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.......
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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.
