 
A Cry in the Wind

By Bobby A. Troutt

Copyright 2011 Bobby A. Troutt

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

Cotton Bloom

Ellie's Cry

Blackberry

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

*****

A Cry in the Wind

Cotton Bloom

It was 1947, a hot and muggy day in Dink Hut, Arkansas. The hot spell had lasted most of the summer. It had been the hottest on record even though at times you could catch a cool breeze blowing off the Mississippi River inland. I'll always remember that summer. It changed my life forever.

We were playing hopscotch. Mop, Mary, and Booger were my best friends. We played a lot together back then. Dink Hut had always been our home. It was the only part of the world we knew.

"Okay, Mary, it's your turn," said Mop as she handed her the stone.

"Watch this," replied Mary. "I'm going to do it with my eyes closed."

"That's good," I said. "Now Booger it's up to you."

"One, two, three," giggled Booger as she hopped about.

"It's your turn Cotton Bloom," yelled Mop, "then mine."

Cotton Bloom was my nickname. That's what all my friends called me, but most of the time they called me Cotton for short. I am what they called light skin; it was almost white like an unbleached bit of Cotton. My mother is white and my daddy is a Negro. My real name is Jackie Raines or Jacquelyn.

"Okay, girls," I shouted. "Here I go, one, two, one, two."

When I turned to come back, I saw a shiny new quarter bounce on the ground in one of the squares.

"There you go, Cotton," came a voice from above.

As I tilted my head upward, I saw a figure in the light but couldn't make it out. But I knew the voice. It was Walter Bradshaw.

"Hello, girls," he said as he squatted down to talk.

"Hello, Mr. Bradshaw," we replied.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" he asked. "A nice game of hopscotch I see. Are you girls good at it?"

"Mop and Cotton are the best," replied Booger.

"Oh, they are," he said. "Do you think they are good enough to win some candy?"

"Sure!" they yelled.

"Okay," he replied. "If Cotton Bloom wins, you all get some broken stick candy," he replied. "If Mop wins, you all get jawbreakers."

"Alright!" shouted the girls as they cheered them on.

Carefully, Cotton and Mop took their turns and tried hard to beat the other. But the competition was good between them. It ended a tie.

"Now, Mr. Bradshaw, what are you going to do?" said Mary. "They both won."

"Do we still get the candy?" asked Booger.

"Well, I don't know," he replied as he lifted his hat and scratched his head. "What do you think, Cotton?"

"Well...," I thought for a minute. "I—think..."

"That's it!" Mr. Bradshaw shouted. "I'll give you all a jawbreaker and a couple of broken stick candies."

"Whoopee," they all screamed. "Thank you, Mr. Bradshaw, you're the best."

"You're quite welcome girls," he said. "I guess I'll be going." As he started to walk away, he stopped suddenly and turned, "How's Smooth doing?"

Smooth was daddy's nickname. Reece is his real name.

"Oh, he's doing fine," I replied.

"Tell him I asked about him," said Mr. Bradshaw. "He is in my prayers."

"I will," I replied as he climbed up into his old Chevy pickup and drove off.

"Bye, Mr. Bradshaw!" we shouted.

"He's a nice man," said Booger as she sucked on the broken stick candy.

"I'll trade you my jawbreaker for a piece of your candy," said Mary. "I don't like jawbreakers."

"Okay," replied Mop. "I love them."

"Here, you can have mine too," said Booger.

"Mr. Bradshaw is very important," stated Mary. "I've heard momma and daddy talk about him."

"Me, too," replied Cotton. "He and Daddy are good friends. They've been friends all my life."

"That's not been too long," replied Mary. "You're only eight years old."

"It's been long to me," I said.

People say he owns about everything in Butler County. The county lay across the Mississippi from West Memphis into Eastern Arkansas. He was the richest and most powerful man around. Daddy said that Wilburn's daddy was a judge for years. His daddy had made a lot of influential friends while he was in office; a lot of them owed him. My daddy said that the judge had a lot of friends in high places in Arkansas and Tennessee. I don't pay it no never mind. I said, "All that matters to me is momma and daddy and what happens here in Dink Hut on Nubia Road."

Oh, Dink Hut, I'll never forget it. It was one of the colored sections of Butler County. Dink Hut may have been the poor side of a poor people county, but it was home to me. Daddy's dream for me was to be a lawyer, a good lawyer and to help people. Be the best, make a difference. And that's what I wanted too. I want to make him proud.

Sometimes we would go up to the Illinois-Louisiana Central trestle at noon and see who could guess the number of cars on the train. Some of the boys around Dink Hut love to frog gig along the banks of the Mississippi. We girls loved to tag along. The boys would catch giant mud turtles and take them back to Dink Hut. People would buy them to eat. That is how we got money for cold drinks and candy. While the boys played by the river, the girls made mud pies and played with dolls until the boys interrupted. It was also fun to swim in the small of the river where it cut into the banks, it wasn't too deep there. We looked for crane nests and other water fowl. It was fun trying to find them in the tall marsh.

We loved living in Dink Hut, but we had no idea what lay ahead. I wish I could go back to those days and be eight again. I would love to play in the cotton fields and along the river bank.

Butler County was noted for cotton and tobacco. It was one of the poorest counties, but was run with an iron fist by one of the richest men, Wilburn Bradshaw. There were times I can remember Mr. Bradshaw driving along the old dirt road along the riverbank in his pick-up truck. He would stop and watch the children play. Sometimes he would haul a bunch of us up to the trestle to count cars, and then bring us back.

Daddy said once that Mr. Bradshaw was an only child. I thought that's why he liked to play with us so. He never had anyone to play with when he was growing up. One day Robby and I were walking home from Mary and Mop's. He was my first boyfriend. Robby was one of several white families that lived around Dink Hut. We were walking along laughing and talking when, out of nowhere, a voice called out to us. We quickly looked around; there in a swing on his porch was Mr. Bradshaw.

"Hey, kids, what are you doing today?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," replied Robby.

"What about you, Cotton?" he asked.

"Nothing much," I replied, remembering I had to get home and watch after Daddy while Momma ran some errands.

"How is Reece feeling?" questioned Wilburn. "That emphysema can be bad."

"He's coughing a lot," I explained. "The doctor came yesterday and gave him a breathing treatment. If he doesn't get to breathing better, they will have to put him back into the hospital."

Then Wilburn leaned forward and reached into this pocket and pulled out a brown sack full of broken stick candy.

"Would ya'll like some candy?" he asked as he held it out in front of us.

"No, sir, not today," replied Cotton Bloom. "I need to get home. Bye, Robby. Bye, Mr. Bradshaw."

"Bye, Cotton," shouted Wilburn. "What about you, Robby?" he said.

Then Wilburn reached into the sack and pulled out a piece and held it up.

"Sure, Mr. Bradshaw," he yelled as he ran toward the porch.

Eagerly, Robby jumped up in the swing beside him, as Cotton disappeared down the road.

"Here you go, Robby," said Wilburn as he handed him another piece of candy. Slowly the two of them swung back and forth in the swing, and Wilburn talked and talked. Robby didn't really know what he was talking about. He just agreed and went along with him. The old porch swing popped and snapped; the rusty chains slowly twisted and untwisted. Then Wilburn reached over and eased his arms around Robby and gently hugged him, patting him on the shoulder.

"You're a good boy, Robby," he said. "I've known your mom and dad all your life. Why, I was there the day you were born, celebrating with him."

"You were, Mr. Bradshaw?" asked Robby.

"Yes, yes, I was," he replied as he took a deep breath. "Call me Wilburn, son. I would like that."

"Sure, Wilburn," he said as Wilburn handed him the sack of candy.

"Go ahead, son, eat all you want."

"Gee, thanks!" yelled Robby.

Slowly, Wilburn began to move his hand over on Robby's leg then gently he began to pat it. Then he jumped up.

"I bet you're thirsty," said Wilburn.

"I sure am," replied Robby. "That candy makes you thirsty."

"Come on in boy," said Wilburn. "Let me fix you a glass of cold milk." They went in and disappeared into the darkness of the house.

I recall I never did see much of Robby after that day. He began to stay to himself and didn't have a lot to say. He never wanted to play with us like he did before. There was something wrong, I sensed, but I couldn't figure it out. But not only Robby, but other children around Dink Hut started acting strangely. They seemed distant, so afraid. Some even moved away. I tried to talk to Robby several times. He would only drop his head and look away. "There's nothing wrong, Cotton," he would say, "I have a lot on my mind." What was even stranger, I never saw Robby eat another piece of broken stick candy again. It was his favorite. Little did anyone know that a few years later we would be shocked to hear Robby committed suicide.

Summer moved on. Mr. Bradshaw came many times and visited my dad. He would always bring a box of candy and berets for my hair. We had it hard that year with Daddy and those bad spells of emphysema. Momma worked two jobs. I helped around the house and took care of him. His breathing was bad. He would get to coughing and couldn't stop. It seemed like he was gasping for his last breath. It was scary. A lot of the time I would run to my room and start to pray, "Jesus, don't take my Daddy."

The doctor came by at least once or twice a week to see him. He would help him with the breathing treatments. "Smooth, I've got some bad news," said the doctor. "It appears the emphysema has gone into the final phase."

"What do you mean, Doctor Brown?" replied Momma. "Ain't there anything else you can do?"

"No, Juanita," he answered. "I'm afraid not. I've done all that I can do medically. It will continually get worse. Keep him comfortable and keep giving him the medicine. I'll be back in a couple of days."

I listened at the door as Doctor Brown and Momma talked. Tears filled my eyes as I took off. I cried as I ran across the yard and down the road. Suddenly a pair of arms reached out and grabbed me.

"Now, now, now, Cotton," Mr. Bradshaw said as he hugged me and held me tight. "What on earth is wrong?"

"It's Daddy. It's Daddy," I screamed as I laid my head on his shoulder.

"What about Smooth?" asked Mr. Bradshaw. "Is he alright?"

"He's going to die!" I cried.

"Oh, oh, now, little girl, come up here on the porch," he said, "and tell me about it."

Slowly, he turned with me. We made our way up the steps, to the porch, and sat down in the swing.

"Now, don't cry, Cotton," he encouraged me. "Your daddy will probably be alright. You may have misunderstood."

"No, I didn't!" I shouted as I jumped up. "I know what Doctor Brown said. I heard it."

"Do not be upset, my child," he said comforting me. "Why don't you lean back and let me swing you a little. Everything is going to be alright," he assured me. "I won't let nothing happen to Smooth, he's my best friend."

The last thing I remember was the sound of the Illinois-Louisiana Central passing on the trestle. I heard the train whistle as it passed through the tunnels at Gentry's Bend. What seemed like hours later, I woke in the arms of Mr. Bradshaw in front of my house. Momma and Daddy were sitting on the porch.

"Oh, Mr. Bradshaw is she alright?" cried Momma.

"Sure," replied Wilburn. "She was crying and a little upset was all."

"Are you okay, girl?" said Momma.

"Sure, Momma, I'll be okay," I replied Cotton.

"Thank you, Wilburn, for bringing her home," said Reece.

"Are you doing alright?" he asked. "Can I do anything for you?"

"I'm fine," replied Reece, "you know what I mean."

"You have done a lot for us," said Juanita, "and we appreciate your kindness."

"Why, that's alright," replied Wilburn. "Smooth and I go back a long way, don't we. We grew up together, didn't we Smooth."

"Sure did," replied Daddy. "It's been a lot of years."

"It's been a long time since we ran these hills and hollows," laughed Wilburn. "I don't know how many times."

"Ain't no telling how many times we set out to try to swim across that river," interrupted Daddy. "Those were some good old days, long, hot and muggy summer days as this, right Wilburn?"

"That's right, Reece," replied Wilburn, "a long time ago."

"Winter wasn't too bad. I remember Momma making crackling cornbread," said Reece.

"I remember it, too," replied Wilburn. "You'd trim the fat off the meat, cut it up in little pieces, put it in an old black kettle, drop a little lard in with it, and cook it down until the grease is cooked out of it."

"That's right," replied Daddy. "You had to keep it stirred, and when those cracklings started coming to the top, they were brown and crisp."

"You couldn't get it too hot," said Wilburn. "Then you strained the lard and put it in a lard stand and let it set."

"Those cracklings were ready to eat. I can taste them now!" shouted Daddy. "Glory be, Momma's crackling cornbread sure was good."

"You two hush up now," said Juanita. "You making me hungry."

"Listen," hushed Daddy.

"What is it?" asked Juanita.

"It's a rain crow," interrupted Wilburn.

"Yep, that's what it is," said Smooth. "Hear it baby girl."

I listened and in the distance I could hear it cooing.

"It's a rain crow," said Smooth. "It's going to rain, Wilburn."

"Yep, it sure is," he replied.

"You know," replied Reece. "They said it was pouring down rain the day they found Jessie Walker's son drowned."

"He was only ten years old," replied Juanita. "Ain't that a shame? That family has had it hard."

"I heard he was a good swimmer," noted Smooth.

"He was," replied Cotton. "I've watched him swim a lot of times down by the river."

"Things happen," warned Mr. Bradshaw. "We don't always have all the answers. I best be going on."

"Thanks for bringing her home, Mr. Bradshaw," said Juanita. "I hope she was no trouble."

"She was fine," he replied as he walked on, waving goodbye.

I still remember that day. For some reason it was so sad. Why, I don't know. I started to change after that day. I guess I had started growing up.

"Come here, girl. Get up here in my lap and tell me what's wrong?" said Daddy. "You look like you have lost your best friend."

"Oh, it's nothing, Daddy," I replied.

"What's wrong, baby," asked Momma. "Are you still worried about your Daddy?"

"I don't know," I said. "I'm tired."

"Did we upset you talking about Jessie's son?" Daddy asked.

"No," I replied. "I think I'll go to my room."

"Okay, baby girl," Daddy said. "I'll see you later. Love you."

"I love you too," replied Momma.

"Love you too," I replied as the screen door shut behind me.

"She seemed so quiet and so distant," I heard Momma say.

"She'll be alright," replied Daddy. "She's a kid."

The lazy days of summer were slowly slipping by. The air at night was getting a bit nippy, as the leaves on the trees were beginning to change. I remember one day I was on my way over to Mop's and Mary's when I went by Mr. Bradshaw's house. He was swinging in the swing like usual.

"Hey, girl," he yelled. "Why are you in such a big hurry?"

"Oh...," I hesitated. "I'm on my way to Mop's and Mary's house."

"How about coming up here and swinging in the swing with me," he replied as the old swing popped, snapped, and screeched.

I always did hate that sound, I thought. It was so haunting. Anyway, if he was so rich and powerful, I thought, why did he live in an old run down, weatherboard house that needs painting? The roof was patched and the old porch was falling in. It didn't make any sense.

"I can't," I replied. I wanted to hurry over to Mop's house.

"Oh, come on, Cotton," he begged. "Let's swing a little."

Then he stepped down off the porch and brought out a bag of broken stick candy.

"Here you go," he said. "You like candy, remember."

"I hate it! I hate! I hate you!" I screamed.

"Hush up, child," he said quietly as he placed the candy back into his pocket. "Shhh, now Cotton, lets not talk too loudly." He had whispered something in my ear. "I sure would hate to see anything happen to Reece or Juanita," he angrily said. "Strange things do happen."

He took me by the hand, and we began walking toward the porch, then up to the swing. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out the paper sack of candy again, placing it in my lap. I don't remember much from there. I really can't remember anything. As we were swinging, he took his hand and put it on my leg. He slowly moved it up and down, talking a mile a minute about something that didn't make any sense. Then all of a sudden, the swing stopped, and he took me by the hand and we went inside the house.

I recall Daddy saying one night at supper that there had been a couple that tried to cross Wilburn. They disappeared and were never seen again. Some folks say that he took them out into the marsh and buried them. No one crosses Wilburn Bradshaw without paying for it. Too many strange things happen around him. I've known him all my life. He can be a good man when he wants to and mean when he gets rowdy.

That night, after supper, we all went out to sit on the porch. Momma and Daddy listened to the radio while Mop, Mary, and Booger played in the front yard. I quietly sat on the porch. I didn't want to play. My mind and my heart were heavy, and my spirit was broken. I didn't know what was wrong.

"Come on, Cotton Bloom, and play," yelled Mop.

"Yeah, girl," spoke up Mary. "You never want to play anymore."

"I don't feel like it," I said.

"Why don't you play with your friends?" replied Momma. "I've got to get me a sweater on. The night air is getting chilly."

Quickly, Momma stepped inside, then out onto the porch, slipping on her sweater.

"That's so much better," she said. "You know, Reece, I'm worried about Cotton. She's not herself at all and all that stuff that goes on around Dink Hut, maybe something has happened to her."

"Oh, she'll be alright," encouraged Daddy. "It's nothing more than growing pains I'm sure."

"Maybe you're right," answered Momma, "I hope so."

"Come on, girl," said Mop, Mary, and Booger as they took Cotton by the hands and pulled her out into the yard.

"Let's catch lightning bugs," cried Booger.

As the children ran about the yard catching lightning bugs, you could hear in the distance the cry of a whip-o-will. The girls screamed and ran toward the porch when they heard the cry. Suddenly there came a warning across the radio, the local station broadcasted that another child's body had been found in the marsh.

"Well, it's time to go in," announced Momma. "It's not safe around here anymore. Girls, I'll take you home, get into the car. Cotton, you stay with Daddy. I'll be back in a minute."

As Momma drove off, Daddy started having a bad spell. Slowly Daddy made his way into the house, he began to cough and lose his breath.

"Daddy, Daddy," I cried as he fell down into the chair.

I ran to get his breathing whatchamacallit.

"Here, Daddy, breathe," I cried.

He was coughing so bad he couldn't get his breath. I raced to the phone to call the doctor, but he wasn't home. His wife said she would try to find him.

"Please hold on, Daddy," I cried. "I don't know what to do. Help me, Lord, please help me. Don't let my Daddy die."

Then, without a warning, he fell asleep. His eyes were still open. He didn't even blink.

"Daddy, Daddy," I screamed as I shook him. "Don't die Daddy."

All I knew to do from that point on was to crawl up into his lap, lay my head on his shoulder, and hum.

By the time Momma got back, Dr. Brown was there, Daddy was already dead. I was holding on to him screaming, "Daddy, Daddy, don't leave me."

After that summer that Daddy died, we left Dink Hut and moved to Momma's sister in Baltimore. From that time on I was never called Cotton Bloom again. It was Jackie or Jacquelyn.

My life would be doctors, hospitals, and medicines of all kinds. From 1947-1949, I was in and out of the hospital. The doctor said it was the trauma of my Daddy's death that was wrong with me. But it was more than that. A part of me died in Dink Hut, but what and why, I can't remember. The preacher always said the Lord watches over us and takes care of us. But I couldn't understand why so many bad things would happen. I remember having bad dreams at night, kicking and screaming. They would have to tie me to the bed. Night after night, dream after dream, I pulled my hair, scratched myself and stayed awake for days until I went off to sleep. Momma, Momma, Momma, I would cry. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, where are you I would scream. There was always this awful smell, like you would never dream, something awful like bad, horrible breath. I knew there was something wrong with me but I didn't know what.

Finally, in the fall of 1949, the nightmares seemed to pass. It was over. I don't know what the doctor had done, but thank the Lord it was over. I believed now I could go on with my life. I guess it took a lot for me to let go of Daddy. I loved him and missed him so. I wish every day he was here with Momma and me, talking about things of years ago. But, he's not. I believe he has gone on to a better place. I hope and pray one day I'll get to see him again.

I was able to go back to school that fall. While I was at home and in the hospital, I had a homebound teacher to come and help me stay up in school. Baltimore was a different world from Dink Hut, Arkansas. Momma and I lived with her sister, Cynthia. It helped a lot while I was in the hospital and all. I guess now Momma and I will get us an apartment. Aunt Cynthia doesn't have much room with her family also.

One afternoon, after supper, I overheard Aunt Cynthia talking to Momma. She was telling her that she needed to pass me off as a white girl.

"Juanita, this may be the north," she said, "but Jackie's chances are far greater as a white girl than a Negro."

"Jackie should be who she wants to be," replied Momma.

"She's just a child," replied Aunt Cynthia. "She doesn't know what she wants. Please do as I say, sister," warned Cynthia. "You will thank me later." Quietly, I eased back from around the door and ran on to play.

Momma never mentioned it to me for a while, but when at school, children began to tease me and make fun of my hair, she sat me down and we talked. From that day on, I became white, although I really didn't understand it.

"You'll understand later," Momma would always say.

Not too long after that, we moved from Aunt Cynthia's to an apartment. I graduated from high school, the class of '57, at the top of my class, and received a scholarship to college.

I never would have dreamed that my life would take off so as it did in college. A whole new world had opened up to me—new friends, new adventures, and new relationships. There was so much to do and see. There were movie houses, drive-ins, hangouts like Pop's Diner, dance halls, and so much more. Dink Hut never had anything like this.

When I went off to college, Momma moved back in with Aunt Cynthia. Momma's health was beginning to take the best of her, like Daddy. Momma had developed diabetes. She had it for several years and didn't know it. Her feet would swell so she could hardly walk, much less hold a job. I kept in touch with her and saw her on weekends.

The college life had a lot to offer if you wanted it all. But, I stood by what my Momma and Daddy always said, "Work hard, be strong, determined, dedicated to your dreams, and your dreams will come true."

I loved law, but was also interested in medicine. I started off with a General Associate Degree, but by the end of my first year I knew I wanted to be a lawyer. Why, I didn't know. There was something about it that drew me to it. Life is funny that way.

Boys, boys, boys, I had never seen so many in one place. Like Momma always said, there were more than you can shake a stick at. Some of them were nice, some good looking, some ugly, and some silly. I don't really know what I like in a man. I've never really thought much about it. He doesn't have to be the best looking boy on earth, but not ugly—I mean too ugly. He should be kind, friendly, and a little silly at times, and I have to love his smile.

Daddy had a pretty smile. I guess I would love to have a boyfriend or husband like him. As time went on, I dated some and partied a little, but not much. And then it happened all at once. I met him, my dream. I couldn't believe it. I didn't know how to act or what to say. I felt like I was sixteen again. I thought I was going to melt.

"Hey!" was his first word to me. He was so cute, too.

From that moment on, we were inseparable. At last, I had met Mr. Right. We met at school in the library. He had transferred here from another college in Tennessee. His name was James. We had a lot in common, both being from the south. Our relationship hit right off with a bang. We talked a lot about home. James wanted to be a teacher. I told him I wanted to be a lawyer. He would always kid me about being a crooked lawyer.

The summer of my second year of college, he proposed to me and I accepted. We were soon married. Afterward, we rented an apartment. We both worked and went to school. It was hard on us. Our money was tight. But, we always seemed to make ends meet.

We had been married about a year when things started to turn around. I had started having those bad dreams again. I didn't know why. It seemed like everything went bad all at once. All James wanted to do in our free time was to stay in bed. That was all he thought about. I just couldn't take it anymore. Between the dreams, the headaches, and James' desire, I could scream, and I did. Time went on; it grew worse. So, I decided to go stay with Momma and Aunt Cynthia in Baltimore.

Momma needed me. She had become bedridden now. She had already lost one leg, and her sight was about gone. James and I talked it over and we both agreed it was for the best right now. We promised to keep in touch. I packed some clothes and moved in with Momma.

The days ahead were troubling. My mind was like a whirlwind with no way of stopping. One minute, I thought about Momma, the next James, and then finishing school. Maybe it was too much at one time. I had to let some of it go.

After a while, the dreams got a little better. They didn't occur as often as they had. I haven't heard from James since I left, and Momma was barely hanging on. It was about a week and a half after I had moved back in with Momma that she passed. It hurt so bad. I didn't want her to leave me behind. She was all I had left.

"Momma, Momma," I cried. "Please don't leave me. Oh, God, why must she go? Why did Daddy go? Why, God, why are you doing this to me?"

For days, I cried myself sick for her. Momma was always our strength. She was a strong woman, but at the same time tender in her own way. After Momma was buried, I got myself together, and I decided to try to save my marriage. I packed my things and went back to James. But, when I opened the door, I heard a noise from in the bedroom. I hurriedly walked over and looked in.

"What's this whore doing in my bed?" I screamed.

All the whore could do was cover herself with the sheet. All James could say was, "It's not like you think."

"What do you call it?" I shouted.

"But—but, Jackie," he cried.

"You get out of my house," I threatened her.

Quickly, the woman grabbed her shoes and clothes and raced out the door. As I slammed the bedroom door, I grabbed a vase and threw it at him. I tore that room up. He slipped up under the bed and said, "I'm sorry."

"You sorry, low down snake in the grass," I cried. "I ought to kill you."

Quickly, I grabbed my bags and headed back out the door. I left him with one leg in his pants, and his t-shirt hanging half way over his head. I moved back into the dorm at school in Baltimore and I filed for divorce.

"That's all a man thinks about," I thought as I was getting ready for class. Then came a knock at the door. It was Mrs. Sarah, my dorm mother, with a young woman.

"Jackie, this is Katherine. "She's your new roommate. Katherine is from Boston." "Everyone calls me Kat for short," she replied.

"Okay, then, it's Kat. I'm Jackie," I said, "short for Jacquelyn."

"Well, I'll go," said Mrs. Sarah. "Jackie, would you mind finishing showing Katherine, I mean Kat, around?"

"Sure," I replied. "That will be fine."

"Where are you from, Jackie?" Kat asked.

"Arkansas," I replied.

"The south," she said. "Okay."

"How's Boston?" I asked.

"It's good," she replied. "Lot of party scenes."

"I haven't been anywhere but to Baltimore," I stated. "We moved here when I was little after Daddy died. What are you majoring in?"

"I really don't know what I want to do. What are you going to major in?"

"I hope to be a lawyer," I replied. "I kinda like the legal thing you know."

"Yeah, I can see it," she said. "You look like a lawyer."

I laughed and threw a pillow at her. Then she laughed and threw one back at me. After that, Kat and I became best friends, like sisters, in a lot of ways. We were inseparable. She told me her life story and I filled her in on mine, divorce, Momma dying, and giving up Daddy. A few weekends later, I went to Boston with her and met her parents. They were nice, sort of uppity, but I didn't care. Kat was not like that, she was down to earth like me.

We had been sitting around the dorm room a lot, studying for our finals. Time had somehow slipped away. Graduation was only a few weeks off. I felt like she had something on her mind. But, she held back from talking about it. So, I waited for the chance to confront her. There's something she said she had wanted to ask me for a long time.

"Kat we are best friends, we're sisters," I said. "Why would you hold back?"

"Jackie, I don't want to say something you might take wrong."

"What is it, girl?" I laughed. "Come on, what on earth is it?" Tell me!"

"Jackie, are you mixed? Never mind," she said "it's not important."

I had a feeling she was going to ask if I was mixed. I waited thinking she would bring it up later, but she never did. It doesn't matter any way. My Dad was Negro, a good man, and my Momma was white. I loved them both and that's all that mattered to me.

"Ya'll look down on the Negro and the mixed, but we are just as human as you. God made us too."

Not long afterwards, I graduated from college, Valedictorian of the Class of 1960, with high honors and a scholarship to Baltimore School of Law. Kat graduated, after changing her major, with a degree in education. After college, I never saw Kat again. We kept in touch for a while, but then things got so busy I guess we had little time for writing.

I entered law school in the fall of 1960. I still remember it as if it was yesterday. I had decided not to be called Jackie anymore, but introduced myself as Jacquelyn. It sounded so professional. I had quit passing myself off as white. I was black, mixed and proud of it. War was going on in Vietnam, and our boys were being sent over there a coming and a going. Rioting, protesting, and demonstrating had become a way of life. Drugs were taking over the young people. The Civil Rights Movement was stirring in the south. The southern states were bombarded with violence of hatred and protests. Things were changing. People were changing. It was a changing time for us all. Me, I was getting tired of school. I wanted to hurry up, get out, and move on with my life.

At the beginning of law school, I struggled. I worked hard to make it through. If there was one thing in my life I was going to do, it was to become a lawyer. That was my daddy's dream for me. I made a promise. If God was willing and he gave me the chance, both of them would be proud of me.

Then it happened in the spring of my third year of law school. I met him. I had never felt this way before. I saw him at the park getting a hotdog. I didn't know what was coming over me, but I felt like a little love sick girl. I walked by and noticed him looking at me. He was so handsome, so—you—know—I thought I was going to faint. Then he smiled as I waltzed by. "I love it, I love it, I love his smile," I said. When he smiled, his eyes sparkled.

Slowly he turned and asked, "Would you like a hotdog?" First I acted like I didn't hear him, then he said it again. "Would you like a hotdog?"

"Why not," I replied acting nonchalant. "I guess one hot dog wouldn't hurt."

"Mustard and relish?" he asked.

His hair was so wavy. I couldn't help but stare.

"Mustard and relish?" he repeated.

"Oh, what did you say?" I replied. "Mustard—uh yes, uh that will be fine. Mustard and relish, I'll take both."

"My name is John," he said, "and yours?"

"John," I replied.

"John," he replied.

"I mean, uh, Jackie, uh Jacquelyn."

"Hi, Jacquelyn," he said with a pretty warm smile.

"Hi," I replied dropping my hotdog.

"Why are you so nervous?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm not," I said. "I mean usually, I promise."

"Here, let me get you another one," he replied.

"That will be okay," I cried as I hurried off so embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I've got to go. Bye!"

For the next two weeks I couldn't get him off my mind. I'd close my eyes and picture him. I felt so silly. On my way to the library I made it my business to go by the hotdog cart to see if I would run into him again, but I didn't.

Baltimore was so big, I thought. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. A month had passed, and I had given up all hope. I started cramming myself back into my books. Examinations were coming up, very important examinations, and I needed all the help I could get.

Then one day I was downtown shopping and decided to get a bite to eat. I went into this little old coffee shop for a quick bite and to look over some notes. I ordered and opened my tablet to look at them. As I began to study, I happened to look up. I couldn't believe it. It was him. It was John sitting at a table looking over some papers. Quickly, I started to scoot down in my chair. About that time, the waiter brought my order. Suddenly John looked across the room.

"Jacquelyn," he called. "Is that you?"

God, I was so embarrassed. My face felt like it was on fire. My knees got weak, and my voice quivered.

"Yes, a—John, it's me," I answered.

Then he got up, came over and sat down with me. I didn't know what to say or how to act.

"Just be yourself," he said calmly.

I melted. We began to talk.

"I want to know all about you," said John, "everything. I don't want you to leave out anything."

"What about you?" I replied. "I want to know about you first."

"I'm a counselor," he said. "I was born and raised here in Baltimore. Uh—I love that new singing group that came to America."

"The Beatles," I said.

"Yeah, that's them," he replied. "They're supposed to be on the Ed Sullivan Show tonight. I like children, reading, and golf. What about you?"

"I'm from Arkansas," I replied. "I want to be a criminal lawyer. Both my parents are dead, and I had one bad marriage."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "Arkansas," he grinned. "Nobody comes from Arkansas. Where is that anyway?" he laughed. "I'm only kidding Jacquelyn."

Then I laughed. His eyes sparkled so. He was a down to earth kind of guy, so different from a lot of the other men I had met. The time quickly passed.

"I need to get back," I said.

"When can I see you again?" he asked.

"Here's my number," I replied as I wrote it down on a piece of paper and then I stuffed it in his pocket. "Call me. Bye." Then I pecked him with a kiss on his cheek and ran out the door.

From then on, John and I began our life together. I graduated from law school, one of only a few women, and black too, to graduate from Baltimore School of Law. We got married and lived in the suburbs outside of Baltimore. Life was great. I was studying for my bar exam, and he was helping me. John and I had as much between us, I thought, as two people could have. We laughed, cried and had mad spells too, but we always seemed to come back together. John was a lot different than James. John was gentler, caring, patient, and didn't force himself. That meant a lot.

In the spring of 1966, I went before the Bar Board of the state of Maryland and passed. I was so happy I couldn't keep from crying, and so did John. That night was ours. We were so happy. I wish Momma and Daddy could have been there. I believe they were. I believe they have never left me. It was early the next morning; John woke me up, pulling me out of bed by my foot.

"What is it," I cried kicking at him. "What is it, John?"

"Come on, girl, I want you to get dressed," he said. "There's someone I want you to meet."

Hurriedly, he tried to dress me until I slapped his hands to stop.

"John," I said, "I'll do it. I can dress myself, thank you."

He backed off and laughed, then whistled at my naked body.

"That's enough," I replied with a smile.

We drove back toward the city. He said, "I have two surprises. One surprise and one question. The surprise I will do last, but the question I've been wanting to talk to you about it for a long time."

"What's that," I replied thinking what on earth is he going to ask.

"Well," he said hesitantly. "I want to have some children. Not a bunch, you know, maybe one or two, a boy and a girl. What do you think about it?"

I didn't know what to say. We had never talked about it. My heart fell into my stomach, and I began to get sick. He noticed something was wrong.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "I didn't mean to upset you. We don't have to have a baby today. I was talking about later on, maybe."

"Oh, it's okay, honey, I must have eaten something that upset my stomach. Let's talk about it later, okay."

"Okay," he replied. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm sure," I answered.

I didn't want to hurt him, but children I didn't want, I didn't know why. Finally, we arrived downtown in front of one of the tallest buildings I have ever seen. It was the law firm of Browns, Burns, and Cartwright of Baltimore. As we made our way in and up to the twenty-second floor, John told me not to say a word until he told me to. I didn't know what to say anyway. I was dumbfounded, surprised, and shocked even more. Finally, we walked in. John hushed the secretary to be quiet.

"Is he in?" John asked.

She smiled and shook her head. We stepped toward a door, with a sign Hillous Brown Attorney-at-Law. We opened it and walked into the giant room.

"Well, John," he said, "it's good to see you again. I suppose this is the lady you have told me so much about."

"Yes, sir," John replied. "This is Jacquelyn, my wife, and this is my grandfather, Hillous."

"Surprise!" shouted John.

"Your grandfather," I cried. "You never told me—uh, I'm glad to meet you, sir," I said.

"I'm sorry I missed the wedding. I had to fly out on the West Coast on a high profile case that took longer than I anticipated. Jacquelyn, John tells me he believes you will make a great lawyer."

"He did," she replied.

"Yes, and I believe he could be right. I have looked over your file and it's very good," stated Hillous. "I'm very impressed."

"Well, thank you, sir," I replied half scared to death. "I'm going to kill you, John." John just laughed at me, "Sorry, sir."

"So you want to be a lawyer?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, sir, I do," I replied eagerly. "That's what I always wanted to do. It was my Daddy's dream."

"Do you believe you can take it, rubbing elbows, going head to head with some of the other top-notch attorneys across the country?"

"Yes, sir, I believe I can. I'm a fighter," I replied confidently.

Then he sat down in his chair. I waited and wondered if he was going to offer me a chance. He thumbed through my file and quietly studied it over.

"Tell me a little about yourself, Jacquelyn. Where are you from, things you have done, what practicing law means to you, and justice?"

I nervously began to answer his questions trying to choose the right words. As I spoke, he didn't seem too impressed. John sat quietly by my side.

"Okay, okay, Jacquelyn," he said as he interrupted me. "I don't think you're quite what I'm looking for here at the firm," Hillous stated. "I'm sorry, John, but I don't think she's got the courtroom gut. We here at the firm have some major high profile cases and they get rough sometimes. It takes a lot out of you and your marriage if you're not careful."

"But, Granddad," John said.

"No buts about it, John. I'm sorry!" he replied. "It's been good to see you again. You do have a beautiful lady there."

The more I sat and listened to his bullshit, the madder I got. I suddenly jumped up and let him have it. I didn't care if it was John's grandpa, uncle, or brother. I flew in on him like a sitting hen protecting her eggs. I floored him, up one side the room to the other. John was standing back, calling my name.

"I wouldn't work for you if you were the last lawyer on the face of the earth," I screamed. "You can take your high-falutin law firm and put it where the sun doesn't shine."

All John could say was, "Jacquelyn, Jackie, Jacquelyn."

Then I looked around and saw John and his grandfather dying laughing.

"She's got spunk and fire," Hillous cried. "I like that."

"You ought to see her at home," replied John.

"What's so funny?" I started to cry.

"Nothing, baby," replied John. "I think you passed the test. You get the job."

"What test?" I asked. "I got the job!" John. Then I grabbed him, then his grandfather.

"You're hired, girl," replied Hillous. "A fit like that in the courtroom ought to win a lot of cases. She's got what it takes, and she's sensitive. I like that."

That's how I got my first job.

"Why didn't you tell me your grandfather was the head of the firm at Browns, Burns, and Cartwright of Baltimore?" I said.

"I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted to wait until the right moment to tell you," he replied.

"Dad wanted to do counseling work instead. That didn't go over well with grandfather. Then I came along and he wanted the same for me, but I was like dad. I wanted to be a consultant. Not long after I got out of college, I was drafted and went to Nam and served a year and a half. When I came home, he offered to send me to law school. But I didn't care about that. I bummed around for a year, trying to make sense out of my life and the world. Then when Mom and Dad were killed in a car accident, it helped put me back into perspective. I didn't want to study law. I wanted to be a consultant, and that's where I'm at today."

"God, I can't believe it, John, I'm going to work for Browns, Burns, and Cartwright of Baltimore. Can you believe it!" I shouted. "I love you," I said.

"I love you too," he replied.

"Let's have a baby," I whispered.

He said, "Now! We've been married for almost a year. Maybe it's time to start our family."

"Okay," I replied. "Let's go for it."

"Alright," he shouted as he reached over and hugged me.

"What about your younger brother?" I asked.

"The last time I saw Peter was at Mom and Dad's funeral. He took off across the country on a Harley. It's been about five years ago now."

At work, I started off with some small cases while we tried to have a baby. Nothing seemed to work. It bothered John a lot but he never said much about it. Still I could tell. He was moody and more to himself. I believed the baby would fill the vacant spot. He still had nightmares of Vietnam, waking up in his sleep yelling. Things began to change. Things were nothing like they were when we first got married.

Then one day it happened out of the clear blue. I got my first high profile case. It was a Civil Rights issue. A black child had been murdered in Alabama. I was so happy. John was tickled and happy for me. I asked Hillous if he was sure I was ready. He nodded his head yes.

"I believe you're ready, Jacquelyn. Go for it!"

I remember I was nervous and tried hard not to let the firm down. The trial went on for two and a half weeks and ended in a guilty plea. The three white men received the death penalty. They were members of the KKK. From there, it didn't seem to stop. When I came back home three weeks after the trial, I received a phone call from Hillous.

"Jacquelyn," he asked. "Would you want to go to New York?"

"Sure, yes, sir," I answered. I couldn't believe it, my second big case.

"Come by the office tomorrow for your briefing, and be on the plane that evening."

That night, I was in the Big Apple. I went over my briefs, studying everything back and forth. I had to be sure when I went into that courtroom that I was prepared. The state and federal government were working together with me against New York kingpin mafia leader, George Benny Feliciano. He was charged with racketeering, money laundering, and the assassinations of eight people. The case was rough and scary. The trial went on for four weeks. We worked around the clock to get a plea of guilty. Finally, the verdict came in; I held my breath and prayed. The foreman of the jury read, "Guilty of each count." What a relief. I was never so glad to get out of New York and be back home in Baltimore.

After the New York case, it seemed like my career skyrocketed. I was up there finally rubbing elbows with the big boys as Hillous would say. But, things at home weren't so good. John was irritable because I was gone a lot. We didn't have time, it seemed like, for each other. He was still wanting a child. I kept reminding him I couldn't right now; my career had just started. Besides, we have tried to have a baby. It didn't work.

"I don't know," he said. "I wish I had never gotten you that job at the firm."

"Well, thanks a lot, John," I cried. "I guess you wanted me to stay home all the time and have babies, and the heck with my career."

John took off to one side of the house, and I took off to the other side. It wasn't long after that I started to have the dreams again. In my dreams, I kept smelling this foul odor, and I kept seeing the inside of this old house. But, I didn't know where it was or who I was with. At times, I would hear a crackling sound with a pop and squeak. It was in this room. I heard footsteps coming toward me. Night after night, the dream occurred. I remember a glass of milk sitting on the table.

By the end of the week, John and I had made up. He apologized to me and I to him. We both decided that if the good Lord blessed us with a child, we would leave that up to him. As for my career, he said he would try to bare it. Besides he knew how it was. He knew my career meant a lot to me; I had worked hard to get it; I deserved it.

Within three days of our makeup, I was on the plane to Kansas City. A little girl had been raped and murdered, supposedly by a high government official. Within two weeks, the prosecution rested their case, and the jury found the official guilty. He was sentenced to life in prison. Shortly, I was back on the plane headed for Baltimore.

The year was 1970. John and I were watching the news when it came across that John's favorite group, The Beatles, was breaking up. Vietnam was still going on, and Hillous, John's grandfather, had passed. John and I rekindled the flame and played catch up.

"I like it this way, John," I told him.

"It's good, Jacquelyn," he replied. "The Lord may not bless us with a child. That's okay, I still have you."

The next few months we spent all our time together. It was the best time we had had in a long time. We shopped, sailed, went to the movies, and made love. Life was good until one day the phone rang.

"I'll get it," yelled John. "It's for you, honey."

"Who is it?" I asked.

"It's Wilburn Bradshaw from Dink Hut."

"Wilburn Bradshaw," I cried. "What in the world would Wilburn want with me?"

I took the phone, wondering what on earth he was calling for.

"Hello," I said.

"Is this Jackie Raines who grew up in Dink Hut and her daddy's name was Reece?" he questioned.

"Why yes, it is," I replied.

"This is Wilburn Bradshaw your daddy's best friend," he boasted. "Remember me."

"Yes, Mr. Bradshaw, I do remember you. How can I help you?"

"I got your number from your office. I hope you don't mind," he stated, "but, I'm in need of some legal help and from what I hear, you are one of the best."

"Well, thank you, sir. I appreciate your confidence," I said. "But, there are better lawyers out there than me."

"I don't know," he replied. "I would love to have you represent me, if you would, being your daddy's best friend and all. He would be so proud of you, Cotton. Everyone in Dink Hut is proud of you. You remember our motto, we help each other."

"Yes, sir," I said, "I remember. I haven't been in Dink Hut since me and Momma left after Daddy died," I stated.

"I miss Reece," he said. "We grew up together. I helped Reece out a lot, he was like a brother. By the way, how is your mother?"

"Momma passed a few years ago," I replied.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know, or maybe I did, but forgot. You know how it is when you get old."

"What is your legal trouble?" I questioned him.

"Well, I don't like to get into that until I have your word you'll represent me," he stated. "I don't like discussing business over the phone."

"Well, I don't know, Mr. Bradshaw, I'm pretty busy," I replied. "I don't..."

"Will you at least think about," he pleaded. "Think about it. I'm willing to pay you well, whatever your price. Your daddy would have been proud, plus you will see your old home place and your friends. Ah, Mop and Mary are beautiful women now and they have some wonderful children."

"Well, I don't know," I said. "Let me think about it. Give me your number so I can get back with you."

I took his number and hung up. I remembered the whole thing seemed so strange, but I would love to go back home and visit, especially to see Mop and Mary and their families. I studied on it for a few days and even talked it over with John. John mentioned he still had some vacation time; we could go on vacation.

"I don't know, it seems strange," I replied. "Why me? There are lawyers in Arkansas just as good as me."

"Maybe his confidence is far greater in you," John said. "You know you are a very good lawyer. Who is this Bradshaw man anyway?"

"When I was growing up," I exclaimed, "he was the most powerful and influential man in Butler County. He had a lot of friends in high places, they say, in Arkansas and Tennessee. He did help us a lot. He and Daddy grew up together. There were times when I don't know how we would have made it if it wasn't for Mr. Bradshaw.

"Maybe you owe him one," replied John.

"I guess," I said still wondering, "you're probably right. We did have a motto in Dink Hut, and that was to help each other."

"So call him," replied. John. "I want to see this Dink Hut anyway."

The next thing I knew, we were on our way to Dink Hut. I was excited to see home again. I wished Momma and Daddy were there. John had never been to Arkansas. He was about as excited as I.

We had a layover in Nashville. While we were there we went to see the Grand Ole Opry at the Ryman. Of course there was no show until Saturday night, but we did get to catch a tour of the building. It was a breathtaking experience to stand on the stage where so many famous people had stood before—Opry stars whom you had listened to on the radio on Saturday night when you were growing up. John was fascinated with Nashville, Music City Row, Country Music Hall of Fame, and the Wax Museum. We even bought a t-shirt that read Grand Ole Opry Wabash Cannonball Express.

Shortly, we were back in the air and landing at Little Rock International Airport. From there we rented a car and headed for Dink Hut. We could have flown into Memphis but we were on vacation, and we decided to go back that way. John wanted to stop off at Graceland. He loved Elvis and his music.

The first thing I did when I got to the Butler County Courthouse was to talk to Mr. Bradshaw. He filled me in on his side of the story. Evidently, they were accusing him of molesting two boys. But, he said that one of the boy's parents was saying that to get money off him because he had threatened to take their property for old notes they owed him. The boys are good friends, and they are using the friend to back the boy up.

"They want money," he yelled. "They don't want to pay their notes."

I told him I would be getting back with him, but I wanted to check on something.

As I motioned for the guard to let me out, he spoke up and said, "I'm real proud of you, Jackie."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Bradshaw," I replied.

Immediately, a chill ran down my back and I felt sick at my stomach. I brushed it off. As I thought about it, he could be telling the truth, but in the back of my mind I wondered. I went to talk with Mr. Edwards the D.A. about talking to the witness and his family. I found out they had moved here about twelve years ago. They were originally from Dink Hut. The D.A. was asking for life without parole. He believed there were more indictments than this, but didn't have the proof. I did find, though, about seven years ago, Mr. Bradshaw was accused of the disappearance of a woman. But, there was no hard evidence to hold him. He had so many alibis and places he was when the woman was killed, they couldn't charge him.

I began to try to put the pieces together. I didn't understand why Mr. Bradshaw didn't tell me about the incident a few years ago. Maybe he forgot; he did seem awfully nervous though. Maybe he didn't think it was important. I made my way back to the motel to rest. It seemed like I got tired awfully easy, and I stayed sick to my stomach. John went out and got us a bite to eat, and we watched TV a while until I fell asleep.

Early the next morning, I began to work on the case. That evening, I had promised John we would go up to Anderson. It was the county seat in Butler County. Then we went back to Dink Hut. It seemed like this whole thing was making me sick. I didn't want to let Daddy down. I guess I owed it to Mr. Bradshaw. There was something that kept drawing me to it, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. As the day passed, I did some checking and talked to some people. I started working on my witness list. Things started to pull together.

That evening, we drove up to Dink Hut. The next day, I took John up to the old trestle. We waited there with our picnic basket for the noon train. Sure enough, the train came through. It sure brought back some good old memories. After lunch, we went down to the river and skipped stones.

"It is a wonderful place," he said. "No wonder Mark Twain loved the Mississippi so."

On our way back, we stopped off at Mop's and Mary's house. It was all boarded up and nearly falling to the ground. I didn't know where to begin looking for them. But, I decided when I got back I would ask around. Then I took John to where I used to live. The house was about gone; it was shabby looking and all grown up with weeds. The porch had fallen in, and Momma's and Daddy's old chairs were no more than kindling.

"Very impressive," John sarcastically said. "With a little work..."

"John, it's been a long time," I said. "Besides, when I lived here it was a beautiful home."

"I know," he replied. "I was only playing."

"Yeah," I agreed. "It is a little run down. Oh, look what time it is. I've got to get back. I'm supposed to be in court in a few hours. Mr. Bradshaw goes up for arraignment. The D.A. believes that he's got enough to bind him over to the grand jury. Let's go," I said. "I'll get out at the courthouse, John, go on."

As I hurried up the steps of the courthouse, there were two women standing at the door. One of them turned to me and spoke, "Cotton Bloom."

My eyes shot open and so did my mouth, "Mop," I cried, "and Mary." My eyes began to water as we all hugged. "Why look at you girls!"

Mary said, "What you say, girl, look at us, look at you, big lawyer and all."

Then we all began to laugh and hug each other all over again.

"Just look at baby," replied Mop. "You're all grown up."

"It is so good to see you," I said. "It's been a long time."

"What do you mean a long time," replied Mop. "It's been a lifetime ago."

"We wanted to keep in touch," said Mary, "but you know how things are in Dink Hut."

"Where is Booger?" I asked. "How's she doing? I want to see her."

The girls both dropped their heads when Mop replied, "She's gone."

"She's gone?" I questioned. "Gone where, moved?"

"No, Cotton, she was found in the marsh about seven years ago."

My legs almost gave out on me. "Oh, my God," I cried.

"Are you alright, Cotton?" replied Mop.

"Let's go in," I said. "I've got to sit down."

"Are you sure you're alright?" asked Mary. "Let me go get you a drink.

"I'm okay," I said. "I have some stomach problems is all. I'll be alright."

I finally got over my sick spell, and they filled me in on Booger. I hated so bad for Booger. I got so angry. I asked them where they lived because I had someone I wanted them to meet.

"You're going to defend Mr. Bradshaw aren't you," they said as they both looked up at me so cold.

"Yes, yes, I am," I said. "Why?"

Then they turned and headed out the door.

"Mop, Mary, what's wrong? Wait a minute," I cried as the door shut in behind them.

I glanced at the clock on the courthouse wall. I had fifteen minutes to get in the courtroom. As I entered the courtroom, I apologized to the judge.

"I'm sorry, your Honor."

"Apology accepted, counselor, this time. Try not to let it happen again."

"Yes, sir," I replied as I opened my briefcase and took out my papers.

Mr. Edwards began to state his case to the court with an overwhelming amount of evidence. I reviewed my findings in the case with several witnesses verifying the whereabouts of Mr. Bradshaw at the particular time of the incident. Carefully, the judge evaluated the evidence on both sides; he took into credit the witnesses and their accounts of the facts. The judge ruled for Wilburn Bradshaw to be bound over to the grand jury, bail denied. As they took Mr. Bradshaw away, I assured him I would be talking to him a little later, and I would do what I could to help him.

I called John and he came and picked me up. I had told him there used to be a diner not far from the courthouse that had good food. I didn't know how it was now; it had been so many years.

As we drove, we talked, "Over, there," I cried. "There it is. Pull over."

We made our way into the café. The café had changed a lot, but there were different owners now. We took a table and looked over the menu.

"I don't know about all this," John said. "I believe I'll just have a hamburger."

"Oh, no," I insisted. "I will order for you."

"What if I don't like it?"

"I'll buy if you don't," I replied. "Two bowls of white beans, ham hock, some hot water cornbread and two large milks."

"Milk," he yelled. "What about tea? What is hot water cornbread?"

"It's time that you started eating black people's cooking," I replied.

"Jacquelyn," he said. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Love me," I replied. Then I tilted my head and batted my eyes.

"I love that smile," he said. "But you pay if I don't like it, plus buy me a hamburger. Deal?"

"You got it, and if you do like it you buy mine. Deal?"

"Well, how did it go in court?" John asked.

"They bound him over," I replied. "It seems they have a strong case."

"How does it look?" replied John.

"I don't know," I answered. "I really don't know. It doesn't look good. Hey, guess what. I ran into Mop and Mary at the courthouse earlier."

"That's good. I bet they were glad to see you."

"Yeah, they were," I said. "I was glad to see them too."

"What's the matter?" John inquired. "You seem troubled."

"They also told me that Booger was dead. They found her in the marsh."

"Dead," he replied. "Wasn't Booger the one?"

"Yeah, they said they found her in the marsh about seven years ago," I cried. "That's the same time Mr. Edwards told me they charged Mr. Bradshaw with the murder of a woman?"

"Do you think there's a connection?" John asked.

"I don't know," I replied. "But, I am going to do some checking into it. Oh, by the way, I told Mop and Mary I had someone I wanted them to meet. I want them to meet you."

"Sounds good," he replied as the waiter sat down the food in front of us.

"What do you think, John?" I asked.

As John started to eat, he slowly shook his head. "Not bad," he replied. "Not bad at all. This is good." After lunch John asked, "What's next?  
"I want to go back to the jail and ask Mr. Bradshaw some questions about Booger."

"Okay," he replied, "then what?"

"Pick me up later at the courthouse, and we'll go over to Mop's and Mary's," I told John.

When we arrived, I got out, and John drove on. I started off by talking to Mr. Bradshaw about the case going to the grand jury and his chances. He didn't seem to be afraid. He was confident that we could pull it off. He wasn't worried. I asked him why he didn't tell me about being charged with the murder of a woman seven years ago.

"Oh, that," he said. "That was nothing. I didn't think it was important. By the way, they dropped the charges. They didn't have enough proof. Why did you ask, Cotton?" he said. "That has nothing to do with this case. These people want money, money off of me."

"Do you know who that woman was?" I questioned.

"It was some Pruitt I believe," he mumbled. "That's been so long ago."

"It was Minnie Pruitt, Booger, Mr. Bradshaw, one of my best friends," I cried. "Don't you remember her?"  
"Yes, I do now," he said. "The best I can recollect she was real small, long cornbraids and she wore the same necklace all the time, a little silver heart with a diamond stud in one corner."

"That's right," I replied. "I gave her that necklace when we were children growing up. I'll tell you one thing, Mr. Bradshaw, you better not be lying to me or playing games. I tell you that."

I called for the jailer to open the door. As I was leaving, he reached into his pocket and brought out a brown sack of broken stick candy.

"Want a piece?" he said.

I quickly stormed out. The next evening, John and I went over to Mop's and Mary's house for supper. As we started up the porch steps, they all came out to meet us. Mop suddenly stopped as they all stared.

"He's white," said Mop.

John laughed.

"Hush your mouth, girl," replied Mary. "We can see he's white."

"John, this is Mop, Mary, Mary's husband, Billy, and Mop's brother, Jimmy. Everyone, this is John."

"Not bad, girl," said Mary. "How's he in the..."

I paused for a moment and then said, "He's got some black in him."

"Come on in and make yourself at home," said Mary. "I need to talk to you, girl, and check this zebra situation out."

"Yeah, come on in, John," greeted the others. "Have a seat. Dink Hut is a little different from where you're from."

"A little," replied John. "Thank you."

As the men sat around talking, we girls slipped off to the other room. They were dying to hear about John and life in Baltimore.

"Cotton, what do you mean marrying a white man?" said Mary. "Ain't there no brothers around for you?"

"Hush up, Mop, let her talk. Well which one do you think is the best in..." asked Mop.

"John's a good man," I said. "I love him. He can't help he's white and I'm mixed. And the answer to your question, I'll never tell.""He's a good looking thing for a white man," said Mop.

"Mop!" shouted Mary. "You act like that's the only white man you've seen."

"The only one that looks like that," Mop replied.

"Mary, I think you like him," I said. "Wait and see."

"Hush up, girl," Mary cried. "I'm staying with the brothers."

"He's white, but he's black in a lot of ways," I replied.

"Uh-huh, sissy, you'll tell us anything," said Mary.

"Close your mouth, girl. I don't believe you said that," Mary shouted.

"Is he?" they asked. Then they all laughed.

"What are your girls laughing about in there?" yelled Billy. "It's time to start the grill."

Mop and Mary talked John's head off, asking all kinds of questions about everything under the sun.

"You ever eat soul food?" asked Mary.

"This is my second time," replied John.

"Now, Mary," I replied. "John, Mary is a little old fashioned." Then they all laughed, "and a little white too."

Shortly, Billy and Jimmy brought in some fresh grilled barbecue ribs and chicken wings.

"I bet you'll like these," said Billy as he sat the ribs and wings down on the table with the other dishes Mop and Mary had fixed.

"Lookie here," I said, "turnip greens, fried chicken, cole slaw, pinto beans, fried taters, and hot water cornbread."

"Turnip greens," cried John, "no turnips."

They all started to laugh. Then Billy asked everyone to bow their heads for grace. "Amen," said Billy.

"Dig in," yelled Mary. "Here, pass me the turnip greens, here's the beans."

It was a feast to remember. It felt like home again, I thought. A good feeling, something I needed. I couldn't eat too much because of my stomach. But, it sure was good.

"Oh, come on, girl, you can eat more than that," said Mary. "When you were growing up, you used to shovel it in."

"I'm not young anymore I'll have you know," I replied.

"Pass those ribs," cried Jimmy.

"Here you go," replied Mop.

We talked on and on like we were family who hadn't seen each other in years. Which we were. We had so much fun; John fit right in. He had his faults, but he was good to me. The night tarried on, and we had to leave. I had court early. It was the first day of the trial. Billy and Jimmy asked John to come back in the morning. They wanted to take him fishing.

"Sounds like fun," he replied.

"See you in the morning, John," yelled Billy.

"Okay," replied John. "Bye everyone."

"If you ever want to get rid of him, Cotton, let me know," shouted Mop.

"Get in that house, girl," said Mary.

"Bye, everyone," I cried.

I didn't sleep at all that night. I couldn't get Booger off my heart. Finally, the night brought the morning and morning brought the trial.

"All rise," directed the Bailiff. "The commonwealth state of Arkansas vs. Wilburn E. Bradshaw, honorable Judge George Thomas Clark presiding. You may be seated."

The jury was selected out of Butler County instead of Shelby County in Memphis. As I began to listen to the testimony of the witnesses, the haunting memories of things in my past slowly began to flash back. The sluggish, marred memories created a giant puzzle in my head. I couldn't make the connection. They appeared out of nowhere. I began to remember my dreams.

Days passed as the trial lingered on. I had begun to battle things of my past, things I had forgotten about. I was confused, getting mixed up. There was a time or two the Judge asked me was I alright, but I brushed it off. We recessed for the weekend. Thank the Lord, I was so overwhelmed.

Mop and Mary had invited us over for a fish fry. I was glad. I felt safe with John and them. I needed some family. I felt like I was falling apart. They were frying the fish Billy, Jimmy and John had caught. John caught two. He was so proud. I had to tell him to stop smiling.

"These are some fine fish, Billy," said John.

"Yep," laughed Billy. "You can sometimes catch a good mess out of the river if you know where to fish."

"Did you say these are catfish, Jimmy?" asked John.

"Yes, sir, mud cat," replied Jimmy. "You have to skin these babies."

"Up north," said John, "they're already cut up in little pieces and battered."

"What do you want to do with these hogsuckers, Billy?" asked Jimmy.

"Run them down to Big Hand's house. He'll eat them," replied Billy.

"Don't you eat them?" said John.

"Some people do," replied Billy, "Not me. "Hogsuckers have too many bones. Big Hand loves them. Do you remember, Cotton, Smooth loved turtle and hogsuckers."

"Yeah, I remember," I replied.

My stomach hurt, my thoughts were going a mile a minute. It wasn't long till we said goodbye, and we headed back to the motel.

The trial went on for a week with no sign of closing. I had noticed that some of the things the victims had stated triggered thoughts in my head—the brown sack of broken stick candy, the glass of milk, the inside of Bradshaw's house, and the pop and creaking of the porch swing. I never remembered being in his house, but some of the things sounded so familiar. What is going on with me, I thought. I've got to pull myself together. Mr. Bradshaw was worrying me to death to take the stand. I didn't think it was a good idea. But, he kept on pleading with me until I finally agreed.

As he made his way up to be sworn in, he reached in his pocket and took a pinch of some sweet tobacco to relax him. After the bailiff swore him in, he sat down. He seemed a little nervous and his hands were shaky, but his boldness made him confident looking on the stand. I didn't know what I was going to do. I was sick at my stomach and about to lose it. Mr. Bradshaw sat and faced the jury. He looked out across the courtroom. He appeared to be thinking to himself. As the questions were asked, he answered with confidence. He gave the jury an account of his whereabouts.

But when I approached the stand, I suddenly stopped and turned. The judge watched, and the jury sat motionless.

"There's that smell," I said.

I eased up to Mr. Bradshaw and smelled him. Then it all started coming back to me. I screamed as I backed off from him. In anger, hurt, and embarrassment, I approached him and screamed, "You molested me when I was a little girl!"

"Order, order in the courtroom," shouted the judge. The bailiff ran over to me to calm me down. The courtroom was in shock. Then one by one, others in the courtroom began to stand.

"Your honor, he molested me when I was a child."  
"Order, order in the courtroom, or I'll have it cleared. Mr. Edwards and I want to see you both in my chambers," said the judge. "Take a short recess."

All the pieces of my nightmare had finally come together. The last thing I remember was collapsing in the judge's chambers and hitting the floor. When I awoke, I was in the hospital. I was still so upset. John was there by my side. Mop and Mary waited outside. John and I talked. It seemed like hours. I never knew. As a child I had blocked the trauma out of my mind all those years. Coming home helped me to find the answers.

"Hey, girl, are you alright?" said Mary.

"We were worried about you," said Mop.

"Sure," I replied. "I'll be fine now."

"You really got it stirred up in there," said Mary. "That's the way to go, girl."

"You should have seen Mr. Bradshaw's face," stated Mop. "He didn't know what to say. He slumped down in his seat and dropped those shoulders and head."

"Yeah, girl, you should have seen the judge's face too," said Mary.

About then, the doctor came in.

"Okay, let's look at you," said the doctor. "I think everything is going to be alright with you and the baby."

"Baby," she replied. "What baby?"

"Your baby," he said. "You are a few weeks. You're going to be fine."

"Thank the Lord!" shouted John. "He is still answering prayers."

Mop and Mary started to cry as they came over and hugged me.

"We love you, Cotton," they said.

"I love you both, too," I cried. Then we all cried together; even John teared up.

In a couple of days I was finally released from the hospital. It was time to go home. The next day, I had an appointment with Judge Clark and Mr. Edwards in the judge's chambers. He asked me if I was alright, and I told him I had never felt better. He and Mr. Edwards began to fill me in.

The state had rested its case. From the testimony of the others that came forward, there was enough evidence for the jury to convict him without a shadow of a doubt—even the dead woman they found in the marsh seven years ago. It took the jury only one hour of deliberation to unanimously make the decision. Mr. Bradshaw went up for sentencing the next week.

"Mrs. Brown," said Judge Clark. "I promise you he'll never bother another child."

Then Mr. Edwards stepped up and congratulated me on doing such a wonderful job handling the situation under so much pressure. He also said the police went back to Mr. Bradshaw's house for another search. This time, they found a trap door in one of the rooms. There they found souvenirs of his victims, toys, panties, other articles of clothing, and a locket with a heart on it.

"That's Booger's," I said.

It had an inscription on the back 'Love, Cotton Bloom.'

"I gave it to her when we were growing up," I replied.

"I'm sorry about your friend," said Mr. Edwards. "We also found a journal and a book of names of his victims."

There were so many victims through the years. I wondered if he worked alone.

"We found in the journal," said Judge Clark, "where he wrote down about his childhood. Evidently, his daddy, Judge Bradshaw, who was the judge around here for years, ran moonshine in the 20's and 30's out of the Ozarks. He also dealt in money laundering, and ran a house of ill repute over in Memphis. There he gained political pull with judges and police. They gave him favors which set him up in three states. He had quite an operation. After the judge died, Wilburn Bradshaw inherited it all, money, favors, and power. But to beat it all, his daddy molested him when he was growing up. He offered him broken stick candy to have his way with him."

"What about his mother?" I asked.

"He was the only child. His mother died when he was ten."

"I'm glad it's over with," I said.

"I bet you are," replied Edwards.

"We're all glad; the whole town is," said Judge Clark.

As I stepped out of the courtroom, I was finally free. I was ready to go on with my life, holding back nothing. I'm free, thank God, for the first time in my life. It felt so good. As John pulled up, he looked at me out the car window.

A few days later, Mr. Bradshaw hung himself in his cell. We said our goodbyes.

"Are you ready Jackie?" John asked.

As we started to leave, I heard someone calling my name. It was Mop and Mary.

"Cotton, Cotton," they cried. "We are going to miss you."

They grabbed me in their arms and hugged me not to let me go.

"I'm going to miss ya'll.

"We were on our way to see you," said Mary.

"It's time for us to go home," I replied.

"I'm going to miss you," cried Mop.

"We'll write or call," said Mary.

"Hey, girls, why don't you come up and visit with us sometime and we'll hang out and do some crazy things."

"Sure," they replied, "and see Baltimore."

After all the hugs and kisses to John and me, I started to get in the car. "Bye," I yelled.

"Oh, wait a minute," said Mop. "We've got something for you."

Then she handed me Booger's locket.

"We want you to have it," said Mop.

"Booger would have wanted you to," replied Mary.

Tears filled my eyes again as a big knot hung in my throat.

"Thank you, sisters, so much. I love you," I whispered.

I turned and got into the car. I sat quietly and solemnly as we drove out of Dink Hut. It was a long trip, but finally, we made it home. Thank God. The months passed and Mary and Mop kept in touch. We had our baby. It was a boy. He was such a blessing. I named him John Reece after the two men I loved the most in my life. And I nicknamed him Bowevel!

*****

A Cry in the Wind

Ellie's Cry

It was New Year's Eve 1950, and Emma Frances Coy was driving through the foggy rain from Griffin, Alabama, to Maysville, Tennessee with her ten-year-old daughter. She had gotten lost somehow, and fear was growing along with the pain of her head wound.

"Eight years of abuse and he had to almost kill me before I had the nerve to leave," she moaned, looking in the back seat to see that her baby was still sleeping. So far, Ellie had not stirred, thank God.

The headlights of her '47 Nash shone on a sign beside the rain-slicked road. "I'm on Highway 9 NE," she read, "wherever that is." Another sign said Dry Ridge 3 miles. She was in Coots County. The fog began to break up. "Thank the Lord! I'll be alright now."

She turned the radio on. Nat King Cole was singing "Mona Lisa." Emma began singing along with him. Ellie woke and asked, "Are we there, momma?"

"No, not yet honey. Go on back to sleep. I'll wake you when we're there, okay?"

Ellie settled down again, and Emma looked for a place to pull over and call her sister in Maysville. It was almost 11:00 p.m., not a good time to drop in on anyone, but she wanted to hear her sister's voice.

The road was isolated; not a car passed. "I must be out in the boonies," she thought. Then she came upon a little redneck bar. The bar looked like it might have been a store at one time. It was decorated with flashing mixed color Christmas lights, with a flashing sign that had some burnt out bulbs. It was an old block building with a patch-up roof. You could hear the music as you pulled up. It looked quiet with only a few cars outside. "Baby girl, maybe I can use the phone here," she whispered.

Slowly she pulled in as she heard the loud music; Ellie was asleep again. The sign in front of the place read, "The Bean Patch." It was cold and dark, and the fog had not entirely cleared, giving the parking lot a ghostly gleam. "I'll leave the car running," she told Ellie, "so you will stay warm." Two men were standing outside the bar door smoking and talking. Suddenly they turned and went back in as she got out of the car.

The bar was filled with smoke, the smell of whiskey lingering in the air. There were more people inside than cars in the parking lot. The people were laughing, drinking, and shooting pool, and a two-bit band played on the stage. As she slowly looked around, she noticed there were a few couples slow dancing on the dance floor. When the bartender saw her he yelled, "Hey lady, didn't you read our sign?"

She yelled back at him that she needed to use the phone, but he couldn't hear her. He yelled again. Then she saw the sign—No Coloreds Allowed.

She yelled again that she was lost and needed some directions. Then one of the men from the bar came up to her and said, "Hey, baby do you want a drink?"

Outside, Ellie had woken up. "Mama," she cried, but as she looked around she didn't see her mother anywhere. Afraid, Ellie began to cry. As tears filled her eyes, she began looking out the car window for her. She noticed a little kitty running about on the ground not far from the car. "Hi, kitty cat," she said. Ellie eased opened the door of the car and got out. "Here kitty, kitty, kitty," she whispered. Suddenly she grabbed for the cat, but it wriggled out of her hands and ran off behind the building. Ellie took out after the cat and disappeared into the darkness. From out of the darkness you could still hear her cry, "Here kitty, kitty, kitty," as her cry slowly faded away. At the same time, in front of the bar, a strangely acting man with a grass sack was suspiciously wandering about, peeping inside of people's cars. He appeared to be going through the cars and taking whatever caught his fancy. When he came to Emma's car he took Ellie's blanket, when a man from the bar who had stepped out for some fresh air saw him.

"Hey you!" the man yelled, "What do you think you're doing?"

Others inside the bar heard the commotion and ran outside, but the thief had disappeared behind the bar, out of sight. Suddenly, a car started up. With the engine revving, it raced off.

"Did anyone recognize the car?" asked one man.

"Yeah," replied another. "It was a '51 Hudson Hornet."

"I got the license number and wrote it down," cried another man. "They're probably working together. He's probably picking the thief up down the road."

Emma ran to her car and found the rear door open and Ellie gone. Suddenly the darkness of the night was ripped apart with the screams of a desperate woman.

"Oh my God!" she cried.

"Someone call the police!" yelled a woman as she ran over to her.

She was still screaming when the police and ambulance arrived. There was no sign of the child. The people from the bar had tried to calm her down, but she was determined to find her little girl. The police began the search. It appeared to be a robbery, but it was too early to say if it was a kidnapping. It was the first crime of the New Year in Coots County.

***

It was three minutes to midnight in Birmingham at the Skylight Club on the corner of 8th and Hensley. I was remembering the events of the past year with a bit of sad nostalgia. It seemed everything that had made the news was depressing. There was the Korean conflict and Truman's threats to use nuclear weapons on Korea. They had started sending American military to Vietnam to aid the French forces there. My favorite little girl, Shirley Temple, retired from show business. What a year, I thought.

The gathering of my friends and coworkers was not a happy New Year's party, as much as it was a retirement send off. I was hanging it up at the end of the month after being with the bureau thirty-five years. I wondered if I was cut out for it.

"What about another round? Brandon, over here," shouted Ben, one of my buddies.

Faces about me began to disappear in the bottom of the bottles as he sat down in a booth with my wife, Barbara.

"How do you think it will feel, Brandon, sleeping as late as you want, and having the whole day to yourself?" Ben asked.

"I don't know, Ben, about all that," I replied. "Ask me in a few years."

"What about you, Barbara? Think you can get used to him at home all the time?" Patty, Ben's wife, asked with a smirk.

"Oh, I think I could get used to that," said Barbara. "It might be nice to have someone to keep me warm at night and not be gone all the time."

"I'll drink to that!" Ben raised his glass. "Here's to the best FBI agent I ever worked with and my best friend. Happy New Year, Brandon!" Midnight had crept up on us. As we all stood and raised our glasses, we all began to count down—"10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1—Happy New Year!"

We all gathered around and started to sing "Auld Lang Syne." Barbara turned to kiss me; the others patted my back and wished me the best. Some of them I may run into from time to time, but others I may never see again.

The party began to break up. Barbara and I headed for home. She was keyed up and talking a mile a minute. It seemed she was more excited about my retirement than I was. "There is so much to do," she said. "I don't know where to start." I never said a word; I let her do the talking.

I had nothing to say. I felt empty. I missed my son; I missed him every day since that day. Spending my retirement with him would have made all the difference. I wish things could have been different, I thought. But things will never be the same.

Walking into the quiet house, Barbara slipped her arm around my neck and began kissing me. She laid her head on my shoulder and sighed. Then she leaned back and tilted her head the same as mine and suggested we go to bed and celebrate. I eased her arms from around me, turned to her, and as gently as I could said, "Not right now, but you go on, I'll be in later."

She erupted. "Brandon, don't shut me out again!"

"I'm sorry baby," I replied. "I didn't mean to."

"It's...it's Josh again," she cried. "He was my son too! I miss him and love him too. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think of him. Brandon, you're going to have to let go of it. It's destroying you. It's destroying us! Can't you see that?"

"I can't let it go, Barbara! He was our son. I wish I could!" I yelled.

"It's been five years, baby. Can't you put it to rest? He's gone," she whispered as she lay her head on my chest.

"I'm sorry," was all that I could say.

"Fine!" she shouted, pushing me away. "It's over. I'll get my things in the morning. I'm going to stay with Aunt Virginia until I can find a place to live."

"You don't have to do that," I replied. "You stay here, I'll go."

The phone rang. I picked it up and answered it. It was the bureau.

"I've got to go," I said. "I'll pick up my things later."

As I turned to head out the door, she sat down on the couch and started to cry. I paused for a moment and turned to her and said, "For what it's worth, I'm really sorry."

Then she slowly looked up at me and said, "Brandon, when Josh died, you died too."

I closed the door behind me with a sigh of relief. The phone call had been about another possible kidnapping in a small town north of Birmingham, near the Tennessee border. I radioed ahead to Sheriff Dumas Graham, who was a friend of mine, and told him I was on my way. It was about an hour to Dry Ridge. I pushed the old '46 Nash sedan to the limit. Down those old dirt roads I flew. Dust from the road rolled up even with the top of the car. I could feel, smell, and taste the dust coming in through the bottom of the doors.

There had been several kidnappings around that area, at least two to four months now since the last kidnapping. We suspected a possible serial pedophile, but we didn't know for sure. There also had been several missing children, but no leads as of yet.

Finally, I arrived at the Bean Patch. Dumas and his men were already on the scene. He filled me in on what they'd found. I went over to Emma and started to talk to her. She wouldn't say a word. She sat quietly and stared into space. They loaded her into the ambulance and rushed her off to Birmingham Central Medical Center. I began to ask questions to find out exactly what had happened. Nobody had seen a thing except Donnie Beachwood. He told me that he saw two men—one running off in the dark and the other in the car driving off. I quickly jotted down his statement. Dumas called the description in on the car and the tag number for both Alabama and Tennessee. Then we searched the woods behind the building for the little girl. We divided up into teams. We didn't have enough flashlights, but they made do with what we had. We searched for a couple of hours. Being unfamiliar with the woods, we decided to call off the search until morning.

"That makes three or four children that have gone missing around here," said Dumas.

"Yeah, I know," I replied.

"There are a number missing in some of the neighboring counties, too. What do you make of it, Brandon?" asked the sheriff.

"I don't know," I said. "I don't know. Maybe they will find something in the morning search. I think I'll go by the hospital tomorrow after the search and try to talk to Emma if I can," I told him. "Dumas, you can go with me if you want."

"Sure," replied Dumas. "I'll meet you over there."

The night passed and morning came early that New Year's Day. I had spent the night at the station waiting on the information on the '51 Hudson Hornet. Finally it arrived. They came up with two names: Gary Wayne Hall and Robert Ray Taylor. I decided I would check them out after I left for the hospital, but for now we had to search the woods behind the bar.

At the Bean Patch, we had sixteen policemen and agents and twenty-one volunteers to help with the search. Carefully we began combing over the area, hoping to find anything that would help us find the missing girl. There was nothing that we failed to search. We looked in every nook and cranny. The woods were thick with a heavy layer of leaves and falling limbs. It made finding clues almost impossible. The woods were covered with trees, bushes, and hills. As we combed the area high above us, the birds took flight, turning what little leaves that were dangling from the trees. The search went on for hours over a seventy-five foot radius from behind the bar. There was no sign, no footprints or piece of clothing, not one shred of evidence. It was like she had disappeared off the face of the earth. We took a short break and regrouped, hoping with another search we would find something. Some of the searchers had to leave but the ones that stayed went back over it again. Finally after the second search, we called it off for the day. Dumas said he would try again tomorrow with another team.

So Dumas and I left for the hospital. He wanted to see Emma. On the way to the hospital, Dumas called in to the station to see if anyone had seen the little girl. No one had.

At the hospital, we made our way up see her. When we entered the room, we found her sitting motionless in a wheelchair beside the bed. There seemed to be no change. Her sister, Brenda Jean Hasting, stood by her side. We took a few minutes and talked with her about her sister. Miss Hasting seemed troubled and uneasy. Emma was on her way to stay with her because she and her boyfriend were having trouble.

"Do you know her boyfriend's name?" I asked.

"Yes, Gary Wayne Hall," she replied.

Then Dumas spoke up, "Wasn't that the car at the Bean Patch that drove off in a hurry?"

"Yes, it was," I replied. "I wonder what he was doing there, especially that far from home. Will you be staying with your sister for a while?"

She replied, "As long as she needs me."

Then the doctor came in. I inquired about the condition of Emma, and he told us that she had gone into a deep shock caused by the trauma of her daughter's disappearance.

"Will she ever come out of it?" I asked him.

"She might," he said. "Something could snap her out of it; then again, she may never come out. We'll just have to wait and see."

"Has she said anything at all?" asked Dumas.

"Not a sound," replied the doctor. "She sits and stares."

"Well, Dumas, I'm on my way to Griffin to talk to Mr. Hall," I said.

"Can you drop me off at the station?" Dumas replied.

"Sure thing," I said. "You ready?"

Dumas nodded his head.

"I'll be checking back with you, doctor. If there's any change, let me know."

"I'll be here," replied the doctor.

A few hours later, I was in Griffin. I started asking around the neighborhood about Emma, and if they knew of a man named Gary Wayne Hall. They confirmed that he was her boyfriend; they had lived there about eight years. From what they said, he was very abusive to her—the police had been to the couple's house frequently over the last couple of years. One of the neighbors told me that Emma said she was leaving him and going to her sister's.

I ran a background check on him, and the neighbors were right. He had an outstanding number of abusive charges against him, along with being a suspect in an unsolved hunting accident. Supposedly, Mr. Hall and another man named Joe Ray Hasting, his best friend, were hunting when Mr. Hasting was accidentally shot and arrived DOA at the hospital. Hall was never charged because of lack of evidence. I immediately suspected Joe Ray Hasting was related to Emma's sister.

It was time to pay a visit to Mr. Hall. I radioed for some backup because of his history of violence. When I pulled up in the driveway, the car and tags matched perfectly. I cautiously approached the front door and knocked. "Officer Hackett, FBI," I said. Then suddenly I heard someone running through the house and out the back door. Quickly, he took off around the house and was followed by the deputies. We chased Hall down across the backyard and cuffed him. He was a fighter.

"I haven't done anything!" he yelled as we walked him toward the car.

"All I want to do is ask Mr. Hall some questions down at the station," I stated.

"You can't arrest me!" he cried as he tried to fight back.

"Settle down, Mr. Hall, you're not under arrest," I assured him. "If you haven't done anything then why don't you want to talk to us?"

"Talk to you about what?" he asked.

When we got to the station, we took him in and questioned him. It appeared he and Emma had been arguing and he left to get some beer. When he got back, she and Ellie were gone.

"Are you the child's father?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "Her daddy was killed in a car wreck when she was two years old."

"What happened when you came home and they were gone?" I asked.

"I knew where she would go," Hall boasted, "where she always goes. Nobody had to tell me. She didn't have no place to go except to her sister. So I took off after her."

"Then what?" I questioned.

"I was driving along, and it was foggy," he said. "I couldn't find her. She wasn't on the main road so I figured she must have turned off or got lost in the fog. I drove around. By the time the fog started to break up, I saw her car at some joint on Highway 9. I waited outside in the car."

"Did you see Ellie or anyone else?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I never saw her, but there was another man with a grass sack prowling around the cars," he said.

"Did you get a good look at him?"

"No, not really," he said. "It was still foggy. But he did run in behind the bar. That's when I took off."

"Is that it?" I said. "That's all, you never saw the little girl? By the way, Mr. Hall, what do you do for a living?" I asked.

"I'm an iron worker," he said. "I work out of town a lot. Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering," I replied.

"Can I go?" he asked.

"I suppose for now," I answered.

I headed back to the Dry Ridge Station. Hall's story seemed convincing. He didn't seem to be hiding anything. I just wish I could talk to Emma, I thought. About that time, Dumas called and asked to talk to me; I took the call. He informed me that Emma had started to come around. Dumas had also heard from the bureau in Memphis on the other car's tags. The other car belonged to Robert Ray Taylor; he had a solid alibi.

I raced over to the hospital. When I got to Emma, she was crying uncontrollably. I asked her sister how long had she been like that. She replied, "A long time. I can't get her to stop."

"Can I talk to her?" I asked.

"Of course, but be gentle in your words," she cautioned.

"Emma, Emma, I am agent Hackett of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and I am here to try to help you. Emma, do you understand me?"

She kept going in and out of her head. She seemed to be having some hallucinations. The doctor came in to give her a sedative to calm her. As I watched, I couldn't help but feel her pain. I knew how it was to lose someone you loved, a child. The look in her eyes and the expression on her face was one I had seen before, many times, staring me in the face. Hopelessness, fear, and anger filtered from her eyes. Then suddenly she jumped up like she had heard something.

"Ellie, Ellie, where are you?" she cried.

"Stop it, stop it, Emma! I can't stand it!" exclaimed her sister.

Then she turned to me like she knew me and uttered, "I smell water. I smell nasty water."

"What did you say, Emma?" I asked.

"Water," she replied. "Darkness all around. Hair everywhere. Don't you hear it? It's the cry of my baby."

"Calm down, Emma," said the doctor. "Nurse, we may have to strap her to the bed. Get some help in here."

"I hear you, baby. Don't cry honey, mama's here!" Emma shouted.

"What else do you see, Miss Coy?" I asked.

She began to sing and cry.

As they strapped her to the bed, she began to scream and fight to get free. The doctor and I stepped outside. I asked him, "Will she be alright?"

"I don't really know," he said. "We'll have to wait and see. It could be from the trauma or side affect from the medicine, or a number of things."

"Do you think she could have seen or heard something?" I asked.

"Maybe, maybe not," he replied. "It's hard to say. She needs her rest for now."

"When can I see her again?" I wondered.

"Maybe tomorrow or the next day," he replied. "If this keeps up we may have to resort to shock therapy."

I couldn't let go of what she was saying. I tried to put the pieces together over and over again. It didn't make any sense. Maybe the doctor was right in saying it was just hallucinations. We had no leads; everything had come to a dead end.

Then, unexpectedly, we got a break. A hunter reported that he had stumbled upon an old abandoned well on Highway 9 and apparently he had found a few articles of children's clothing in the vicinity. I couldn't believe we had missed the well. It wasn't too far from where I got the call. I raced toward the Bean Patch.

When I arrived, Dumas met me out front. He filled me in. The well was about fifty feet from where the boundary of our search was cut off. We were so close. I followed the FBI lab team to the crime scene. Carefully the team removed the top from the well. The worst odor I had ever smelled instantly surrounded them.

"It's not going to be good," I told the others.

I went over to the hunter to get his story. He slowly filled me in. He had been letting his dogs run. "When the dogs had actually found the well, I didn't think nothing at first, but then when I found the clothing, I called the sheriff."

"Did you see anybody else around?" I asked.

"No, sir," he replied.

"Okay, sir, if you think of anything else, call me at the sheriff's office."

"I will, sir," he replied and then left.

With their gear and equipment, they began to pull bodies up from the bottom of the well. The smell was gut-wrenching. They brought up four children's bodies. The lab team stated the lab work would be complete within a couple of weeks or even sooner. Was one of them Ellie? I wondered.

As the days passed it began to rain, and they were calling for the possibility of some snow in the next few days. There was something else about the finding at the well I sensed, but couldn't put my finger on it. It was gnawing at me, but what? What was I missing? Then it dawned on him, water, a well, darkness—a well, an underground well. That's it. Emma had seen something. She must have had a premonition. It wasn't hallucinations.

"Hey, Brandon," called out Dumas. "What's up?"

"Got to go for now, can't talk," I yelled back at him.

"Okay," he replied.

When I got to her room, she was staring out the window. Her sister had stepped out. I started to speak, but suddenly stopped as she slowly turned around and faced me. Carefully she eased her way toward me. As she walked up to me she placed her hands on my face.

"You have to find her, Brandon," she said.

I didn't know what to say.

"How do you know my name?" I asked her.

"Josh told me," she said.

"Josh?" I questioned. "What Josh?"

"Your Josh," she said. "He said you are a good man, the best agent ever."

"But when, where did you see Josh?" I asked her as she started to turn around.

I quickly turned her back. "Where?" I cried. "Where have you seen my son?"

"He said he loved you, Brandon," she replied as she stared at my eyes.

Then she passed out in my arms. I carried her to the bed. The doctor came in.

"She saw my son," I told the doctor. "She's talked to him."

"I'm not surprised," he said. "She probably sees everything now. I wouldn't put much into it."

"No, no, doctor you don't understand," I replied. "She knew his name. He's...."

"Probably a lucky guess," interrupted the doctor. "You can't base anything on a hallucinating woman."

"But Doc, my son has been dead for five years," I said. "How can you explain that?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I'm not a psychic; I have her lined up to see a couple of psychiatrists tomorrow about starting treatment."

"What kind of treatment?" I asked. "Maybe there's nothing wrong with her."

"First, probably medicine," he said, "and if that doesn't work, maybe shock. That will be our last resort."

After the doctor left the room, I walked over to the window to clear my mind. I noticed a few flurries were beginning to fall. As I looked down toward the street, traffic was light. I guessed everyone had called it a day and gone home. That night, I slept in a chair by her bedside. Emma rested well. Her sister hadn't returned. When I woke up the next morning Emma was sitting up on the edge of the bed staring at me. Startled, I jumped back in my chair. Her dark set eyes seemed to say so much. But I couldn't put my finger on it. Then she started to whisper.

"Brandon," she said. "The one you're looking for can be found in a house with many rooms, lots of beds, and hair everywhere. It's empty, cold, out of the way, and a sign that reads CLOSED."

"Emma, how do you know?" I asked.

She hushed me and looked quickly around. She bent over and whispered in my ear, "From Ellie's cries."

Then a nurse came in with her medicine. I slowly got up and wandered around the room, trying to figure out Emma's clues.

"Now, Miss Coy, take your medicine," said the nurse. "That's a good girl."

As I turned to leave, Emma turned toward me and said, "Brandon, Josh doesn't hold it against you for being gone a lot."

When she said that I froze in my tracks; I didn't turn around. I was afraid to. I quickly took a deep breath and swallowed; my legs quivered and felt weak as tears filled my eyes. "Emma," I replied, "would you tell Josh I miss him and love him?"

"I already have," she said.

"Thank you, Emma" I replied.

As I was getting into my car, Dumas pulled up.

"Brandon," he called, "the lab reports are in earlier than expected. I thought you would want to know."

"That's great!" I shouted. "Thanks, Dumas, I'll meet you at the station."

During the night there had been a little skip of snow on the ground. The morning was a bit colder than yesterday. But they still called for more snow in the forecast.

At the station, Dumas asked for the lab report.

"It's on your desk," replied the deputy.

As they began to look it over, there were four children's bodies— three white, two girls and one male, and the fourth body was a black female. Their ages ranged from five to ten. From the information given on the missing children, the lab was able to piece together the identities: photos, articles of clothing found on the bodies, height and weight of the victims, fingerprints that were taken from the children, things in their bedrooms, scars, and hair particles compared to the victims' combs or hairbrushes, color of their hair. A couple of the victims had pieces of paper in their pockets that was overlooked by the killer; these helped ID them and place where they were from. Two of the bodies were from Mississippi, one from Tennessee, and one from southern Alabama, but the black girl was not Ellie. The report estimated that they had been murdered somewhere else and dropped in the well later. They had been dead at least a couple of months; the bodies were badly decomposed but we did have a little to work with. It appeared they had been struck in the head with a blunt object. There was cat hair all over the bodies. It was not clear if the hair was from the murder scene, or where it may have come from.

"Huh," I said to myself. "Emma said there was hair."

"Who said that?" asked Dumas.

"Emma, Miss Coy," I replied, "in her premonition."

"What?" said Dumas. "Surely, Brandon, you don't believe in ghosts."

"I don't know what I believe anymore," I replied. "But I have to keep an open mind."

A deputy walked in.

"Excuse me, sir," he said. "But there is someone who wants to talk to you."

"Okay, deputy, send them in," I instructed.

"Yes, sir," he replied as he showed the man in.

"Come on in, sir. How may I help you?" Dumas inquired.

"My name is Rudy, Rudy McCormick," he said. "I heard about a strange man with a grass sack and the missing child. I think I saw him."

"Where!" I shouted.

"I saw him hanging around the old abandoned motel," he replied, "on Long Creek Road off Highway 9, about twelve miles from here."

"Thank you, Rudy, for your help," said Dumas. "Deputy, will you take his statement for me?"

"Yes, sir," replied the deputy.

"I'm on it," I said.

"I'm right behind you," replied Dumas.

As we raced out of town, my heart felt like it was lodged in my throat. "Maybe, just maybe," I hoped, "we aren't too late."

Finally, we reached the motel. It looked quiet, not a soul was around. We quickly took our positions. We had the motel completely sealed off with officers coming up back through the woods. Cautiously, we began to move in. It appeared the building was vacant. I motioned for the others to wait and cover me while I made my way towards the motel. Everything looked good but didn't feel exactly right. I motioned for the others. Carefully, we swept through each room, looking for anyone that might be there. Suddenly an officer yelled, "Officer Hackett, come here! I've found something!"

Quickly, I rushed to him. When I entered the room, I found a pile of old clothes, a hospital gown, and some empty food containers.

"Look!" yelled another officer. "Over here in the closet!"

When I looked, I saw a child's blanket with bloodstains. I then felt something under his foot. I eased back and bent down, and with my pencil I picked it up. It was a hospital wristband. It read, "Red Hill Sanitarium, Gordon Lee Reels."

"I believe we have something this time," I said.

I was relieved. I hurriedly cleared the room, and we roped it off. I asked Dumas to check and see if there was a Red Hill Sanitarium nearby. It took a few minutes for me to gather my thoughts. I waited patiently for the lab team to arrive at the scene. After several hours of intense teamwork they gathered up the evidence and headed back.

The old motel had a stench about it. A lot of the rooms had been ransacked. The wallpaper and paint on the walls were peeling off. The floors were dirty with rat droppings all around. Several of the windows were broken out. There were food cans, bottles, and wrappers everywhere. It appeared as if someone had been staying there. We also found some children's clothes and shoes. There were also blood stains splattered on the floors and walls. It reminded me of a slaughter house I had seen when I was a child, taking the cows there with my daddy.

I called into my boss and gave him an update on the scene and the wristband with the name on it.

"Okay, Brandon," said the commander, "maybe we have something this time. I'll check it out and get back to you."

As I leaned back on my car to catch my breath, I couldn't help thinking about Emma, how strong she was, and how determined she seemed. I was hoping to tell her some good news. But as I looked around, I then remembered what she had told me. I noticed the office of the motel looked like a house and the separate parts would be many rooms with a lot of beds. She was right—a motel, empty, cold, out of the way, and a sign on the window that read CLOSED. I couldn't believe it. I didn't know what to think. There was no way she could have known this unless she had heard Ellie's cries. Ellie was trying to lead us to her, I thought. That's why they were always one step behind. After briefing Dumas about what Emma had told him they headed back to the sheriff's office. When I got there, a man was waiting to see me.

"Detective Brandon Hackett," he said.

"Yes, sir," I replied.

He handed me an envelope and left. It was from a lawyer. I opened the envelope to find divorce papers; Barbara had filed for divorce. I folded them up and slipped them in my coat pocket.

"I'm sorry about that, Brandon," said Dumas.

"Oh, that's alright," I replied. "I figured it would come to this sooner or later."

It had been a few weeks since the disappearance of Ellie. The bureau agreed to let me stay on the case.

Dumas handed me the printout on Gordon Lee Reels. It revealed that he was a convicted murderer, having killed his father in Mississippi. They placed him in a state mental facility in Red Hill, Mississippi, because he was proven to be mentally unstable when the crime was committed. He slipped in and out of sanity thereafter.

"I'll go down there," I told Dumas. "I'll be back in a couple of days; keep me posted."

In a matter of hours, I was in Birmingham and flying into Jackson, Mississippi. While on the flight I thought about the divorce. I took the papers out of my pocket and looked them over again. As I sat there I stared out the window for a few minutes and then placed the papers back into my pocket. After I landed, I rented a car and drove out to Red Hill. It was a small community that was about five or six miles from Jackson. When I arrived at the hospital I asked to speak to the doctor in charge. However, she was on vacation and wouldn't be back unto tomorrow. I headed back to Jackson to get a motel room, and then I called Dumas. I explained the situation and asked if he had heard anything on the lab work.

"Nothing new that we didn't expect," he replied. "They found cat hair on the clothes and blanket. The same cat hair that was found at the well scene."

"What about the blanket?" I asked.

"We haven't heard anything," explained Dumas.

"Thanks, Dumas, I'll keep in touch," I replied.

I finally took time for myself. Trying to keep my mind off my work, I started to put the pieces of my life together. What should I do? I thought. Barbara's right; Josh is gone. I know I have to let it go. Then I reached into my pocket and brought out the divorce papers. As my head fell into my hands, I started to cry. I'm so tired, I thought. I wished things were good again. I looked up at the cold and empty motel room and sighed. It was too late. While I lay back on the bed, I remembered what Emma had told me Josh had said. It wasn't long until I fell asleep.

Early the next morning I headed back to the sanitarium. I waited for the doctor to come in. Dr. Irene Stewart had been Mr. Reel's doctor. When she came in, I told her who I was and that I was there to talk to her about Mr. Gordon Lee Reels.

"Oh, yes, I remember Gordy," she said. "That was his nickname. He was here about four years then ran away two years ago. No one has seen him or heard from him since."

"What else can you tell me about him?" I asked. "His background?"

"Well, I can tell you a few things. He came from an abusive home. I treated him for schizophrenia and disillusionment; he lives in a fantasy world."

"Is he dangerous?" I asked. "Is he capable of killing?"

"He can be," she said. "His multiple personality comes and goes, altering his mood swings from a child to a raging, violent maniac. I don't understand why the police haven't already caught him."

"He has become our main suspect in a series of child murders. His hospital wristband was found during our investigation."

"Let me tell you a little more about Gordy," she said. "He loved cats, and every time his father thought he had misbehaved or done wrong, his daddy would kill one of his cats in front of him for discipline. His mother became fed up with her husband's abusive ways and confronted him about it. This drove him into a fit of rage. With an ax in hand he relentlessly hacked his wife until her death. Gordy was just a boy when he witnessed this brutality. I believe this was his breaking point. One day when the boy found the chance, he killed his father, and they sent him here. Gordy believes his mother's spirit lives in the cats. He also believes that his father was the devil."

"No wonder he's so messed up," I said. "Do you have any idea where I might find a relative of his that I could talk to?"

"No," she said. "I think most of his family has passed or moved away. If that's all, I need to make my morning rounds."

"Oh, by the way, how did he escape?"

"You tell me," she answered. "No one knows. He may be crazy or mentally insane, but you can bet on one thing, he's not stupid."

"Thank you for all your help," I replied.

Later on that day, I made it back to the Birmingham office. I filled my boss in on my trip to Mississippi. They had already posted an all points bulletin for him, especially in the South. I asked about the lab results and was told that the report would probably be in some time that evening.

I got into my car and headed to the hospital at Dry Ridge. As I drove through town, I saw Brenda Hasting coming out of a motel room with Gary Wayne Hall. I slid down in the seat and drove by as she reached up and kissed him goodbye. Can you believe that? I thought. I wondered if Emma knew.

When I got to the hospital, the doctor was with her. When he stepped out of her room, I asked him how she was. He said that she had made some improvement and that the medication may pull her through. Slowly opening the door, I went in; she sat with her back to me.

"Hello, Brandon," she said.

"Hello, Emma," I replied. "How did you know it was me?"

"I smelled your cologne," she said.

"Emma, how do you know all these things?" I asked her.

"I told you, Brandon, Ellie tells me," she said with a frustrated sigh.

"Do you see Ellie?" I questioned.

"Sure I do, silly, don't you?" she replied. "His nickname is Gordy."

"Whose nickname?" I inquired. "How do you know that?"

"The man that killed my little girl," she stated. "His nickname is Gordy."

Then she rose up off the bed and walked around the room. She then sat down in the chair and stared out the window.

"Find him, Brandon," she ordered, "so Ellie can find rest."

About that time Emma's sister stepped in and made her way over to Emma. The phone rang.

"I'll get it," said Brenda.

"It's for you," she said as she handed me the phone.

It was Dumas.

"The lab results are in on the blanket."

Quickly I hung up and told Emma that I had to run, but would be back later. I took her by the hand and patted it with mine; I told her that I would do my best. She looked up at me and said, "I know you will." She squeezed my hand tight and looked me directly in my eyes and said, "You know what you were wondering about?" I never said a word. Then she said, "I know." A chill ran down my spine as her hands turned cold.

I made my way over to the station. I couldn't believe how complicated the case had become. I'd never had one like this. When I arrived at the station the blood type on the blanket matched Ellie's blood type. Luckily Dumas was able to get Ellie's blood type from a time she had been in the hospital about a year ago. But I tell you it didn't look good. It seemed that Emma already knew. I had left the station to take a walk; I needed some time to think things through.

I headed to a bar to have a few. The bottom of my glass seemed so clear to me each time I turned it up, but when I would sit it back down, it filled back up with dark, confusing, and lonely problems. I didn't had too many, just enough for a buzz; then I headed out the door.

Dumas drove by and saw me and took me home with him. It was the first good night's sleep I'd had in a month. In the morning, we grabbed a bite of toast and a couple of sips of coffee and headed out.

"Thank you, Dumas," I said, "for letting me spend the night. I never knew a couch could sleep so good."

"That's okay," he replied. "What are friends for? Are you going down to the station?"  
"No, let me off at the hospital," I replied. "I'm going to check in on Emma."

When I entered the room she was standing at the window.

"You didn't make it back last night," she said.

"No," I answered. "I was..."

"You still love her, don't you, Brandon?" asked Emma. "She's a good woman."

Then her sister stepped in.

"Brenda has been out all night, too, Brandon," remarked Emma.

"Oh, come on, Emma, I was only out a few hours," she stated.

"Brandon, Ellie sent you a message," Emma interrupted.

"What was it?" I asked.

"She told me where she was," said Emma.

"Where then? Tell me," I said.

"The ground is covered with woods and graves; there is a path in the woods. Drive south on Highway 9. She'll be waiting."

I quickly hurried out of the room and raced toward Highway 9. I didn't know what to expect. Emma had been right with every sighting, but this time I had a gut feeling it would be different. I drove down Highway 9, looking, when it started pouring down rain. High above me, I could hear the thunder roar and the crackling sound of the lightning across the sky. I was looking for anything that resembled the description Emma had given me.

Not far down the road, I suddenly saw something. It was a bunch of cats standing beside the road with a little girl. I immediately stopped and got out and yelled, "Ellie! Ellie!" She quickly disappeared into the woods. I took off after her, but she and the cats had vanished.

I took off running toward the woods, calling her name. She was nowhere to be found. "Ellie!" I cried. All I could hear was the rustling of the trees. Suddenly, something hit me from behind and knocked me out.

A few minutes later I awoke and looked around. I didn't see anything or anybody. Slowly I stood to my feet and looked around. There were graves scattered about. I pulled my gun out and cocked it. My head was throbbing. Down the path there were signs everywhere—NO HUNTING and NO TRESPASSING.

Being cautious not to be ambushed again, I went deeper and deeper into the woods. As the rain beat down, I forced myself on through the woods. I finally saw Ellie. She was sitting on the ground, holding a kitten. I started toward her, very carefully. I tried to be quiet. I didn't want to frighten her, and I didn't want to get hit again. I whispered, "Ellie, Ellie."

She turned to me and said, "Hi, Brandon." Then she was gone.

There sat an old trailer in view. It was imbedded in the neck of the bluff which hung over it, surrounded by trees. I made my way to the door and slipped in. There I saw bunches of candles and flashlights. Evidently, there was no electricity. The windows were boarded up from the inside. There were a few pieces of furniture, and the floor was covered with bottles. I didn't see any rats, though; I assumed the cats took care of that. In the back of the trailer next to the bluff, there was a small cave.

Outside, the trailer was surrounded by a band of trees and a graveyard. Then suddenly out of nowhere, Gordy charged in, swinging at me with an ax. We began to fight. He was so strong; I thought he was going to get the best of me. As I tried to reach for my gun, he picked me up like a bale of hay and threw me on the ground. He reached for the ax, and I reached for my gun. Four times I shot him point blank—three shots in the chest and one in the head. He dropped the ax as he fell to the ground and moaned; with a deep gasp of breath he lay motionless. I slowly stood to my feet. I looked around and called for Ellie. Then I saw her sitting beside a grave; I went over to her and knelt down.

"Tell Mama everything is going to be alright," she said.

Then she bent over and hugged me and whispered in my ear.

"Tell Mama I love her."

Then she disappeared.

"Ellie, Ellie!" I cried. "Where are you?"

All I could hear was the sound of the falling rain, the distant thunder, and the cry of the cats. I found my way back to the car and called in. I was relieved it was finally over. I waited for the others to get there. Shortly, they arrived and then I left and headed back to the hospital.

When I got there Emma was waiting. I tried my best to try to tell her about Ellie because I knew the hurt and anger that comes from the loss of a child. She already knew. Slowly Emma rose to her feet and came over to me; she reached up and hugged me.

"Thank you, Brandon," she whispered.

As she leaned back, I looked into her eyes and for the first time I could see a little relief. Then she rested her head on my shoulder and said, "Go to her, Brandon, she's waiting for you."

Tears ran from my eyes as I felt relief and hope. I kissed her on her forehead and told her that I would be coming back to see her. That day I left a changed man. Letting things go does make all the difference, when you see it firsthand.

I finished my report, my last report, with all the evidence that I had. It seemed that night at the Bean Patch when Ellie ran in the woods; Gordy had run into the woods at the same time. He found her and took her with him, and, according to the lab reports, he had killed Ellie after he left the motel. The grave where I talked to Ellie was where they found her body. The property the trailer was on belonged to Gordy's great-grandfather. Sometime before he died, he sold it to Donald G. Reeder, a fake name used to give the property to Gordy.

I remembered Doctor Stewart stating it was probable Gordy didn't realize he was killing the children. In his deranged mind he still saw the children alive. He didn't have any sense of reality. He more than likely took on the role of his father.

I also came to my own conclusion. Ellie's spirit, which was in limbo, was the only way out for her and all the other children. Until the killer was found, the children's spirits were stuck. Through Ellie's spirit she and the other children were able to cross over and have peace.

Barbara and I worked things out. I was through with the bureau; she has all my time from now on. I still visit Emma from time to time. They have moved her to a state mental facility. The doctor says she will never live a normal life. Emma hasn't uttered a word since the burial of her daughter. She's been that way for two years now.

I brought her some flowers today, daisies. She loves them; they're her favorite. I sat down and talked to her, and told her that Barbara said hello. I stayed a while, and then got up to leave. As I said goodbye and headed toward the door, she cried, "Brandon, Ellie is back!"

*****

A Cry in the Wind

Blackberry

The sun set quickly around the little community of Slick Rock, Alabama on evening in 1952. Since early evening, the search party had been looking for Elizabeth Miller. She had left early that morning to pick blackberries, and had never come home.

"It isn't like her," her mother stated. "Usually, she is only gone for a couple of hours."

The thought of something terrible happening to her lingered in the minds of the search party; two other children were missing already and they had not been found. Walter Holmes, the town sheriff, yelled for me and the other men to bring flashlights and Joe Frank's hounds.

"It looks like fog is trying to set in," said Walter. "We need to stay ahead of it."

"Yes, sir," I replied.

Walter is my uncle. My name is Chad. I had been on the force for about six months, and the job seemed unbelievable. The state police have been called in to help with the searches. The FBI arrived this afternoon to lead the investigations. The terrain is very rough. There are miles of hills and hollows, thick woods and underbrush.

Frantically, Elizabeth's mother broke through the barrier screaming, "Walter, Walter, you have to find my little girl!"

He carefully took her into his arms and held her for a moment. "I'll do my best, Corina Jean," he replied. "I promise."

Walter motioned for two of the deputies to take her away. They took her; she sat down by the ambulance. Daylight was disappearing fast as the darkness of night began to move in.

Warren Daniels, the FBI agent in charge of the investigation, spoke up. "I want everybody to listen and listen well. "Time is of the utmost importance. I want you to spread out arm length, stay together, and move very carefully and slowly. We want to comb the whole area on this side of the road as well as we did the other side. Sweep it clean, men. Let's go. Sheriff Walter, move the dogs around in front of us and let them go."

"Yes, sir," he replied.

Joe Frank took some of Elizabeth's clothing so the dogs could get a scent. Then he let them go. The sound of the hounds gave a haunting feeling as the edge of night hung in the Alabama sky. The intense search for Elizabeth continued as the fog continued to move in. In the distance you could hear the hounds barking. The fog hovered close to the ground, and in no time it circled the woods, making it almost impossible to see. Suddenly, there came a cry in the fog.

"We found something!" cried one of the men.

Approaching the man, we found a body lying in a shallow grave partially covered with leaves and brush. From the looks of the decomposed body, it wasn't Elizabeth, but possibly one of the other missing victims. About a hundred feet more, the hounds had found something else. We raced to the scene; I had a bad feeling about it, and I was right. It was Elizabeth's body, also buried in a shallow grave. She was only twelve years old.

We carefully roped off the area, trying not to disturb the crime scene. It was very difficult with the fog hovering around us. But as morning started to break, the fog broke up and dwindled away. By sunrise the FBI crime team was set up and operational.

In the chill of the early morning a voice called, "Warren."

He hurried to the sound of the cry and another body had been found buried under the first victim we had found.

"Well, this takes care of all the missing victims. The other two victims were ten and eleven," said Walter.

"Yes, it appears so," replied Warren. "We have three bodies and no suspect. Okay, men, I want you to search out beyond the perimeter to see what else we can find. Walter, can we get the dogs back out there?"

"Sure," he replied. Then he hollered for Joe Frank.

The crime team continued investigating until the next morning. According to the report all three victims appeared to have been tortured and murdered in the same way, a few days apart. The mutilation of the faces appeared to have been done after they died. All three victims had been raped and sodomized. Some type of hair fibers were found on each of the children's clothing. They were going to be sent to Birmingham for more testing. Within hours they finished processing the crime scene.

Carefully, the bodies were carried out of the woods to the command post near the road. Elizabeth's mother lay asleep as Walter approached her. Startled, she awoke and immediately sensed that something was wrong. When she saw him and then the bodies, she went to pieces . She started screaming and crying. Her body shook. She cried out her babies names and then fell to the ground screaming, "Oh, my God, why?"

It was all Walter and I could do to hold her back. Walter was unable to calm her, so he had her transported to the hospital. On the way to the hospital, she finally stopped crying and screaming, and just stared out into space.

The volunteers who helped with the search headed for home. It had been a long, bad night and morning. Once we got back to town, we took a short break. The coffee sure did hit the spot, but a nap would have been better. Most everyone had gone home to get some sleep, leaving a skeleton crew behind. I stayed because I wanted to find out more.

The other two bodies were the victims missing from around the Tuscaloosa area. They had been missing at least two weeks. The victims' right eyes had been plucked out, the right ears had been slivered off, and their tongues had been removed. Elizabeth, the most recent victim, suffered the same mutilation. That told me the killer was trying to tell us something, but I didn't know what. It was pretty obvious that he was implying see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil. But what was the connection? Was it religious or cult related?

Warren stated, "A lot of the time this is a standard warning from the killer. I have seen this in similar cases. Every killer has his own personal calling card. In some cases it's a huge difference, but in others it may only be a slight difference and is often overlooked. In this case, there appears to be a lot of pain, rage, hurt, and anger in this killer. See how mutilated the cuts are to the face, such as an animal. This is the key to his killing. It's not for show or a vanity killing. This killer is driven by rage. Notice the uneven zigzagged cuts of the knife and the torn flesh. It's probably safe to say that the killer has been a victim of abuse or a violent crime. Gentlemen," he warned, "we have a serial killer on our hands that stalks and preys on little children. We have to find and stop him before there are other victims."

The killings stopped for the next few weeks, until a report of a victim turned up in Hanging Limb, Mississippi. It was reportedly the same M.O., and this victim had been picking blackberries just like the other victims. The abduction in Hanging Limb was not far from the Alabama state line. Slick Rock was about thirty miles south of Hanging Limb. Both were rural areas, sparsely populated with farmland and houses.

Warren, Walter, and I drove over to Hanging Limb that evening to examine the evidence. It took us a few hours to get there. The word that there had been a body found across the state line traveled faster. When we arrived on the scene, the M.O. was identical; even the hair like fibers were present. The Birmingham and Jackson offices agreed to work together on the cases, so we headed back to Slick Rock.

The investigation of the murders quickly spread across the two states. Hundreds of people were questioned. Families and friends pulled together to help. A state warning was issued across both states: DO NOT PICK BLACKBERRIES. DO NOT TRAVEL INTO THE WOODS ALONE...

"I have never seen anything like this," I said to Walter and Agent Warren.

"Warren?" asked Walter. "Have you ever worked a case like this before?"

"No, I haven't," replied Walter. "It's always been a quiet community with routine problems, but nothing out of the ordinary. There was something strange that happened several years ago, though. It was an isolated incident in the summer of 1943. A thirteen or fourteen-year-old boy was found in the woods beaten half to death. Some coon hunter found him molested and raped. If I remember correctly, he was a little slow, retarded I guess you would say."

"What happened to him?" questioned Warren.

"I believe he was placed in the Taylor Valley Mental Health Hospital," replied Walter. "The judge really didn't know what to do. The boy was not from around here. Some believed he was a runaway or just passing through. He had no folks to turn to."

"Do you think we can find him?" asked Warren. "Can we get his name?"

"I don't know," answered Walter. "A few years ago a fire broke out in the courthouse and destroyed nearly all the files."

"What about the hospital in Montgomery?" Warren asked. "Do you think there is any way to find his records?"

"That's another problem," stated Walter. "They closed and condemned the hospital in Montgomery. The remaining patients were moved to the state facility in Birmingham. I have no idea if he is there or even still living."

"Surely all the patients' records were kept," said Warren. "I would think they have to."

"I would say the records are probably kept in Birmingham," replied Walter.

"Did they ever find out who did that to the boy?" inquired Warren.

"That whole case was strange," explained Walter. "There were no witnesses and no apparent M.O. The boy was just a random victim; a victim of a sick individual. Some believe the attacker was a loner, a hitch-hiker passing through. It never went to court. His appointed lawyer plea-bargained for him to stay in the hospital until he was twenty-one instead of the rest of his life."

"How old would he be now?" asked Warren.

"Around twenty-three," replied Walter.

"There was not much of an investigation at the time. It was one of those hush-hush crimes. Nobody talked about it openly, they talked among themselves. I worked on it until it became a cold case. Hey, Warren, if I'm not mistaken, the little boy was also picking blackberries when he was attacked."

"There has to be a connection," said Warren. "It's time to take a little detour to Birmingham. What do you think, Walter?" asked Warren.

"I believe you're right," said Walter.

"Count me in," I replied.

"Your nephew is going to make a fine police officer one of these days," bragged Warren. "He reminds me of myself when I first broke into law enforcement."

Everything died down in Slick Rock for a while. We made it to Birmingham. Most of the records from Montgomery were in the basement of the hospital. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. There were files dating back to the late 1800's. Even though we didn't know what we were looking for, we spent hours on top of hours looking and searching for something to give us a lead. There were damaged files, charred from the smoke. The scorched papers and water-stained files had been sent from the courthouse at Slick Rock for the patients who had been transferred there by the court.

While there, I received the report on the hair-like fibers. The tests showed that they weren't human or animal hairs, but synthetic fibers used to make wigs. The fake hair was also used on a lucky rabbit's foot toy that children play with.

Suddenly, Warren cried out, "What about this?"

It was titled 'Patient Name Unknown 1943—File #4684-07-A'. Warren carefully opened the file, what was left of it. The patient was a fourteen-year-old male born in 1930. His history, background, and relatives were all unknown. The doctor's evaluation recorded him entering the hospital in 1943. He had been badly beaten, and sexually assaulted.

"That's our guy!" shouted Walter. "What else does it say?"

He was mentally retarded and suffered from a personality disorder . He was intelligent but not socially or emotionally mature. He had limited speech for some reason. The patient's name was Willie Ray Key. He was to be released on his twenty-first birthday by the courts.

"That's him," said Walter.

Found on him was a photograph of an unknown girl. A connection was never made with the girl. The report was signed by Dr. Jearaldean Gilmore, M.D., PhD.

"I wonder if this Dr. Gilmore is still with the hospital."

"I don't know," stated Walter, "maybe."

"Let's see," I replied.

We spent the night in Birmingham. Early the next morning, we went back to the hospital to see Dr. Gilmore. Luckily, she still worked there. Matter of fact, she was the director of the psychiatric ward. We asked to see her and fortunately she was available. We questioned her about the patient in question. But she didn't have too much more to add, only the fact that when Willie turned twenty-one he appeared to be in a lot better health. They felt he could survive in the world and take care of himself.

"Do you think he was a danger to himself or others?" Warren asked.

"I don't really know," she said. "I'm not sure. A lot of the anger and violent rages he exhibited had gone away. It had been several years since we saw anything like that out of him. We would have gone back to petition the courts and kept him here if we felt he would hurt himself or others. The last three or four years, he was a model patient. The therapy and shock treatments seemed to have worked wonders on him"

"What about the picture?" Walter asked. "Who is the girl? Do you have any idea?"

"I don't know," she replied. "It could have been a sister, friend, or a total stranger. He could have gotten it out of the trash and stuck it in his pocket. He may not know himself. But there is one thing I do know, he held onto it with his life. I almost never got a copy of it for my files. The hospital tried to find out who she was, but couldn't. Well, gentlemen, I don't know if I have been much help, but I have a meeting to attend. So, if you'll excuse me."

"Thank you for your time," said Warren as he stood and shook her hand.

"Thank you," replied Walter as he nodded his head.

"Oh, yes, there is one more thing I forgot," she said. "Willie always kept a rabbit's foot attached to his belt loop. It was his lucky charm. He always rubbed it for luck. Good day, gentlemen."

The drive back home was an interesting one. All three of our heads were working together, putting together the pieces of the case. This Willie Ray seemed more and more like our killer. But we had no idea where he was or how we would find him.

I thought to myself, "It will never be the same in Cobb County."

"I believe," stated Warren, "if we can find the girl in the picture we may be able to locate him. He may be with her. What do you think?"

"Well, she is our strongest lead alright," agreed Walter. "She would be easier to trace down. We have her description. I say go for it."

"What about you, Chad?" asked Warren.

"I believe it is the best route to our killer," I replied.

"When we get back to Slick Rock, we'll make copies of the picture, post them around, and go door to door. We'll put one in every patrol car across the two states and see what happens," said Warren.

"That should turn something up," I shouted.

From that point on, an intense search to find the girl in the picture was underway. Days and weeks went by, roadblocks were set up, and everything that could be done to find her was done. It had been almost two months when we finally got a lead. A call came into the station from Broken Limb, Mississippi from a possible cousin of the girl. Warren, Walter and I left Slick Rock in a hurry, headed for Broken Limb.

"Maybe this is the break we're looking for," I said as Warren and Walter agreed. "I hope and pray."

It wasn't too long before we arrived at the address the caller gave us. We were met by a woman holding a photo album. As we eased up on the porch and sat down, she showed us the pictures. It appeared to be her.

"Her name is Betty Mosley," said the woman. "She grew up around here and lived about a mile down the road. She lived with her mother until her mother got sick and then she moved in with her aunt. It was 1943 I'm sure because her mother died with cancer that winter. She was around eleven-years-old, I believe. It was 1943 when that unnamed little boy was attacked and sent to the hospital."

"Isn't that strange," replied Walter.

"Do you know where we can find her?" asked Warren.

"It's been about five or six years since I saw her," said the woman. "But I'd say she is still at her aunt's house. Her aunt used to live over in Walnut Shade which is twenty miles south of here."

She gave us an old picture of their house.

"Thank you, ma'am," said Warren. "You have been a big help."

"I hope you can find her," she said as we drove away.

"What do you think, Walter?" asked Warren.

"I don't know, but it seems like it's coming together," he replied.

"If she moved about the same time as Willie's attack, there is a possibility she may have witnessed something.

You're right," agreed Walter. "These killings may be revenge murders or his way of calling out for help," explained Walter.

I sat and listened as the case began to come together. Something devastating happened in 1943 and it had two states in an unbelievable manhunt. The drive seemed endless. I didn't think we would ever get there until we finally arrived. The house looked like the one in the photograph, only older. As we approached, it looked like no one was at home. All the lights were out, the windows were covered, and you could probably hear a pin drop in the dust. We got out of the car, not knowing what to expect. The fear that Willie Ray might be hanging around began to stir within me. As we eased up toward the porch, we spotted a girl sitting on the porch. It looked like her. Shockingly, from around the corner came a woman's voice.

"What the hell is going on around here? Who the hell are you?" she cried.

Warren quickly showed her his badge and began to explain things to her.

"Well, I don't think Betty can help you," the woman said. "She's been like that since her mother died. She went to bed one night and woke up screaming. She hasn't spoken a word since. She just sits and stares. She has bad dreams nearly every night. The doctors examined her and say she is in a catatonic state, probably caused by having to give up her mother and all. They were real close."

"May I ask a few questions?" said Warren.

"Ask all you want," she replied. "I don't know if I can help you or not."

"Around 1943, did Betty live with her mother in Broken Limb?" asked Warren.

"Yes, she did," answered the woman. "That's when her mother got sick."

"Do you recall a fourteen-year-old boy around that time that may have been friends with Betty?" he asked.

"Could have been, I don't know," she said. "That was a long time ago. Betty was sort of a backwards and bashful child. It was hard for her to meet other children. The Betty I knew then, I'd have to say, I doubt it."

"Well, thank you for your time," stated Warren. "If anything changes, please call me at this number," he said as he handed her his card.

We headed home. It looked like we had run into another dead end.

"I believe this girl has the key to this case," said Walter. "Did you see her eyes when you mentioned about the fourteen-year-old boy?"

"No, I missed that," said Warren.

"There was something there," replied Walter.

We didn't have too much to say on the way home. Walter and I lay back and dozed off.

Two weeks after we visited Betty Mosley, the killer struck again. There was a victim in Mississippi and another one in Alabama with the same M.O. and shallow graves. The case had become frustrating. Warren, Walter, and the others were beaten down in discouragement. How many more victims would have to die before there was a solid lead in the case?

Out of the blue, a call came in of a strange man running into the woods up around Brinkley's Branch. We quickly took off. Walter called Joe Frank and told him to meet us there with the dogs.

"Hold on, Chad," shouted Warren as we drove off.

"You got it, Warren. Give it all you have!" I cried.

Every siren in Slick Rock was screaming.

"What do you think, Walter?" asked Warren.

"I don't know," he replied. "It could be a homeless person, but it's worth checking out."

The dust from the old country roads lay in rolls on top of the car; the smell and taste of it came in around the doors as we raced down the road. Unpredictably, the bottom fell out; it started raining.

"This is just great," shouted Warren. "What next?"

"Maybe it will let up in a few minutes," said Walter. "Thunderstorms are pretty common around here this time of year."

"I hope so," replied Warren.

When we arrived, we sat in the car waiting for the rain to stop and the others to arrive. Shortly, Joe Frank pulled in with two of his hounds up front with him and the rest on the back of the truck. He rolled down his window and yelled, "What do you think?"

"Let's wait and see what happens with the rain," replied Walter.

Joe Frank yelled back over the thunder, "Walter, I don't think the dogs will do you much good now."

"Let's wait and see, Joe," responded Walter.

As the rain beat down, the dust that had flown high in the air now lay as mud. The earthy smell of dust, as the rain fell, lingered about us as we waited.

"I want to beat the night," said Warren. "If we don't go in now, it's going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"Well, the rain started to slow to a drizzle," replied Walter. "What do you think, Chad?"

"It looks pretty good to me," I encouraged. "We don't have much of a choice."

As we got out and stood in the rain, Warren briefed us before we headed into the woods. The thunder and lightning was bad. The worst I had ever seen.

"What about the dogs, Warren?" asked Walter.

"Let's try them," he insisted, "since they're already here."

Joe Frank quickly unloaded the hounds and they took off in pursuit. Little did we know the sounds of the dogs would haunt us from that time on.

I noticed the dark clouds above were quickly moving in and pushing out the daylight. Between the howling of the hounds and the thunder and lightning, there was no worry of anyone falling asleep. We pressed deep into the woods for hours, but didn't find anyone. Night lurked about us as a slight rain continued to fall. The search team looked like a bunch of lightning bugs moving about in the darkness of night. Without warning came the cry of the hounds.

"They have found something," shouted Joe Frank.

We hurried to the cry with our hearts racing as we dodged limbs, branches, thorns, and briars. When we reached the dogs they were zeroed in on one particular area. They had picked up a scent. The heavy rain fell on and off beating down as the thunder roared and the lightning streaked the sky. There before us stood an old abandoned house.

"Spread out," instructed Warren, "and be careful."

There was no light, only the reflection of the lightning when it struck. Carefully, we crept up to the house with our guns pulled. We eased up on the porch, and Warren proceeded to the door. I helped cover him. As Warren slowly turned the doorknob to open the door, Joe Frank noticed one of the dogs scratching beside the house.

"Walter he has something," whispered Joe Frank.

Walter whispered to Warren and pointed toward the dog. Quietly, they backed off the porch and disappeared around the side of the house. The dogs had found a pile of brush covering a cellar door. Cautiously, the men circled around as they prepared to open it. The thunder bombarded the sky as the lightning tore into the darkness. There was something here. The men stood with their guns pointed at the cellar door. Warren carefully opened it and peeped inside. Quickly, he slung it open. There before him was a man shaking and trembling as he huddled in the corner. He was scared to death. Warren heard muffled noises coming from behind the man. As he got closer to him, he found two children bound and gagged. They appeared to be alright, just frightened. As we reached for the man, he backed away from us. After several minutes, we finally got him out of the cellar. When the sky opened with shattering thunder, lightning struck a nearby tree. The man went to pieces, broke loose, and took off running and screaming. It took four men to catch and hold him down.

"He's afraid of the storm," said Walter. "He's terrified. He must have been marked."

"Marked," I replied. "What do you mean, Walter?"

"Before he was born, his mother must have been scared by lightning. She may have seen someone struck or was possibly struck herself, causing him to have a phobia of storms," explained Walter.

"I believe we have found Willie Ray," stated Warren.

"I agree," replied Walter. "I guess this is where we go our separate ways, Warren. You got your killer and I have a town to take care of."

"It's been good working with you, Walter," said Warren. "I'll keep in touch."

The long search had finally come to an end, but not without the cost of several innocent lives. On the way back home, the relief of the nightmare was a sweet peace.

When Warren got back to the station he placed Willie's belongings in a plastic bag. There was a hawk bill pocket knife, some change, a rabbit's foot dangling from his belt loop, and a picture of the girl, Betty, in his shirt pocket. He continued to follow the case and kept Walter informed.

The children we found in the storm cellar were hospitalized for a few days. Their parents were notified and counseling was arranged for both the children and their parents.

Willie was interrogated for several hours and then placed in a padded cell. The wheels were finally in motion. He received a court appointed attorney. During his arraignment he was bound over to the grand jury with no bond. A court date would be set if he was found capable of standing trial. If guilty, he would likely receive the death penalty. Doctors were called in to do a two week psychological evaluation. Two weeks later the doctors presented their conclusion to the judge. The findings were conclusive. He was retarded, incoherent, confused, had slurred speech, and memory loss. Willie was not capable of standing trial.

"No surprise," I thought.

The judge petitioned the courts to offer a short hearing, pending the situation of the past and present circumstances of it being a cold case. The attorneys would present their evidence and witnesses at that time to help shed a little more light on the case, whether good or bad. But, in respect of the courts, this would be nothing more than a hearing, not a trial. Judgment of sentencing would be made afterward, which I thought was a little out of the ordinary, but a nice thing to do. The hearing proceeded on time.

"Hear ye, hear ye, all rise, Judge Robert M. Mooneyhand presiding. The Commonwealth State of Alabama vs. Willie Ray Key Docket #347962-30-1 is now in session. You may be seated."

The first day of the hearing, the state presented their case. Their strongest point was the mental evidence they had against him. They had no strong motive, only the psychological condition of the defendant at the time of the crimes. The defense moved that the client had been wrongfully done early in life; justice had not prevailed. No argument could justify his actions or the loss of lives. But it would be taken into consideration at his sentencing. The court dismissed until the next day.

On the second day the state called their first witness, Dr. Jearaldean Gilmore of the Psychiatric Ward at Birmingham Mental Health Facility. Her testimony, along with the interview with FBI Agent Warren Daniels, supported the state's case, but at the same time supported the possibility of him being the victim of a violent crime. She said, as a professional in her field, that Willie had made tremendous improvement. With the therapy and shock treatment he appeared capable of handling society.

"I don't know what happened to him after he was released, but something must have triggered a relapse and brought back the driving rage."

"I have a question," said Charles C. Browning, the defense attorney. "I respect your professional opinion," he said, "but this is only a hearing. Off the record, in your personal opinion, is what happened to him in the woods when he was young possibly the cause of all this?"

Doctor Gilmore sat a few minutes then stated, "Willie was born backwards, plus he was brutally beaten and left for dead. Yes, I believe it could have played a role in the outcome of it all."

"Thank you, Dr. Gilmore," he said.

"Does the state have any questions for the witness at this time?"

"Yes, your honor, I have a quick one. Dr. Gilmore, during Willie's stay at the hospital," asked the District Attorney, "did he ever mention or remember the person or persons who beat him in the woods that day."

"No," she replied.

About that time, the courtroom door opened and in walked Betty Mosley, her aunt, and Agent Warren Daniels. Willie Ray immediately looked around. He seemed to recognize her, but he didn't seem sure. He reached for his shirt pocket but it was empty. She waved and smiled at him from across the room. He quickly jumped up, scooting the table forward as he waved back. The court officers ran over to him and placed him back in his seat. The judge slammed the gavel down on the desk and called for a fifteen minute recess. Judge Mooneyhand left the courtroom and headed for his chambers, followed by Attorney Browning. When they reached the judge's chambers, Browning started questioning the judge.

"What's going on, Robert? Who is that girl?" asked Attorney Browning.

"I don't know," replied the judge. "I'm just as surprised as you."

"She seemed to know Willie Ray," responded Mr. Browning, "and he knew her."

The D.A. walked in Judge Mooneyhand's chambers and asked, "What's going on? Who is the girl who just entered the courtroom?"

"That's the only eyewitness in this case," boasted the D.A.

"Eyewitness!" cried Browning.

"What are you talking about?" asked the judge.

"She was there. She saw what happened to Willie Ray in the woods when he was fourteen years old. Why, is there something wrong?" he questioned them.

"No, everything is fine," they both responded.

"Where did they find her?" asked Browning.

"Agent Daniels found her," said the D.A. "I can put her on the stand, can't I, your honor?"

"Sure, that will be fine," replied Judge Mooneyhand.

Within a few minutes, they reentered the courtroom. The district attorney's opening remarks stated that after all this time, since 1943, they were able to present an eyewitness of the murder of the children and what happened to Willie Ray.

"We call Betty Mosley to the stand," he stated.

As the bailiff swore her in, Willie Ray watched in amazement and tried to wave at her when he could. I was so proud of Betty; she was a very brave woman.

The district attorney asked, "How old were you at the time when you witnessed Willie's attack?"

She replied, "Eleven years old."

"And how old are you now?" he asked.

"Twenty-five," she answered.

"So Willie was around thirteen or fourteen years old," he said.

To help clarify things, the district attorney informed the court that the reason Betty had not come forth earlier was that she had been in a catatonic state since 1943 until two weeks ago. She was from Mississippi and lived with her aunt where she had little to no knowledge of the incident in question. Not only being catatonic, but the case in question was kept quiet—a hush-hush crime.

"Now, Betty, I want you to take your time. Start from the beginning and tell me what you saw and remember from that summer in 1943. Don't be afraid."

"I first met Timmy, you call him Willie, in the woods by chance one day. We were picking blackberries. I lived across the woods in Mississippi, just over the state line. Timmy and I met in the woods a few times and played. He couldn't talk plain and acted sort of funny, but we still played together. Then one day we were going through the woods picking berries. I told Timmy to go on ahead of me and I would come around on the hillside and meet him next to the gulley at the creek by the blackberry patches. When I left, Timmy was already out of my sight. I followed the hill on around to the blackberry patch. I heard something strange and stopped immediately. I then ran and hid behind a pile of dirt, peeping out from behind it every chance I got."

"Tell us, Betty, what you saw and what happened next," said the D.A.

She started to cry because she didn't want to remember.

"Don't be afraid, Betty," he said. "No one is going to hurt you."

Willie Ray was getting uneasy as he listened to her testimony.

"I saw two older boys, naked, having sex on the ground," she mumbled.

The courtroom fell silent as she went on.

"They were probably around twenty-one years old," she stated.

"What about Timmy?" he asked.

"Timmy didn't see them at first, but as he came around the patch, they saw him. I had no way of warning him. I was so scared myself. He took off running and they ran after him. He didn't get far before they caught him and brought him back to the patch. I watched as they tried to figure out what to do. They started beating him. One of them held him down and the other one raped him. Then they changed up. He fought and struggled to get away but they were too strong for him. I don't know much after that. I was in shock and afraid they would get me. The boys put on their clothes, pitched Timmy into the patch of blackberries, and left."

"Did you recognize these people?" he questioned.

"No, sir," she said. "I had never seen them before. I still have them blocked out of my mind."

"I understand, Betty. Then what?" he asked.

"I went to see if I could help Timmy. He was all bloody, cut, and bruised. His eyes were nearly swollen shut. He lay there motionless; I thought he was dead. I took out running for home. I guess I had blocked it out of my head for a while until the dreams started."

"Why didn't you tell someone?" asked the D. A.

"I was so terrified," she said. "I watched over my shoulder every minute of the day, afraid they might have seen me and come after me."

The courtroom was dumbfounded. The judge asked for a recess until tomorrow morning at ten o'clock when he would announce his decision. Court was dismissed.

That night seemed like the longest night in Alabama history. The town pondered over the story of Willie. They couldn't believe it could ever happen in Slick Rock. Morning didn't wait for anyone, as the darkness of night became the breaking of day.

Everyone hurried over to the courthouse to get a seat. Judge Mooneyhand entered the courtroom looking very worried and puzzled. He looked like he hadn't slept. As they brought Willie Ray in, his attorney, Browning, hung his head down. As the ladies and gentlemen in the courtroom held their breath and waited, Judge Mooneyhand began to speak.

"I have never in the history on the bench seen a case like this one in my life. On one hand an innocent victim of one crime and a deadly killer on the other hand. Incompetent to stand trial, but yet a killer you feel compassion for. Willie Ray, please stand. By the authority of the state of Alabama, I sentence you to spend the rest of your natural life in the State Mental Institute at Birmingham. This cold case is closed," shouted the judge. "Court is adjourned."

The courtroom emptied and there were only two left, Judge Mooneyhand and Attorney Charles C. Browning who sat in silence.

"Do you think he recognized us?" asked Attorney Browning.

"I don't know," replied Judge Mooneyhand. "It's been a long time, maybe not."

"What about...?" asked Browning.

"Go on home, Charles," suggested the judge, "and try to get some rest."

Slowly, Charles began to stand as he broke down in tears.

"Let's give it some time, Charles," consoled the judge. "It has been several years."

Six months later, Betty stopped by the state hospital to visit Willie. As she talked to him through a glass window, he smiled and listened. He reached into his pocket and pulled out her picture. They laughed; he was so glad to see her. When she started to leave, he showed her his rabbit's foot, and Betty showed him hers.

"We are both lucky," she said.

Tears began to flow from her eyes as she said goodbye. Unexpectedly, he spoke for the first time, "Betty, I know who they are."

*****

A Cry in the Wind

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Now I lay me down to sleep;

I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake.

I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take;

And this I ask for Jesus' sake.

Amen.

Falling rain glazed the streets in Nashville. Only the reflection of the street lights glittered in the puddles of water. It had rained on and off for three days. My name is Paul Howard Jenkins. I was eight years old. We lived in a rundown house on Spring Creek, Daddy (James Ace Jenkins), Mama, Loria Mae Jenkins, and me (Bubba). Ace, that was what everybody called Daddy, was a broad shouldered man with short hair and a scraggly beard. His two front teeth were missing along with his index finger, up to the first joint. He would always joke about his finger. He would say he wore it off picking a banjo. Mama was medium weight. She stuttered a lot and had long hair that she pulled up in a bun. She was a medium size woman who wore glasses, and her heart was bigger than it all.

I remember back growing up how Daddy would come home drunk and beat on Mama and me. We tried to fight him off, but he was a big man, and mean. There is no telling how many times he blacked Mama's eye and slapped her around. He would kick me under the table because he said I was eating with my mouth full. Many times he would hit me in the head with his fist and when I would come home in the evening he would check the refrigerator and see if I had eaten anything before supper. I would get a whipping if I had. It was hard not to eat when Mama would fix my favorite food, boiled ox tail with salt and pepper, sauerkraut and ribs, and crackling cornbread. Mama made the best. She tried to help and protect me from him, but he was so overbearing and so angry. He would lose any or all the common sense he had. Daddy, I guess you would say, was a troubled man and others paid for it.

Virgil Johnson was a good friend of Daddy and Mama. He tried to get Daddy some help but Daddy told him there was nothing wrong. Virgil looked out for Mama and me. He was a lot older and a churchgoer. Many times I would run over to Virgil's house late at night to get away from home. He tried several times to get Mama to leave Daddy but she would never go. She was afraid. I have laid on Virgil's couch many times at bedtime and listened to Virgil pray for us. Sometimes he would take the Bible and tell me stories of things that had happened.

But, I'll always remember the little prayer that Mama taught me—Now I lay me down to sleep. At night when I'd go to bed I would softly say the prayer. I didn't understand things; maybe I was still too young. But I felt safe when I prayed.

I remember that night when Daddy came home drunk. He and Mama got into it; he said the supper was cold. He flew into a rage, grabbing a hammer from off a nearby table and beat her to death before my eyes.

I ran to Virgil's. He was asleep. As I cried I beat on his door, standing in nothing but my underwear. Virgil opened the door. I tried to tell him what had happened. I could still see Daddy with the hammer in his hand. The vision was still fresh in my mind. Virgil called the police. Quickly, they arrived at the house. Virgil and I stood outside in the yard. As the police made their way in to search the house, they found Mama dead and Daddy was gone. I started to cry. I didn't understand why. Virgil comforted me and held me tight in his arms. Shortly, they brought out Mama's body. She was covered with a long dark sheet. As they passed by and put her into the hearse, I whisper the little prayer she had taught me—now I lay me down to sleep. Virgil had talked to the detective in charge and filled him in on the situation. He asked the detective if it would be okay for me to stay with him a while because I had no other family. The detective told him that would be fine for now, but he would have to go to court and get custody of me eventually. Virgil told him that would be fine.

The next six months would prove to be a true test of friendship. I had a hard time giving up Mama. I constantly had bad dreams. I was afraid that Daddy would come back and get Virgil and me.

"Virgil," why would the Lord take Mama?" I asked. "You said the Lord is good and loves us. Why did he have to take Mama? I don't understand."

Virgil replied, "Bubba, love hurts sometimes. Don't you think it didn't hurt the Lord when we nailed his son to the cross? He had done no wrong."

"I hate him," I cried out. "He could have stopped it."

"But, Bubba," said Virgil. It wasn't in God's hands. It was Ace's choice."

"You said that the Lord can do everything, nothing is impossible, but he couldn't stop my Mama from dying?" I asked.

"You're right, Bubba. It's too much to understand right now," replied Virgil. "But you will understand some day. But, I will tell you this. You won't believe me now, but some day you'll see. God loves you, Loria Mae, and even Ace."

Not long after that, Virgil went to court and got custody. As time passed, I slowly accepted things somewhat better than earlier. The detective never did find daddy. It was like he had disappeared off the face of the earth. I was living in fear of daddy's return—that he might try to hurt Virgil and me. The old house where I had been raised was empty now and abandoned. The windows were all broken out, there was no front door; I hadn't been back in it since they had carried Mama out. Virgil was doing pretty well, except for a cough he had. I tried to get him to go to the doctor but he wouldn't go. I tried to say a little prayer for him, but I don't pray much anymore. It's been a long time. I don't remember the last time I prayed Mama's little prayer she taught me. It wasn't the same.

As the days passed, Virgil's cough got worse. He knew it probably would be a matter of time before his heart gave out, from what the doctor had already warned him earlier. But there was one thing he prayed, and that was the Lord wouldn't let me see him die. I had already seen enough.

At the same time Nashville was terrorized by two unsolved murders. The headlines in the paper read of a killer stalking the city, killing at random. Nights screamed with the echoes of sirens. Fear hung over the city as a dark cloud.

One day Virgil asked me to run some errands for him. I told him I would. I still remember the look in his eyes that day as I left. When I got back home about an hour later, the neighbors stood outside in the yard as they brought him out. I heard one in the crowd say that Roy Gene from next door came over to visit Virgil and found him dead. I fought back the tears and slipped back into the crowd so I wouldn't be noticed. I watched from the distance as they loaded him up in the hearse.

I was fourteen the day Virgil died. It was also the time I started to live on the street. My world as I knew it had come to a halt. For the next few days, I wondered the streets of Nashville. I'd cry a while and then cuss a while. I was so bitter, so unhappy, and so lost. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know who to be angry at, myself or all the others for the way things had turned out. I was angry and bitter at everyone, especially God. I didn't ask to be born.

"Life sucks," I cried out.

I let my anger and bitterness drive me, controlling my life. I began to fight and steal to get by. The sirens echoed in the hollow of the night as I took refuge from the elements under bridges or in alleys. Two months had passed since Virgil had died. I still remember a lot of the things he would always say, but they seemed so senseless now and void. I miss him and Mama more each day. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about them. There are times I wish I was dead also. Maybe that would be the answer to all things.

The newspaper stated that the two unsolved murders of two women had become a cold case, but an investigation was still carried on. The word on the street was that Governor Thurman Towns was corrupt along with his office. There were murder charges pending against him. Rumor has it he had close connections with the Memphis mob. But nothing had ever been proven. They say that he is heavily in debt with them and they want their money. Who really knows?

Not only did I have to fight my own demons, there were bullies on the street who tried to make it hard on me. I couldn't help that I was a little slow, but that didn't give them the right to pick on me. But most everyone on the street liked me. They would always speak good of me. I was a big help to a lot of them. I'd do things for them and help them out if I could. Deep down beneath the anger and bitterness of my heart lay a big heart, a heart that had been cheated wrongly in life's way.

A slow, steady drizzle fell that night as I wandered around lower Broad. As I entered the alley on the corner of Demonbreun and Commerce I stumbled across the body of a dead woman. I stood for a moment, looking around. I didn't see anyone. Then I noticed the necklace about her neck and the ring on her finger. Quickly, I took them. Suddenly I heard footsteps and someone coughing. I took off down the alley the other way and disappeared into the night. I wandered about for a while. I heard sirens crying out across the city. I wondered if they had found the body. I eventually made my way over to the mission, a shelter called Five Loafs and Two Fishes on River Street. I stayed the night there.

The next morning the newspaper headline read—Killer Strikes Again. The paper didn't mention the woman's name at that time. But it did say that two new detectives had taken over the case. Detective Dwight Tinsley and Detective Kevin Stephens had been assigned to the case by the chief of police because of their expertise in murder cases. Meanwhile, Jimmy Lee, a metro cop, was arriving in Memphis for a weekend getaway. When he arrived he didn't waste any time hitting the high spots of town, club after club, he made the best of it—a real party dog. But, when he hit the Riverfront Strip Club he found her. Her name was Shelia and she was IT, all in one neat package. They hooked up quickly with no time to waste. As the weekend ended he said he'd be back. He made several trips to romance the girl of his dreams, and she, too, was having strong feelings for him. After a few months he talked her into moving back to Nashville to live. She hesitated at first, but he promised her a job at the Whiskey Barrel on lower Broad. He had a good friend who owned it. Finally, he convinced her and she moved to Nashville. She didn't tell anyone where she was going except her best friend Donna at the club. Shelia just up and quit and took off. She stayed with Jimmy Lee for a while until they found her dead behind a store on Third Avenue a few weeks after she arrived.

There was nothing left but the remnants of the big snow. It had snowed for two days, heavily, leaving behind eight inches of snow. But, as the snow was melting, another Nashville murder was exposed.

I was the first on the scene. She lay in behind a dumpster, curled up. I looked about but saw no one. I reached for her purse and took out the money. It wasn't much but more than I had. I took a locket and bracelet also. Little did I know on the back was her name. As I raised up, I saw a woman looking at me. She started to yell as I took off the other way.

Within minutes, the police arrived. I stood nearby. I hid as I saw her talking to the two detectives investigating the crime scene at the bus stop. It appeared that this victim had been killed by the same killer as the others. They all had been strangled by some kind of rope from behind. The killer had made it clear he attacked from behind, probably not wanting to be recognized by the victim if they were to live. It was not a sexual killing or a robbery, except this time the killer had gone through her purse. The other victim's money was still intact in their purses, but this victim's purse was empty. That didn't fit the killer's profile or maybe this was a different killer. The women were twenty to thirty-six years of age. All of them were from Nashville except this one whose driver's license stated Memphis. There was a card also in the purse of a club called the Riverfront Strip. They left for Memphis. Little did anyone know at that time what the two detectives would uncover in Memphis.

Arriving in Memphis around noon, they had to wait on the club to open. They grabbed a bite to eat and checked at the Memphis Metropolitan Police Department for any information on her. She had a prior arrest of prostitution and assault charges, which were dropped, and had been busted twice on drug charges. After that they made their way over to the Riverfront Strip, a well known strip joint for high top rollers. They went in and asked around, showing her picture about. Then they talked to Donna who was her best friend and sat down and asked some questions.

"She told us a few months ago that she had hooked up with some guy out of Nashville, a Jimmy Lee something. He was a cop. They hit it off real big. He talked her into giving up her job here and going back to Nashville with him. I tried to tell her it was too quick, to be patient, and wait awhile but she wouldn't listen. She had to go."

"Could you give us a description of him?" they asked.

"Sure," she replied. "I'll never forget his face. He was in his thirties, dark wavy hair, and green eyes. He was about 5'10" tall, 180 pounds, with a scar under his right eye. He had a tattoo of a cross and knife on his right forearm, and he had a mole on the left side of his nose, small but noticeable."

"Is there anything else you can think off," they asked, "tricks, old boyfriends, anything?"

"Yes, there is one thing else," she said. "Do you know she is the governor's granddaughter?"

The two detectives looked at one another as their mouths hung open.

"What," they replied, "his granddaughter!"

"Sheila told me one time that her real name is Beverly Towns. Her grandfather is the governor. She changed her name to hide her connection with her grandfather. But of course he didn't have much to do with her. He helped her out of some trouble a few times and gave her some money."

They discussed the case and the new information they had received.

"They wondered if this case was mob connected?  
"It could be," Kevin answered.

"There has been a lot of talk around about the governor and a mob connection," said Dwight.

"But why would a metro cop be hooked up with a stripper?" asked Kevin. "Especially the governor's granddaughter unless he knew she was the governor's granddaughter. Let's stop off at the precinct when we get back and see what we can find out about Jimmy Lee."

Hours later they rolled into Nashville and headed for the precinct. As they entered they started going through the data files and information on the employees. After several hours of research they came up with nothing past or present. No Jimmy Lee ever worked at Metro Police Department with the description she gave them. Then they decided to come up with a composite drawing and have it passed around to all the men.

Meanwhile, they checked in with the governor about his granddaughter. He had already heard and he put out a gag order while the investigation was going on. He did seem to be bothered by it or something. They gave him their condolences and he wanted it to be kept low profile and private at the time. Treat it as one of the other murders.

A couple of days later they found Jimmy Lee. He had been shot in the head and stuffed into a trunk of a car at the bus station parking lot on 8th Street. After running a background check, they found out that Jimmy Lee Baker was a known hit man for the Memphis Mafia. From the way it looked, someone took a hit on him. After the investigation on Jimmy Lee, they couldn't get enough evidence to say Jimmy Lee killed the Governor's granddaughter. It was all circumstantial. Believe it or not he had an alibi when she was killed. But they found out later the witness was mafia connected. But why was he killed and who did it? Or was it the killer of the other murders. They tried to find out.

They showed a picture of Jimmy Lee to the witness in the alley. But, she said it wasn't him. It was a homeless man she saw. The body had been there several hours before she saw the killer. Jimmy Lee could have killed her and later on a homeless man who was lurking around the alley could have come across it and that was who she saw.

The case was baffling. It seemed like they were going nowhere. The governor was on their back to make an arrest and to stop the killings. He was in so deep that the state's district attorney office had opened an investigation on the governor. The FBI was probing him also, especially when the newspaper released their findings that the mafia had killed the governor's granddaughter who was a stripper in a nightclub in Memphis. A full blown investigation of the governor and the murders in Nashville had opened up. The investigation by the FBI and metro had shown that the governor was taking bribes, bid rigging, embezzling money out of the rainy day fund, falsifying documents, and recording for personal gain. Those were some of the charges that were being brought before him, during the ongoing investigation. The murders connection was being considered. Also within a week there were two more murders, same M.O. One body was found on Jefferson Street behind a quick wash, and the other body was found on Dickerson Road.

Not long afterward I ran into Patty. She was one of my homeless girlfriends. I showed her some jewelry, necklaces, rings, and bracelets that I had found on the bodies of the victim. I didn't see any harm in taking them. They were dead and I could hock them for money to get by on. She looked at them and found some she liked, so I gave it to her, for a kiss and hug. About a week later she was picked up downtown on 1st Avenue and Riverfront, trying to sell them. The police arrested her and took her in. They questioned her about where she got them. She told them that I gave them to her for a kiss and hug. Detective Tinsley and Stephens immediately put out an APB on me to bring me in. Metro combed the city the next day looking for me. Patty was arrested for concealing stolen property with the intent to resell. Although she had no prior record except for shoplifting and a few other misdemeanors, the judge gave her a week in jail and six months probation.

Eventually they caught me and put me under arrest, 2nd degree robbery, suspicion of murder, and tampering with a crime scene. When they took me into the precinct I unloaded my pockets. There on the table was some more jewelry. As the detective pondered through it, they ran across a bracelet with an inscription on the back that read Beverly Towns. That was enough to get things started. From that time on my life would never be the same.

"Bubba," asked Detective Stephens, "do you want to tell us where you got all this jewelry?"

I didn't say anything at first. Then he asked me again. I told him I found it.

"You found it where?" asked Detective Tinsley.

"In the alley," I replied, "off the bodies of the dead women." Then the detective stepped out of the room for a minute. I then looked at them and said, "You don't think I killed them do you?"

"Did you?" they asked. "Maybe you wanted the jewelry and took the opportunity to get it."

"No way," I replied. "They were all dead when I found them."

Then they saw the yellow rope I had tied around my waist to hold my britches up. They asked me to take it off. I told them my pants would fall off. They assured me the clothes in the jail would fit me fine.

"We're holding you for the seventy-two hours. Take him away," said Detective Stephens.

In a matter of hours word came to the governor. The D.A. Phillip Franklyn informed the governor of the situation of Paul Howard Bubba Jenkins. They read the arresting report of the detective, the testimony of the suspect. After carefully looking over the information, I looked like an ideal fall guy for him. I was homeless, nobody knows me, or would really care. Then he turned to Phillip.

"They wanted me put away so I would never see daylight again for these murders. Do whatever it takes for a guilty verdict."

But little did the governor know that it would come back and haunt him later.

The next day the governor called a meeting with Judge Daniel Warren and the D.A. "Looking at the evidence against Jenkins (Bubba), it all appears pretty much circumstantial," said the judge.

The governor turned and said that he would make the arrangements that I be tried in Judge Warren's courtroom and he would take care of the jury selection. "Phillip will know who to pick as well as you. If Bubba is found guilty and sent to prison, look for yourself a nice little blessing out of the rainy day fund."

The governor boasted that if he could get those murder charges off of him, the worse they can do is impeach him and he could get the other charges lowered to a lesser charge with a plea bargain. Probably he would have to give up his office but I'll be a free man. Now let's get it done.

The evidence, although it was circumstantial, was beginning to pile up against me. They put me in a line up where I was recognized by a witness at one of the bodies. I had all that jewelry on me, plus they searched where I stayed and found some other things I took. The yellow rope was close enough to the kind of a rope the women were killed with. The fiber was close to the same and my prints were found at the scene. When it boiled down to it, they had enough on me to take me to trial. They came and got me and took me back to the interrogation room. They read me my rights then they charged me with the Nashville murders. Book him and call him a lawyer was the last thing I heard when I left the room.

When the governor heard the news that they had charged Bubba with the murders, he called the D.A. and requested that Johnathan J. Owen be assigned as my lawyer. He went on to state that Johnathan owed him quite a bit of money and this could be a good way to pay it back. Then he laughed.

"Where can I find him?" asked Phillip.

"Start first at the bars on lower Broad and keep someone with him until this is all over. He's got to stay sober."

The newspaper spread it all across the city—Nashville Murders by Homeless Man. It was the talk of the town. The spread of the fear had left the city and the people were back, ready to party.

In no time I was sent up for arraignment. The charges were read to me. I pleaded not guilty. The case was turned over to the Grand Jury. Trial date was in two weeks from that day. Mr. Owens did try to get a bond set for me. He petitioned to the court that Whittemore's Bonding Company on the corner of Third and Charlotte had agreed to bond me. But the judge denied it.

I left out of the courtroom that day with little to no hope. The lawyer they gave me didn't really have that much to say. I thought about a lot of things that day—the first time I had thought that much in years. My eyes filled with tears as I thought about Mama and Virgil. I would have given anything if they were here. As that metal key turned the lock of my cell, little did I know what lay ahead for me. The only comforting thing I knew was the prayer Mama taught me—Now I Lay me Down to Sleep. It had been a long time since I had prayed it.

I tried to go to sleep, but I couldn't; I had too much on my mind. Tossing back and forth, "Why, Lord," I thought. "Why me?" Virgil always said that the Lord would watch out for you and help you, if you trust him. I couldn't help but wonder where he was now, where he had been. I didn't seem the same anymore. The next two weeks would be the longest and most worrisome two weeks in my life.

I was lying in my bunk facing the wall when I heard the metal key noisily enter the lock. The squeaky cell door opened as the guard told me to get up. Then the other guard with him placed chain cuffs around my ankles. As I turned, they pulled my hands behind my back and cuffed me. Those very moments I had every thought that had ever raced through my mind. As the guard turned me about, I walked out and down the hall. If there was any hope left, it was all gone. Who would care about a homeless man who had nothing nor would leave anything behind?

There are times when I am alone that I still cry for Mama. No one knew it, but Virgil did. I still recall, after all this time, her gentle caress and the soothing voice that told me everything would be alright. I close my eyes sometimes and I can see the smile on her face as of time long ago. But there is one thing I have seen countless times, but I don't see it now. She cries no more.

The news media were standing outside of the courtroom as we entered. The courtroom was packed. As I looked about I saw no one that I knew. I felt so alone and abandoned. I had a bad feeling, a very bad feeling.

Suddenly the court officer spoke up, "All rise." As the judge entered the chambers he continued, "Hear ye, hear ye, the criminal court of Davidson County is now in session, Honorable Judge Daniel Warren presiding. You may be seated."

As the judge slammed the gavel down, he welcomed everyone. Then the court officer spoke up again, "The Commonwealth State of Tennessee vs. Paul Howard Jenkins docket #399872-01."

From the sound of the gavel to the opening remarks of the attorneys little do I remember of what happened after that. Both sides presented their case and as the time passed, I was losing ground. On the fourth day of the trial, the jury deliberated. It only took then one hour and a half to reach a verdict. The courtroom was silent as the jury returned.

"Have you reached a verdict?" asked the judge.

"Yes, your honor, we have," replied the jury foreman.

Then he handed the verdict to the bailiff, who handed it to the judge. The judge looked at it, and it was handed back to the foreman to read aloud.

"You may read the verdict," requested the judge.

"The jury finds the defendant guilty of murder in the first degree on all six counts, guilty of tampering with evidence, guilty of interfering with an investigation, and guilty of six counts of felony thief of a corpse."

Then the judge thanked the jury and dismissed them.

My heart stopped. That moment I prayed that it would never start up again. But it did. The courtroom was filled with mixed feeling and emotion. Two who were very uneasy were Detective Tinsley and Detective Stephens. From the very beginning they had had bad feelings about it all.

Then the judge slammed the gavel down and called the courtroom to order. As the crowd slowly quieted down the judge turned to me and said, "Paul Howard Jenkins you have heard the verdict of your peers."

I didn't say a word.

Then he picked up the gavel once more and said, "Sentencing hearing will be in two weeks. You are held without bond. Court is adjourned."

As they led me away, I looked at the faces in the courtroom. I knew at that moment if the world should stand another ten thousand years, I would never see my accusers again.

The governor was out playing golf when the messenger from the D.A. came to him and told him that I was found guilty. Within hours the murder charges held against him were dismissed, but he now was facing preliminary hearing on the other charges against him, possibly impeachment.

The two detectives, Tinsley and Stephens, went to the police chief and asked him could they stay on the case. There were a lot of loose ends that were yet to be explained. Some of the evidence on Bubba's defense that was not allowed in court, and there are other questionable things. After consideration the chief disagreed.

He stated, "Too much of the taxpayer's money had already been used on this case. But," he said, "You can do it on your own time. I can't say anything about that."

They agreed.

"First let's get him a new attorney."

"I know just the man," said Tinsley. "William Randy Calaway."

"Good choice," replied Stephens. "Let's go by and see Bubba first."

"Good idea," replied Tinsley.

When they got to my cell they found me very disturbed, withdrawn, and depressed. They spent the next two hours talking with me about the case. When they left, I did seem to cheer up. I'll never forget what they said as they were leaving. I looked up at both of them and smiled.

I said, "Virgil always said when the Lord closes one door he will open another."

From the look in my eyes, they both knew I was innocent. Then they went over to see Randy, but he was going to be out of town a few days. They hated to wait because time was crucial to them.

The morning that Randy was to come back, word came that Johnathan J. Owens had been found dead. When they arrived on the scene, they began to ask questions. According to the coroner's brief statement it looked like he died of alcohol poisoning. As the detectives wrapped up, they headed over to Randy's. He was on his way out; luckily we caught him. They asked him if he could give them a few minutes.

He replied, "Sure."

They explained to him about the situation and Bubba. He was already familiar with a lot of the case. He had been following it closely. He himself said it looks like everyone wants an escape goat to get the Nashville murders behind them. They asked if he would be interested in taking the case.

He replied, "Sure, I'll do it bono. I believe they have the wrong man. I'll come by the jail this evening and talk with him."

"See you there," they replied.

That evening they all met at the jail. They all had a long talk and a cry. Within the next few days they worked as a team, getting things ready for the appeal bond to petition a new trial for Bubba. It looked like a lot of the loose ends were coming together to our advantage.

Meanwhile, word around town was the feds were coming down on the governor. More and more evidence was piling up against him. Probably it will be either impeachment or step down. Jail time is questionable.

Once again, they came to my cell and got me. Once again my shadow lurked in the courtroom.

"Will the defendant Paul Howard Jenkins rise and face the judge?" said the bailiff.

"Mr. Jenkins, after careful consideration of your case, the conclusion of my finding, which has been hard, is to sentence you to life without parole. Do you have anything to say?" he asked.

"I don't want to go to prison," I cried.

"May I address the court?" Randy asked. "Your honor he had only been retained for a short time. We are working on an appeal for a new trial. We would like to petition the court, considering the circumstantial evidence against my client, for a lesser sentence."

"I understand, counsel, your burden for your client. But he has been found guilty, and I have already made my unchangeable decision, life without parole. Mr. Jenkins will be taken to Stoney Point State Prison, Patterson Road in Jackson County. There you will remain the rest of your life."

"But I didn't do anything," I cried out pleading mercy from the court.

Then the deputies led me away. With every step I made as I left the courtroom that day, my heart grew harder and harder. Randy told me to hang on and trust him, that he would get an appeal as soon as he could. Little did I know as I looked out of the window of the police car that would be my last time to see the free world.

At four o'clock that same day, we listened as Governor Thurman Towns resigned as the governor of the state of Tennessee. The newsman went on to say that the charges against the governor have been dropped to a lesser charge, putting him on probation for the next twenty-five years. The plea bargain was reached today from the D.A. office and the FBI. The whole state was shocked. Some even made the comment that the governor should have gotten life without parole and Bubba should have gotten probation.

Randy and the detective worked hard day and night, going back over the case time and time again. They did a deep search into every nook and cranny. There was not a stone left unturned. Meanwhile weeks passed and Bubba was now housed at Stoney Point.

It was hard for me to get adjusted to prison life. I felt like a caged animal being poked by everyone. I didn't know if I could make it. But I guess I had no choice. If there ever was a hell on earth that Virgil talked about I was in it now.

Weeks passed as Tinsley and Stephen raced for time. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, they got their first break in the new investigation. They found out that the two prostitutes that were killed were connected with ex-Governor Towns. Our sources, through select interviews with prostitutes off Dickerson Road, say they had seen Towns and his friend pick up the ladies many times. The more they dug into Towns' background, they uncovered a conspiracy to frame Bubba. One of the ladies that were found dead was a young lady from Vanderbilt, a communications student fascinated by high crimes. Our investigation uncovered that she had found out about the two prostitutes being killed, and the governor had put a hit out on her. Another woman was an ex-girlfriend of Towns and was going to blackmail him. Her best friend was also a victim who, after the death of her friend, threatened to go to the FBI with what she knew. But before she could go she was killed.

"How could we make such a blunder? This judgmental case literally was that of blinded truth of innocent to be proven guilty. But, the real price of it all we found in the murder of Towns' granddaughter. It proved that the mafia had her killed by Jimmy Lee.

But Ex-governor Towns had Jimmy Lee killed. The overwhelming evidence was in the name of the killer of them all. His name was Ace Jenkins, Bubba's daddy. Ace was a half brother to Ex-governor Towns. Towns got him to do all the dirty work. When he had killed Bubba's mama, Towns got him out of town and took care of him. Later on, as things died down, he came back and by night he was a stalker for Towns' prey.

An APB was put out on Ace Jenkins. It would take them a few days to find him. He was tracked down in Atlanta stealing a car and was expedited back to Nashville for seven counts of murder including his wife.

They had enough evidence for a retrial and enough to put Towns in prison for a long time. Randy, the two detectives, and the investigating team's hard work had paid off. And when they took the new evidence to the state attorney's office, Judge Warren and D.A. Franklyn came forth and told of Towns whole conspiracy theory for framing Bubba and how it was done. The two men were arrested and charged and are now in jail. They agreed to turn states evidence for a lesser verdict. The state attorney's office issued a warrant for the arrest of Towns.

Back at the prison things had gotten worse. Since I'd been there, I had been raped twice, beaten up I don't know how many times, stabbed, and suffered broken bones. It had been a while since I had smiled, nor even laughed as I used to do. This is one of the most hopeless places I can ever imagine. Death is thick in the air. It's stale and stinks of flesh. I don't know what to do. My thoughts are heavy, my heart feels no more. I don't understand it all, my life and all that has come along. But I'm tired, weak and weary. I wish I could die. God is that so bad?

Randy went to the new governor and filled him. The governor called for a meeting with the pardon and parole board. With the new evidence, the board and the governor agreed for a new trial, and, even better, the governor called Stoney Point to have Bubba released, a free man. But when the warden went to his cell to get him, they found Bubba hanging from a pipe in his cell. He was dead. In minutes the warden called the governor back. Everyone was there celebrating Bubba's liberty. When the phone rang his secretary came in.

"Sir, it's Warden Thompson from Stoney Point."

"Oh, yes," he replied, "thanks. Hello, warden."

Then there was silence. Everyone knew something had happened. Fear smothered the room as the governor slowly hung up.

"They found Bubba. He hung himself. He is dead. The warden also said that he had left a note on his bed, the words to a prayer—Now I Lay me Down to Sleep."

*****

About the Author

Bobby A. Troutt is a southern writer who enjoys writing about southern living, mystery, crime, and suspense. To read more of Bobby's stories, visit www.bobbysbooks.8m.com

