into full view. Campbell came closer and squatted down beside the crying woman.


"J.W.? Now why would he be here? You left him, remember? You know adultery is mentioned in the Bible over 50 times? 50. That's pretty clear, don't you think?"


      Through a whimpering voice, Rebecca answered.


"What do you want?"


"Me? What do I want? I'm here to do God's work. I'm here to separate the wheat from the chafe."


      With a raging grunt, he struck her across the temple, and she slumped over. He grabbed a handful of her hair and tilted her head back to get a look at here face. "Hmmmm."
      He stood up, walked around the back of her, and his keys jingled in his hand. He flipped through each one until he found the one that fit the lock. The chains fell to the floor in a heap. He gripped Rebecca's ankles in both hands and dragged her toward the door.
      Down the road, hidden in darkness, J.W. could see the headlights bouncing across Campbell's driveway. His eyes burned as he dared not blink. He saw the lights pull onto the road and head off in the opposite direction.
      The starting of his engine broke through the noise of the tree frogs and cicadas. He kept his lights off as his tires hit the road. With the light of the moon, and the red tail lights of Campbell's truck as his only guide, J.W. pursued his wife.

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Episode 13

     The hand of the Lord was on me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the Lord and set me in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me back and forth among them, and I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. He asked me, "Son of man, can these bones live?"

      I said, "Sovereign Lord, you alone know."

      Then he said to me, "Prophesy to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! I will make breathe enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breathe in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the Lord.’"

      So I prophesied as I was commanded. And as I was prophesying, there was a noise, a rattling sound, and the bones came together, bone to bone. I looked, and tendons and flesh appeared on them and skin covered them, but there was no breath in them.

      Then he said to me, "Prophesy to the breathe; prophesy, son of man, and say to it, ‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says: Come, breath, from the four winds and breath into these slain, that they may live.’" So I prophesied as he commanded me, and breathe entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet—a vast army.

******

      As J.W. grabbed the handle of the police station door, he could feel his hand trembling. He wasn't afraid, but it was a fear. The fear of what he might do once in Campbell's presence. A fire raged inside of him. The thought of his wife, of this man he admired lying to him all these years, and of those dead girls. And in J.W.'s mind, only he alone could stop him.
      What he was sure of though, was that he couldn't go after him, not yet. Rebecca's life was on a razor's edge, and one misstep by him could doom her, if she wasn't already dead. He knew he had to be patient, wait for the opportune moment. Then, he would make his move.
      J.W. stood, taking deep breaths. Preparing himself to come face to face with the man who had his wife. His hand rested on the door, when it suddenly flung open. And there he stood, shoving his cowboy hat down on his head.


"J.W., how are things holdin' up?"


      J.W. stepped back and composed himself.


"Just fine. A few new developments, but I'll catch you up on it."


"Got a call to pickup the coroner's report. Gonna head out there and see what we got. You should join me, fill me in on them developments."


"Yessir."


      The two men walked toward the police cruiser. Campbell sat down in the driver's seat. The cool air whistled through the vents as Campbell started up the car. J.W. stared out of the passenger window. He looked at Campbell's truck.
      In the cup holder, between the two men, sat a tin can that once was filled with green beans, corn, or some other type of vegetable. The label had been peeled off and paper towels were stuffed inside. As he drove away from the station, Campbell picked it up and spat a brown stream inside.


"What'ya make of this situation at the cemetery? Two girls. Hell of a thing."


"Yessir. I don't think the Freemaux girl had been there more than a couple days. The other one been there atleast a year."


"You wouldn't think there'd be much but bones left."


"There was plenty left. Medical examiner says it can take up to 10 years for a body to fully decompose when it's underground like that. Didn't take long to identify her."


"That's good. How'd the girl's father take it?"


"Bout like you'd expect. Don't wanna go on livin', and everything else. Sent him up to Brentwood. They'll medicate him until he calms down."


      Campbell shook his head.


"It's a shame this town has to see these things. Once a place loses it's innocence, it's hard to stop that slide. Hard to come back from it."


"Yessir."

******

      The front door to the bar was wide open when he pulled up. Travis sat looking around for a minute, there weren't any other vehicles in sight. A bicycle leaned against the side of the building. It had a basket on the front of the handle bars that held a couple of old Walmart sacks full of junk.
      Travis got out of his truck, grunting. He shut the door and bent over to look at himself in the side mirror. His eye was slightly puffed up and discolored. Various scratches littered his face and arms.
      Finally, he made his way through the door of the bar. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the dark room as he transitioned from the bright sunlight. A robust older man, with gray shaggy hair stepped in front of him. He wore overalls and a plain blue shirt underneath.


"Can I help you friend?"


"Are ya'll open? I know it's early."


"Well, I'm just lettin' the place air out. We generally don't open 'til around seven or eight at night. But we also ain't in the business of turnin' down money.
Come on in, if you just want to sit and drink, then you're welcome to it."


      As he walked through the bar, only lit by streams of sunlight spilling between posters that were plastered up over the windows, he noticed another man. He was sitting on a stool, holding a glass with his head hung down, like he was sleeping. Travis walked over and sat down beside the man. The stool screeched across the wooden floor.
      Travis studied the man. His clothes looked worn, almost as worn as his face. Deep crevices and wrinkles spread throughout, but he did not appear to be much older than himself. He was a Native American man, wearing a bandana that covered his head.


"You doin' alright this mornin'?"


      The man didn't budge. Travis placed his hand on his shoulder and shook him slightly.


"You alright?"


      Without opening his eyes, the man answered.


"You ever heard the old saying, 'don't wake a sleeping baby?', well same goes for drunks."


"Sorry, I was just makin' sure you were alright."


      The man cracked one eye open before quickly closing it again.


"You ain't from around here, who are you?"


"How do you know I ain't from around here?"


"Because I know everybody 'round here, and I don't know you."


      The man who let Travis in the door made his way around the bar. He slid open the glass top of a cooler and pulled out a beer. The bottle clinked as he sat it down in front of Travis. Then he walked away.
      Travis twisted the cap off the top and the carbonation hissed into the air. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a deep breath. The cold beer rushed into his mouth. When he sat the bottle back down, he reached around to his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Inside, enclosed in a clear, plastic sleeve was a picture of Rebecca. She was smiling, her shoulder length blonde hair cascading down.
      He placed the picture flat down on the bar and slid it in front of the man, sitting to his left.


"You know everybody huh? Have you seen her?"


      The man groaned and repositioned himself. He put his elbow down on the surface of the bar and held his head up with his hand.


"Deputy's wife."


"Well, yeah, used to be. Have you seen her lately?"


      The man chuckled lightly and leaned back on the small support of the stool. He crossed his arms, and again closed his eyes.


"Well, have you or haven't you?"


"Nothing is free mister, not but air and prison food."


      Travis reached into his wallet again and this time pulled out a twenty dollar bill, and slapped it in front of him. Again, the man cracked open an eye. This time, he sat up straight on the stool. In one fluid motion, he reached over and took the bill, and then removed the bandana covering his head.
      As the bandana slid off, it revealed a head of hair that ended halfway in the middle of his scalp. The hair went from the middle back, ending in a long braided pony tail. Covering the front half of his head, was what looked like burned skin that had been grafted back on.
He folded the bill and shoved it into a fold in the bandana and fixed it back around his head.


"What happened there......with your head?"


"You noticed that huh? Just a little disagreement I had. Happened about ten years ago. A couple of drunk rednecks at a bar on Grady Hill that didn't care too much for Indians. They harassed me a good part of the night, called me a dirt worshipper. I didn't care too much for that.
End of the night, I met them outside. They had the upper hand for a while. One of the ole boys held me down while the other one tried scalpin' me. I guess they had seen it on one of them old westerns, thought that's whats Indians do. Well, they did a half assed job.
When I broke loose, I beat em both with a tire iron. Got off on self defense, a lifetime of probation. People tend to ignore me now, act like I don't exist. I don't know if they think I'm crazy or somethin'. But nobody sees me anymore.....but I see them.
So you wanna know if I've seen her? Yeah, I seen her two days ago. Bayou Scie. She was talkin' to her husband."


      Travis smiled, and stuck his hand out toward the man.


"I'm Travis."


"They call me RedMan."


"Well RedMan, how would you like to make some more money?"

******

      J.W. and Campbell walked down the cold hallway of the morgue. The white tile floor gleamed with the reflection of the fluorescent lights lining the ceiling. The men didn't speak, only their footsteps could be heard. All the way down the hall, the last room on the left was the one they finally stepped into.
      A man dressed in surgical scrubs, an apron, and a pair of safety glasses stood holding a clipboard. The body of Elizabeth Freemaux lay naked, and lifeless across a metal table.


"Gentlemen, welcome. I've got several things here that may or may not be of interest to you. First thing I noticed when examining the body, is there were no fingerprints to be found. Not anywhere. We swept the whole thing.
I found ligature marks on the wrists, the ankles, and neck. Cause of death appears to be strangulation.
Several bones are broken in the face. Mostly centralized around the left orbital.
Little to no evidence on the body itself. However, we did find this during a search of her hair."


      The medical examiner held up a small glass tube between his thumb and finger. J.W. and Campbell both leaned in and looked at a small brown flake sitting inside.


"What is it?"


"A piece of tobacco leaf."  

Episode 12

     In the book of Job, we find one example of a conversation between God and the devil. Standing in the desert, the two debate the worth of man. "Consider my servant Job", God suggests. "A righteous man, a man who has an undying faith". In return, the devil chuckled, "Your servant only serves, because you have bestowed upon him many blessings. Who would not worship Him who allows no harm to come to him. Take down your protective hedges, and allow me to test Job."
      God thought about this and agreed. Over the next few months Job experienced the death of his cattle, the death of his children, and the death of his wife. His home was destroyed, and everything he loved was taken from him. But still Job stood by his faith in God. And for this, he was blessed twice over.
      One lesson to take from this, is that even when being used as dice in a gamble between good and evil, it is a man's faith that keeps him on the table. And what is a man's faith if left untested? Through pain, through tears, when the hedges are lowered, some men stand and some men break.

******

      J.W. spent the next few minutes watching Morgan. She hadn't noticed yet, lurking in the dark corner of the bar, but she was slowly making her way toward him. He thought about the girl they had found. And now his wife was missing. He could not survive finding her in the same way. He had lost her to another man, but he would not lose her to death.
      Just then, a shot glass slammed down in front of him. The brown liquid quickly filled it up and dribbled over the sides. Morgan's thin, lightly brown fingers pushed it toward him. He looked up to see her face.


"I don't drink, hunny."


"You do tonight. Trust me, I know when a man needs a drink...."


      She reached over and wiped some dried blood from his forehead.


"....and you are a man that needs a drink."


      J.W. picked up the shot glass and tossed it back with a small grimace, as his throat burned all the way down to his stomach. He hadn't had a drink in years, but it tasted as good as he remembered.


"So what happened to ya?"


      His eyes refocused and he stared into Morgan's one good eye, her other covered by her hanging hair.


"I need to know what this note means."


      He spread the crumpled napkin out on top of the bar in front of her, and her demeanor immediately changed. She shifted into her more reserved mood. She looked down and shook her head back and forth, and started to walk away. J.W. quickly grabbed her by the wrist.


"My wife is gone.....please."


      Morgan turned back with a sympathetic look.


"What do you mean gone?"


"Missing. The same as Elizabeth."


"If she is really gone, like you say......then she ain't comin' back."


"Please... tell me what it means. I can't just let her stay gone."


      Morgan grabbed J.W. by the hand and began to walk him toward the back of the bar. No one seemed to pay them any attention. He followed.
     On the far wall, a door was propped open with a brick that led outside. Morgan walked through and disappeared into the night. J.W. took one last look behind him and followed behind her.
      Out back were tall pitch fork weeds, lit by an ever present moon light. A few feet away, sat an old picnic table. Morgan sat down on top of it and rested her feet down where you would normally sit.
      She reached around to the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a cigarette pack. She shook it slightly and pulled out a fresh stick. She offered it to J.W., but when he waved it away, she pressed it to her lips and lit it. The first inhale, she let linger for a moment, then blew it out into the night sky.


"I just want you to listen. I only want to go through this once. I have to relive it everyday, and twice in one day is something I'm only doing for you.
      I wasn't hit by any truck. I know that's what you heard, because that's what I told them. These scars. This eye. I knew it woulda been nothing compared to what woulda happened had I told the truth.
      A person did this to me. Or something that looks like a person. Demons take many forms if you ask me.
      I used to walk everywhere. My momo lived right outside of town, and I never wanted to bother her with a ride. That's where he seen me...walkin'. When he stopped, I didn't think nothing of it. I knew him and I trusted him.
      I woke up a little while after he knocked me out and dragged me into his truck. He had took me to his house. He has a shed out there, on his property. When I came to, everything hurt. My insides hurt. My body hurt. I don't know what he did to me, and I dont want to know.
      We stayed there until dark, then he threw me back into his truck. We rode for what felt like forever. I prayed the whole way that he would just wreck and kill us both. But he didn't.
      He dragged me outta that truck in the dead of night. I played like I was unconscious the whole time. But I knew exactly where we was. He finally stopped, and started diggin'. That's when I knew I wasn't leavin' there alive.
      I did everything I could and finally, by the grace of God, broke outta those ties. I never ran that fast in my life, and ain't since. I thought I was free. Thought I'd beat him. That's when it happened.
He caught up to me, and hit me with that shovel right across the head. Tip of it caught me right in the eye. We wrestled around a while. He hit me. I tried to hit back. I knee'd him right in the nuts and took off again. I don't know what kept me going.
      For hours, I just ran through the woods. Bleeding and half blind. When I thought it was safe, I walked out onto a road. That's when they found me. I had started walking back toward town but passed out.
      But that's how I knew."


"Knew what?"


"Where he took Elizabeth. Same place he tried to put me."


"You're the one who called in the tip?"


"Til this day, I don't know why he let me live. He could get me anytime he wanted. I think he liked that. He liked that I knew that.
      So I kept quiet. It seemed to be the only thing keeping me alive. And to see ya'll together that night, I knew I had been quiet long enough. Why should my life be more important than hers?"


"Who Morgan, tell me!"


"You know. And J.W.........he only moves them after a funeral."

******

      The next morning, Rebecca's eyes were fogged over from the pain she was in. The side of her face lay down flat on a dirty plywood floor. She moved her head to look around. A single slit of light seeped in between two closed barn doors. Wooden beams framed the walls and roof, tin on top of that.
      Inside, things seemed fairly empty. There were a few ropes and chains, and one solitary chair. She could barely keep track of the thoughts stumbling through her mind.
      Her hands and feet were still bound together, but Campbell was no where in sight. The sting in her ribs raged as she shuffled her way to a seated position. Her eyes darted around wildly, and her breathing quickened. From this position, she could see the entire floor. Covering the room were large patches of red stains peppering the room. She knew she wasn't the first to be here.
      Frantically, she tried to move, to stand up. The sound of a chain rattling and a tightening grabbed her around the waist. When she looked down, she saw a large linked metal chain. It wrapped around her torso and bound her to a wooden beam. She shook her body violently and again screamed against the tape covering her mouth.

                                                                    ******


      Campbell sat in his truck for a few moments, looking at the front of the building. He didn't know what to expect or if it even mattered at this point. The fact that there weren't any out of state vehicles in the parking lot was a good sign to him.
      He stepped out of the vehicle and made his way toward the door. The heel of his boot clicking with each step. His hand reached out and grabbed the handle, and for a split second, he hesitated.
      The cool air from the building's conditioning washed over his face as he stepped inside. The dispatcher hopped up from her seat and ran around the desk.


"Sheriff! We been tryin' to reach you for over a day. Lord, I thought somethin' done happened to you!"


"Well, I'm still upright and breathin'."


"There's a lot of things to catch you up on and a whole mess of phone messages."


      Campbell walked into his office and sat his hat down on the edge of his desk. He talked aloud as he rounded it and sat down, looking through papers and sticky notes that had begun to riddle the desktop in his absence.


"I left a capable man in charge. Where is J.W.?"


"Finished his shift last night. He should be in sometime this mornin'. You haven't talked to him?"


       Campbell lowered his eyes at her.


"Who's workin' for who here, Ms. Sepulvado?"


"Sorry, Sheriff. I'll leave you to your work."


      Campbell thumbed through the papers until he came to the report on the cemetery. He read the details on the two bodies that were found. Visions of the nights he took them snapped through his mind like an old film. He remembered how they screamed, how they begged.
      He ran his fingers across the pages like he had run them across their faces. Reassuring them that everything would be fine, that they would be ok. Then he killed them.
      Breaking his daydream, a glare of light hit his eyes. Through his office window, he could see a truck pulling up to the building. It's tires rolled slowly across the rocks in the parking lot and it came to a stop facing his office. Behind the wheel, sitting, staring was J.W. He didn't move.
      Campbell swiveled his chair to face the window. He nodded his head and grinned.