Every Parish has its history, and Sabine is no different. It has its back roads, its creeks, little places that only the locals know. And that's the way it will remain. One such community, known as the Bayou Scie community, centralized around a church of the same name, has sat in existence since 1767.
The community was originally known as "Las Cabezas", or The Heads. Early map makers spoke of crossing the Sabine River and making it only as far as this little community. The first church in Sabine Parish was later erected on that very spot. A census was attempted, but for unknown reasons was abandoned and left unfinished.
Deep in the lore of Northern Louisiana, this community sits quietly. Surrounded by a dense and expansive forest known as "The Big Woods."
Every community has a history. Every community has a story. For many years, this one was left untold, possibly out of fear, or possibly that there was no one left that knew the truth. This investigation continues now, with the revelation of the day the first body was found on the premises of Bayou Scie Methodist Church.
****
J.W. picked the napkin off of the floor and stretched it out between his hands, revealing the scripture again. He thought back to Morgan, and how reluctant she had been to say anything at all. To give up any information whatsoever. How frail she had seemed. Almost broken.
He walked to his bedroom and sat at the edge of his bed, shaking off his boots onto the floor. Finally, after days, he let the feeling of exhaustion wash over him. Every waking minute had been spent thinking about the girl. And now, in the privacy of his home, with no one watching, he could allow it all to fall away. For now at least.
The napkin slowly uncrinkled across the top of his nightstand as J.W. lay on his back in the dark, looking up at the ceiling. He lay there for a while, trying to slow his mind down. The fan blades spun slowly and he felt his eyes becoming heavier as he watched them, until sleep overtook him.
That night, he did not dream. The dramatic events of the day did not penetrate his sleep. Only darkness. The kind of rest you can only get when everything in you, body and mind, has been used up.
******
The sun was just peeking over the pine trees when his eyes cracked open the following morning. His dog was already up and looking at him from the floor. Curled in a ball, it's tail began to wag as J.W. began to stir, until finally it hopped up on the bed to nudge him into action.
He stood up and began unbuckling his belt and removing the uniform pants he hadn't bothered with the night before. He shucked them off and made his way into the bathroom. The knobs to the shower squealed open and steaming water rained down as he removed the rest of his clothing.
When he entered the bedroom again, he had a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair was still slightly damp and matted to his forehead. He opened the top drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a stick of deodorant. He turned the dial at the bottom of the tube and began to apply it. As he did, there was the napkin, still waiting.
J.W. had no idea what the scripture might say or mean, or if it was even meant for him. But he intended to find out. He got down on one knee and reached underneath his bed. His hand returned gripping an old, dusty Bible he had stored away many months ago. He wiped the top of it off with his hand and sat back on the edge of the bed again.
He opened it up and began thumbing through the pages, looking first for "2 Corinthians." He went past a few books of the Bible, the thin pages flapping back and forth, and finally he saw it. Looking back up at the napkin, he checked for the chapter and verse. And at that moment, he was interrupted by a low static.
The hand held radio squealed and scratched before going silent again. J.W. picked it up and fiddled with the knobs, turning them back and forth. The racket didn't return, only silence. He lived too far outside of town to get much of a signal, but he knew there was chatter about something going on. Then the telephone rang from the kitchen.
J.W. crossed the house and picked it up. He sighed as it left the receiver, knowing that his relaxation was over, and his day was about to begin.
"Hello?"
"Hey J.W., this is Sheryl at dispatch. I couldn't reach the sheriff. We got a call from an anonymous caller sayin' they know where that missin' girl is."
"Yeah? Well I got about twenty yesterday. Put it with all the other ones and we'll work our way down the list."
"This one's a little different.........the girl was cryin'. I sent patrol over there to take a look, and they said ya'll need to come down there."
"Dammit, I ain't even had my eggs yet."
"Well, tell that hen to keep 'em warm for you."
"What's the location?"
"It's over on 120, Bayou Scie Church. Apparently they found something in the cemetary over there."
"Alright, let me get my boots on."
"Oh, and J.W........bring a shovel."
******
The whole town awoke that morning to the same news that J.W. had received. Something had been found in the Bayou Scie community. What it was, no one really knew for sure. Speculation took hold and spread like a cancer.
The police had the highway blocked off about a quarter of a mile up the road to stop traffic from heading that way. They let a few odd cars through, people that actually lived out there. Everyone else was just spectators, people just wanting to see something that they could go back and have a story about.
In front of the church was a large oak tree with it's limbs spreading out toward the sky. A few years back it had been struck by lightning. It burned for a good part of the night, almost split in two. For whatever reason, though, it didn't die. The very next spring, its leaves were as bright as the year before. That's where most of the congregating was.
S.U.V.'s and cars belonging to the sheriff's department were ganged up around the tree, and policemen stood talking. Some sipped out of thermoses filled with coffee, while others pointed and talked about this and that. They did this, waiting on someone with some authority to show up.
Behind the church stretched a graveyard with around 300 headstones lined up and down within a chain linked fence. An American flag flapped in the breeze atop a tall, white, paint chipped pole, just at the north corner. And within the yard, a single, small orange flag was placed in the ground, just in front of one of the headstones.
******
Across the state line, in East Texas, Travis was walking through the door of his home. He could smell bacon frying as he made his way down the hallway. It wasn't every morning that Rebecca had breakfast made, but when she did, it reminded him just how much she meant to him.
When he got in the view of the kitchen, he could see her standing there in her panties and a long t-shirt. She had a spatula in one hand and the other was placed on her hip as she watched the food cooking. He could hear the grease popping and the meat sizzling in the pan. He tried to slip up behind her unnoticed, but failed.
"Busy night?"
"Not really. Couple of speeders, but nothing to start a fire over."
"I just about got your plate ready. Go ahead and sit down, I'll bring it to you. You heard anything new about what's going on over in Sabine?"
Travis shifted in his seat.
"They still ain't found her, don't even have a lead as far as we know. I did get a little chewin' out about going down there and talkin' to J.W."
"From who?"
"Everyone higher than me on the shit pole. Which is alot of people, in case you didn't know."
Rebecca sat his plate down in front of him and put her hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get you in any kind of trouble. I just don't know what to do, none of this was planned. You know that as well as I do."
Travis stood up from the kitchen table, and just before leaving the room, he spoke in a defeated tone.
"I can't get in the middle of this anymore. My job is on the line. You two need to come to some sort of resolution, but I can't be your messenger anymore."
He left the plate of food sitting, steam rising. It would sit there uneaten the rest of the day.
******
J.W.'s truck pulled into view of the Bayou Scie Church and he could see the chaotic scene unfolding in front of him. Everyone stood around with no direction. Even a few civilians had made it through the line and were standing around talking with police. He rolled to a stop and jumped out of his truck with a purpose.
"Who is the leading officer here?"
Everyone in a uniform snapped in his direction. J.W. was not the sheriff, but everyone knew that when Campbell wasn't around, J.W. acted on his behalf.
"I want to know why we got civilians standing around in the middle of a police operation. Get these damn people out of here and brief me on the situation."
Officers began guiding the people away from the scene, while one stepped forward to talk with him.
"Sir, we got an anonymous report that she's out here in the cemetery. The missing Freemaux girl. Said she was put out there last night sometime."
"Well, have you looked? What did ya'll find?"
The deputy looked back toward the cemetery and then to J.W. again.
"Well sir, that's the problem. The caller said she is IN the cemetery. Buried. We're just waiting on you to make the call. We could get a backhoe out here if you want."
"Buried? Son of a bitch. we can't dig up every grave out here. If it aint bad enough that this girl might be down there, we will upset every family that has a family member out here."
"No sir. Caller said start with the freshest one."
J.W. leaned against the large oak tree, standing tall in front of the church, with one arm. He lowered his head, shaking it back and forth.
"This whole thing is a fuckin' mess."
