Body Found in Bayou Scie Methodist Church Cemetery (Uncovered Article)

Episode 6

     In the midst of all of God's creation, in the beginning of time, there was but one coniving spirit. One soul who spun darkness and lived to seperate man from God. It worked it's decadent thoughts into the ear of Eve, forever changing the course of man's path, from by God's side to out on its own.
     From that day forth, man and serpent have been at odds. The serpent forced to eat dust and crawl on its belly across the Earth until it's last days and man forever being struck on the heel by the serpents sharp fangs.
      There is a tale in southern folklore of a farmer's wife who, in the depth of winter, came upon a serpent half frozen. The snake pleaded with the woman, "Take me in, and allow me to thaw so that I can be on my way and not die."
      Feeling compassion for the poor creature, the farmer's wife wrapped it in a cloth and brought it inside their home. She sat near the crackling fire she had made on the hearth. Gently, she stroked the cloth and over a short time the serpent began to thaw. And as he did, he reared back and bit the woman across the hand.
      The farmer's wife dropped the creature and cried out, "Why have you done this? Now I will surely die! Why have you repayed my kindness with such evil?". And in reply the serpent said, "I am a snake, it is my nature. You knew this when you took me in."
      Evil is among us. We live and accept that fact everyday. It is only when it rears its head do we ask why. It is only then do we seek justice. Sometimes it is easier to ignore the beast that lurks beyond the trees. But there comes a time when the beast is no longer content to stay within the forest, and our back yards become its home.

********

 "Turn around here girl!"



      Campbell was still propped up on the foot rest of the stool and leaning against the bar. When Morgan slowly spun around, she was visibly upset and shaking. She kept her eyes down on the bar top and clenched the cleaning rag in her hands.


"Look at me. We're the police. We ain't gonna hurt you. You know that don't you?"


      Her eyes raised slightly, just enough to meet his own. He looked back with a glaring determination to get through to her in some way.


"Yes sir."


"Alright, now tell us, was Elizabeth here the night she dissappeared?"


"Yes sir, for a minute or two. She come by to see me."


"Was she with anyone?"


"Not that I seen."


      J.W. interrupted, attempting to use a more soothing tone.


"Why didn't she stay long?"


"She was just droppin' off some clothes she had borrowed from me, that's all. She was headed home."


      She started back up wiping the counter down in a circular motion. She flipped the rag over and folded it in half to get a fresh portion of it to use. She kept her eyes down on her work, continually wiping in a slowly frantic way. Campbell grabbed her wrist firmly, and she froze. She didn't dare look up, but listened closely to what he had to say.


"If you think of anything else, you know where the station is. I want you to come down and see me, ok? We need all the information we can get to find this girl."


      She timidly nodded her head in agreement and Campbell released her back to her work. He stood up straight and took a look around the bar, before ajusting the position of his hat. He looked back to his partner.


"Let's go, J.W."


      Campbell turned and began walking toward the door. The people around the pool tables either nodded to him or avoided eye contact all together. Some even slinked off into the corner as to not be noticed. But Campbell wasn't there for them. Just before following behind him, J.W. turned back to the girl behind the bar.


"Honey, can I get a drink to go? Just a water or a can of coke, if you got it."


      She leaned down to an ice chest sitting on the floor. It creaked open and revealed itself to be half full of melted ice and a few sodas floating around inside. She stirred the water around and grabbed one of the cans. Very gently, she bounced it up and down and let the excess water drip off and back into the cooler.
      Up on the counter, with her back turned, she folded a paper towel to wrap around the wet soda can. J.W. spent the time glancing around the bar at the people until the metal of the bottom of the can smacked down in front of him.


"Thank you ma'am, how much?"


      The girl smiled slightly.


"The first one's free."


      He tipped his cap and made his way through the smoke filled room to the exit. Campbell already had the headlights on the cruiser burning by the time he made it outside. J.W. climbed into the passenger seat and the two set off down the road. He pulled back the tab on his coke as it hissed open and glanced over at Campbell.


"Odd bird, that one. Could you get a read on her?"


"Hell, I don't even know if she's right in the head anymore. You can't put a bead on crazy."


"She did seem a little peculiar. I believe I'm spent for tonight. You mind droppin' me at my house? I'll drive my truck in tomorrow morning."


      The moonlight shone down into the car and J.W. sat contemplating the events of the past few days. The look on the father's face when he told him that his little girl was missing. The car. But mostly about his wife. Even with her shacked up with another man, he thought about her. He wondered what she was doing at that very moment.
      He looked down at his soda can and nervously picked at the napkin wrapped around it, trying to distract himself from his thoughts. Towards one end of it, he noticed a dark marking sprawling toward the edge. He uncurled the entire thing, and held it out a little as to see what it was. He could now clearly see that it was pen ink.
      Across the paper towel, handwritten were these words:


"2 Corinthians 6:14"


      He studied it for a moment, wondering what the origin of the markings were and why. He hadn't seen Morgan writing anything, but he also wasn't paying very much attention to her. It was an odd thing. Maybe someone had written it down earlier and she just happened to pick it up and use it by accident.
      J.W. folded the napkin in half and shoved it into the front pocket of his shirt. He wasn't sure what it meant, if anything. But he wanted to be able to look it up alone and make the determination before bringing it up to Campbell. It could possibly be a message to him directly or just jibberish from an emotionally unstable girl. But whatever it was, he wanted to find out on his own.
      When they reached his house, J.W. was almost reluctant to go inside. He knew that the moths flittering around the front porch light would be the only activity in the whole place. Ever since his wife left, there was a depressing loneliness that had taken over. He dreaded the nights where he was forced to lay alone, without another body to be present in his bed.
      Finally, he stepped out of the car and turned to lean back through the open window. Campbell was looking straight ahead.


"You know, we'll find her, Sheriff. Secrets don't last long around here. Somebody will talk."


"I know it."


"I just don't want the pressure to get to you. The people will get answers when we get them."


"I ain't worried about what people want to hear. It's the simplicity of it all that gets me, J.W. You and I both know that girl's dead. You know the odds of finding someone alive after the first 24 hours?"


"It goes down everyday."


"Goes down everyday."


"Well, don't even think it. Not yet."


"Don't think it, he says. I'm the one answers to the people of town. Me alone. A thing like this happens, they wanna know why I let it. Why I didn't prevent it, like I could see it comin'. And maybe I could, the way things are these days. Hell, it don't surprise me."


"Well, it's in God's hands now, and we are but vessels."


      J.W. rapped his hand down twice on the top of his car and spoke to the sheriff one last time before sending him off.


"Get some sleep tonight, Sheriff. We'll start fresh tomorrow."


      He sat on the front steps of his porch and watched the red taillights dissappear into the distance. With it, it took the rumbling of the motor until it was a mere whisper. A slight breeze whistling through the pine needles appeared and J.W. sat listening.
      His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he watched the sway of the tree limbs, and listened to the sound of cicadas singing. He thought of his wife, gone. He thought of the future he had planned, gone. He thought of the missing girl, gone.
      A wet dot of a nose nestled against his arm and a little whimper was heard. J.W.'s dog had heard him come home and begged for his attention. He put his hand on his head and scratched, pleasing the dog.


"I know, I've been gone alot lately. You wanna sleep inside tonight? Let's go."


      He unlocked the door and the pair walked through. J.W. was unbuttoning his uniform shirt before the door shut behind him. He pulled his arms out of it and slung it across the back of the couch.
      As it landed, a patch of white slid out of the front pocket and fell to the floor. The napkin that Morgan had written on lay staring up at J.W. And J.W. stared back.

Original Missing Person Report (Case File #48352)

Episode 5

 

 

 

      I have heard many preachers say that the path to Heaven is narrow, and that the road to it is paved with good intentions. Well, I can believe it's paved with some things, but good intentions aint one of them. We all make our choices, and we live and die by those decisions.
      On June 1st, 1941, the state of Louisiana changed the means by which it handed out execution. At any point prior to that, if you found yourself crossways with the law, you were liable to be hanged. But the powers that be decided that electrocution would now be it's most primary tool of judgment.
When the law passed, the state found itself in a unique situation. Throughout the whole great land of Louisiana, there was but one electric chair. Constructed of dense oak, it stood sturdy and inviting to anyone in shackles.
      For the next 16 years, that chair was loaded up and transported from Parish to Parish, on a travelling tour of death. Parish officials would set it up in the local courthouse and take care of whatever prisoners that needed taking care of, and off it went to the next stop.
      As with all things in the south, this chair became a thing of legend. The prisoners called it "Gruesome Gertie", because "she was the last woman to ever make your dick quiver". A man could spend five years on death row, then one date with Gertie and he was gone. But not all legends are good.
      Gruesome Gertie is also known for the first botched electrocution in United States history. In 1946, a black boy by the name of Willie Francis was sentenced to death for the murder of a local pharmacy owner. Things should have gone smoothly enough, as far as a killing someone goes, and they would have gone smoothly if not for the drunken guards who set up the chair.
      Witnesses to the execution told of Willie screaming through the hood over his head, "Get it off! Get it off!". To the horror of all those present, Willie survived. For a while at least. A year later, Willie was successfully executed.
      The road to Heaven is paved. Each brick molded by our actions. Each line of mortar mixed with the blood that runs through our veins, and bonded together with the electricity of our deepest desires.

**********

      Campbell walked back into J.W.'s office and took a seat in one of the chairs placed in front of his desk. He pulled one foot up and sat it across the opposite knee, and relaxed down in the seat.

"Well, J.W., there appears to be a glitch or two at your homestead. I'm not one to tell any man how to handle his personal affairs....but we must remember to conduct ourselves befitting of being an officer of the law, on duty or off."

"There's only so much pressure that can applied to a thing before it breaks, Sheriff."

 

 

"Well, he won't be comin' down here no more. I talked with the sheriff over there in Joaquin. He'll get the message to him. Just hang tight, things have a way of working themselves out one way or the other."

"I just never thought she woulda left. We wasn't havin' any problems that I knew about. Next thing, she's off with him and no explanation.
We use to lay in bed at night and talk about all the things we wanted to do in the future. I wonder now, if all along, she knew she didn't want me in them."

      Campbell shifted in the chair.

 

 

"You never know what goes on in a woman's head."

"I reckon not."

 

 

"I'll tell you what though, it's easier to figure one out than it is it figure out how to live without one."

*******

      That night a news report went out across the ArkLaTex. They put up a picture of the girl. Her hair was cut short and light brown. She had a face that was unblemished by life's age or hardships. Skin as smooth and rosey in a way that reflected the innocence and freshness of a life just beginning.
      In the picture, she smiled wildly in a way that held nothing back. A person whose spirit was not fettered by insecurities. She was someone who was loved. Someone who loved. And someone who was now lost. The news report crept through thousands of television sets:

"Desperation in the small town of Zwolle this evening, as police search for a missing woman. Nineteen year old , Elizabeth Freemeaux, was last seen two days ago by her parents, before leaving for the evening. Her car was found abandoned on a secluded road, which was surrounded by mostly hunting leases.
Tonight, the sheriff of this town and the parents are pleading with the community. If you have any information as to the whereabouts of Elizabeth, contact the number listed on the screen."

 

 

      You could almost feel the telephone lines buzzing across the poles as the gossip circle started up. One story to another to another. The one thing that everyone was talking about was the one thing that no one knew anything about.
      For the rest of the evening, the dispatcher at the police station filled a notebook with the tips coming through. The phone rang all night until the little town decided to go to sleep.
At the end of her shift, she laid the notebook down on Campbell's desk. He picked it up and slid it into the top drawer of his desk.

"You wanna look through any of that, Sheriff?"

 

 

"I'll get to it. Tell J.W. to get to a stoppin' point on that paperwork. We got an errand to run."

****

      By the time Travis made it back to Joaquin, the sun was falling behind the pine trees. On the front porch of his double wide trailer home, he could see Rebecca sitting in a chair. Her bare feet were propped up on the railing and she was taking sips out of a brown beer bottle.
      Rebecca was an attractive woman, she had been since she was a teenager. She had blonde hair with just a hint of a curl to it, and skin that was naturally tanned. People always tried to talk her into beauty pageants as a girl. There was the Tamale Fiesta and the Logger's Festival, but it just never interested her.
      As he walked up to her side, Travis ran his fingers across the top of her foot and all the way down the inside of her leg. She smiled slightly.

" He said no, didn't he?"

 

 

"I don't know why you expected anything different."

"People can surprise you sometimes. But J.W. is who he is. I know that much."

 

 

"What do we do now?"

      Rebecca placed the cold beer bottle in his hand and stroked his forearm with her fingers.

 

 

"We give it time, Darlin."

*******

      Back in Zwolle, Campbell and J.W. were pulling into the driveway of an old hole in the wall bar out on Highway 120, near where the abandoned car was found. The same bar the missing girl's boyfriend had mentioned to Campbell.
      A few motorcycles were parked out front and a man and woman were sitting on the tailgate of a pickup truck, drinking a beer. A stack of smoke rose from behind the building and the smell of bbq lingered in the air.

 

 

"Ya'll thirsty, Sheriff?"

      Campbell only tipped his hat and continued walking toward the door. It was propped open with a brick and music spilled out. J. W. walked behind him with his chest puffed out and his hand resting on his holstered gun, eye balling anyone who looked their way.
      Through the door were a couple of pool tables. People were bent over taking shots, the sound of the balls smacking together cracked across the room.
      The two men stood at the edge of the room surveying all that were in view. Across the way, a young brunette woman was behind the bar. She smiled as she placed a napkin in front of a customer and sat a a beer bottle down on top of it. In return, he slid a dollar bill across the counter, which she shoved down into the pocket of her apron. J.W. stepped forward.

 

 

"That's her."

       Morgan was roughly 24 years old. She had worked at the bar for the past two years. She was known around town as a quiet person, mostly keeping to herself. A few years back, she had been in an accident that was never fully explained by anyone. Not that it was anyone's business.
      She was found in the middle of the night, in the summer of 1991. The poor girl was laying face down in the ditch on a stretch of highway. What was said, from a source I do not know, is that she was struck by a vehicle when she was walking on the shoulder. Where she was going, or why, she couldn't remember.
      The accident left her slightly scarred on one side of her face. The vision in one eye was completely gone, the lense of it was fogged over in a shade of white or light blue, depending on the lighting in the room. In her good eye, though, shone through kindness and a fire that had been dampered, but not put out. All that considered, she was a bright spot in that grungy bar. Almost like she didn't belong there.
      She was looking in the other direction when Campbell's rough hand slid across the top of her own. She looked up startled and slowly drug her hand out from underneath his. Her demeanor became even more sheepish.

 

 

"How you doin', Darlin?"

      The girl kept her head down and began wiping down the bar top with a dingy rag. She collected empty bottles and dropped them into a trash can, avoiding their presence. J.W. spoke up.

 

 

"We just need to ask you a few questions, you aren't in trouble."

      She pushed back the hair away from her good eye and looked at him.

"I don't know anything."

      Campbell pulled a stool from underneath the patron's side of the bar and propped his foot up on it. He then leaned over on his knee.

 

 

"Honey, you don't even know what we're asking you about yet."

      She shied away a step, then looked back to J.W., who was studying her closely.

 

 

"I don't see much. I keep to myself. If somebody done somethin', I don't know about it."

 

 

      By the end of her sentence, she was already turning her back to the two men and began shuffling things around nervously on the counter, on the opposite side. J.W. raised his voice over the music.

"We want to ask you about your friend, Elizabeth Freemeaux."

      The shot glass that she was holding in her hand began to tremble. Her body froze in place. And through the mirrored glass on the wall of the bar, he could see her lips quivering, and a tear forming in the corner of her eye.



Case File (#48352) Photographs

 

Ariel photo of abandoned car

 

 

Jacket found on trail

 

 

 

Body Photo #24

 

 

 

 

Evidence Collection

 

 

 

 

Body Photo # 13

 

Episode 4

      Of all the tales of heartache, there is no sadder one than that of Tithonus. A prince of Troy, who long ago fell in love with a great goddess, Eos, the goddess of dawn.
      Like the morning sunlight she produced, she shone down on Tithonus and together they began an unrelenting romance. But the joy of the romance was short lived, as the goddess Eos soon realized that Tithonus, a mortal man, would one day die, and she would remain to mourn forever.
      In a hasty, and love blinded decision, Eos granted Tithonus with the gift of immortality. Never were two beings more happy with each other. Though, through the years, signs of worry appeared.
     In her hastiness, Eos had granted her lover with eternal life, but not eternal youth. And things being what they are, Tithonus began to age. Wrinkles appeared across his brow, his back humped, and his muscles became weak. Gone was the beautiful head of hair that Eos loved.
      It was not long before she could not bear to look at her lover. She placed his frail body in a room and locked the door. She neglected him for many years there. All the while, Tithonus continued to age.
      His hands and feet curled as his bones grew soft and brittle. His back hunched and Tithonus was reduced to a weak ball of a man.
      Through tears and sorrow, Eos finally decided that she must check on him after a century of being from his presence. As she unlocked and opened the door, what she saw horrified her.
      Sitting on the floor just below the window was an old, brown, wrinkled shell of a man. She rushed across the room and dropped to her knees at his side. Gently, she placed her hand on him, only to have a crack appear.
      She stepped back in awe as the crack widened and the shell split completely open. And from within, crawled a new creature. Fresh, born again. A cicada spread it's wings and escaped through the open window.
      Still, to this day, on summer nights, when the power of Eos is at her greatest, you can hear Tithonus sing to her. The song of cicadas fill the Louisiana air.

*****

      After a few moments, the beating coming from inside the refrigerator grew frantic and more violent. In one fluid motion, Campbell stood up from the chair, let it fly out from under him as the fridge door kicked open, and grabbed the person falling out by the back of the neck.
      The fridge had been completely emptied out in a panic as the young man had apparently seen the sheriff approaching the house. He had slipped inside, shut the door, and hoped to not be found. Until, it was unplugged and any source of fresh air was cut off.
      With his free hand, Campbell swept the kitchen table clear of everything that was sitting on top of it. Glass bottles shattered across the floor, and condiments and milk splattered against the wall. The uneven legs of the table wobbled slightly back and forth as Campbell drove the boy's head onto the surface and pressed it firmly so that he couldn't wriggle free. Through his pressed face he screamed.

"Ah! What dude?"

     Through his screams he managed to squeak out the phrases, "warrant" and "probable cause." This made Campbell press down even harder.

"Warrant? You want to see a warrant?"

     Campbell drove his fist into the side of the boy's face, with a loud thud. A loud groan escaped from his mouth and any resistance he was putting forth slowly came to a stop.

"Fuck! What do you want?!"

"Where's your girlfriend?"

      He tried to jerk out from underneath Campbell again.

"I haven't seen her! Not since last night."

      Campbell released the boy's neck and pointed sternly to the chair that had been kicked to the side. The boy picked it up from the floor and shakily bent at the waist to sit down, resting his forearms on his knees. A trickle of blood appeared from his nose and dripped out onto his jeans. He reached up, wiped it and discarded the moisture on the front of his shirt, leaving a red streak behind.

"You can't be doin' this kinda shit, man. Runnin' up in somebody's house like this."

"Your girlfriend's car was found abandoned out near Highway 120 this morning. No sign of her. What do you know about it?"

"She left here a quarter to one in the morning....one in the morning...something like that. I ain't heard from her since. I been asleep."

      Campbell spat across the floor.

"Why would she be headin' out that way? Out there where we found her car is the opposite direction of her house. In between here and Zwolle."

      The young man hung his head. He shook it in a disappointed manner.

"Ain't but one thing on that road that I know of. And I told her not to be goin' down there no more. Bout a mile and a half before you get to town, there's an old bar. She has a friend that works over there."

"I know the place. Why didn't you want her goin' over there?"

"Cuz that's where she met me at. I know the type of people that go there, people like me. And she don't need to be around that.
      Most of us here, Sheriff, we're just souls waiting to expire. Only most of us. Every once and a while, one comes along that brings some color to the grey. A flash of hope to those of us just sucking down cigarettes and beer, trying to numb the thought of taking day by day steps toward a casket waiting on us. That was her. She was color.
      I don't know about angels, but I do know I don't deserve her. You know it, too. Look at me. I couldn't get a job scrubbin' toilets in this town. So what else do I got?.......You know what I got, ya'll just got me for it last month. I got weed, pills, and anything else that can help me forget who I am. But not with her. She helped me remember who I used to be, and that's what I need.
      So if you're here asking me if I did something to make her disappear......you got the wrong one."

"Are you a religious man, Brandon?"

"When I need to be."

"I believe the need has arrived. Now wipe your nose son."

************

      By the next day, the small town was already buzzing with word of the missing girl. Every third person you spoke to had a different story about what happened to her. The little old ladies said it was drug related, her peers said it was the boyfriend who had done something with her. Others thought maybe the parents had killed her and hid the body. But when you got right down to it, no one really knew.
      The local sheriff's department had turned down help from any outside agency, for fear of losing control of the situation. "You let people in from the state, and you'll never get them out," is what they said. And people seemed to accept that. Still, the newspaper was scheduled to print and they needed answers that would throw cold water on all of the speculation. One false story running wild, and that is all it would take to draw national attention, and that would only make things much more complicated.This was a local matter and Campbell wanted to keep it that way.
      J.W. spent the rest of the afternoon fielding calls from so called "concerned citizens." The phones rang off the hook for the entire evening. You could hear him saying back to them, "Maam, we're just as concerned as you are. The sooner I get off this phone, the sooner I can get back to findin' her." Still, as this was his duty, he jotted down every bit of useless information that was given to him.
      The last time he hung up the phone, there was a shadow darkening the doorway of his office. He was in his mid 30's, dark blonde hair that was cut neatly, with jeans and a flannel shirt. He stared expressionless at him. J.W. didnt have to ask what he wanted. He knew him all too well.
      J.W. had been seperated from his wife for a little over a year now. She was a woman he had been sweethearts with all through high school. But as these things sometimes go, they "grew into different people." Atleast, that's what she said. He always said he didn't know it until she told him. But in all honesty, he felt the difference.
      The man in his doorway was a police officer from just over the bridge in Texas. A little town called Joaquin. Not much bigger than Zwolle, they had a few officers. He'd been a deputy over there for a few years. J.W. liked him well enough. They saw each other at different police functions, dinners and such. He never had a problem with him. Not until he found out he had been screwing his wife. That's the kind of thing that can take a friendly acquaintance and turn it into something entirely different.
      J.W. looked back down at the papers on his desk and pretended to be filling out a report of some kind. He hoped that Travis would get the hint or give up and leave, but he knew he wouldn't. Travis shuffled off of the door frame he was leaning on and took a step forward, his hands pushed down into his front pockets.

"J.W., how are you?"

"Travis." He never looked up from his desk. Just sat scribbling across the papers.

"I hear ya'll got a 207 out here. Find anything yet?"

"She's still gone. Did you bring her with you?"

      Travis laughed.

"You know I ain't kidnapped nobody."

"I wasn't talkin' about the girl. I was talkin' about my wife."

      Travis looked down at his shoes and shook his head.

"You know she ain't comin' out here."

"Then what the fuck do you want?"

"How many times do I gotta apologize to you J.W. This ain't something we set out to do, it just happened. I Just want things between me and you to be straight. Or as straight as we can get them."

"Get straight with God, not me."

"Trust me, I'm tryin'. I'm tryin' everyday, you ain't the only one struggling with this. Thing is, she sent me down here. I think you know why."

      J.W. pulled a folder from his desk drawer and slung it out across the top.

"They ain't signed, if that's what you're after."

"It's what she wants."

"Well, I got some say in this thing, too. If she wants them signed, tell her to come down here and talk to me herself and quit sending her peckerwood boyfriend to do it."

    Travis stepped forward with a menacing look.

"Now I came here to be cordial, but....."

     A hand grabbed his shoulder. When he turned around he saw Campbell standing there in his beige cowboy hat, that had a sweat ring around it.

"Then let's leave that way. Come on, I'll walk you out."

     J.W.'s hands trembled with anger as he sat his pen down on the desk.

Digging Up the Truth

Episode 3

     It has been said that every human action, from the moment of conception, to death, is a selfish one. From the first sign of a heartbeat squeezing blood through our angel hair veins, we instinctively make choices which best preserve our own existence.
    From a single egg inside our mother's womb we grow. We consume and we consume, we grow and grow. Taking nutrients, blood, and oxygen from the very being who gave us life. And we only stop, we only concede when we are forced out into the world in a blinding fit of rage.
     It's in that moment, in that breath of fresh air that permeates through our lungs for the first time, that we not only seek to survive, but to multiply. To take what we have inside of us and make more of it. And it's in that control, of creating, that we realize the only thing sweeter than survival.......is control. And what, might you ask, is the most dominant form of control? Destruction.
     In times past, we formed tribes, and now we form gangs. We made spears, and now we make guns. We have killed each other in the name of gods, and now we kill each other in the name of money.
Two thousand years separates us from our most primitive form on this Earth. One man banging two rocks together to make a spark, and we are no different today. We are still clawing our way through time, chasing the two most important things known to man: existence and power. And we will keep banging those two rocks together until the day we die. And the moment a spark flies and ignites the kindling at our feet, we feel that we are in control.

*******************************

      The steel cable connected to the winch of the wrecking truck groaned as it pulled the little gray car onto its flat bed. The controller holding the lever in one hand and the other placed on his hip, a cigarette hanging from his lower lip.
      The wheels rolled onto the platform and came to a rest in the center. The engine running the winch geared down and whined to a halt. By this time, a crowd of about ten to fifteen officers had gathered at the scene. They all stood around the wrecker talking to one another, speculating.
      Every cop on duty, parish wide, had gotten wind of the investigation and had shown up to take a look. Cruisers were lined all the way down the dirt road until it met the blacktop highway. Blue and red lights swirled the whole way down.

"Who called all these damn people out here?" Campbell asked in an irritated tone.

"You know how it is, Sherriff. Not much else going on this time of day."

"Well, tell them to get their asses out of here and do some work if they want to get a check at the end of the week. This ain't a damn peepshow. They'll have to find something else to talk about over dinner tonight."

"Yessir."

      J.W. marched down the road a ways, waving one arm through the air like he was running a dog off a porch. All the men standing around drew their attention to the commotion. Campbell couldn't hear what he was saying, but, shortly thereafter, the cars began to file out of the area. He turned his attention back to the wrecker. The driver was waiting on him. He flicked his cigarette down into the gravel of the road.

"Where you want me to take it?"

"Take it down to the station. Drop it out back so we don't get a bunch of rubber neckers driving by all day. That's all we need. Them boys from the Shreveport lab ought to be out here sometime after lunch."

      When he turned back around, two officers were approaching on foot. Both were dressed down in camoflauge pants and a Sherriff's Department t-shirt that said "K-9 unit" on the pocket.
       They each had an arm outstretched holding a leash that was pulled tight with a hound at the end. Both dogs were a reddish tan color with black on their midsection. White foam and drool collected at the corner of their mouths. Their tongues hung out, bobbing up and down as they panted through their labored breath.

"Warming up a bit out here ain't it? Them dogs look it."

"The frost is off their peckers, that's for sure."

"Ya'll come up with anything?"

"Not a stitch, Sherriff. We took the clothes you found in the trunk of the car and did as good as we could do with them. Followed it right to that lease road and it quit. My guess, she was put in another vehicle and hauled outta here. No scent to be had."

"Yep, that's about what we figured, too. The clothes seemed to be what the girl was wearing at the time she was taken. They had blood on 'em, so that's the best we can figure. They were folded up neatly in the trunk. Not sure what to make of that yet, but we appreciate you boys comin' out."

"Not a problem. These dogs gotta earn their supper."

      Campbell stood and watched as the deputies loaded the hounds into the back of the truck that was loaned out by the parish. He nodded as the men drove away and he was left standing alone. With a bit of quiet, he looked around and took in what was left of the scene before heading back to town. Birds were chirping in the distance and there was a slight breeze, almost peaceful.

*********

      Back at the station, the girl's father sat nervously in an empty room. A lonely clock on the wall loudly ticked away the seconds, that to him felt like minutes. Only a table with two chairs sat inside the room. His fingers drummed across the top.
      When Campbell entered the room , Mr. Freemeaux jumped to his feet. He was still in the same clothes J.W. had dragged him out of the house in, an old pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with a stretched out neck.

"Did you find her?!"

      Campbell held his hand out in front of him and moved it in a lowering position, signalling Mr. Freemeaux to take his seat. He did. The sherriff removed his hat and sat it on the table between them and sat himself down. He slicked his hair back and took a small notepad from his front pocket. He placed it down on the table and drew a pen from the same pocket and clicked it into a usable position.

"When did you see your daughter last, Thomas?"

"Tuesday sometime. I'd say Tuesday. I talked to her before I left for work."

"And what did you discuss?"

"Not much. Tryin'to drag a conversation out of a teenager is about like draggin a stubborn mule out of quicksand."

"She have any plans that evening?"

"Going to see her boyfriend, same as any other day."

"What's the boys name?"

"It's...Brandon Creaks, Sherriff."

      Campbell looked up from his notepad with a raised eyebrow. That name was one that he was familiar with. Someone who had crossed paths with the law several times. He didn't figure him to be the kind of boy you would approve of dating your daughter.

"Can your wife vouch for you being home all night?"

"Of course, Sherriff."

      When he exited the interrogation room, J.W. was in the hallway leaning against the wall with one foot cocked back. He had his department ballcap, with the police logo on it, pulled down over his eyes. He quickly jerked it up when he heard the door swing open.

"How'd that go?"

"Get yourself another cup of coffee. We got a long day ahead."

      It wasn't 30 minutes before they were pulling onto the road of the boy's address. It was a small house, maybe 2 bedrooms. From the outside it looked mostly unkept.
      Campbell brought the car to a slow stop on the side of the road. The house was just in view through a group of trees. One car sat in the driveway, but no activity could be seen outside.

"How you wanna do this, Sherriff?"

     Campbell pulled his gun from the holster on his hip and sat it on the dash of the car.

"You sit tight. I'm gonna see if I can go up unnoticed."

"He coud be armed. He got several charges on his record. Marijuana, pills and whatnot. Did a two week stay here a few months ago."

"I believe a jump from pissy ass possession charges to murdering an officer of the law ain't one he is gonna take. He's just a boy. I do heavier liftin' when I take a piss."

      As Campbell approached the front yard, he could hear noises coming from inside. Sounded like someone was cleaning the house or moving furniture. He stopped just before the front door and listened for a few moments, until the sounds stopped. Then, he knocked. Nothing.
      He reached down and as gently as he could , tried the knob and was met with the resistance of the lock. He backed away and made his way a few feet to his left into the carport. Immediatly, he noticed that the door was ajar. He pushed it open slowly with the point of his boot.

"Sheriff's Department! I'm looking for Brandon. Anybody else who might be in there can walk away, warrants or not. My business is with him only. Just come out!"

      No answer. Inside the door, Campbell stepped into the washroom and pressed his back against the wall. He looked carefully around a doorway that led into a kitchen area. After not seeing anyone, he immediately lifted himself from the wall and stepped through. A light haze of cigarette smoke floated through the air.
      Spread out across the counters and kitchen table were bottles, meats, and vegetables of all kinds. Tupperware bowls, tea with ice still in it. The place was a complete mess. He took a few more steps forward and approached the table. He took a few looks around the room, then at the refrigerator.
      On the edge of the table, close to him, was a glass bottle filled a quarter of the way with orange juice. He put his hand to it. The coldness of the bottle radiated and made the small hairs on his hands bristle. Condensation had not even formed yet. He touched a packed of meat, cold as ice.

"Mmmhhmmm." He looked back at the fridge.

      Campbell slowly drug a chair out from under the table. It squealed across the tile floor until it came to rest against the fridge. He leaned it back so the the top of the chair rested just under the handle.
      He pulled his pack of tobacco out and refreshed the leaves that were dwindling in his mouth. As he sat down in the chair, he reached around behind him, grabbed hold of the electric cord connected to the fridge and jerked it from the wall. The fan inside, that was feeding in fresh cold air, whirred to a stop.
      He took his hat off and placed it on his knee. Every few minutes he would spit beside the chair, directly onto the floor. Then finally, he felt it.
      First, a slight nudge coming from inside the fridge. Then again. Finally, a hard shove that bounced the back of the chair a little. Campbell smiled slightly. A muffled voice yelled from inside.......

"Help! Open it up!"

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