 
When Autumn Falls

By Bobby A. Troutt

Copyright 2011 Bobby A. Troutt

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

Taylor's Children's School and Orphanage

Portland 16 Miles

3019 Flat Road

Still Small Voice

Duck Duck Goose

*****

When Autumn Falls

Taylor's Children's School and Orphanage

The rain had been falling hard and heavy the last two days. The rain had finally stopped and a heavy fog had moved in Running Meadow, Mississippi in 1955. The boys from the orphanage were on their way back from eating wild plums at the plum thicket. Suddenly they saw a car turn onto Dry Branch Road. The fog lay thick as it moved in, making it almost impossible to see. The mist of the fog was damp and sticky. The approaching car passed by the orphanage as the last of the thunder echoed across the grayish black skies. Lightning lit up the sky in the distance as the storm moved out.

Suddenly the car came to a screeching halt with a loud thump. It sat idle in the road, with the engine running and the wipers scratching across the windshield. Quickly, people began to run from their houses, gathering about the car. In front of the car lay a young boy, and on the passenger's side, lay the driver's daughter who had been thrown from the car. The driver, a woman from Jackson, was crying hysterically as she gathered her daughter into her arms.

"Oh, my God, what have I done?" she cried. "Please Lord, don't take them."

Some other boys who had been walking down the road rushed over to their friend on the ground. Someone in the crowd called for help. Father O'Neal ran up from the orphanage to them. He asked if anyone had called for help. Someone in the crowd yelled, "Help is on the way!" The mother continued screaming as Father O'Neal went over and tried to comfort her.

"Pray, Father," she cried. "Pray that the Lord will spare them."

"I already have," he replied.

Shortly, the ambulances arrived with the police. It didn't look too good for the boy. Quickly, they loaded the children into the ambulances and drove off. In a matter of minutes the sound of the siren was all you could hear as it faded out, cushioned by the thick fog. The officer quickly took charge of the situation as Father O'Neal helped the driver. After a few questions from the officer, Father O'Neal took her to the hospital to be with her daughter and him with the boy. The officer asked the others if they had seen anything. All that they could say was they heard the squealing of the tires and the thump. The boys from the orphanage stood beside the road as he approached them.

"I need to know what you saw." he said.

There was a moment of silence. John Howard said he didn't see anything. He was looking the other way. The other boy, Nickolus, looked scared, but spoke up and said, "Me neither." The older boy, the brother of the victim, shook his head. The officer figured the lack of response was from the shock of the accident.

"Sir, may I take Anthony to the hospital to see his brother?" came a voice from behind him.

Slowly he turned and saw a sister from the orphanage standing there.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, "but I'd like to talk to all of them later."

"Sure," she replied. "Come on boys. I'll let you out at the orphanage, and Anthony and I are going to the hospital."

Quickly they headed down the street, and she let them out. Sister Ann and Anthony took off to the hospital with no time to waste. While on their way, Anthony didn't have a lot to say. She guessed he was worried so she didn't say much either. When they arrived at the hospital Father O'Neal met with them outside Barry's room.

"How is he, Father?" she asked.

"I don't really know," he replied. "The doctors are still with him."

"Are you alright, Anthony?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," replied Anthony. "Do you think he'll be alright?"

"I think so," encouraged Father O'Neal. "Do you know what happened?"

"No, not really," he said. "I heard Barry yell, 'Watch this.' Then someone said 'look out' and I heard the car screeching to a halt. The next thing I knew Barry was on the ground in front of the car."

"But why?" asked Father O'Neal. "What would cause him to do such a thing?"

"I guess he was playing around," replied Anthony, "and didn't have time to get back on the side of the road."

The door of the room opened and the doctor stepped out.

"What about it? How is he?" asked Father O'Neal.

The doctor replied, "I believe he is going to be alright, but it may take some time. He has a hard blow to his head, a broken arm, and four broken ribs. I have given him some medicine to help him sleep. It will be a while before you can see him, but I'll call you if there is a change. I found numerous bruises on Barry's back, legs, and arms. They don't seem to be from the wreck. Do you have any idea what might have caused them?"

"No, sir," replied Father O'Neal. "Do you sister?"

"No. Can we go in for a minute for prayer? This is his twin brother Anthony."

"Sure," replied the doctor, "but just for a few minutes."

Father O'Neal eased the door open and they slipped in. As they slowly gathered around Barry's bed, they noticed all the different kinds of machines hooked up to him. Tears filled Sister Ann's eyes.

"Let us pray quietly," suggested Father O'Neal.

Shortly, they turned and left the room. Anthony's eyes peered in at his brother through the crack in the door as it was slowly closing.

"Sister Ann, lets go down to the girl's room and see how she's doing," said Father O'Neal.

As they walked down the hall, Father O'Neal asked how the other children were holding up.

She answered, "They're fine, Father. Don't worry so much."

As they approached her door, the officer stepped out of the room.

"How is she?" asked Father O'Neal.

"I believe she's fine," the officer replied. "About the accident," he said. "On my way over here, I stopped by the orphanage and talked to the other boys, I have talked to the girl's mother also. From what I can tell it was a freak accident. Barry, they say, jumped out from behind the tree and didn't see the car. The girl's mother was trying to miss the boy when she swerved over too far and hit the tree. That caused the girl's door to pop open, throwing her out of the car."

"Is that what happened, Anthony?" the officer asked.

"Yes, sir," he replied. "I think so. It happened so fast."

"A freak accident," said Sister Ann, "just like you said."

"Well, thank you," said Father O'Neal, "for letting us know. We are going in now to see her."

As they entered, they found the mother standing beside her daughter's bed.

"How is she?" asked Sister Ann.

"She's holding on," replied her mother. "Jo Meggin is a good girl," her mother said. "She's strong, Father. I'm the weak one."

"We will pray for you both," he replied. "Let us pray."

After the prayer, they said goodbye and left the mother and Jo Meggin in the Lord's hands. All was quiet on the way back. Anthony rode back with Sister, and Father O'Neal drove himself back. He wanted some quiet time with the Lord.

Things were also quiet at the orphanage. The children were concerned about Barry. That night their prayers were sent up for him and Jo Meggin.

The next day moved right along. After school that day, Anthony slipped away from the orphanage, wanting to see his brother. He ran down the street to the bus stop and took the bus to the hospital.

At the hospital, he found Barry resting quietly. Clicking sounds from the machines filled the room. As Anthony stood beside the bed, he carefully looked about the room. He had come to see his brother, because he had a secret. An orderly came to the door. Anthony hid in the closet, peeped out behind the door, and watched him. Shortly, the orderly was through and left the room, leaving the door open. As Anthony moved from inside the closet, he watched the door to the hallway. Carefully, he crept up to the side of Barry's bed.

"I'm sorry, brother," he whispered.

Next he quickly turned and eased his way over to the door to the hallway. He looked out and then vanished down the hall and disappeared down the steps. Within moments the warning light began to blink and sounded the alarm in Barry's room. The head nurse rushed into Barry's room. There was no pulse. The emergency staff and the doctor worked quickly.

The nurse cried out, "There's no pulse and a slow heartbeat!"

His eyes were set, and his body was cold. His blood pressure was dropping fast.

"We are going to lose him!" yelled the doctor. "Hold on, son."

The emergency team worked together with the doctor doing everything they could to stabilize him.

"He has hyperkalemia!" cried the doctor.

Then the nurse looked up and cried, "He's stabilizing, doctor. The heart is picking up a stronger beat, and I can feel a faint pulse."

"Come on, Barry," the doctor coached. "You can do it, just a little more."

Then as things looked good, everyone stopped. The room fell silent. Barry had slipped into a coma.

"Pulse," asked the doctor.

"Stable," she replied. "Blood pressure is good and his heartbeat is stronger."

As the team separated and headed back to the station, the doctor said he would call Father O'Neal. She looked up at him and quietly nodded her head in agreement. The doctor filled the Father in on Barry's condition.

"I don't know what happened," he said. "I'm going to do some blood work. I should know something by tomorrow."

"Is there anything I need to do?" asked Father O'Neal.

"Not at this point," he said. "There's nothing you can do but pray."

"I'll see you tomorrow," replied Father O'Neal.

When morning broke, Father O'Neal, Sister Ann, and Anthony entered the hospital. In the lobby, they met Jo Meggin and her mother. She was being released.

"That's great," said Father O'Neal. "Thank the Lord."

"She is going to be alright now," stated her mother. "The doctor said she still has some memory loss, but as time goes by she should get it back."  
"That is wonderful," he said.

"What about Barry?" she asked.

"It's not too good," replied Father O'Neal, "but I still have my faith. God can do anything."

"Let me know if there is anything I can do," she encouraged.

"Pray," he said.

"I have been," she replied. "Well, we have to go. Bye!"

Anthony looked over at Jo Meggin and took her hand. "I hope you get your memory back."

Jo Meggin looked at him, puzzled, and dropped her head.

When they entered Barry's room, the night shift doctor was there.

He said, "I waited to see you," he said. "I believe I have found out what has happened. It was hyperkalemia."

"What's that?" questioned Father O'Neal.

The doctor stood and turned toward them. "It is when higher than normal levels of potassium are in the blood. I don't think the coma actually came from that, but it might have. The trauma from the wreck and his head wounds may have brought it on. He still has some swelling on his brain. He's a lucky young man."

"The Lord has been watching out for him," replied Father O'Neal.

"Recovery will take some time. I would like to keep him here for a few weeks," requested the doctor. If there's no change, I recommend you send him to Memphis. There's a good hospital there that specializes in cases such as this."

"Let's wait and see," replied Father O'Neal.

Sister Ann took Anthony by the hand and walked him over to Barry's bed. They stood quietly as the Father and the doctor stepped out of the room. She whispered a prayer over Barry as Anthony said, "I'm sorry, little brother."

"Just one other question, doctor," questioned the Father. "What has caused this setback?"

"I don't really know," he replied. "It could be a number of things. We may never know."

"May we sit with him a while?" asked Father.

"Sure, by all means," he said. "That's all we can do for now. Like you said, it's in the Lord's hands."

Weeks passed and the days seemed so long. Father O'Neal and others sat by Barry's bedside praying for a miracle. But there was no change. Finally, Father O'Neal consulted with the doctors about moving him to Memphis Not long after that Barry was on his way to recovery through intensive work and an outstanding rehab program. The hospital there in Running Meadow was not equipped with the treatment Barry needed. Anthony stayed behind at the orphanage. Later on, word got out that Barry getting hit by the car was no accident. But no one questioned it. Things became pretty quiet around the orphanage for a while. Barry had been in Memphis for three weeks.

A few days later, Anthony was playing around outside the orphanage when he found a two and a half foot galvanized pipe. It must have been left by a workman at the orphanage last week. He played with it a while, pitching small rocks into the air and using the pipe like a bat to hit the rocks across the yard.

That night a bad storm moved through Running Meadow. Heavy rain and lightning haunted the small Mississippi town. The wind cried as a soulless man, and the thunder begged forgiveness. During the night, Anthony got up and looked down the hall. There he saw Nickolus coming out of his room, headed for the stairs. From the flash of lightning across the dark sky, Anthony could see Nickolus standing at the balcony, watching the storm through the window. Carefully, Anthony eased out of his room into the hallway. Nickolus seemed to be intrigued by the storm.

"You pushed my little brother out in front of the car," said Anthony.

Nickolus froze; he was dumbfounded and couldn't say a word. He couldn't even turn around.

"You are going to have to pay for what you did to my brother," warned Anthony.

Blindingly, lightning tore across the sky as thunder shook the building, weakened from age. Beneath the staircase on the bottom floor lay Nickolus, dead in a small puddle of blood. Slowly the storm moved out and quietness settled on the orphanage once more. But upstairs you could hear the closing of a door.

Early the next morning, the orphanage was awakened by a horrible scream. The maid had found Nickolus dead on the floor. It appeared he had fallen from the balcony. He must have gotten up during the night and, because of the darkness, fell to his death. Father O'Neal ran out and down the stairs to her. He told the children to stay in their rooms until he told them they could come out. The children, curious of what happened, were afraid, and Sister Ann rushed upstairs to comfort them.

Soon the police arrived. Not too long afterward, they had finished their investigation of the crime scene, deciding it was probably an accident. He may have been leaning over the railing and slipped or lost his balance and fell. But that didn't seem to answer the question of the deep cut on the back of his head. They thought it could have happened when he hit the floor. The fall had broken his neck.

The detective was called upstairs to the balcony. There he found specks of blood on the railing and rug. Considering that, the detective kept the case open to a homicide. About then Sister Ann came in and told Father O'Neal that Anthony was missing. She had asked all the other children if they had seen him, but no one had seen him since bedtime last night.

"Another missing child, Father O'Neal?" inquired the detective.

"He's probably around here somewhere," as he tried to laugh it off. "He's in and out," replied the Father.

"In the past ten years," the detective stated, "I believe there have been sixteen children that have disappeared." Walking around the room he said, "I hope Anthony is not number seventeen. Call me when he comes home. I'd like to talk with him."

"Yes, sir," replied the priest. "I will. Anthony is a good boy."

The police left and the maid started cleaning up the mess. Father O'Neal and Sister Ann stepped outside to talk.

"Do you think Anthony went to see Barry?" wondered Sister Ann.

"Surely not," replied Father O'Neal. "It is such a long way. How would he go? He has no way and very little money. Let's wait and see. He may come in at any moment."

The next day, the detective dropped by the orphanage.

"Father O'Neal, I have a warrant to search the property," said the detective.

"Sure, by all means," answered Father O'Neal. "Sister Ann can show you around."

As the officers entered they spread out, thoroughly searching every room.

"The boy, I forgot his name," asked the detective. "Did he ever come back?"

"No, sir," replied the Father. "I meant to call you, but I got busy and all, and it slipped my mind."

"I understand," said the detective. "I get busy, too."

"Sir!" yelled one of the officers upstairs. Come here, I think I've found something."

Quickly the detective ran up the stairs and down the hall. Father O'Neal followed.

"Look, sir, what we found in a hole in the mattress. It's a galvanized pipe. It looks like dried blood on it."

As the officer bagged it, the detective looked over at Father O'Neal. "Whose room is this?" he asked.

The Father dropped his head and said, "Anthony's room, it's his bed."

The detective stood for a moment looking about the room. Then he said, "The autopsy shows that Nickolus was unconscious before he hit the floor. Father do you or the Sister know where he is?"

"No, sir," they replied.

"Would he have any reason to kill Nickolus?" questioned the detective.

"Not that we know of," replied the priest.

The officers continued, but nothing else turned up.

"Thank you, Father, for your time," said the detective. As he looked over to one of his men, "Put an APB out on Anthony."

The detective turned the pipe over to the crime lab. He told them he needed a report ASAP. By early morning the report lay on his desk. It stated that the dried blood spots were Nickolus', and the hair and skin particles were his also. It was the threads on the end of the pipe that caused the cut. Anthony's prints were on it too. The orphanage's record proved a match. Quickly, the detective took out a warrant for Anthony on suspicion of murder.

The orphanage didn't need another black mark against it. It had been through a lot in the past ten years. There had been sixteen missing children; they considered them runaways. Anthony only added more fire to the unsolved problem. The missing children were never heard of again. One moment they were there, the next they were gone. Over the years, the police and the FBI had tried to solve the disappearance of the children, but they could never get enough evidence to build a case.

Little was known about Father O'Neal. He wasn't originally from there; he just appeared one day. He had been at the orphanage about fifteen years. The police checked out his background but came up with nothing. He was sent by the Church of Saints in New Hampshire with remarkable credentials. But every dark cloud has a silver lining if we look for it.

Father O'Neal received a phone call from Memphis. It was from Barry's doctor. He had come out of his coma and was doing great. He was to start on his rehab program in a day or so. When he told Sister Ann and the other children about Barry's report they were thrilled. Their prayers had been answered. The doctor told Father O'Neal that he would probably be in rehab at least a year, maybe two. It depended on how hard he worked and how fast the recovery came.

As the months passed, Barry continued to get well and the search for Anthony continued.

There is a dark side to every man, even Father O'Neal. One of the best-kept secrets of the orphanage was the longtime affair between Father O'Neal and Sister Ann. They say it had been going on for years, slipping around late at night in the corridors of the orphanage. She was madly in love with him; he could do no wrong. He was her lord and master even though he used her and abused her. She worshipped him even though she knew his deep dark secret, even darker than adultery. She was blinded by her love and protected him.

As time passed, everything got back to normal around the orphanage. The children went to their classes and some of the lucky ones were placed in homes. Father O'Neal and Sister Ann secretly carried on with their sin.

In northern Tennessee, Anthony had started a new life. He had finally surfaced after traveling in the Midwest all this time. There was still an open warrant for him in Mississippi, but it appeared they had quit looking. He had changed his last name and dyed his hair a little darker. Tired of running, he was ready to settle down. He was living in an old abandoned house on Raccoon Creek, not far from the town of Wilburn Hollow. Things were looking up, and his life was finally turning around.

But not far from him, in South Central Kentucky, Barry had settled down in the town of Little Creek. Barry had finally finished his rehab program, and he, too, wanted to start all over with a new life. When he got out of the hospital in Memphis, he went to visit Father O'Neal, Sister Ann, and the children. They were all glad to see him. By looking at him, you could never tell he had been in the hospital. The Father prayed with him and blessed him. Returning back to Kentucky, by chance, he passed through Wilburn Hollow, Tennessee. It wasn't but a hundred miles south of Little Creek, Kentucky.

Months passed and things were going good for the twin brothers until Anthony got into a fight, and the Wilburn police took him and the other boy in. After doing some checking, they found out that Anthony was wanted in Mississippi. In a matter of days he was back in Running Meadow. The word spread like wildfire. Sister Ann got in touch with Barry, and he came as fast as he could. It hit all the local papers. 'Child Killer Caught' read the headlines.

On his arrival, Barry met with Father O'Neal about seeing Anthony. Hurrying down to the courthouse, they talked with the detective in charge of the case. Arrangements were made, and the two brothers sat across the table from each other for the first time in a long time. It was slow at first, awkward, but in a few minutes the twins hugged each other. Anthony brought up the accident. He was so sorry. He was only playing around. He said that he just wanted to scare him.

"I tried to hang onto your jacket," he said, "and push at the same time, but the jacket slipped through my fingers when I pushed."

"That's alright," replied Barry. "I forgave you a long time ago. It's time to put it behind us and be brothers again."

Then Anthony reached over and, with a pat on the back, they hugged again.

"Now brother," said Barry. "We have to get you out of this mess. I don't believe you killed Nickolus. Did you?"

"No," replied Anthony.

"Then tell me your side," encouraged Barry.

Anthony began to tell him what he knew about what happened; Barry listened with an open mind.

"I didn't kill him!" cried out Anthony. "When I turned to go back to my room, Nickolus was standing at the rail. When I got to my room I glanced back and he was gone. That's the truth."

"Did you see anyone else?" questioned Barry.

"Like I told the detective, I didn't hear or see anything. It was storming outside," he replied. "Don't you think if I saw something, I would tell it and get out of this place? You believe me, don't you, Barry?"

Barry didn't speak for a moment but finally answered, "I believe you Anthony. But I believe there is more that you're not telling me."

About that time a detective and Father O'Neal came in the room.

"Barry, you can talk to your brother some more tomorrow," said the detective. "Anthony has got another visitor and then he'll go back to lockdown."

A deputy escorted a young lady in. She was doing a story on the history of the orphanage and the case of the sixteen missing children for the Mississippi Southern Herald in Jackson. The young lady wanted to talk to him about his stay at the orphanage all those years. She sat down at the table and began her interview. An officer stayed in the room. After the interview, she left and Anthony went back to lockup.

That night Barry went over and over the things about his brother. He believed he was telling the truth, but there was something he wouldn't talk about. He could always tell when his brother was lying. Finally, about 2:00 in the morning he fell off to sleep. It was early the next morning when he heard a knock at his door. It was a young woman reporter.

"I'm sorry but I don't have anything to say," he told her at the doorway. "I don't know nothing except I believe my brother didn't do it."

"Can I come in for a moment?" she insisted. "I have some information you might want to know."

"Okay, come on in," he agreed, "but make it quick."

"You don't remember me do you?" she asked.

"Why, should I?" he replied.

"My name is Jo Meggin," she stated. "I was the girl who got thrown from my mama's car when you were pushed out in front of it."

"What!" he cried. "I don't remember very much about it except being in the hospital."

"I saw what happened," she replied. "I was looking out the window when I saw you and some other boys coming down the sidewalk. As we approached, I saw the boy with the brown coat on reach over and push you in front of our car."

"What are you saying?" he cried. "My brother didn't do it, but it was Nickolus?"

"That's what I saw," she replied. "But I do believe it was an accident. When we hit the tree, I hit my head and lost my memory. It wasn't until I heard about Anthony being arrested that it all started to come back to me."

"But how does this help my brother? Are you trying to imply that Anthony killed Nickolus because of me?"

"No," she replied. "I'm like you. There's more than meets the eye here."

"I've got to talk to Anthony again," he said.

"Can I come with you?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied. "Two heads are better than one."

Shortly, they entered the police station and asked the detective if they could talk to Anthony again.

"Sure," he said. "Have you got some information that I should know about?" questioned the detective.

"Not really," Barry replied. "But I may get some if you'll give me a chance."

Then they brought Anthony in, and Jo Meggin filled him in on what she had told Barry.

"It's true; Nickolus was the one who pushed Barry in front of the car that day. It was an accident. Nickolus was scared to death, and he didn't know what to do."

"Is that why you killed him?" asked Barry, "For revenge?"

"No, brother, I didn't kill anyone," assured Anthony. "That's not the reason Nickolus was killed."

"Do you know why?" questioned Jo Meggin.

"I don't really know for sure," he replied, "but I have an idea. Nickolus knew too much."

"Knew too much," she answered back. "What did he know?"

"One night he got up late to get a drink of water. When he passed by Sister Ann's room, he heard something. Carefully, he opened the door. There he saw Father O'Neal in the bed with her. Father glanced over to the door and saw Nickolus peeping in the crack of the door. Father O'Neal yelled at him and cussed him. Quickly, Nickolus closed the door and ran back to his room."

"Is that all?" replied Barry. "He caught them in bed together?"

Anthony sat a few minutes in silence. It seemed like he couldn't make up his mind to go on or not. He looked troubled and scared.

"What is it, Anthony?" cried out Barry. "What is it that you're not telling us?"

Squirming around in his chair, he dropped his head into his hands.

"You've got to tell someone," Meggin encouraged. "You have to let it go."

His eyes filled with tears as they listened to him.

"It was horrible," he cried as fear came across his face.

"What was horrible?" spoke up Barry.

"Father O'Neal," he answered back.

"What about the Father?" replied Jo Meggin.

"He's a monster!" cried out Anthony as he jumped up from the table.

"What do you mean, Anthony? What are you talking about?" replied Barry.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you," he said. "But don't tell the detective because I don't want to be his next victim."

"Okay," agreed Barry.

"One day in late summer it was pouring down rain. Nickolus and I slipped down to the basement of the orphanage. We were playing around like always. In a few minutes, we heard someone coming so we hid. It was Father O'Neal. We were as quiet as mice; we were afraid he would catch us. As we watched, he went over to a wardrobe, opened the door, and stepped inside. We quietly watched as he closed the door behind him and waited for him to come back out. In a few minutes the door opened and he stepped out. As we watched, we saw him hang the key on top of the wardrobe and leave.

We waited a few minutes to be sure he was gone. Puzzled and not understanding, Nickolus looked at me and I looked at him. We ran over to the cabinet, got the key, opened the door, and stepped in. There was nothing. There were no shelves, nothing but a box with a top and four sides. Then I laid my hand on the back of the cabinet and the back gave. I began to feel around and found a caved in handle that I slid to the side. It opened and there was a tunnel before us. Slowly we made our way through it, and we began to smell a terrible odor. It was the same foul odor we smelled up in the orphanage from time to time, but here it was stronger. As we went on we came to a door. When we eased the door open..."

Then he stopped and shook his head from side to side.

"I can't go on," he cried. "I have said too much."

"You have to wake up and face your fears, Anthony," encouraged Barry. "What did you see?"

"I can't. I want to go back to my cell. Barry, you promise me you won't tell," he said. "But, I will tell you this. When we opened that door we ran like hell. That's all I am saying." Then he banged on the door, hollering for the jailer. "I'm ready to go back to my cell.."

As they were leaving, they ran into the detective.

"Well?" he said.

"Nothing much," Barry replied.

"Are you sure?" questioned the detective.

"Barry, tell him. You have to," said Jo Meggin.

"Tell me what?" replied the detective.

"Barry promised Anthony he wouldn't tell," she scolded, "but I didn't promise."

"Let's go into my office," he said, "and you can fill me in. I would appreciate anything that would help solve this case."

As Jo Meggin began to tell him what Anthony had told them, Barry opened up also.

"I see," he replied. "We have suspected the Father for years for those missing children, but, for some strange reason, we could never get the proof. We have searched the orphanage time and time again and came up with nothing. That's the reason Nickolus was probably killed--he knew too much. Father O'Neal was probably standing in the hall when Nickolus and Anthony were there also. Then he saw a way of getting rid of both of them. He killed Nickolus, framed Anthony for the murder, and hid the pipe in Anthony's mattress. He probably thought we would arrest Anthony for Nickolus' murder. The Father underestimated Anthony; he never dreamed Anthony would run off. The two boys were so frightened of him for what they saw in the secret chamber, they kept quiet. Probably afraid they'd be his next victim. I believe we have enough for the judge to grant us a search warrant. Come with me. We'll go by the courthouse and see him."

He instructed three or four of the officers standing there to meet him at the orphanage in thirty minutes. When they got there, Sister Ann met them at the door. They served her with the search warrant and asked if Father O'Neal was there. She said she hadn't seen him since late yesterday. Then they proceeded in. Anthony was with them. As they made their way to the basement, Sister Ann followed. When they got there, Anthony showed them where it was. But there was no wardrobe. There was nothing but a block wall.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" the detective asked.

"I'm sure," he answered.

Then the detective turned to Sister Ann. "Do you know what happened to the wardrobe that sat here?" inquired the detective.

"No, not really," she replied. We had a rummage sale last year. It might have been sold in it."

Then one of the officers found a half bag of mortar and a trail. Picking up a hammer from a nearby table, the officer began to tear out the block wall where Anthony showed them. You could tell the wall hadn't been up very long. Suddenly the wall started to break. Anthony was right. There appeared to be a tunnel, and the foul odor lingered. Finally, they broke all the way through.

Sister Ann began to cry, defending Father O'Neal and saying that he was a sick man. As they traveled down the tunnel they came to a door. Slowly, the detective eased it open. There they found the sixteen missing children's skeletons hanging from the ceiling. As he looked around he saw no windows. The walls were sealed with black tar and plastic. Some of the skeletons had fallen from the rafters and lay on a rat-infested floor.

"Let's get out of here," ordered the detective.

When they reached the basement, the detective told the officers to search the home top and bottom for the priest. He turned to Sister Ann for answers.

"Tell me about what has been going on here!" he demanded. "You are right about one thing. Father O'Neal is a sick man if he has done this. Why in God's name would he do something like this?"

"I don't know for sure," she cried. "But I know he said the children were disobedient, and they had a devil in them. So he beat them and hung them up to die to get the devil out of them. When the evil spirit was gone then they would go to Heaven. This was an old ritual, in the church years ago. He thought he was doing the Lord's will."

The detective shook his head. Then she went on.

"Father O'Neal is not his real name," she said. "His real name is Richard, Richard Massey. He spent five years in a mental hospital in Florida. Two of them were in lockdown. One day during a visit from a priest, he managed to kill him and take the priest's identity and walk away a free man. For years he was a recluse. When the voices that tormented him were all but gone, he thought he was well and became a priest."

"You seem to know him quite well," replied the detective.

She them turned to him and said, "I love him. No one knows him as well as I do."

"So you've been sleeping with him," he stated.

"Yes, I have. He's a good man," she replied. "He just has some problems."

Then suddenly an officer ran in and shouted, "Detective we've found him! You need to follow me, sir."

Quickly he turned and left the basement. The crime scene began to unfold. As they followed the officer upstairs to the Father's bedroom, they found him hanging from a beam that ran across the ceiling. He was dead. Then Sister Ann, seeing him hanging there, began to laugh hysterically and turned to the detective and said, "You can't get him now. He's beat you. I knew he was a brilliant man. No need to look further for him," she cried. "He's gone to Heaven."

"Get her out of here," he yelled. "She's as crazy as he was."

Then she began to fight. She was hysterical. She broke loose and ran out of the room and leaped over the banister to her death. The detective began to look around for a possible suicide note. He found one on the pillow of his bed. He also saw the priest's personal Bible, a letter, and a photograph. He began to read.

'I can no longer hide the devilish rage that drives me. The voices that I hear have driven me insane. I was married once later on my wife died. We had two boys, a set of twins. I put them in an orphanage in Arkansas because I couldn't take care of them. They stayed there until they were ten. Then I had them moved here. I recognized I had some problems, but I didn't know where to turn for help so I disappeared. My sons' names are Barry and Anthony.'

The two boys couldn't believe it. An officer took them out of the room and back downstairs. Then the detective turned to Jo Meggin.

"I wonder what will happen to the school," she asked, "and Barry and Anthony?"

"I guess they'll close the orphanage down," he replied, "unless they send another priest. The twins it's going to be hard on them to overcome it all. But, they are strong."

"If you don't mind," he said, "can you hold off on your story for a couple of days before you print it? I'd like to go back over something. I'll give you a copy of my report."

It wasn't long before the case of the sixteen missing children was closed. The church closed the orphanage. The twins left and went their separate ways. Barry went back to Kentucky. He and Jo Meggin dated some, on and off, and then she returned to Jackson, Mississippi and finished her first short novel. Anthony disappeared. No one ever did know much about him.

Years later, the church decided to reopen the orphanage and school. A lot of work went in to fixing it up. It needed a new, modern facelift to help remove its haunting past.

Finally, the day of resurrection had arrived in the little town of Running Meadow. Everyone was excited about the new school and orphanage, but no one was more excited than the new headmaster, Father Anthony.

As time passed, the orphanage grew and became the pride of the town. Then one day a report came in, a child was missing and no one had seen him. The town began to panic. Had the haunting of the past come back?

In a few days the missing child was found in Alabama. He had run away.

*****

When Autumn Falls

Portland 16 Miles

It was a beautiful June day in 1947 as I drove along the highway into Portland, Tennessee. I am Clint Forrester, a reporter for the Nashville newspaper, Tennessee Times. The paper had asked me to do a feature story on the Strawberry Festival in Portland. Every year, Portland, known as the Strawberry Capital of the World, holds a big festival celebrating its harvest and workers. It is a big event for people in northern middle Tennessee. Any given family on any given day driving into Sumner County would see a sign that read "Portland 16 miles". But this week is special; everyone is headed for this year's Strawberry Festival.

As I entered the city limits, I noticed some buildings on the south side of the road, a train depot, several stores, markets, and shops. I couldn't help but notice a large berry field and pickers working. The fields were bright with red berries on both sides of the road. The pickers were scattered about in the field, working two rows at a time. Other pickers brought in the harvest in quart containers, filling the crates up to get ready for the markets.

In mid town there was a park, where a carnival had been set up. There were rides including a Ferris wheel, merry-go-round, flying swings, rides that flip, twist and turn about, and a lot of kiddie rides. There were many games of chance; you could win teddy bears for your sweethearts, what-cha-ma-call-its, balloons, and thing-a-ma-jigs. There was a hoochie coochie show, fortune teller, and live camel rides; everywhere you looked there were posters announcing the strawberry dance and talent show. I have to say Uncle Bob's Carnival World out of Alabama has one of the greatest shows around. They had a little bit of everything—even strawberry fizzes with a touch of scotch.

I had just arrived in town, and had a few minutes to spare before I went out into the fields to interview the workers. Suddenly, I saw a sign that read "Jessie and Harve's Barber Shop." As I parked, I noticed a barber pole slowly turning with a touch of a squeak. The windows in the shop were open, and as I stepped through the doorway I felt a slight breeze. I saw four or five men sitting around the wall. Two men were playing checkers; one man was whittling a piece of wood, dropping his shavings in a wooden box with his tobacco juice. At first they didn't say anything, but when I introduced myself things opened up. There was a young man sitting in one of the chairs getting a cut. I recall the barber called him Herbert. The two barbers spoke up and welcomed me in.

One said, "My name is Jessie and this is my brother Harve."

"What can I do for you?" spoke up Harve.

"I could use a light trim," I said.

As I sat down in the chair, he quickly whipped an apron around me, snuggled it in around my collar, and pumped up the chair a lift or two.

"You are not from around here," said Harve as he blew into the teeth of the clippers.

"No, I'm not," I replied as I heard the clippers come on.

I explained my visit and I encouraged everyone to feel welcome to pitch in any information that I could use in my article. Then they opened up like magpies. Everyone started talking at once. One man even stood up and did a little soft shoe for us. He had danced once in a dance contest, but he laughed and slowly sat back down and said he was too old now. The man beside him called him by name.

"Winfred, I believe you're too old now," he laughed. "You can't even cut the mustard anymore much less a little soft shoe."

Then he shuffled his feet a bit too and laughed. Then Jessie turned and asked me, "That article you are writing...will it have any pictures?"

"A few," I replied.

"What about a picture of Harve and me and the barber shop?" he said. "Business gets a little slow around here at times. We could use the publicity."

Then he laughed. The boy in the chair looked around and grinned.

"What about it Herbert, do you want in the picture, too?"

The boy slipped out of the chair saying no to his picture in the paper.

"How much, Jessie?" he asked.

"A quarter will be fine, Herbert. Didn't you want me to do anything to the cowlick?" asked Jessie.

"No, it's fine," he replied.

Slowly he reached down into his overall pocket and pulled out a quarter.

"I'll see you," he said. "Thank you. I have to go."

"What's wrong with Herbert?" asked one of the men. "He acted like he was a little spooked."

"Oh, Herbert is probably alright," stated Harve. "He's a little strange at times. Someone said he was a little slow, kinda touched."

Herbert was a tall lanky boy who wore wire-rimmed glasses. His pants were cut between his knees and his ankles; his belt looked like it went around him twice while his shirt flopped loose as he walked. He had straight brown hair that stuck out from under his tam hat.

"Is he from around here?" I asked. "Does he have any family here?"

"No, sir, not really," Jessie replied. "I guess we can say we are his family."

"Someone said," Winfred interjected, "that Herbert was from up in Kentucky somewhere near Ohio. What was the name of that place? Carlton or Kerry? No it was Carrollton, Kentucky. They said it was about forty-two miles from Cincinnati, Ohio where the Ohio River and the Kentucky River meet."

"Well," interrupted Jessie, "he's a good boy and well thought of around here, regardless if he is a little slow or where he is from."

Then I heard Harve quickly wiping the razor up and down the strap, putting a smooth clean edge on the razor. As he led the razor from side to side, he eased back the chair and brushed on the soap with a small round brush. As he lathered up my face for a shave, the last thing I remembered was the sparkles I saw at the razor's edge. Next, I swallowed.

"Lie still," he said.

Within minutes it seemed like I was upright in the chair and Harve was removing the apron. With a dash of powder about the back of my neck and a splash of barber shop cologne about my face, I was done. I asked him how much.

He said, "No charge. You are doing a story on the strawberry festival, that's pay for us all."

I turned and thanked him and stepped out to my car to get my camera. I went back in, snapped a few shots and thanked them again.

As we waved and said our goodbyes, Winfred spoke up and said, "Don't you want to take a shot of my smooth steps?"

I replied, "I wouldn't leave Portland without it."

Everyone laughed and waved as I drove off. After I left the barber shop, I headed to the field outside of town to interview some of the workers.

I was told many of the pickers were from neighboring towns. They would bring them in on the back of pickup trucks and school buses. The migrant workers rode in on the train. There were only a few migrant families that traveled the harvest circuit.

As I pulled up beside the road, I grabbed my camera for some quick shots. It was a beautiful, sunny day with a breeze blowing close to the ground. I know those pickers felt blessed to enjoy it. They call it cotton britches winter, the last of the spring winter. Cotton britches winter usually fell around the first of June.

There had been plenty of rain last spring. It would be good for the berries if it didn't rain too much. This year the berries were blushing a deep red. They were sweet with dark green caps.

"It looks like a good harvest," said one worker.

I stood back out of their way as some of the workers brought in their berries. I watched the woman who worked in the crate house. She took the pints of berries the workers had picked and fixed them to be crated up. Two pints made a quart, four quarts made a gallon and sixteen quarts—eight quarts a layer and two layers—make a crate of berries, at ten cents a quart. Each person was tallied up and their time and money was kept on a card. On the following Friday they would turn in their card to get paid. Some growers requested pickers to cap the berries, which was slower. I couldn't help but notice some workers started on the same end of the rows while others started on both. I asked the woman in the crate house about it, and she told me on the long rows, two workers start on opposite ends and meet in the middle. She also told me that the grower would take the workers to the carnival on Saturday night so they could have some fun.

After several interviews, I started making my way to the car when I saw Herbert taking a break. I thought I would say hello since we didn't get to talk much at the barber shop. I sat down beside him. He was eating a biscuit with butter and syrup. He told me he'd been picking since he was fourteen. Then he started on another biscuit, but this time he had dressed it with mustard. He told me mustard and cold biscuits were his favorite. Then I asked him if he was looking forward to the carnival. That was when I noticed his hands shaking. Before he answered, he must have caught me staring. He stood up and said he had to get back to the field.

"I'll see you," I called. "Thanks for the talk."

Quickly, he tore off to the end of a row and started picking.

I spent the rest of the day window shopping, talking to people, and enjoying the festival. After a few hours I made it back to my room at the Russell Hotel. The hotel was not far from Midtown Park. From the open window, I could hear the music of the rides, people laughing, and the sound of the train pulling into the depot. I lay down on the bed to relax and fell right off to sleep.

When I awoke three hours later, I heard a man yelling, "Popcorn, come and get your hot popcorn." Night had fallen and through the window I felt the warmth of the night along with the sounds of the carnival. After a quick bath, I rushed out the door eager to join the fun outside. I really didn't know where to start. The carnival seemed so big at night, and the park was filled with people. As I began to move about thinking maybe I might pick up some more ideas on my article. Then the craziest idea ever hit me. I wanted to ride the camel. It was different than I thought. I fell off. The trainer picked me up off the ground and made sure I was alright. I was a little jarred and covered in straw, but I was okay. I quickly disappeared into the crowd, hoping no one would recognize me as the man who fell off the camel. I made my way across to the food and agriculture barn. When I arrived the judges had selected the winners of the baking contest. First place was a cream cheese strawberry pie from a woman in Franklin, Kentucky. Then my eye caught the catch of them all. A nearby booth was selling dog dumplings. I had never heard of them, and asked the vendor what they were.

He explained, "We take a ham bone and boil it. Then we make our dumplings out of meal and some other things that's a secret. Next, we spoon up the meal mix into a ball and then drop it into the boiling water. You want to try one?" he asked.

"Sure," I replied. "They look good."

He fished me one out and placed it on a plate. I took a bite, and it was nothing like I had ever eaten. It was delicious. Then he asked me if I wanted a bowl of white beans and roasted corn.

"You bet," I replied.

"Do you want hoe cakes or hot water cornbread?"

"The cornbread," I replied.

I walked over to a table and sat down to eat. When I got up, I could hardly hold another bite. What would tomorrow night be like? After my food settled down, I did manage to work in a few rides before I called it a night. A cake walk, a dance, a talent show, and hay ride were ahead to look forward too.

Morning came early, and I rushed over to the courthouse to do research work on the past history of the Strawberry Festival. There were only two more days of the festival and I had already gotten enough information and pictures to write a book. As I was reading some of the old Portland papers, I came across a story not directly linked to the strawberry festival. A Portland man, Gilbert or Albert Griffin I couldn't make it out, was being sought for questioning in a murder case in Louisville, Kentucky. The Portland native was last seen with the victim, Willie B. Long, outside the Blue Diamond Bar in Louisville. That was all the article really said. I then decided to turn in. It had been a long day.

The next day, I went out to the fields again. Most of them had been picked. There was nothing left but little green nubs left on the vines. I decided I would like to spend some time with the migrant families and get their side. Manuel told me they had enjoyed it and they as a family had done pretty good. He added that some years you do better than others. This had been a good one. When I asked him where they were from, he told me Laredo, Texas. I asked if he was homesick. He nodded his head and went back to work.

The day passed and night eased in. The night sky was starry. It had been another beautiful day. I would have to say the Lord had been good to us. Everyone was gathering in Midtown Park for another rendezvous with the fun and excitement. That night I made my rounds, talking to people and joining in the fun. I did the cake walk and won twice, a coconut cake and a chocolate pie. The egg toss was fun along with the sack race. But I stayed away from the greased pig, instead trying my luck with the tug-of-war.

As I walked by the hoochie coochie show, the girls winked, but I acted like I didn't see them. Walking on, I came upon a fortune teller named Rosey and her friend Bebe who wanted to read my palm. I figured, why not, so paying her I sat down at the table and held out my hand. She took it and gently moved her finger up and down the creases in my palm. She had dark hair and skin and her hands and knuckles were covered with jewelry. She had on a long flowing dress and had an appealing accent. Her assistant was short with shoulder length hair and a mole beside her nose.

The fortune teller stopped and started telling me things of my past. A lot of them were true. I was amazed. Then she quickly closed my hand, holding my hand tightly in hers she said, "The land seems barren and lies at rest from the harvest. It seems to cry out for the rape of its fruit. The wind hovers low above the ground. While tonight the land lies await with its victim and then it returns to its rest. For the berries are blood red." I passed it off as mumbo jumbo and got up and moved away. Then she cried out, "The night cries out, vengeance!" I laughed and walked on.

Early the next morning I went back over to the courthouse. I needed to do a little more work on my feature. After spending several hours going through boxes of papers, documents, and old newspaper articles, I ran across some more updated information on the Portland man and the Louisville murder case. Evidently, they picked up Gilbert Griffin, the Portland native. After the interrogation by the Louisville police, they released him of all charges and arrested Maynard Falls with the murder. I didn't think anymore about it after that.

Tomorrow I thought I would be headed back to Nashville. I had kept in touch with the office the best I could. Some of the telephone lines are six-party and it makes it hard to get through.

As the day soon passed, I heard a lot of noise outside my window as Uncle Bob's Carnival World was tearing down and packing up the rides and booths. They were heading out to their next stop, wherever that may be.

Later on this evening they would be having a hayride, along with this year's crowning of the strawberry queen, awards, and end with the festival dance. Everyone was still as excited as they were on the first day. No one seemed to be thinking that in a few hours it would all be over.

That afternoon when the Massey-Ferguson tractor pulled up with a load of hay, they jumped on the wagon and headed down Main Street. "What it would be to be young again," I thought. By now, the carnival had left Midtown Park and a stroll would have been nice, until it started to rain. Quickly I took off for the agriculture hall where they were having the dance. The closer I got to it, the faster and harder the rain fell. Then all of a sudden I heard screaming and hollering. I quickly turned around as the hayride pulled in. They were soaked and covered with straw from head to toe. I had to get a picture. You should have seen them. The night was still young, wet but young.

As the evening went on, Elizabeth Russell was crowned this year's queen. I took a picture of her. She was a pretty girl. Then after the crowning, the local band got ready to kick the dance off. Everyone was anxious to get out on the dance floor. Even though it was still raining, they weren't going to let anything water down their fun.

Suddenly, the band leader yelled out, "1, 2, 3!"

Then they hit the dance floor, except me and a very few others. They were jumping and hollering to the beat of the music. As I slowly looked about the room, I suddenly saw Herbert sitting over by the door. I sat down and asked him how he was liking the dance.

He replied, "It's okay."

I asked him was he going to dance.

He said, "No."

I replied, "A good looking man with those long legs is not going to dance?"

"No," he replied. "I don't dance."

I laughed and said, "Me neither."

We sat a while and made small talk. I couldn't help but to notice him looking out the door, but I never said anything to him about it. I guess he was waiting for the rain to slack up. In a few minutes, he pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. At the snap of the closing of his watch, he stood up and said he had to go home.

I offered to take him but he insisted to go alone. He said he knew a short way. I watched him disappear into the rainy background of the night, then I turned back to the dance floor. This band was really good. I couldn't hold my feet still. They wanted to dance but my butt held fast to the chair. Then about forty-five minutes later Herbert bust through the door.

"A dead woman, a dead woman!" he screamed.

Then Carson Wilson, the police chief of Portland, ran over to him.

"What is it Herbert. Where's she at?"

As Herbert fought to get his breath, he finally slowed down enough to talk.

"Now, Herbert," he said, "tell me what you saw."

"Chief Wilson, I was on my way home. I took the short cut I always take through Witcher's Field when I stumbled on a dead woman laying face down on the ground."

"Okay, son, can you take me to the body?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," he replied.

Then Chief Wilson spoke up to the crowd, "I need a few men with flashlights to go with me. The rest of you stay here."

I quickly jumped in to follow him. You could see the fear in the people's faces. Nothing like that had happened in Portland before.

"Only in the big city," one cried.

"There's a murderer out there," cried another.

Then Chief Wilson stood up on the stage and whistled out loud. "Folks, the festival is over. Go home. There's no need for panic. You will be safe at home. It's probably someone passing through or an isolated case. Go home, please, and lock your doors."

Herbert rode with Chief Wilson. Some jumped in their cars and drove to the field.

Others took off on foot and ran. I followed with the others not far behind. It was pitch black, not a star in the sky. The rain was falling hard on the cars, sounding almost like hail. The lightning streaked across the sky, haunting the night. When we arrived we pulled off on the side of the field and got out.

"Herbert, do you think you can find the body again?" asked the chief.

"Yes, sir," replied Herbert trembling all over. "I think I can."

"Good boy," encouraged the chief. "Let's go."

As we stumbled our way down the patch, the mud from the field almost pulled your shoes off your feet when you stepped. The light of the lightning helped us to see somewhat. Then all of a sudden, boom, and the cry of the thunder sounded as lightning struck nearby. We all jumped and the hair on the back of my head seemed to stand on end. Boom, the thunder sounded again as a streak of lightning lit up the field.

"Over here," cried Herbert. "Over here, Chief Wilson."

Quickly, we made our way to him and there, lying at his feet, was a body. As everyone shined their flashlight on the body, the chief looked it over. Then Chief Wilson asked the deputy to take Herbert back to the car.

"It's a woman alright. Does anyone know her?"

Everyone started mumbling to each other.

"We never seen her before," someone spoke up.

"Could it be a woman from the carnival?" asked one.

"I don't know," replied Wilson.

I listened to the whining sound of the Louisville CXC in the distance. It sounded so lonesome.

"That's where I'd be," said Wilson, "if I was the killer. I'd catch the train at the trestle where it has to slow down and I'd be out of here."

Then suddenly the rain began to taper off.

"Thank the Lord," spoke up one of the men.

"Look, chief, on the ground near the body."

As they flashed their flashlights to the ground, the chief bent down and picked it up.

"It's a token," he said wiping the mud off of it he read, "K. Fitzpatrick."

It was pretty worn.

"What about what's on the back," asked one of the deputies.

"It says one token," replied Chief Wilson.

Although they examined the scene for more evidence the rain had almost washed everything away. The coroner's office arrived on the scene to take the body to Gallatin, the county seat. Chief Wilson had called them on the way to the crime scene.

"When do you think you might know something, Hershel?" asked Wilson.

"It will take me a couple of days," he replied.

Early the next morning Wilson came by and asked me if I wanted to go.

He said, "You might get a big story yet."

I laughed and replied, "It seems to be going that way."

"This is probably one of the biggest things that has happened around here in a long time," he boasted. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir" I replied.

I cut the lights off as I went out the door. I had already called the paper and told them what had happened. They told me to stay on it. When we arrived in Gallatin, the county coroner, Hershel Hump, met us in the examination room.

"We have found out something interesting that you definitely want to see."

As Hershel pulled the body from the cooler he removed the sheet from the body. "She" was a man. We were shocked and at a loss for words.

"We couldn't tell in the field," replied Wilson. "It was dark."

"I understand," replied Hershel, "but I should know more of who he is by late evening. I have already sent the prints off."

"Would you believe that?" I said. "He did make up to be a convincing woman."

"An ugly one on top of that," replied the chief. "How would you like to wake up to that every morning?"

"No way," I replied.

Hershel had a glass eye that he would take out from time to time and slip into his pocket. Then he would put on a black patch over the eye. The Chief said he had been kicked by a mule when he was young, down in Alabama where he grew up. He kept his eye in a glass of water on his desk most of the time. When he squinted his eye a little bit too hard his glass eye would bulge out from under his eyebrow causing him to appear like he was giving you a hard look, but he wasn't. He was a comical fellow but sharp as a tack.

As we were leaving, Hershel stopped us to say, "The body was not killed last night but the night before."

On the way back to Portland, I was looking out at the fields when I remembered what the gypsy had said to me. I mentioned it to the chief. He wanted to talk to her. When we arrived back in Portland we checked her room. They were not there. We looked around town but didn't see them anywhere. Then all of sudden we saw them getting on the train. The chief yelled. They stopped and turned and got back off the train.

"Excuse me, ladies, but I would like to talk to you in my office if you don't mind."

"Would it make any difference if we did?" said Rosey.

"No ma'am," replied the chief. "I'm just trying to be nice."

"Young man," she said to me. "Would you be so kind as to take my bags?"

"Sure," I replied thinking to myself that these two characters must hold an interesting story.

We went inside.

"Okay, Rosey, you come with me, and Bebe you can wait in this room."

"Oh, thank you, Chief Wilson," she replied. "Can I call you chief?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "Now have a seat in here, Miss Rosey. I want you to tell me what you know about the murder."

"Is this a reading," she spoke up. "I'm going to have to have some money up front."

"No, ma'am, this is not a reading," he said. "I want you to tell me what you meant with Mr. Forrester's reading at the carnival the other night. He told me what you said, and it sounds like you knew the murder had already taken place."

"Oh, no," she said. "You're not going to pin a murder on me for some psychic reading. Mr. Forrester, tell him he can't do that. Can he? I want to see a lawyer."

An officer knocked on the door and called Chief Wilson out in the hall where another officer stood. As the two officers talked they kept looking in at Rosey. In a few minutes they entered the room.

"Miss Rosey, this is Officer Owens from Westmoreland. A few weeks ago when you and Bebe were staying at the Emerson Spring Hotel in Westmoreland and at the Cordell Hull Hotel in Gallatin, you were seen sneaking into other guests' rooms and stealing from them. Is this true?"

She didn't say a word. Then by accident, I dropped her bag she had asked me to carry for her. When it fell it opened and was filled with watches, rings, bracelets, and jewelry. I picked the bag up and emptied it out on the table. She quickly looked up at me like she was surprised.

"I must have picked up the wrong bag? Where did that come from?"

Officer Owens looked over the items. A lot of them matched the description of the stolen jewelry in question.

"Are you going to arrest me?" she pitifully asked.

"I want to talk to Bebe," replied the chief, "and hear her story."

He and Officer Owen left the room again for about forty-five minutes and returned.

"We may want to make a deal," said Chief Wilson. "If you admit to the thefts of the jewelry and give it all back and help us with the murder case, we will talk on your behalf to the judge to a lesser charge of theft under $500, a misdemeanor. If not you may have to spend some time in jail."

"I want to talk to Bebe!" she cried out.

"Bring her in," replied the chief.

Then they brought in Bebe. The officer stepped out of the room. In a few minutes Rosey motioned for them to come back in. They agreed as long as they didn't have to go to jail. Wilson agreed and felt no real harm in releasing them.

About that time Chief Wilson received a phone call. It was the coroner's office. The report was in. Quickly, the chief and I took off to Gallatin to meet with the coroner. The deceased was a Gilbert Griffin. His prints came up on the FBI print readout. He was wanted in Water's Edge, Kentucky for grand larceny from the Kentucky Federal Bank and Trust. Over the past eight years he had embezzled $125,000 from the bank. He was killed by strangulation. That was about all he had. The rain that night had just about washed away any other evidence.

"Can we go?" they replied.

"Don't leave town," he warned.

"Yes, sir," agreed Rosey as she started to take the bag.

"Oh, no," said Officer Owen.

"Oh, yes," she said. "I forgot."

"She's like that," warned Bebe. "She forgets easily."

About then, the FBI entered the room.

"Officer Wilson, I'm Toby Jenkins and this is William Douglas of the FBI. At this time we will be taking over the murder case of Gilbert Griffin. We would appreciate your help. You're welcome to work with us."

"We will do all that we can" replied Chief Wilson.

"I guess you know by now about Griffin and the stolen money. We would like to find the money if any way possible, and his killer also. We understand you are questioning a Rosey McNab and a Bebe McKnight."

"Yes, sir," replied the chief clearing his throat.

"That's good; we want to talk to them also. They worked at the bank in question during the same time and we believe they were blackmailing Griffin. Are you going back to Portland?"

"Yes, sir, we're through here," replied the chief.

"We'll follow you," stated Agent Jenkins.

As the chief and I raced to the car, we took off up the ridge.

"I sure hope they're still there," he said as he sped up.

The feds were not far behind us. The chief got on the radio to the office in Portland. He put out an all points bulletin on Rosey and Bebe. Shortly, a call came through. They were spotted walking along Highway 109 toward the Kentucky state line. He returned the call.

"Pick them up and bring them to the station," ordered Wilson.

"Going somewhere, girls?" asked the officer as he approached them.

"Oh, we were out for a walk," they replied.

"Okay, girls, get in. I have orders to bring you in," said the officer as he placed them into his squad car. I guess you were taking a walk across the state line."

While on their way back to station the officer kept noticing them whispering to each other. Soon they pulled up in front of the interrogation room, which awaited Chief Wilson, Clint Forrester and two strangers.

"Girls, I thought I could trust you," he stated.

"You can," they replied. "We only went for a walk, that's all."

"Across the state line!" he yelled. "Oh, by the way girls, I have someone I want you to meet. Ladies, meet Toby Jenkins and William Douglas of the FBI."

"FBI!" they cried. "What does the FBI want with us?"

"I like to say 125,000 reasons," replied Agent Jenkins. "Miss Rosey...."

"Just Rosey," she replied.

"We know that you and Bebe worked at the Kentucky Federal Bank and Trust at the same time Gilbert Griffin did. He was embezzling money from the bank. We are not sure if you are associated or were blackmailing him. When was the last time you saw Mr. Griffin?" he asked.

"I don't know, really," replied Rosey. "I guess when we left the bank, why?"

"Ladies, I hate to tell you but Gilbert Griffin is lying in the coroner's lab, dead," said Wilson.

"Dead!" cried out Rosey. "Oh, no, if you think we killed him, no way."

"He must be the one they found in the field," replied Bebe.

"Yes, he was," said Jenkins. "Now that he is gone, we would like to get back as much of the money we can."

"Oh, we don't have any of the money," ensured Rosey. "Do we, Bebe?"

"Oh, no, we live on our pension check," she said.

"The serial numbers on the money have shown up on some of the stolen money you have been spending," he stated. "Now how could that be?"

"Hogwash," laughed Rosey. "You have to be mistaken."

"What are you saying!" yelled Bebe. "Are you insinuating we are spending stolen money?"

"You could say that," replied Agent Douglas.

"Blackmail money," said Bebe. "How dare you."

"But if you could work with us to get back the money and find the killer it could be good for you in court," he stated. "But if not, you could have a lot of time on your hand."

"Can Bebe and I have a few minutes?" interrupted Rosey.

The officers left the room. A few minutes later they motioned for them to come back in. Accompanying the officer was the D.A. and a lawyer for the girls. After an hour of negotiating they came up with a plea bargain. The girls decided to work with them for their immunity. They stated that they received $50,000 from Griffin and that was all. They roughly estimated they blew $20,000 and the rest was in a safe deposit box in Cincinnati at the Ohio Federal and Trust Bank, deposit box #432-076-A4.

"Call it into the Cincinnati office and have them check it out," said Jenkins. "It will take a while."

"Now, what about the killer?" asked Douglas. "Griffin must have been out there that night to meet someone besides the killer. But who could it have been? The report states that something was found at the crime scene?"

"A token or something," replied Jenkins.

"Yes, sir, it was a token," replied Wilson. "It's in my office."

Then he handed it to Rosey as she gently rubbed it between her fingers.

"Rosey, can you tell us anything about it?" he asked.

Slowly she fell into a trance. Then she started to speak.

"The coin was lost as a child," she said. "It is a token for being good, but the one who dropped it was very bad."

Then she collapsed.

About that time a call came in for Agent Jenkins. It was from Cincinnati.

"The money was there," replied an agent.

Then he turned to the girls, "It's there," he said."

The girls sighed with relief.

I stepped out of the room and headed to my hotel room. I thought I would do my own investigation of the token. In a few days so much had happened. I first checked in at the paper. I told them I was working on a murder case. They told me to hurry for I had a new assignment coming up. They had already received my article on the Strawberry Festival and I believed I would have a good follow up story to go with it. I had some resources of my own I wanted to try.

The next two days I spent calling orphanages in Tennessee and Kentucky who used tokens for rewards. It was a hunch, but I was hoping the hunch would pay off. There were only but a few orphanages. When JK Fitzpatrick children's school in Carrollton, Kentucky came up it almost made it a sure thing. I remembered someone had said Herbert was from Carrollton, Kentucky.

I called a fellow reporter who worked with me on the Nashville paper a few years ago. Now he worked for a Cincinnati paper. I asked him to go to JK Fitzpatrick children's school in Carrollton, and talk to them about information on a Herbert Shaw. He said he would check it out for me.

I waited around for two hours for my friend to call back. Finally, the phone rang. Herbert's adoptive name was Shaw. His birth name was Falls. His daddy's name was Maynard Falls and his mother's name was Helen.

"That's the key!" I cried.

I quickly headed back to the station. I explained it to the chief and the others. Shortly they picked him up and brought him in for questioning. Herbert said he must have lost the token when he tripped over the body. But they didn't buy it, for some reason.

"Why did you take that way home that night?" questioned Agent Jenkins.

"I always take that way," he replied.

"Then if that's so why didn't you stumble on the body the night before when he was actually murdered," said Agent Douglas.

"Maybe he wasn't dead yet," he said. "I don't know."

When the detectives mentioned the orphanage, he became very nervous.

"Were you ever at the Fitzpatrick Orphanage?" asked Jenkins.

He replied, "Yes, sir. I was put in when I was ten years old after my mother died. My daddy left and I didn't see him anymore. I was adopted by Wendell and Kathy Shaw. I lived with them till I was sixteen when I ran away from home. Eventually, I came to Portland."

"Okay, Herbert, do you have some more to tell us? Don't you know a Mr. Maynard Falls," questioned Agent Jenkins.

Quickly, Herbert jumped up from his seat, but he was restrained by the other officers. Herbert sat quietly and stared down at the floor. Agent Jenkins began to speak.

"Now, Herbert, I'm going to tell you a little story and you tell me how right it is. I believe you were adopted by the Shaws. I also believe you ran away at sixteen to live with your natural dad, Maynard Falls. Sometime or another, your dad and you took a trip to Louisville. That night in the alley outside the Blue Diamond Bar, ya'll witnessed an argument and fight between Gilbert Griffin and Willie Long. Griffin killed Long but later on he was released. Your dad took the blame, a victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mr. Falls was found guilty of murder and spent the rest of his life in prison, an innocent man. By the time the cold case was looked at years later your dad had already died in prison. Son, is this what happened? Is this the reason you killed Griffin, for the revenge of your father?"

Slowly, tears formed in his eyes as he wiped them away.

"You must have carried a lot of anger through the years," said Agent Jenkins.

"What will happen to me now?" he asked.

"That's up to the judge and jury," replied the Agent Douglas. Then Agent Jenkins motioned for Chief Wilson to take him away.

Things got back to normal in Portland. The trial was set, the jury selected and a few weeks later they found Herbert guilty of the murder of Gilbert Griffin. He was sentenced to thirty years at Cockrill Bend in Nashville. Then two years later, Herbert was found dead in his cell. He had been murdered by Gilbert Griffin's twin brother, Albert.

By chance, Cockrill Bend had a hold on Albert Griffin. He was being held over in Nashville due to some paperwork mix up transferring prisoners across state lines. They were to transport him back to Eddyville State Prison in Kentucky pending another murder trial. Albert Griffin, while he was on parole, killed the man at the Blue Diamond Bar in Louisville. Gilbert Griffin embezzled the money from the bank.

Although time has passed since my visit to Portland, I still think of my stay there, which started only about sixteen miles from town.

*****

When Autumn Falls

3019 Flat Road

The heavy rain beat hard upon the ground about Cross Creek, Tennessee in 1968.

Night had fallen once again on the little community. It had been raining for two days, but the forecast called for it to clear off later on tonight. A cool autumn breeze divided the chill of the coming winter, from the passing of the summer heat.

Cross Creek in Madison County was no more than a turn in the road. It was a place you could easily get lost in, but find yourself if you went back the way you came. Madison County was the place where it was happening. It sat between the Tennessee River and the Tennessee Valley.

Not far from Flat Road was Stone's Lake. You could see a set of headlights bouncing in the darkness, on an old wagon road, as they approached from the back entrance of the lake. Occasionally, you could hear the bottom of the vehicle scrape the ground as it ricocheted from one low place to the other. At the end of the road, the car stopped and sat a moment in the quiet. Then a door opened, maybe two. In the distance you could hear beagle hounds barking, frogs croaking and jumping back into the water, and the sound of the traffic from the main road. Suddenly there was a click that faded off into the night, a thump and a long drag with heavy breathing. Splash went the water as the lake swallowed. Then it happened again. Slowly, the vehicle turned and the bounce of the red taillights vanished down the old wagon trail into the rainy night.

A few hours later the Sugar Tree Bar and Grill in Dog Patch, a nickname for that section of town, was rolling with excitement. It was the place to be in Cross Creek on Friday and Saturday nights. Everyone came here to soak the suds, dance, party, and have fun. Friday nights were fun, but Saturday nights were out of this world. Sugar Tree was filled with its regulars. The music was playing loud, talking filled the room, and the dense smoke of cigarettes cushioned the air making it hard to breathe. The bar was lined with customers with bent elbows as the smell of whiskey fragranced the atmosphere. The band was setting the mood.

If the temperature of the night dropped a little more, the rain would easily turn to sleet or snow. The night was still young and hopes were still promising.

"Rita, don't look now," I said, "but there's a good looking man staring at you."

"Who?" replied Rita. "What man, where?"

"Over at the bar, sis," I motioned, "the guy with the long coat."

"He's probably not looking at me, Kimberly," she said. "It's you he's looking at."

"Oh, come on, girl," I replied. "Don't you think men look at you? I do, I've seen them."

"Sure, Kimberly," she replied. "I'm too old now to catch anyone's eye."

"Well, I wouldn't say that. You still have a few more years in you," I encouraged. "I believe you're as young as you feel."

"Shh, he's getting up. Oh my God, he's coming this way," warned Rita.

Immediately, the two girls began to dolly up.

"He is good looking," stated Rita.

"Look at that curly hair and those eyes," I said, "and that smile. Did you see it?"

"Is this seat taken, ladies?" he asked with that big sexy smile.

"No, it's not," I replied as he sat down with his drink.

"First of all, my name is Stephen McCall," he said, "but my friends call me Jo Slim."

"Alright Stephen or Slim," I responded. "My name is Kimberly and this is my sister, Rita, my pretend sister."

"I see," he replied. "Hello, Rita."

"She says hello, Slim," I said.

As he lifted his drink, we lifted ours.

"Cheers to us all, cheers."

It wasn't long before the whiskey created small talk. Rita saw that he was only interested in me, like always. As the empty whiskey glasses filled the table, the conversation warmed up sweetly.

Rita interrupted, "Kim, I've got to get home. I'll see you tomorrow. Bye, now. Bye, Slim."

"Talk to you later," he replied. "I hope I didn't say anything wrong."

"Oh, no," I stated. "She's like that. Don't worry about it. She comes and goes. Now where were we?"

The smooth whiskey and the jive talk went on for two more hours. After Slim swallowed his last shot of whiskey, he smiled and told me it was time for him to go. I sat alone at the table, hoping I hadn't made a bad impression.

"Oh well," I thought, "who really cares."

I glanced at my watch. It was late and I needed to get home. I grabbed the bottle of whiskey by the neck, got up, and left. It was pouring rain when I left the bar. I reached over and turned up the radio to drown out the sound of the pounding rain.

"I hate rain," I yelled in frustration.

Carefully, I drove on until I came upon a stalled car beside the road. The hood was up and the flashers were blinking. As I eased up next to it, I looked to see if it was anyone I knew. Slim appeared from around the front of the car. I rolled down the window and asked him if he needed a ride.

"Yeah," he replied. "Will you take me to a phone?"

"Sure," I agreed, "get in. I live up the road; you can use my phone."

"Thanks a lot," he replied.

"It's a mess out there," he said as he got in the car. "I don't think it's ever going to stop."

"Yes, I was thinking the same thing. I hope I didn't say anything wrong at the bar?"

"Oh, no," he assured me. "It's not you, it's me. My wife and I are separated."

"Oh, I see," I replied. "How long have you been married?"

"About four years," he answered. "What about you? I don't see a wedding band."

"Married," I said. "He's out of town."

"I see," he responded. "Well anyway thanks in advance for letting me use your phone. Did you say you lived up this way?"

"Just around the next curve," I stated. "Right up there."

"3019 Flat Road?" he inquired.

"Yep, it's a dead end road and I live at the very end."

It wasn't long before the headlights of the car shined on the house. Hurriedly, we raced toward the house, trying to keep from getting soaked. When we reached the door, he grabbed me and pulled me into his arms. We kissed as I reached for the doorknob. With a twist of the knob, the door opened and we eased in, still holding each other. The shadow of a small light near the stairs accented the staircase. He lifted me in his arms and carried me upstairs.

"I'm so glad we met."

All was quiet downstairs. The slow ticking of the clock and the chiming of the bells, one, two, and three was all you could hear. The rain had let up and fog was moving in. Slim and I stood arm and arm at the top of the staircase. Rita, who lives with me, was sound asleep in her room.

As we made our way downstairs, Slim asked if he could use the phone. I showed him where it was. I couldn't help but watch him make his call. He picked up the receiver, dialed the number, and then placed his finger down on the button where the receiver lay. I thought that was strange. He pretended to tell them he was running late and would be there as soon as he could. He thanked them and hung up the phone.

"Would you take me back to my car," he asked. "I want to see if I can get it started."

"Sure," I replied, "let me put on some clothes."

Hurriedly, I got dressed and we headed back to his car.

"I'm glad this rain finally stopped," he said.

"Me, too," I replied.

Shortly, we arrived and he got out. He tried his car again, but it wouldn't start. He raised the hood and looked around.

"Here's something," he said. "Let me try this."

As he crawled back inside and turned the key, it started right up.

"There was a wire loose," he stated. "I didn't see it before."

"Will I see you again?" I asked.

"Maybe," he replied. "I come through here often. I'll look you up."

"Yes, I'd like that," I answered.

He drove off and I headed for home. The fog was steadily moving in. The road appeared abandoned. It seemed like it took me forever to reach home. I peeped in on my sister. She was still asleep; she always was a sound sleeper. In my bedroom, I slipped on my pajamas and cuddled up in bed. I fell asleep, only to be awakened by the fog setting in. I could hear the sound of the fog creeping upon the windows. It made a squeaky clean sound of a damp cloth rubbing against glass. I covered my ears as the fog climbed the walls of the house and eased in under the door. It pressed against the outside walls causing the house to pop, crackle, and snap. Startled, I rose up in bed and screamed, waking myself from a terrible dream. My eyes searched about the room. I felt someone was there, but whom?

I asked, "Who is it? Is it you, Slim? Have you come back? What do you want?"

However, there was no one in sight. I lay back down, turned on my side, and pulled the cover about my face. I needed to get some sleep. I looked out the window and saw the fog. I thought I saw a face, but decided not to take a second look. I closed my eyes and fell back to sleep.

Morning seemed to come early. By the time I got up and slipped on my robe, Rita was already downstairs drinking a cup of coffee.

"Well, good morning," I said. "You're already up and at it."

"Yeah, you could say that," she replied. "How was your one night stand?"

"Not bad," I answered. "I noticed you turned in early. You want some more coffee?"

"Sure, give me a little," she replied. "I'm driving up to Nashville to see some friends for a couple of weeks."

"Oh, I see. You're going to Nashville to see some friends," I said, "and leave me here all alone."

"I want to get away," replied Rita. "The city might do me well. Have you heard from Phillip?"

"No, not yet," I answered. "But he should call soon. You might run into him in the city."

"I don't think so. Nashville is pretty big," Rita responded.

"Honey, could you reach the bag of white beans for me?" I asked. "I'm going to fix me some white beans and hoecakes for supper."

"These," said Rita.

"Yeah, that's them," I replied.

"Well, sis, I'll talk to you later," she cried. "I've got to get ready."

"Have a good trip," I replied. "If you see Phillip, tell him I love him."

A couple of days later, I was alone when the phone rang. When I answered, it was Phillip.

"Hi, honey," he said. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," I said. "When are you coming home?"

"It will be awhile," he stated. "At least a few more days or it could be a couple more weeks."

"That long," I replied. "I didn't think it would be that long."

"I know. I know, honey," he said. "It's all this scheduling and rescheduling. But, I'll make it up to you. You'll see."

"Well, I guess so, but please try to hurry back," I pleaded. "Rita's gone to see her friends and I'm here by myself."

"Well, I've got to go," he said. "I love you."

"Okay, baby, call when you can. Bye, I love you."

I have never felt so lonely. Everyone has abandoned me.

"Shh, what was that?" I whispered.

It was nothing but the floor creaking. I could feel a slight chill stirring so I looked toward the window to see if it was open. The curtain moved slightly but the window was closed. Suddenly, the phone rang and I reached to grab it. "It must be Phillip," I thought, but it wasn't. There was no one on the phone. As I started to hang up the phone, I looked at the clock; it was still early.

I decided to get out for a while. "I'll go down to the bar and spend some time," I thought. A little while later, at the bar, I was dancing the night away, kicking up my heels. I thought to myself, I wish sis was here. I know how she loves to dance." From time to time I looked around the room thinking I might see Slim.

"Another round of drinks," yelled a truck driver who announced he got his divorce today.

"I'll drink to that," yelled another man across the room.

The bar was crowded tonight with several new faces. If you listened close enough you could hear someone dropping coins into the jukebox. The band had the night off. Between the smoke, smell of whiskey, and a fight or two, I decided to call it a night and head home. I carefully eased out the door and headed to my car. It was dark as I rummaged around in my pocketbook for my keys when I heard something. It sounded like someone was following me. I quickly turned, but saw no one. I picked up my speed. I could hear the gravel of the parking lot crunching and popping behind me, which made me walk even faster.

"There are my keys," I said to myself.

I finally reached my car. I opened the door and jumped in, and locked it immediately. I quickly turned on the lights to see if anyone was there, but there was no one. Then I cranked the car and high-tailed it out of there.

Everything was going well until about two miles down the road. I noticed headlights approaching behind me fast. The road was narrow. I gunned it, but before I knew it, they were right on my bumper, racing their engine. The faster I went, the closer they got. It was so dark I couldn't tell who it was. Finally, they whipped around me. As they came up beside me, I saw it was a bunch of teenagers. When they passed, the one on the passenger's side yelled out the window.

"Get off the road!" they yelled.

I threw my hand out the window, flipped them off, and told him where to go. By then they were nearly out of sight. I rushed to get home before anything else could happen. I thought to myself of how much I needed Phillip. I wished he was home. Finally, I pulled in the drive, jumped out, and raced for the house.

"What else can happen?" I yelled.

As I entered the house, the phone rang.

"Who on earth can that be at this late hour," I mumbled as I answered, "Hello?" There was no one on the line. "Hello," I said again with frustration.

Then a voice said, "I know what you have done and I know where they are?"

"Who is this?" I yelled. "Know what; where who is?"

Click went the phone, but it rang back three more times. I looked toward the window. "What was that," I thought? I saw something outside. I raced over to the window to close the curtain.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I screamed as I fell to the floor. "What do you want?"

The phone rang again and stopped. Still crying and upset, I ran upstairs to my bedroom. It had been one heck of a night. I didn't know what in the world was going on. I practically ripped my clothes off, jumped into my gown, and leaped into my bed. What else can happen? Ring went the phone. I wondered if I should pick it up or not. Then it rang again. I started crying even more as I grabbed for the phone on the third ring.

"Hello," I screamed.

"Kimberly, is that you?" came Phillip's voice. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, Phillip," I sobbed. "Please tell me you are coming home. Please baby, I can't stay here by myself any longer."

"Okay, baby, that's what I called to tell you," he said. "Things are looking better and I should be home in a couple more days."

"That's great, Phillip," I replied. "I'm so happy. I feel so much better."

"Well, I've got to go," he said. "I'll see you in a couple of days. Bye, love you."

Click went the phone.

"But Phillip," I cried to myself. "I don't know if I can make it a couple more days."

I slowly eased down under my cover and drifted off to sleep. "A couple more days," I whispered, "a couple more days."

Out of the blue, I was awakened by the phone ringing. I glanced at the clock; it was 2:45 a.m. I was so startled I didn't know what to do. I reached for the phone only to pull my hand back. Ring, ring, ring it sounded. I decided to answer, "Hello."

A man's voice said, "Hello, Kim."

"What do you want? Who is this?" I shouted.

"Look across the room," he replied.

As I dropped the receiver on the bed, I glanced over to my side. Slim was sitting in the chair. I caught my breath. The balcony door was cracked a bit and the curtain that covered the door faintly moved with the breeze. I jumped out of bed and raced toward the bedroom door. He sat there and stared at me with a sick grin. I dashed for the door, ran downstairs to the kitchen, and grabbed a butcher knife. Slowly, I crept back upstairs with the knife pulled back to stab. When I entered the bedroom he was gone. I started screaming and running through the house. I grabbed the phone and called the police. It wasn't long until they were there. I explained to the officer what had happened. I told him I kept seeing something outside my window and hearing noises in the house. Officer James went in to look around while I explained everything to Officer Clint. I told him about the phone calls. He asked me if I lived by myself.

I said, "No, I live with my husband and sister, but they are both out of town."

He asked if there was anyone who would want to harm me, such as an ex-boyfriend, ex-husband, neighbor, or if I had any enemies. I told him not that I know of except there was this one guy named Jo Slim; he might.

"Who is he?" he inquired.

"He's a guy I met at the bar one night," I explained.

"Why would he want to harm you?" the officer asked.

"I don't know," I cried. "Why don't you find him and ask him. He was in my bedroom a few minutes ago."

"Do you know his real name?" Clint asked.

"He told me," I said, "but I can't remember."

Officer James returned and said, "Everything checked out." He turned to his partner and whispered, "The balcony door in her bedroom is locked from the inside."

"His name is Stephen McCall, that's his name," I replied.

"Okay, Mrs. Flat, everything seems to check out okay for now," said Officer Clint. "I'll see what I can find out about him and those phone calls. When will your husband return home?" he questioned.

I stated, "In a couple of days."

"Can you stay with anyone until he gets back?" he suggested.

"No, not really," I replied. "I'm not originally form around here and I don't have many friends."

"Well, call us if you have any more trouble," they said simultaneously.

As they drove off, I watched until they were out of sight. Hesitantly, I turned to go in. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the curtain from the upstairs window fall back into place as if someone was watching. I hurried back in, ran to the kitchen, and got my knife. As I crept about the house looking, the phone rang. I rushed to answer it and started screaming. There was no one on the phone. Then from the silence a voice replied, "I know what you have done. I know where they are."

I fainted. It was early the next morning when I woke up and found myself lying on the floor with the phone beeping beside me. Unfortunately, from the blackout, I couldn't remember much from the night before. Still in my gown, I went into the kitchen to fix me a bite to eat; a little toast with some butter and sugar on it. I had planned a lot for today, the best I could recall, but it too had slipped my mind. I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to finish my bouquet of crepe paper flowers. I love making them. They make such beautiful arrangements for the house. There came a knock at the door. I eased over to see who it was. With the chain still latched, I eased open the door.

"Yes," I said to the strange man standing on the other side.

"Excuse me ma'am," he said, "but my car has broken down at the end of the road, and I was wondering if I may use your phone."

"Why, by all means," I replied.

I opened the door and propped myself against the doorway. I was a little embarrassed as he felt me up and down with his eyes. I pretended I didn't notice and acted like I was not interested. He asked again if he could use my phone. I slowly eased my index fingers under the straps of my gown, letting them slowly slide off my shoulders. I stood naked before him with my gown cuddled about my feet.

"It must be the early morning air. It's so fresh and clean," I said as I turned to go in. "Bring my gown and I'll show you to the phone. Close the door behind you," I whispered.

Later on that afternoon there was a knock at the door. Peeping out the window, I noticed it was Officer Clint and another man. They asked if they could come in and ask me some more questions.

"Mrs. Flat," said Officer Clint, "this is Detective Johns."

I opened the door and replied, "Sure. Did you find out anything?"

Officer Clint reported, "I ran a check on Stephen McCall in the state driving license databank. It only turned up two people. One was a seventy year old man and the other one is deceased. We're still working on it. If he's from out of state, it will take a little more time."

"I don't remember if he is or not," I replied. "I wish I had paid more attention."

"Mrs. Flat, are you sure you're the only one in the house?" asked Detective Johns.

"Why yes, I am," I nervously replied. "Why would you ask that?

"We check the phone logs with the phone company," he replied. "Ma'am, the calls were made inside your house."

"What?" I cried.

"The phone company checked it twice to be sure," spoke up Detective Johns.

"Do you think someone is hiding in the house?" I pleaded. "Maybe I did see someone. Would you please check again before you go?"

The two policemen searched the house once again, looking in every nook and cranny.

"If someone was in the house they're not here now," said Officer Clint.

As the officers began to leave, I asked them if they saw a car broken down up the road. They said they didn't notice one.

"Should we?" asked Detective Johns.

"No, he must have gotten his car fixed," I thought to myself.

A couple of days had passed and I fixed a romantic dinner for Phillip because he was supposed to return that night. I couldn't wait. I had everything ready for a late night dinner for two. Thinking I heard a car, I went to the window to look out but I didn't see anyone. However, there was a car coming up the road; it stopped at the edge of the drive. It sat still with the engine running and lights on. I kept looking to see if it was Phillip, but I couldn't tell. I wondered why he would park so far away from the house. Simultaneously, the headlights went off and the phone began to ring. Immediately, I remembered what Detective Johns had said about the calls coming from inside the house. All of a sudden I started hearing footsteps upstairs. I looked quickly around the room and toward the windows. I hesitantly went over to the phone and picked it up.

"Hello," I answered, but no one replied. "Hello," I cried again.

Then a voice said, "I know what you have done. I know where they are."

I jerked the phone out of the wall and charged out the door. About half way across the yard I fell. Detective Johns and Officer Clint were watching my house from an unmarked car. When I fell, they jumped out and ran over to me. I was crying and so afraid. I didn't know what to do. Then I saw a figure of a man in the upstairs window.

"There, there," I screamed. "See him."

Officer Clint sprinted toward the house.

"He's upstairs," I screamed. "He's upstairs."

In a few minutes Officer Clint returned.

"I didn't see anyone, ma'am," he replied as he gasped for breath. "I don't understand, Mrs. Flat," said Detective Johns, "how it is that you can see him but we can't. It's like a ghost. The house seems to be clear."

"I don't know why," I cried. "I don't know why you can't see him."

"We will be on patrol around here tonight," he said. "We'll keep our eyes open and check back every two or three hours."

"Thank you, officers," I said. "Thank you so much. I am so sorry that I'm so much trouble. Please forgive me. My husband should be here any time now."

"Just where is your husband?" asked Detective Johns.

"He's in Nashville on a business trip," I replied. "He works out of town a lot."

"Have you ever thought of staying in a motel until he comes back?" he suggested. "That house is huge and there are several places for someone to hide if they wanted to," warned Detective Johns. "Ma'am if you don't mind, tell me your husband's name and where he is working in Nashville. I'm going to see if I can locate him."

"That's what I've been saying, detective. He's coming home tonight."

"If he's not here by tomorrow," replied Detective Johns, "I'm going to get in touch with him myself. What is his name?"

"Phillip Flat," I answered.

"And where does he work in Nashville?" asked the detective.

"The BMIC building; he's and accountant," I said. "He works for Cornerstone and Sun Firm."

"Try to get some rest," he replied. "We'll be back soon."

As the officers drove off, they started putting things together. There was something wrong at that place, but they didn't know what.

After they left, I went back into the house to wait for Phillip. I waited all night until I fell asleep sometime in the early morning hours. When I awoke the next day, he hadn't come home. I wondered what could have happened. Why didn't he call? I looked at the clock. I had overslept so I quickly jumped into the shower. While I was showering I thought I heard someone downstairs. I thought it was Phillip; he'd come on up. I had missed him so much. It seemed like he had been gone forever. We had a lot of catching up to do.

After my shower I slipped on my robe and headed downstairs for a late breakfast. When I got downstairs, I looked out the window. I didn't see anyone. I opened the front door and stuck my head out. The morning air smelled so good. I noticed the morning glories had spun their way up the rail on one end of the porch. It wasn't Phillip so I closed the door and headed for the kitchen. I decided to stay in.

Later on that day, a knock came at the door. When I opened the door, Detective Johns stood at the door; the other officer waited by the car. He asked me how I was doing and if I made it alright last night.

I replied, "Sure." He asked me if my husband came home and I said, "Not yet. Something must have come up at the last minute. I look for him later on this evening."

He said, "I came by because early this morning we got a call saying a delivery truck had broken down at 3019 Flat road. Have you, by any chance, seen a delivery man? The driver's truck is parked at the end of your drive. We looked around but didn't see anyone."

I told him, "I haven't, I overslept. I haven't seen anyone," I stated.

"Well thank you, ma'am," he replied.

But as he turned to leave, his eye caught a package sitting beside the door. He started to turn back to question me when the officer at the car yelled out, "We got a call, they have found two bodies in Stone's Lake."

"Sorry, ma'am, but I'll get back with you," he stated as he dashed to the car and took off for the lake.

A lazy laid back morning had turned into a screaming frantic. Sirens screamed from every part of town with police cars and the rescue team circling the lake. A full blown investigation was unfolding.

"We have two bodies, one male and one female," cried the officer.

About three hours later the excitement started to settle down. The bodies were transported to the morgue for examination and to be identified.

Detective Johns stopped back off at the house. He questioned me about my medicine bottle that was found at the crime scene. I told him the bottle had been missing for about two and a half weeks now. I thought I had lost it in the house, but I guess not. He asked me if I notified the doctor. I answered no because I didn't take it half the time anyway.

"Mrs. Flat, how did it get to the lake?' he questioned.

"I don't know," I responded.

"Mrs. Flat," he said. "There have been a lot of things going on around here that we need to clear up. First, has your husband come home?" he asked.

"No," I replied.

"Is he even coming home?" he questioned.

"I don't know," I replied.

"Well," he said, "we are going to have to take you in for further questioning."

"Am I under arrest?" I asked.

"No, not at this time," he replied.

"We need to clear up some things, like the delivery man. You said you haven't seen him, but I know he's been here because there's a package beside the door."

"Oh, it is," I cried. "I didn't notice it. He must have brought it when I was in the shower."

"Let's go," he demanded.

When we got downtown, I was escorted to the interrogation room.

"I'm going to make some calls," said Detective Johns. "I'll be back in a minute."

Shortly, he came back in.

"Mrs. Flat," he stated, "do you know a Dr. Martha C. Coley at the State Hospital in Nashville?"

"Yes, yes I do," I replied. "That's where I got my medicine."

"Well, I have talked to her and she has informed me that you do not have a husband. You are an only child. That you spent eight years under her care for manic-depression and schizophrenia. She said you suffer from depression, delusions, hallucinations, you hear things and voices, along with a wide variation of mood swings, and most of the time you live in a fantasy world. She also said that you were released to some friends of the family who lived at 3019 Flat Road. If I was a betting man," he challenged, "those two bodies in the lake are probably the people you lived with. Does any of this make sense to you?" he said. "Mrs. Flat did you murder those two people?"

I sat motionless. I never said a word. Tears beaded up in my eyes and my chin started to quiver. I was so afraid and so alone.

He stepped out of the room for a few minutes and then returned. They had identified the bodies. Johns was right. They were Kenneth and April Handshoe, the family I was staying with. When he came back into the room, he read me my rights. I was being arrested for the murder of Kenneth and April Handshoe.

A hearing date was set within a week to determine if I was mentally capable of standing trial, considering my mental state at the time of the crime. Detective Johns stayed close to the case. There was something that didn't seem right to him; I guess you would call it a gut feeling.

Meanwhile, the hearing came with the evidence presented in the case and my state of mind. After careful consideration, the judge put the case off for three months and sent me to the state mental hospital for more evaluation. The next day I was moved from the Madison County Jail to the state hospital in Nashville. It appeared there was going to be a rest in the case, until Detective Johns drove back up to 3019 Flat road a few days later to look around.

"Something is not right," he said to himself as he drove up in front of the house.

Carefully, he entered and began to look about. He was about convinced he was wrong until he noticed a beam of light coming through a crack in the wall. The upstairs attic was still dark, but there was some sunlight coming through the wall. He rushed to the wall to investigate. When he placed his hands on the wall, the wall gave a bit. He felt a small, loose section. Suddenly, his hand slipped and the wall slid open. When he opened the sliding panel, a hidden room appeared. In the room, he found a bed, some clothes, a slop jar, food, a bunch of pictures, and a notebook. There was a window across the room; it was where the light came from. He thought that was strange because he hadn't noticed the window from the front of the house. As Detective Johns looked around the room, he found pictures of me, the Handshoes and some other people he didn't recognize.

From the condition of the room it looked like someone had been there a long time. There was a phone in the corner. He picked it up and called in a request for a crime team. He fumbled through some old newspapers and some other papers lying about. There's where the story came together. What eased his feelings was when he looked inside the notebook.

According to the notebook I was not an only child; although I never knew it. It was kept from me. I had a twin brother. When we were born I stayed with my natural parents, and my brother, Jeffrey, was taken in by the Handshoes. For a while, everything went well for Jeffrey until the Handshoes started abusing him. They made him stay in the house and not leave. The Handshoes built the hidden room for him to live in. The abuse went on for years.

There was a copy of the birth certificate and some papers from the hospital. I was diagnosed in my early twenties of being manic-depressive and schizophrenic and so was Jeffrey, by a private doctor. Both of us were born with mental problems, but Jeffrey was far more advanced. He struggled with rages, anger, and the ongoing struggle of hearing voices. It looked like the case was taking a peculiar twist.

It was all written down in the notebook. Jeffrey admitted he killed the Handshoes for abusing him. When I came to live with them, he couldn't let them get to me.

Jeffrey had pretended like he was hitching down the road from the house and was picked up by Mr. McCall, the man I brought home from the bar. He killed him and threw his body in the lake, along with the body of the man that came to the door to use the phone. It went on and on; it was beginning to make sense.

Suddenly, Detective Johns went to turn around. There was a man standing in the door with a butcher knife drew back and ready to strike. He rammed the knife into his shoulder blade. He tried to fight him off, but he was as strong as three men. As they fought, somehow his gun holster strap had lodged about his gun, and he couldn't get it free. Twice more Detective Johns was cut across the face. His hands were cut up as he tried to defend himself from the knife. Tired and worn out, he finally freed his gun from the holster and shot the man. He stopped in his tracks, grunted, and as his eyes rolled back in his head; he buckled at the knees and then to the floor. Quickly, Detective Johns reached for the phone to call in. The crime team had already arrived out front. He had lost a lot of blood by the time they got to him. He told them there were two more bodies in Stone's Lake, or possibly more. As they were carrying him out, the team was gathering the evidence from the hidden room.

They kept Detective Johns in the hospital for a few days, and then he was released. He was off duty for a while. After the Judge received the new evidence and Jeffrey's testimony in the notebook, he released me of all charges, but I was to start back on my medicine. The case was closed.

It was about three weeks after I was released that Detective Johns found me at the Handshoe's house. He came by to see how I was doing. Every since he had been on the case he was amazed by it all. Still on medical leave from his cuts, from my brother's knife, he found a worse shock. He called it in. I committed suicide by hanging myself. Folded up in my hand was a baby picture of me and Jeffrey. As they were cutting my body down; the phone rang. Detective Johns went over to pick it up. He placed his hand on the receiver, suddenly stopped, and walked away.

*****

When Autumn Falls

Still Small Voice

For the first time in several years, I stood on the edge of the road in front of my old home place at Coldwater Creek in northern Georgia. The house was in ruins, beaten and weathered from years of neglect. The weeds were tall and swayed in the wind. It seemed as if they were voices crying out from the past. The dead trees with their naked limbs stood with their trunks covered in shabby bark. You could hear the whisper of the wind coming up out of the bottom, letting me know that cooler weather was getting ready to move in. The rustic and tarnished walls of the house seemed to reach out as the hole in the roof let the rain cry inside. This is where my life began and in a lot of ways ended. Everyone is gone – Mama, Daddy, and my little sister, Shirley Ann. As I gather my thoughts and look back, I can see it all over again as if it were yesterday.

It was in the fall of 1950 when I was eleven years old and Shirley Ann was nine. We were helping Mama rake leaves. But, we were doing more playing than raking. We'd rake up a big pile of leaves and then jump in and scatter them everywhere. I always loved the smell, carried by the breeze, of the burning leaves. After a few battles with the leaves and Mama getting onto us, I would lie down on the ground and Shirley Ann would cover me with leaves. She would walk around me and chant, 'dead man, dead man rise.' Whenever the notion struck me, I would quickly jump up from the leafy grave and chase her around the yard.

While Mama and we girls gathered and burned the leaves, Daddy was in the garden pulling up sweet potato vines. Frost was on its way and if you didn't pull up the vines, mow them down, or dig them up, the frost would go right down the center of the vines and turn the sweet potatoes black, ruining them.

On Sunday evenings during the summer, Daddy's brother and his family would always come over. Mama would cook a big meal, and after dinner, we played crochet and ate garden-fresh watermelon and cantaloupe. Some evenings we made homemade ice cream. Daddy and Uncle Bill, Daddy's older brother, were very close. Daddy's father died of a heart attack while he was plowing in the fields and his mother died from tuberculosis. He and his brother were taken in by friends of the family when they died. I was young when they died and don't remember them very well.

Halloween that fall, Shirley Ann and I dressed up and went trick-or-treating. Although there were not many houses up on Coldwater Creek, we still got quite a bit of candy. Thanksgiving, Uncle Bill and Daddy killed a wild turkey and they did the same for Christmas. A big snow fell that Christmas on Coldwater Creek, about six inches. Everyone was saying it was one of the biggest in a long time. Santa was good to Shirley Ann and me. We got a few toys, some candy, and we both got a new dress. But what Mama gave me made me speechless. She gave me my first diary so I could write down my innermost private thoughts. I was so happy. At first, I didn't know what to write. Mama saw I was struggling with it so she took me in her arms and whispered to me, "It will come to you; be patient."

Dear Diary,

December 25, 1950

Mama gave you to me as a Christmas present so I could keep my thoughts always in my memory. I love you as my best friend, a sister you could say. I want to give you a name. Now let me see. I know, I'll call you Angel. You will be my guardian angel. Merry Christmas, Angel. Bye, for now.

Angel,

1951

It has been a good year. On my 12th birthday, Mama bought me some paper dolls. Shirley Ann wanted to play with them, but I wouldn't let her. The summer was long, hot and dry. I don't remember getting much rain. Fall was pretty. Mama and I raked leaves and watched the squirrels gather nuts. I don't know what's wrong with Daddy. Whenever he's outside and hears an airplane go over, he takes off running into the house and hides under the bed. He says they're after him. That's all he tells us. Winter was cold. Daddy and Uncle Bill had to cut a lot of firewood. Well, I guess I'll close for now. I really don't have anything much. Shirley Ann turned ten this year.

Dearest Angel,

1952

The year started off good until we got word that Uncle Bill had died. Daddy took it awfully hard. Will you watch over him, Angel, and Mama too?

After Uncle Bill died, Daddy couldn't let it go. He seemed to change overnight. He was drinking more and staying out late. He and Mama was arguing and fussing more. It turned our world upside down. Nothing was ever the same after that.

I remember the first time I saw Daddy hit Mama. I was so scared I ran up to my room as fast as I could and locked the door. When I heard footsteps approaching my door, I huddled under my covers and tried to hold back the tears. The footsteps stopped on the other side of the door. I noticed the doorknob begin to wiggle and I heard a soft thump on the door. I figured it was Daddy resting his head on the door. He whispered, "I'm sorry, baby girl." That became the turning point in my life.

Dear Angel,

1952

It was at Uncle Bill's funeral that I first remember Daddy putting his hand on my leg. As they played some songs, he slowly placed his hand on my knee and moved it up and down a bit. I just froze in my seat; I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if I should jump up and get away or what? I was so scared. I don't think Mama saw. It seemed like forever, but within minutes he lifted his hand away. As I turned toward Mama, she gave me a kiss on the top of my head and brushed my bangs out of my eyes. Back at home when I was laying on my bed, I heard footsteps outside my bedroom door. Daddy would sometimes open the door slightly and peep in, or sometimes he called my name, Christy, but I wouldn't answer. Sometimes I would wake up and he would be standing beside my bed. I would ask in a startled voice, "Daddy what are you doing?" He would always say, "Just checking on my little girl."

As time passed, Daddy never did that again. He still hugged Shirley Ann and me. He played with us when he wasn't too tired. But, there was still a side of him I didn't know or understand. And that was when he was drinking.

When he was drunk we all tried to stay away from him. Mama, bless her heart, was always caught in the middle. The more Daddy drank, the farther he got from being the daddy we knew. Mama and Daddy began to fuss and fight even more. Daddy was always accusing her of having a boyfriend. He'd come in and search the house looking for him. One time he even took his shotgun and shot holes in the ceiling because he thought she was hiding him in the attic. I remember that day like it was yesterday. The neighbors heard the shots and called the police. Shirley Ann and I cried as we held onto Mama's dress. The police wrestled Daddy out the door and placed him in the police car. He was kicking and screaming that he would kill him. Mama explained the situation to the officer and he understood. He told her he would take him to jail for the night and let him sleep it off. As they drove off, I remember seeing so much hurt and hatred in Daddy's eyes as he looked at us through the back window of the police car. The neighbors were still standing on their porches when we went back in the house. Mama tried cleaning the mess with trembling hands, but she just broke down and cried.

Daddy was released the next morning. We went with Mama to pick him up. He was quiet and didn't have much to say. He said hi to us and that was it.

"I'm sorry, baby, it won't happen again. I just lost it," he said to Mama as he put his hand on her knee.

Mama picked his hand up and put it on the seat.

"I understand, baby, that you're upset. Things are going to be different now. I've done a lot of thinking about it, you'll see."

"That's what you say every time," she replied. "But it never gets any better, only worse."

"I don't blame you for not believing me," Daddy said. "I know things haven't been right, but I'm telling you, Pauline, it's going to be different this time. I know it," he cried. "So, girls, you're still daddy's girls aren't you?" he asked.

"Sure, Daddy," we replied.

I prayed for all of us that it would be different this time. But, I had my doubts.

Guess who? It's me!

1952

Hi Angel,

Things have been pretty good. Daddy has stopped drinking. It has been three weeks now. I'm so proud of him. He's really trying to make things better for us. He and Mama are like teenagers, you know what I mean. I can say it has turned out to be a better year than I expected. Everyone seems so happy and Daddy has been sober all this time. Well, got to run. Bye!

One day when I was in the shed out back, I was going through some things and ran across a bottle of whiskey. It was half empty. My first fear was Daddy had started drinking again. I was hoping it was left from when he had stopped. But in a few days, my fears turned into a nightmare.

We were sitting on the porch that day when Daddy came home from work. We could tell by the way he walked that he was drunk. Mama told us to go to our rooms. As Daddy crossed the bridge over the creek in front of our house, Mama waited for him on the porch. For two days they fussed and fought. Later that evening, I slipped downstairs to check on Mama. When I peeped around the corner of the door, I saw Daddy chasing Mama around the kitchen table with a butcher knife. He was hollering as loud as he could.

"Where's he at? Where's your secret lover?"

The only time he stopped chasing Mama was to take a drink from his half-pint. When he did, Mama was able to escape and run next door to call the police. I ran out right behind her and stood by the house out of sight. I was scared and crying. Not knowing what else to do, I knelt down beside the house and began to pray. I prayed the Lord would watch over us and help us. At the same time I prayed Daddy would die. In no time, the police were there. I knew he would have to spend some time in jail this time. Mama pressed charges but later dropped them. When he got out of jail, he came back to her crying and begging her for forgiveness. He swore it would never happen again. He promised he would get help.

"Just be patient with me, Pauline. I'll change," he pleaded.

Dear Miss Angel,

1953

I did a bad thing today. I prayed that my daddy would die. I know it's wrong to even think of such. But he makes our lives so hard and miserable. I don't know how much more we can take. I love Daddy, at least I think I do. He's so mean at times. Angel, will you please help us? I don't really want Daddy to die.

Two days later, Daddy didn't come home from work. Mama and Shirley Ann had gone over to Aunt Sarah's house leaving me home alone. I was showering with the bathroom door locked. Startled, I thought I heard something pop or snap. But, I couldn't tell because I could barely hear with the water running. I pulled the shower curtain back. I didn't see anything so I went on with my shower. Without warning, the shower curtain closed in around me. I could hear the curtain popping off the hooks. I screamed as two arms wrapped around me and lifted me out of the tub. I kicked and screamed, but I couldn't break loose. The sickening smell of whiskey filtered through the shower curtain. Whoever had hold of me, carried me into the bedroom and threw me onto the bed. I fought so hard to get away, but I was overpowered. I was no match for him because I was too small and weak. I struggled up from the wet shower curtain and saw my drunken daddy holding me back.

The trauma was so intense I passed out. When I woke up, I knew something bad had happened. I realized I had been raped by my own daddy. As I tried to regain my composure and come to my senses, I looked about the room and was shocked he was still there. I tried to run, but he grabbed me and slammed me against the wall. He whispered in my ear that if I told a single soul he would kill Mama and Shirley Ann. He said Shirley Ann was a pretty girl, too. I begged him not to hurt us. He placed his face on the back of my head and asked me if I understood. I promised him I wouldn't tell anybody and he could do whatever he wanted to me but not to Shirley Ann. He released me and told me to get dressed and that we would play again later.

As he left the room, I ran back to the shower. I stood for what seemed like hours letting the hot water run over me. I felt so dirty, angry and mad. My skin turned red from where I scrubbed it so hard with the washrag. No matter how much I washed, I didn't feel clean. I was finally able to get out of the shower. Hitting my fist against the wall, I cried out, "Oh my God, why?" Still dazed and confused, I slipped on my pajamas and went to bed.

I was awakened when Mama and Shirley Ann came in. I heard Shirley Ann tell Mama Daddy was asleep on the couch and not to wake him. As Mama opened my bedroom door, the light from the hallway accented the darkness of my room.

A voice filled the darkness, "Christy, are you alright?"

I sat up and replied, "Yes, Mama."

Angel,

1953

Angel, why has this happened to me? I am so sick at my stomach. I can't eat or sleep. Why do things like this happen? I hate him for what he did to me. I'll never forgive him. I do wish he would die so we can be safe. I have thought about it over and over in my mind. He's sick. He has to be or either he's the devil. I'll never be able to live a normal life. I hate life. I hate everything. I got to go. P.S.—I was fourteen when Daddy raped me.

A few days later Mama asked me about the bruises on my arms and legs. I sort of passed it off as a joke and told her I must have been fighting in my sleep.

Whatever happened to the simple life of waking up every morning at 5:00 or 5:30 and listening to John McDonald's farm report on the radio or playing with friends all day long without a care in the world? Life used to be so simple, but now it is nothing but a hectic turmoil of bad feelings, hurt, and sick emotions. I don't believe it will ever be simple again.

I wanted to tell Mama a thousand times about the day Daddy raped me. But I was too afraid. If only it hadn't happened or would simply go away. It held fast to me like a cancer. It controlled my moods and feelings, zapping all life out of me. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Mama noticed I had lost a little weight and my appetite was all but gone. I needed to talk to someone, because I'm terrified of him. Unfortunately, there is no one. Back then you didn't talk about things like this much although it happened quite often. People just kept it to themselves.

Hi, Angel,

1954

I thought I would talk a bit but I really don't feel like it—never mind. See you, girl!

Time passed and I could only hope and pray for better things in the future. I hoped! However, not long afterward, Daddy forced himself on me once again and frequently from then on. Each time he did, it drove me into the darkest world. All hope faded. When would it stop? Surprisingly, he stopped and never bothered me again. I hoped and prayed it was finally over. But, I found out later he had starting sexually assaulting Shirley Ann. That's when I decided to leave and take Shirley Ann with me. Surely things somewhere else wouldn't be as bad as it was here. I started getting our things together, setting my plan in motion. I packed my diary, a flashlight and some other things I thought we might need.

Angel,

I don't have time to say much, but I found out that Daddy has been messing around with Shirley Ann. I don't know all the details or how far he has gone, but I can't let him destroy her life like he has mine. I got to go, leaving soon, talk to you later. P.S.—Don't know where I'm going yet. Love you.

After Mama and Daddy went to town to get groceries, I took the money out of my and Shirley Ann's piggy banks. It wasn't much but at least we would be able to eat for a little while. We took off across the back yard toward the woods. I told Shirley Ann to run hard and fast. We only stopped to rest, but just for a little while. I wanted to reach the train depot before dark.

Shirley Ann didn't have a lot to say. She didn't really understand what was going on, especially what Daddy had done to her. She cried constantly for Mama. She didn't realize that if Mama knew it could bring her to her death. Daddy would do anything. I knew that more now than ever before; he was a monster.

About an hour later after we left the house, we made it to the train depot. We stayed hidden while we waited for the train to leave. Shortly, I heard the conductor yell all aboard. As the last few passengers boarded, we slowly made our way to the train. One of the doors was partially open so we were able to slip in. As the train began to pull away there was a loud jerking sound and swooshing from the engine. I had no idea where it was going and I didn't care as long as it was taking us away from home and Coldwater Creek, Georgia. Hours later, the train started to slow down and pull into a station. The words 'Two Hill' was on a nearby water tower. If it was the Two Hill I had heard of, we were headed south toward Atlanta. Within a few minutes we were moving again.

By now, Mama and Daddy had come home and found my note. All it said was that Shirley Ann and I were unhappy there and we needed to get away. There was no use saying anymore. The damage had already been done. Knowing Mama, I'd say the first thing she said was she was calling the law. But Daddy probably stopped her and told her to let us go. He had found a way to hide and cover his sins. We were no more than two runaways to him.

It wasn't long until the train finally pulled into the giant train yard in Atlanta. I knew this was the place for us. It would be hard to find us here. When the train stopped to switch tracks, Shirley Ann and I snuck off and raced across the yard to the station. Luckily the train yard was busy and no one noticed us. The first thing I needed to do was find us something to eat. We were starved. As we headed into town, we couldn't help but notice the tall buildings reaching upward. The streets were crowded and people were going in every direction; the traffic was heavy and loud from horns honking. An uneasy breeze circulated about the street.

Eventually, we found a store and bought some candy bars to eat now and some for later. I never thought a candy bar could ever taste that good until that day.

The next thing I did was try to find a safe place for us to stay. Night time was closing in on us and I had no idea where to look. I looked in some alleys but they were too risky. I didn't want the police to pick us up and send us back home. We had to be very careful. I guess we walked three miles until we finally found something. It was an abandoned building that was old and run down. We went in and it had a terrible odor; it smelled musty. I didn't see anyone around so we made our way up to the fifth floor. It was trashy and there were a lot of rats. This would do for now until I could find us something better. We didn't have money for anything else. I'm hoping I can get a part-time job washing dishes or something.

Shirley Ann was tired and wore out and so was I. She hadn't given me much trouble, but she was distant and quiet. I worried about her because she was so young. I had no idea how this was going to affect her. I guess time would tell. The hatred was a driving force. I tried not to cry because I didn't want Shirley Ann to see me. I had to be strong for her.

Night in the city seemed to fall early. I guess the tall buildings shut out the daylight. I found an old piece of carpet for us to lie on. We ate our other candy bars as the darkness began to fill the room. We held each other tight and talked a little.

"Christy, can we go home?" she asked.

"We can't go back," I replied.

"But I miss Mama," she said.

"I do to," I agreed, "but we have to be strong. Mama would want us to be. Things will get better, you'll see."

"But when?" she asked.

"Hopefully soon," I replied.

Without warning she screamed, "Christy, look at the little red eyes."

"Ignore them, Shirley Ann, they're just rats."

We were tired and wore out. Our eyes became heavy, and we both drifted off to sleep. However, I was awakened by something crawling on me. I turned the flashlight on and shined it on my legs. It was a cockroach. I jumped up and screamed, waking Shirley Ann. She immediately starting jumping and screaming, and that's when I noticed she had cockroaches in her hair. Then I thought I heard someone other than her screaming.

"Shhh," I hushed Shirley Ann.

I heard it again. It sounded like heavy breathing filtering through the darkness. I looked again and shined the flashlight in the direction of the sounds. In the distance, I could barely see someone moving toward us. The breathing got heavier as the footsteps seemed to get closer. The floor creaked and gave as the shadowy figure moved closer. There before us stood a tall man dressed in an old coat, pants, and three or four shirts. We were speechless with fear as we held our breath and our hearts raced out of control. I was never so scared in all my life.

"Well, what do we have here?" a raspy voice asked.

We were too afraid to speak. He bent down right in front of us.

"You don't have to be afraid," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

I could barely make out his face, so I shined the flashlight on him. He had a ragged beard and his hair stuck out from underneath his stocking cap filled with holes. His teeth were yellow and he had bad breath.

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

Nervously, I spoke up. "This is Shirley Ann and I'm Christy."

"I'd say you are runaways," he replied.

We didn't answer.

"Oh," he said, "I travel the city looking for runaways. I find them here and there. I found a little boy here on this floor about a month ago. It must have been an awfully bad thing that happened to drive you this way."

We still didn't say a word.

"You know, I was like you once. I ran away from home and never went back."

"You did," said Shirley Ann.

"Did bad things happen to you at home?"

"Yes, you could say that."

"I've spent all my life running from my situation instead of facing it. You know you don't have to face it alone."

"We don't," replied Shirley Ann. "You hear that, Christy. How do we face it?" she questioned.

"With the Lord," he replied.

"Well tell me where the Lord was when these things happened," I cried out in anger. "I called on him then and he was nowhere to be found."

"He was there," he said in his raspy voice. "Think about it. Well, I must go and finish my route, but here is something for you," he said as he placed a sock in my hand. "Morning comes early and there are a lot of children still out there that need my help."

"Goodbye," Shirley Ann said as he left.

"Goodbye, girls," he replied as he vanished into the darkness.

"He's a nice man don't you think, Christy?"

She put her hand down into the sock and pulled out some money.

"Look, Christy," cried Shirley Ann. "We have some money. We can eat some good food now instead of those old candy bars."

The night went on as I sat and watched Shirley Ann go back to sleep. I fought to stay awake, not knowing if someone else would come by or if Shadetree would come back. There was something about him I didn't trust.

Morning came early as the night slipped away. We left the abandoned building and never went back. "Surely, there is a better place," I thought. I looked for a post office. I had decided to send my diary to Mama. I was hoping if she knew what caused us to runaway we would be able to go back home. I knew going home to Mama would make Shirley Ann happy again. After about an hour of wandering around, I was able to fine the post office. It wasn't the main office, but a branch off 7th Street. I had decided to mail the diary to Aunt Sarah to give to Mama. I told her to tell Mama that we were fine, we were making it, and she shouldn't worry. I dropped the package in the mailbox and left to find somewhere to eat. We were standing on 7th Street trying to figure out what we wanted to eat when someone yelled at us.

"Hey, girl," I heard someone say.

Looking around I saw a woman coming toward me, and she looked mad.

"Hey, you," she said as she approached. "This is my street. "Find you some other corner to stand on."

I grabbed Shirley Ann by the hand, turned and walked away. But, I could still hear her mumbling.

"Those young things think they can take over anytime and anyplace. Go on, get out of here," she yelled at us.

I thought she was crazy. I didn't know people owned corners. We were just looking for a place to eat.

We made our way into a small restaurant not far from the crazy woman's corner.

"Come on, Shirley Ann, let's eat."

Shortly, the woman from the street came in and sat at a table near the window. She ordered a cup of coffee. We were sitting directly across from her. I told Shirley Ann to ignore her. But, she started talking to us anyway.

"Hey, kids, what are you doing in Atlanta?"

I never said a word.

"You ain't no runaways are you?" she asked.

"No ma'am. We're just passing through."

I was afraid she would turn us into the police and that was the last thing we needed.

"You better stay off 7th Street," she warned. "I've got enough competition as it is."

"We will," I said even though I had no clue what she was talking about.

"My name is Jo Lee," she said. "I don't mean to come down hard on you. The streets are not for you; I can tell by just looking at you. If you're not careful you could get killed. It's a cruel world out there. What's your name?" she asked.

"I'm Christy and this is Shirley Ann, my sister.

"Hey look, girls, I'm sorry," she replied. "I didn't mean any harm."

"That's okay," I said.

Finally, the waitress brought our food. Jo Lee saw me bring out the sock with the money in it.

"Hey, Christy," she said. "That is your name isn't it?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Where did you get the sock?" she asked as she got up and came over to our table.

"It was given to us."

"Yeah, by this nice man," spoke up Shirley Ann.

"What was this man's name?" asked Jo Lee. "Do you remember?"

As I was about to tell her, Shirley Ann spoke up, "Shadetree was his name. Don't you think that's a funny name?"

Jo Lee didn't say anymore. She just sat down with us and finished her coffee.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"No, I'm alright. Hey, girls do you have a place to stay yet?"

"Well...," I started to say when Shirley Ann butted in.

"No we don't."

"Good, you can stay with me. It's not far from here."

We finished eating and followed Jo Lee to her apartment.

I was sure by now Aunt Sarah had received my diary and given it to Mama. I know she will keep it from Daddy and go straight to the police. Hopefully, we will be able to go home soon.

Once at Jo Lee's apartment we spent time getting to know each other. I told her why Shirley Ann and I were in Atlanta. I was still nervous because she was a stranger, but somehow I was beginning to feel happiness again. We didn't know what was going on with Mama and Daddy. We had been with Jo Lee for several days now. One night as we sat around relaxing, Jo Lee started talking about her life. She was put up for adoption when she was a baby. She never knew her mom and dad. She was adopted by Charles W. James and his wife, Olene. Things were good for her for about ten years and then it all went bad.

"Charles raped me like your daddy did you. I put up with it as long as I could, then I made up my mind to leave. I've been on the streets since. That's what I've been trying to tell you; you don't belong out there on the streets; you're not the type. Plus, you would never make it."

"What about Shadetree?" I asked trying to change the subject. "You acted funny when I mentioned him."

"Shadetree gave me a sock of money a long time ago when I first came to Atlanta. He's an angel so to speak. He works for Angels Unaware in Nashville, Tennessee. It is a community church organization that helps prostitutes, runaways, abused children, and battered women. It's a good thing. They have a two-year program to help people like us. I tried it for a year and a half and dropped out."

"Why, Jo Lee?" I asked.

"Too much hatred I guess," she said as someone knocked on the door.

Shirley Ann ran to see who was there. It was three of Jo Lee's street friends, Melissa, Shelena, and Lorelle.

"Hey, girl, are you ready?" asked Lorelle.

"Just a minute," Jo Lee answered as she grabbed one shoe while trying to put on the other.

"Are you alright?" asked Melissa and Shelena in unison.

"I didn't know you started a babysitting service, Jo Lee," Melissa said with sarcasm.

"Oh, I didn't. I'm just helping them out for an old friend, Shadetree."

"Shadetree," laughed Melissa. "What kind of name is that? If we don't get out there on the street, Sweet Daddy is going to get us."

"You do know Sweet Daddy's name," said Shelena.

"Ain't that Shadetree guy some kind of religious nut roaming around town at night?" questioned Lorelle.

"Okay, come on," shouted Jo Lee, "you have no idea what you're talking about. Hey, Christy, lock the door and don't let anyone in, okay."

"Okay," I replied as she closed the door behind her.

"Do you think we'll ever get to go home?" asked Shirley Ann.

"Maybe someday," I said as I comforted her in my arms.

"Do you think Mama still thinks about us?"

"Sure, she's probably thinking about us right now. Just close your eyes, think about Mama, and blow her a kiss," I suggested to her.

We both sat in silence, closed our eyes and blew her a kiss. When I opened my eyes, Shirley Ann's eyes were closed tight and she had a pretty smile on her face.

"What do you see, baby?"

She hushed me and within a few minutes she opened her eyes and said, "I saw Mama, Christy. She was wearing a flowing white gown. Her hair blew in the wind and she told me she would see me soon."

"That's good, girl. Maybe it won't be too long, and she can hold us like she used to.

We went to bed right after that. Jo Lee didn't like for us to stay up too late. As we climbed into bed, Shirley Ann still talked about seeing Mama. She talked about it until she went to sleep. Around 3:00 in the morning I heard Jo Lee come in. It sounded like she had a man with her. I was so tired I just dozed back off to sleep. I woke up again around 5:00 in the morning. I was thirsty and needed something to drink. As I got out of bed and headed to the kitchen, I tried my best not to wake anyone. As I passed through the living room, I saw someone sitting in the dark smoking. The fire on the end of their cigarette flickered about.

"What's your name?" a voice out of the darkness spoke.

I turned on the kitchen light and turned towards him. "I'm Christy," I replied.

"Well, Christy, how old are you?" he asked as he eased out of the chair.

I didn't answer. I nervously backed up against the cabinets and held my breath. Luckily, Jo Lee came out of her bedroom.

"Norman, what's going on in here?"

"Nothing," he replied. "I was just saying hello to Christy. Isn't that right?" he replied.

"I think it's time for you to leave, Norman," she said.

"Okay, okay," he agreed. "It was nice meeting you, Christy."

"Sure," I mumbled.

When he left, I found comfort in Jo Lee's arms.

"Who was that?" I asked.

"Oh, that was Norman. He's been out of town for the last month. He's one of my clients."

"Why do you fool around with a creep like that?"

"He pays real good," she replied. "But, I'll warn you now. Stay away from him. He has a slight mental problem and doesn't take his medicine regularly."

"I don't understand, Jo Lee," I replied. "If he's crazy and doesn't take his medicine why aren't you afraid of him? It shouldn't matter if he pays good. Money is not what life's all about."

"Wait a minute," she interrupted. "Money may not be what it's all about, but it pays the bills and buys food."

"Oh, come on, Jo Lee."

"Look, I'm sorry, Christy, you can't stay here any longer. I know Norman. Once he gets his mind set on something, he becomes abusive and there's no stopping him. Girl, he is dangerous and I don't want to put you and Shirley Ann in harm's way."

I yelled for Shirley Ann to wake up and get our things packed up. She didn't understand why we had to leave so sudden.

"Watch your back," said Jo Lee.

"We'll be okay," I replied. "But, I am worried about you."

"I'll be fine," she answered. "He's not the only man with money," she laughed. "Hey, I have a little nest egg," she said. "It's not much but it will buy you and Shirley Ann a bus ticket."

"I can't take that," I replied. "You'll need it yourself."

"No, I insist," she said. "Do you know where ya'll are going?"

"We may go to Nashville."

"Well, this won't get ya'll to Nashville, but it should get ya'll to Chattanooga," she said as she hugged me tight.

"Thanks," I replied.

As I went to help Shirley Ann gather our things, Jo Lee opened the closet door and pulled out a big bag of clothes and wigs.

"Here put these on. I don't have time to explain, just trust me," she said.

We didn't argue with her. We put the pants, shirts and wigs on. Our whole appearance changed. We both looked like tomboys. Jo Lee drove us to the bus station. The money she gave us was enough to get our tickets. We hugged her goodbye and boarded the bus. After that we were on our own.

Unaware of things back home, Shirley Ann and I had boarded the bus. As the bus left the terminal, we waved goodbye to Jo Lee and to Atlanta. During the bus ride we talked about home. We missed Mama and Daddy so much. We wished we could go back, but there appeared to be no way. We were on our own now and had to make the best of it. I still thought we were better off being out of that house. Shirley Ann used to cry a lot, but now she just sits and stares. How do you tell someone so young why such terrible things happened to her? There's no way, not without causing more pain. I guess time will heal the wounds, but it will be a tough road to healing. That's the scary part.

Hours later we could see the lights on the outskirts of Chattanooga. Chattanooga looked so big and the lights were so pretty. Jo Lee had told me about a campground she had stayed at a few times. It was outside the city but I was sure I could find it. I told Shirley Ann we would look for it as soon as we reached the bus station. However, as I looked out the window I saw a sign that read 'Coon Creek Campground, Two Hills Road.' Immediately, I jumped up and told the driver we wanted off. He didn't want to because it was against policy. But, a short ways up the road, he pulled over and let us off right next to the sign that read 'Two Hills Road, Coon Creek Campground Straight Ahead.' We started walking toward the campground. Even in the dusk of the evening, we saw how beautiful the park was. The tall trees stood boldly against the mountain background. The sky was clear and the peaks of the mountains twisted upward into the sky, accenting the sounds of the birds and other creatures in the woods. We finally reached the entrance, but there was a chain stretched across the road with a sign that read 'Temporarily Closed for Repairs'. I looked around but didn't see anyone so we slipped under the chain and ran down the path as fast and far we could go. The weather wasn't bad, we could deal with it. We set up camp as far away from the entrance as we could. We didn't want to be spotted. Our timing was just right. It wasn't long until darkness blanketed the campground. The sounds of crickets and frogs in the background created an eerie feeling. As night hovered over us, we became sleepy and the sounds that once grabbed our attention slowly faded into the night.

I hadn't been asleep long when it felt as if someone was watching me. I opened my eyes, but stayed as still as possible. Trying not to move a muscle, I cautiously looked about. I noticed the fire had only a few embers flickering. I decided it was safe to get up. But, I was wrong. Standing before me was a man, Norman Reid. He grabbed me and placed his hand over my mouth. He had followed us from Atlanta. I bit his hand, and he removed it from my mouth. I screamed and told Shirley Ann to run. She was startled and didn't understand what was happening. When she did, it was too late. Norman caught her by the arm and threw her to the ground. She hit her head on a rock and lay motionless. He grabbed me again and forced himself on me. I cried out into the darkness of night as he raped me. After raping me, he started beating me. When I awoke, he was gone. I crawled over to Shirley Ann's lifeless body. Her little arms dangled by her side as I held her in my arms. As tears fell from my eyes, I gently rocked her and cried out unto God.

"Why, why God is there so much hurt and pain. We didn't do anything wrong," I cried. "We were just being children."

Exhausted, I had to lie down. I was hurting so bad. I eventually fell off to sleep with Shirley Ann in my arms. I slept for what seemed like hours, but was awakened by Shirley Ann calling out for Mama.

"Christy, I see Mama again. She is wearing that long flowing white dress."

Feeling helpless, my eyes filled with tears as a warm breeze blew about us.

We stayed huddled together until the next day. We left the campground to find a phone. We both wanted to call home. I called Aunt Sarah to see if it was alright for us to come home. That's when I found out that Daddy had killed Mama and he was in the Georgia State Prison for life and could be facing the death penalty. He killed Mama after she took my diary to the police. They arrested him for statutory rape and child abuse. After he read excerpts from the diary, he pled guilty and was released on bond. A few days later Mama was found dead and Daddy was in a crazy drunk. He was charged with murder. Daddy received life without the possibility of parole for Mama's death. He was still awaiting trial for the two charges of rape and child molestation. They were seeking the death penalty by carrying over judgment of the murder trial.

That information made me numb all over. I was stunned and Aunt Sarah could tell. She asked me if we were alright; I told her we were fine. She asked if we were coming home. I wanted to say yes, but I told her we couldn't right now but we'd keep in touch. I couldn't tell Shirley Ann about Mama and Daddy, but eventually I would have to. I told Aunt Sarah goodbye and not to worry about us.

Our next destination was Nashville, Tennessee. We lived on the streets for the first two years; it was so hard. I started prostituting to make ends meet. Once I got used to it, I wasn't as bothered by it like I was in the beginning. I tried my best to keep Shirley Ann in school. Unfortunately, she was dealing with her own issues and ghosts. I missed Jo Lee and wished she was here with us. I needed someone to talk to and she seemed to understand me. She wasn't judgmental or quick to condemn. If she knew I was prostituting, she would probably kick my behind. No, I know she would kick my behind.

I finally got enough courage to tell Shirley Ann about Mama and Daddy. She took it hard, knowing she would not get to see her again on earth. She rebelled and rejected the fact that Mama was dead and gone. Fortunately, as the months went by, she accepted it and went on with life.

Usually, I would work with another girl on Dickerson Road and sometimes Trinity Lane, but today I decided to do something different. I was working lower Jefferson when I noticed a homeless man walking toward me. He was talking to himself as he pushed his shopping cart. He stopped right in front of me. He looked around and up toward the sky as if I wasn't there. Still talking, his eyes finally met mine.

"God is all seeing, all knowing, and all powerful, but yet things happen."

Before I could walk away he called me by my name. I asked him what he said, but he just repeated the same thing.

"God is all seeing, all knowing, and all powerful, but yet things happen. Figure that."

He turned to walk away, but I put my hand on his cart and asked him how he knew my name.

"Lucky, I guess," he said as he reached for a card in his pocket and handed it to me.

I took it and slipped it into my pocket without looking at it. He gave his cart a strong push and I took my hand away. He was gone just as quick as he came.

My night soon passed, but I kept wondering how he knew my name.

The next morning as I was going through my things, I came across the card in my pocket. 'Angels Unaware' I read to myself. I remembered Jo Lee talking about that. I started to put it back in my pocket when I noticed on the back it had Jesus Loves You—Shadetree.

I hurriedly got dressed to go to the mission on Eight Avenue. I took Shirley Ann with me. I was hoping they could help her. We took a taxi because it was quicker than the bus. The buildings downtown were tall. It hurt my neck to look up at them. It was drafty too and the cars speeding and honking made it even worse.

Finally, we arrived at the mission. It appeared to have been an old warehouse. As we approached the doors, we were overwhelmed by so many people coming and going. We made our way in and inquired about the mission. They took us in a room and explained the purpose of the mission. I informed them about Shirley Ann's situation and asked them what they could do for us. We had to fill out paperwork, and then we were escorted into a room to talk with Scott and Brenda Robertson.

Scott was an ex-vice cop and did all the talking. He retired from Metro and started the mission to help prostitutes, runaways, abused children, and the homeless. He spoke to me first and then Shirley Ann. He told me it was a two-year program. I would have to work a decent part-time job and live at the mission. I would also have to study for my GED, attend Bible study, go to counseling, stay drug and alcohol free, and attend church once a week. It didn't sound too bad. He asked if I was game. I told him I would do it for Shirley Ann. After talking with me, he spoke to Shirley Ann. She told him she was okay. Shirley Ann told him she would do it for me if I would do it for her. We were accepted into the program. Scott told us we would be free to leave whenever we wanted. He wanted us to think about it and let him know before we made our decision.

A few days later as I was working down on lower Jefferson, I saw the homeless man across the street. I yelled at him but he acted like he didn't hear me. I ran across the street and stopped him. I asked him if he remembered me, but he looked at me puzzled and confused.

I said, "You asked me some questions and called me by my name. How did you know my name out of all the people out here?"

He looked up and replied, "It's odd that you were not bothered by my statement only by me calling you by name. I knew your name because it was engraved on the locket you wore around your neck."

I was dumbfounded.

He turned and questioned, "Have you decided yet?"

I said, "Decided yet about what, the mission?" I looked closely in his eyes, "Mr. Robertson is that you? Are you Shadetree?"

He turned quickly and walked away.

A few days later there was a knock at our door. Shirley Ann went to see who it was. Surprisingly, Jo Lee stood at the door with her bags. We embraced with a long hug. We were excited to see each other. We told her to come on in. It was so good to see her again. She said she was able to make a deal with Sweet Daddy and he let her go. She was no longer prostituting. She wanted to live a normal life and had decided to move to Nashville. After she updated us about herself, she wanted to know how we had been. I told her Shirley Ann was going to school and I was working.

"That is great," she replied. "So Christy, what type of work are you doing?"

I just dropped my head because I knew she would be disappointed.

"Oh, no, Christy, you're not," she cried. "Girl, haven't you suffered enough in your life already? Well, you're just going to have to quit. We are going to get a real job! We are going to start with the Angels Unaware Program tomorrow, all three of us. They have counselors to help people like us, and we are going to take advantage of it."

"All for one and one for all," we all shouted in unison.

I didn't have the heart to tell her about Norman and the campground. It just wasn't the time. Early the next morning the tree of us made our way to see Scott at the mission. He went to work right away to get us on the right path. Jo Lee and I got a part-time job outside the mission. Because Shirley Ann was in school, she only worked a few hours in the mission cafeteria. We took the program seriously. We were determined to turn our lives around.

A year had almost passed and we were doing better. We were still rough around the edges and still had a long way to go. The more we let go, the more the Lord helped us. One of our golden rules was that God doesn't make junk.

One day, we got an urgent message to see Scott in his office. As we made our way to his office, we didn't know what to expect. Everything had been going so well. When we arrived, he told us he had been checking into our backgrounds. He had found something interesting and wanted to talk to us about it. We didn't know what to think. Scott asked Jo Lee if she had been put up for adoption and she said she had. According to the state adoption records and the Board of Trustee Adoption Agency she, Shirley Ann, and I were full-blooded sisters. According to records, Mama and Daddy had a daughter when they were real young and placed her in the Chattanooga Children's Home. She was later adopted by Charles and Olene James. Mama and Daddy eventually married and had us. It was official; we were all sisters. There was not a dry eye in the room. Between sobs there were shouts of joy. I didn't know what to think. We were at a loss for words. All we could do was cry and hug each other's necks. That was the happiest we had been in a long time. Things turned around for us after that. We were a new family. We had each other and that meant the world to us. We couldn't ask for anything better.

Unfortunately, when life takes a turn for the better there is always something that will happen to remind you of the bad times. It happened to Jo Lee and me as we were walking home from work. Norman Reid cornered us in an alley and held us at gunpoint. We tried to talk our way out of the crazy mess, but he wouldn't listen. He started talking about the campground, but Jo Lee had no idea what he was talking about. She asked me what he talking about, but I wouldn't tell her. I told her it didn't matter. However, Norman gave her all the details. About that time I heard the hammer of the gun click. He pointed the gun at us as we stood in fear. We were frozen in our tracks and couldn't move a muscle. Without warning, a shot rang out. When we opened our eyes Norman lay dead at our feet and Sweet Daddy was standing before us with a smoking gun. He waved and ran off down the street. The last of our nightmare was over.

From what I gathered, Jo Lee's freedom from the streets came by helping Sweet Daddy bring down Norman Reid for some past debts. We all stuck to our commitments and finished our programs with high honors. We now work for Scott as counselors. God really doesn't make junk. He took our broken, abusive, tragic lives and made three beautiful people.

*****

When Autumn Falls

Duck, Duck, Goose

Flatt Creek fed off the Mississippi Gulf which ran inward north into the delta where it branched off into many directions. It had rained hard and heavy all day around Snug Harbor, Mississippi in Hampton County. Driving rain had pushed hard against the ground. It washed out gullies and created small streams and ditches. As thunder hung low over the delta, lightning tore through the night skies; it screamed out as a child who had lost its mother. Later in the evening, after the rains started to taper off, a heavy fog pressed its way inward. Heavy fog made visibility almost impossible. But if you listened closely in the quietness of the fog you could hear the click, click, click from the heels of a pair of boots dangling in the air. A stir of the wind slightly moved the body back and forth as it hung suspended from a limb. The weight of the body on the limb caused it to squeak and give. Rain that had fallen dripped from the dead body, steadily running off and falling to the ground below.

It all started about two years ago in the summer of 1922. I was sheriff at the time when a young drifter by the name of Gordon Hardgrove came to town. Everyone called him Gordie. He was a little slow, retarded some would say. Gordie was big for his age; and a few of the children loved to make fun of him.

Word had it that he was from across the marsh near Hunter's Point, Louisiana, but no one knew for sure. Gordie had lived here for about a year, but he stayed to himself. Most of the children liked him, while others were afraid of him. He loved to play the game Duck, Duck, Goose. It was his favorite and the children that liked him loved to play it with him.

Everything had gone well until the first murder. One of the children, Randy, had been missing for a day. A search party was formed to locate the missing boy. Finally after several hours the search party found the body, with the help of the dogs, in the tall grass of the marsh. The killer knew he would not be found unless you walked out into the marsh.

This put the town in an uproar. Who could have done such a horrible thing was the question on the mind of the townspeople. This caused the town to become paralyzed and paranoid with fear. The more we, the sheriff's departmet, searched for the truth the more confused we became. The panicked townspeople quickly began to point fingers at others. Everyone was on edge and losing control.

Jerrell Edgin, Homer Hardiman and Norman Russell were the three main leaders of the uprising. They were the town troublemakers and immediately pointed their fingers at Gordie, all because he was a little different and a drifter. The three men had it in for him. They picked on him and made sport of him.

"What do we know about Gordie," asked Jerrell, "nothing, not one thing? Who can say he's not the killer?

Norman stated, "Nothing like this has ever happened here until Gordie came along."

Homer spoke up, "He makes friends with the children playing that stupid game and once he wins their confidence he kills them."

Jerrell and Norman nodded their heads in agreement.

The town fell fast in fear and was led by their blindness. Gordie was already tried and convicted by the hands of a mob. As the weeks passed, things began to die down. That was until they found another body. It was Jerrell Edgin's niece, Kaye. She was found by some fishermen who were fishing along the creek not far from Hunter's Point. Her body was found in the weeds face down. She was supposed to spend the night at a friend's house but never showed up. Her friend thought she had decided not to come and forgot to call and let her know.

Neither of the victims had been molested or abused. The common factor in the two deaths was it appeared the children had gone to sleep and never woke up.

Jerrell was sure Gordie had something to do with it. Nothing like this had happened until he showed up. Snug Harbor was a quiet town, always had been. Jerrell swore on his niece's grave that he'd find the one guilty of her murder and take care of it himself. He had already made up his mind. Gordie was the one he was after.

Not long afterward a traveling preacher set up a tent revival on the outskirts of town. Jerrell, Homer, and Norman decided to attend for all the wrong reasons, to see who was there and hopefully pick up some girls afterwards. The preacher started the revival with some old hymns, Amazing Grace and The Old Rugged Cross. Next, he prayed and brought the message. As he opened his Bible to read, the preacher jumped about two feet in the air and shouted, "Glory be, praise the Lord Jesus!"

The congregation replied, "Amen."

Do I hear an Amen?"

"Amen, brother!"

The tent overflowed that night and was standing room only.

"If the Lord should give me a thought of the message tonight it would be, the light at the end of the tunnel."

John 3:16-17: For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.

"Jesus is the light of the world, our only hope, our escape from eternal death to eternal light. Jesus said......"

Luke 11:34: The light of the body is the eye: therefore when thine eye is single, thy whole body also is full of light; but when thine eye is evil, thy body also is full of darkness.

Luke 11:10: For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.

"The book of John tells us......"

John 15:10: If ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love; even as I have kept my Father's commandments, and abide in his love.

"Amen, brother, preach it," responded the crowd with enthusiasm as the preacher jumped from one side of the floor to the other slapping his knee.

"Praise the Lord," the preacher said as he continued.

I John 4:18-21: There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love. We love him, because he first loved us. If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen? And this commandment have we from him, That he who loveth God love his brother also.

I John 1:5-7: This then is the message which we have heard of him, and declare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not the truth: But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.

Things got quiet after that. You could probably hear a pin drop in the grass. The Amens got weak and the preacher's eyes scanned the crowd. Jerrell, Homer and Norman slipped out the back of the tent while the song sung Victory in Jesus.

As they drove down the road they noticed someone walking. As they got closer they realized it was Gordie. They immediately pulled over off the road into a wooded area, jumped out and grabbed him. Before Gordie knew what was happening, they placed a grass sack over his head. They beat him and drug him back to the truck. They tied a rope to one of the tree and stood Gordie up in the back of the truck. They tied his hands behind his back, placed the other end of the rope around his neck, and pulled the truck out from under him.

"That's for my niece," boasted Jerrell.

Norman said, "Jerrell, Homer let's get out of here! The revival will be letting out in a few minutes."

Quickly the threesome took off, leaving Gordie dangling from a limb not far from the road. That night it began to rain and the storm drove the lightning into the darkness bringing forth streaks of light.

After that night, the killings stopped for about six months. Jerrell and the others thought they had solved the problem until the killings started again. Two more children were found in shallow graves in a wooded area near town. We didn't know if the children were killed before the killings stopped or if they were fresh graves? They were found by some coon hunters running their dogs. The dogs had lost the scent of the coon but had picked up the scent of the dead bodies. It was determined they had been killed about four days apart but buried close together. They were exactly like the other victims. None of them had been abused or molested. It was indeed a baffling case. We had come to the conclusion that we had a serial killer on our hands. We nicknamed the killer the undertaker. The victims were so well preserved they were ready for burial. We didn't know if it was an insane funeral director or a madman undertaker. It could have even been a crazy gravedigger or a copycat murderer?

Jerrell was sure they had killed the right man. But, he failed to see the light at the end of the tunnel because he was in so much darkness. The price of an innocent man's life would be a burden he would have to live with for the rest of his life.

It wasn't long until a man traveling down the road where the tent revival had been held had a flat tire. While he was changing his tire, he kept hearing a click, click, click coming from the woods near the road. After following the sound into the woods, he saw Gordie's body hanging from a tree. He ran back to his car, finished changing his tire and went straight to the sheriff's department. Within minutes, the little gulf town was filled with sirens as we rushed to the scene. Immediately, we started combing the area and released the hounds trying to pick up a scent. The body was removed and taken to the morgue for an autopsy. I was in charge of the investigation. This murder was different than the children. It was plain that Gordie had been hung. I had my suspicions of who did it, but no solid proof. I went out to his next of kin, James L. Creekmore, Gordie's uncle by marriage.

"I have my suspicions Sherriff Brown," James said. "I'll take care of it."

"Now James don't take matters into your own hands. I'm the Sheriff, and I'll take care of it. I'll bring the killer or killers in."

"Well, you do what you have to do and I'll do what I have to do," he said.

"That's what I'm afraid of," I replied. "Be careful and watch your back."

He took it hard; eventually it sent him to the asylum.

The lab work we sent off on the children's bodies turned up nothing conclusive. The apparent causes of death were from natural causes. But it was impossible for that many children in the town to die of natural causes. However, there were small traces of arsenic found in the bodies but not enough to be fatal. The pigment of the victim's skin had turned a bluish color. Their nails were grayish and their tear ducts shed drops of blood. It was like they had gone to sleep.

From 1922 to 1925 there were several more murders, five now besides the two earlier ones. Just like before, the killings stopped again. But in 1932, nearly ten years later, they started again.

The first thing we thought was a copycat murderer. By now Jerrell, Homer, and Norman still lived with the fact they had hung an innocent man. Even after all this time we never could get enough evidence against them. Everything we had on them was circumstantial, no witnesses, no nothing, only a gut feeling. We had an unsolved mystery. The string of murders had us baffled. It still appeared the children had all died of natural causes. It was like they went to sleep and didn't wake up. It was the strangest case we had ever investigated. We brought in a toxicologist to help with the clueless case.

After questioning several people, I was able to place Jerrell, Homer, and Norman at the revival that night. Several people saw them leave together, but I had no hard evidence to tie them to Gordie's murder. I had interrogated them separately several times, but all of them said they went up to Stringers Point and fished all night after they left the revival. They backed up each other's alibi. I knew they were lying, but I didn't have the proof I needed to arrest them. No one in town would speak against them because they were too afraid.

The investigation went on for weeks, driving me in circles. But the alibi of the three men made it almost impossible to solve the case. The killing of the children had finally stopped once again and this time it never started back. The killer had either moved on or changed his prey.

Meanwhile the toxicologists were still doing their investigation. The sheriff's department worked closely with them sharing their evidence and information of the investigation. They hoped it would only take two to three weeks to come up with something but it took longer.

I worked hard trying to crack the boy's alibis. A few days later, I answered a call to a farmhouse on Long Road. It was Jerrell Edgin's house. Apparently there had been an accident. Jerrell was working on his tractor when the tractor rolled over and crushed him to death. His son, who was playing outside, stated he heard his dad ask who was there, and that's when the tractor fell. But the little boy saw no one; it was ruled an accident.

A few weeks later the toxicologists came up with some information. Their tests showed conclusively that the children had been injected with an old voodoo serum. The poison was referred to as the sleeping beauty potion. The victims appeared to be dead, but weren't. The children had been buried alive, which caused suffocation. Suffocation was ruled as the cause of the deaths. The potion was made from the virgin pollen of the fox glove flower, secretion from the gallbladder of the swamp pike, boiled nectar of the black swamp mushroom, and saliva of the southern tree toad. The drug put the children into a deep coma creating the appearance they died from natural causes. I wrecked my brain trying to make sense of it all. But my mind was totally blank.

But who did it was the million dollar question. The town was left to speculate on what had happened. Snug Harbor, Mississippi still lives with the mystery. The best answer so far was that a drifter had passed through and moved on.

As I continued going over my notes from the investigation, I received an urgent phone call. Another body had been found lying on the side of Brinkley Branch Road. Arriving on the scene, I discovered it was Homer Hardiman. It appeared to be a hit and run. It had been foggy earlier that morning as Homer rode his horse along the side of the road. Apparently, an oncoming car failed to see him. He was left dead and the horse was barely alive. I pulled my gun out of my holster and aimed at the injured horse. I fired one shot and put the horse out of its misery. I cleared the scene and went back to my office. I notified the next of kin and filed my report.

The day before, we had received a tip about a stolen car from the nearby county. The car was last seen driving recklessly on Brinkley Branch Road, where they had found Homer. But by the time the deputy got there the car had been set on fire and there was nothing left but charred metal.

Two of the boys, Jerrell and Homer, were now dead. Norman was my only living suspect. It was about time for me to visit Norman. While on my way to see him my thoughts ran wild. I was hoping the deaths of Jerrell and Homer would bring Norman to his knees with the truth. When I arrived at Norman's house, he was already outside.

"What brings you out here, sheriff?" he asked.

"I thought you might know who ran down Homer," I replied.

"I don't know," he answered. "How would I know?"

"Well you, Homer, and Jerrell were so close and hung around together. I thought you might know some of his enemies."

"No, I can't say I do," he said.

I could tell he was lying.

"You better watch your back Norman," I warned. "There were three, you, Jerrell, and Homer. You are the only one left. Are you the killer?"

Norman dropped his head, "Could be, you'll never know. Is that all, sheriff?"

"Yes, that's all for now," I replied as I got into my car and headed back to town. I couldn't help but notice how uneasy and afraid Norman was.

A couple of weeks later after I visited with Norman, I was dispatched to Norman Russell's place. When I arrived at the crime scene, I saw Norman lying on the ground. It appeared he had fallen from the barn loft. A neighbor passing by saw Norman lying on the ground and stopped. He found Norman was still alive, but barely, and ran into Norman's house and called 911. As I approached him, I could tell Norman was still alive. I knelt down to talk with him. I knew it was a matter of minutes before time ran out.

"Norman, what happened that night with Gordie?" I asked.

As he struggled to hold on, he confessed that he, Jerrell and Homer were having fun with Gordie, when things turned bad.

"Jerrell got out of control. He hated Gordie. He was looking for an excuse to kill him and he found it when his niece was killed. Homer and I tried to stop him. But he was like a madman. He wouldn't listen to either of us."

"So what you're saying, Norman," I replied, "is ya'll killed an innocent man."

"Yes, and I haven't had any peace since."

Tears beaded up in the corner of his eyes. He coughed and gasped for breath as blood ran from his mouth. He looked at me with a blank stare.

"I can still hear the click, click, click sound of Gordie's boots. It has haunted me ever since that night," he cried. "God forgive me," he managed to say as he took a couple of short breaths and died.

A deputy came out of the barn and called my name, "Sheriff Brown, I think you may want to see this."

I turned toward the barn. Entering the barn, I made my way over to the deputy. He showed me what he had found. It was a box of odds and ends and a book of voodoo magic. I opened the book and thumbed through the pages. I ran across the sleeping beauty potion recipe. Either Norman was the killer or he was being set up.

"It's too easy," I said. "Keep looking and see what else can be found."

Hours later the search finally came to an end. Carefully, Norman's body was removed and we wrapped up the investigation and headed back to town. The sleeping potion murders remain a mystery in Hampton County still to this day. Things finally quieted down in Snug Harbor after the death of Norman. Norman being the killer was still speculation.

As time passed, the town changed and so did its people. I retired from the department and do a lot more fishing now. But, I still think back on cases through the years, especially the duck, duck, goose murders. It always seemed like I overlooked some things that could have cracked the case. One day out of the blue word came that James L. Creekmore was dying. He asked for me to come and see him. I hadn't seen or even thought of James in ain't no telling how long. The last I heard of him he was in and institution for the insane. Not a minute to spare, I rushed over to see him. But by the time I arrived James had already died. I asked if I could go in for a minute to see him. His nurse told me it would be fine. But when I viewed the body I knew a mistake had been made. The body was not that of James Creekmore.

The nurse asked with doubt in her voice, "This man is not James Creekmore?"

"No, it's not," I responded. I don't know this man, but I do know it's not James. It's been years since I have seen him, but this is not him."

"Maybe he has changed through the years and you are mistaken," she said. "Who is he then?"

"I don't know," I replied, "but it's not James. I'll have his prints checked," I told her, "and we can know for sure. I'll call it in to the sheriff's department."

The prints of the deceased man were taken. A week later the prints came back. It wasn't James Creekmore.

The hospital started checking their records. After several hours, they found out they did have a James Creekmore in 1924. He had stayed at the hospital for one year. He wasn't under house arrest, he was free to come and go as he pleased. Evidently, he walked out and never came back. The dead man was identified as Marshall Kennedy. The nurse had found a letter in his belongings addressed to Sheriff Brown. She handed it to me. I opened it and began to read but the letter made no sense.

Before I finished reading, the nurse interrupted, "According to his records, Mr. Creekmore was a very intelligent man with a very high IQ. He was on the borderline edge of being a genius or an idiot."

The hospital investigated, results proved that the dead man was a hospital error. James' identification was found in Mr. Kennedy's pocket, and it was assumed he was James Creekmore. Apparently, James Creekmore had been back at the hospital and tried to fake his death.

After I left the hospital, I began to search around Snug Harbor for James, but I didn't have much luck. A couple of hours later it dawned on me where I might find him. I left to check it out. When I arrived, the tall sagebrush waved back and forth in the wind. The sagebrush brushed against the soles of Creekmore's feet. The click, click, clicking sound slowly faded away as the darkness of night fell. Standing on a block of wood and with a quick kick of his feet, his body dangled in the still night air. Maybe now James had found peace and I could be free of the ghosts that haunted me. The question still remains if James was the undertaker murderer and why he did it. I guess we'll never know.

"Finally, case closed," I sighed with relief.

*****

Discover other titles by Bobby A. Troutt at Smashwords.com

Beyond the Truth

A Cry in the Wind

Thistles and Thorns

Dead Limbs and Leaves

Troubled Waters

To read other works by Bobby A. Troutt, visit bobbysbooks.8m.com
