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.