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."
