 
**Jack Zane: Evil at Storm Lake**

Author Jan Sumner

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Jan Sumner and JaDan Publishing

**Smashwords Edition, License Notes**

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Jack Zane: Evil at Storm Lake

Jan Sumner

Chapter 1

Jake Mozzetti had waited long enough. It was time to make a move. Slowly he climbed the stairs. He'd been chasing this guy for months, now at last he'd found him. At least he hoped so. All his sources told him the guy would be here. It had been a long hard road to this point. The Baker's had hired Jake to track this guy down. The police had been unable to find him, and the Baker's were sure he was the one who'd murdered their daughter.

As he climbed the stairs he could feel his blood rushing. His heartbeat made his neck feel like it was going to explode. Quietly he approached the door. He pulled his gun from under his coat as he grabbed the doorknob. Turning it carefully he began to open the door....

That damn phone, just when he was beginning to roll. He'd been laboring over this part and now when it started to flow - oh well, who knows, it might be his agent with more indifferent news. Jonathan reluctantly got up and answered the phone.

"Hello," he said quietly.

"Jonathan, this is your Aunt Tilley."

"Oh, hi Aunt Tilley, how are you? My gosh it's been..." "Jonathan, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have some, well, bad news."

Jonathan Smyth hadn't heard from Aunt Tilley, or anyone else in his family, for several years. Once he had graduated from college he'd moved away. He had wanted to see the world and broaden his horizons. Independence, Kansas was fine when he was a kid, but he'd known there was more to life than hopping in the 1954 Buick and heading to Wichita to partake in more fun than any of them could endure. It was always the same; his dad, Steve, his twin brother Matt, and once in a while his loveable, but sometimes strangely distant, grandmother, Fran, or Fannie, as he and his brother would sometimes call her when they were sure she couldn't hear them.

Nevertheless, once he got his BA from KU, he was gone. He always knew he wanted to be a writer, and it was not going to happen in Independence. His dad owned the local drug store and was completely content in a small town. His brother was, well, psychotic and had left town before he had. No one really knew where he was, and to be honest, didn't care. His mother, Kim, had died delivering him and Matt. Even though he'd never known her, Jonathan missed her and felt an emptiness deep inside that he knew would never be filled. He carried a small picture of her in his wallet he'd found in his dad's dresser drawers when he was a kid. For him, it was just another reason to leave.

He'd finally settled in New Orleans. It was exciting, near the Gulf, and above all, NOT Independence. The city inspired him to write. He hadn't been robustly successful, actually, not even moderately, but he did have two books in print that had done fairly well. Both murder mysteries, centered around his dashing private investigator, Jake Mozzetti. He was now writing his third book and hoping for bigger things.

"Oh no," he thought, it's got to be dad or Matt. "Is it my dad, Tilley?"

"No Jonathan, it's your grandmother, Fran. She died yesterday morning about nine. I'm so sorry Jonathan. I know how much you loved her."

He sat down in the chair next to the phone. He didn't know what to say. Fran had been the closest thing to a mother he'd had, and now she was gone, and he'd let too many years slip by without contacting her. He could feel the guilt welling up inside.

"Tilley, will you let me know when the service is? I want to come back to pay my respects."

"Of course I will."

Jonathan hung up the phone and laid down on the couch. His childhood began to mist over his mind like a warm summer rain.

He remembered their seventh birthday. Fran put the party on in her backyard. There were balloons, and games and lots of cake. They were all laughing and playing when Jonathan noticed Matt coming out of the house with a quart jar full of water in his hand.

Floating on the bottom was Jonathan's pet hamster, BJ. Matt had put BJ in the jar and then filled it with water and put a lid on to watch him drown. All their little friends took off running and screaming. Fran got so mad she put Matt in her bedroom for an hour. It ruined the party and Jonathan never forgave him.

There were times, however, he and Matt did have fun. As they grew older they hunted and fished together and could sit and talk about their beloved St. Louis Cardinals all night long. They both loved baseball and once in a while their dad would splurge and take them up to St. Louis to see a game. Those were some of the best memories he had.

Then there were times Matt would change, get mean, and disappear for days. Jonathan always thought that was probably best, because he sure didn't want to be around him when he was in one of his moods. No one knew where he went, but he always came back and seemed to be over whatever it was that made him that way...at least for a while.

Their dad had lost control of Matt a long time ago, and Jonathan thought maybe he was hoping Matt would just go away some day and not come back. It wasn't that he didn't love him, he just didn't know how to love someone like Matt. During their senior year in high school his dad got his wish. Matt took off. He left a note telling them not to worry; he just needed to get away. The family was perplexingly relieved. Even though Matt had been nothing but trouble and, at times cruel, Jonathan missed him. They weren't identical twins, and certainly they had different personalities, but still they were brothers and they'd had some special times together. Jonathan knew however, Matt had some deep-rooted problems and for most of their family and friends it quickly became, out of sight - out of mind.

Their dad was never a warm and affectionate guy, but they knew he loved them. He didn't always show it, but it was there. As Jonathan grew up people told him his dad had never gotten over Kim's death. Jonathan was his saving grace; kind, compassionate, a good student, who had many of his mother's finer qualities. This was both a blessing and burden. Blessing around his family, burden around his brother. Matt made him pay for it more than a few times. Even with this, he still cared for Matt and wished him no harm. Deep down in his soul, however, he too was glad when Matt disappeared.

Then there was grandmother Fran. A tall, statuesque woman with wonderful manners and a polite grin. She was always concerned about the boys being warm enough, and having the proper clothes for school. Jonathan found this amusing most of the time, but Matt hated it, and let her know it. To Matt, Fran was too doting. Jonathan, however, loved her like a mom; at least to the extent Fran would let him. When he was small, she'd let him crawl up in her lap on cold winter nights and they'd sip cocoa and read scary stories. It was those times she felt like a mother, or what Jonathan imagined a mother would be like. Then there were times she became very distant and detached. He'd catch her staring at him while he was reading. When he was little it scared him. As he grew up, he began to think, maybe he reminded her of Kim, her daughter. Gone forever, so he and Matt could live. She never did say anything about it, but Jonathan could feel it.

In retrospect the family was very murky. It's funny, when you're young everything is very cut and dried, but as you grow up the gray areas of your life become bigger and things are not so black and white.

The phone call from Tilley had stirred up lots of old memories, which had been dormant for years. He had so desperately wanted out of Independence, and now in a strange way he was actually looking forward to going back. It was just too bad it had to be for Fran's funeral.

Chapter 2

For several days he hacked away at his novel, but he just couldn't concentrate. He kept drifting back to his childhood, his former life that now seemed so far away. He couldn't help but wonder how and where Matt was. And his dad; he hadn't talked to him in over three years. During that period he'd been busy writing and living his life. Now it seemed strange, so insensitive, that they hadn't talked. Maybe Fran's death was a harbinger of just how time slips away. You take it so for granted that they'll all always be there, then....

Well, he was going to get to rectify the situation to a degree, he hoped. Tilley had called to give him the date for the service. He'd leave Thursday. The service was scheduled for Sunday at noon. He was going to drive so he'd be able to stay a few days if he wanted to. There was a part of him that was anxious to go, but another part dreaded it. He knew gray can sometimes be more than a mood, it can be disturbing.

With bags packed, he headed north. He hadn't really been on a road trip since college. There's a certain peace that comes with driving alone, watching the scenery go by. For some reason the unknown whereabouts of Matt kept nagging at him. Where was he? Would he show up? What had happened to him? For a brother who was less than brotherly, Jonathan found this curious. Why this concern...now? He hadn't really given Matt much thought for several years. Maybe it was Fran's death. Maybe that's what was bringing this back.

He'd drive up to Shreveport then over to Dallas then north up Hwy. 35 until he got to 166 in Kansas, then east to Independence. It would take a couple of days, but that was fine with him. It was early September, some of the trees were already changing and the air had a crispness to it. The trip became an autumn pilgrimage. He thought back to the last time he'd seen his dad. He'd gone home for Christmas a year after graduating from college. It was, unfortunately, also the last time he had seen Fran. They'd had a big dinner on Christmas Eve. His dad seemed...far away. They all talked and had a few laughs, but it was like he wasn't really there. Fran, as usual, did all the cooking and made all the arrangements, while the men folk sat around and talked sports and politics. Jonathan tried to talk to his dad and, they did discuss a few things, but then he'd changed, became dark and quiet. Jonathan figured with everyone gone he just felt alone. What would he be like now? That was five years ago, and as shameful as it was, he hadn't seen or really talked to him since. He was beginning to have this overwhelming sense of being a poor excuse for a son. His dad had always been there for him and had done everything in his power to get him through college. So this was the thanks he got...ignored. He sped up a little, there was suddenly an urgency to the trip. Maybe it was just guilt, but he sensed there was something back in Independence he needed to know. He'd been so anxious to leave, now there was some strange allure drawing him back.

He sped through the night obsessed with getting there. But what if it was the same? What if it hadn't changed at all? Oh, it had to be different, everything changes...even Independence, Kansas, he hoped.

He arrived Saturday morning. As he drove through town, it all began to pour from his memory. Running from house to house getting candy on Neewollah, which is what they called Halloween. The warm summer nights, yard hopping, just to see if they'd get caught. Trying to peak in Sharon Morgan's windows hoping to catch a glimpse of her getting ready for bed. Having a malt at Sorenson's malt shop. Helping his dad unload drugs at the pharmacy, wondering what some of the stuff was, and if people in this little town really took this many prescriptions. Hearing the sirens go off, as those massive swirling funnels from the north would turn the sky to black at high noon. As he cruised along the streets it looked decidedly... the same. He kept thinking of what Yogi Berra once said, "It's dejavu, all over again." Well maybe the buildings and streets hadn't changed, but surely the people had. He would find out soon enough, as he pulled into his dad's driveway.

Tilley had arranged for Jonathan to stay with his dad, and had told him, "He's looking forward to seeing you." Well, that was reassuring. After all these years and the way I've treated, or in this case ignored him, how in the world could he be looking forward to this? The house hadn't changed a lick. Roof a little worn, shutters needing paint, and the front porch swing sitting right where he remembered it. Yogi was more prophetic than he knew.

Walking up the sidewalk he still remembered all the football and baseball games in the front yard that invariably carried out into the street and on into the night under the streetlights. He could see a note hooked to the front door screen from his dad,

"It will be good to see you son, make yourself at home. I cleaned up your room for you." Dad

The screen door still squeaked like a cat was caught in it and as he entered the house it still had that familiar old smell to it. It wasn't unpleasant, just recognizable. He put his bag down and walked around; first into the kitchen, still clean and tidy as if no one had cooked there in days, then into the dining room with its linen tablecloth and old cherrywood hutch. The living room was more comfortable. The television set looked almost out of place sitting among the various antiques, but the room was warm and made him feel... innocent. He then turned and went up the stairs. His bedroom was the first one on the right side and Matt's old room was at the end of the hall. His dad's room was across the hall and had its own bathroom. He and Matt had always had to share a bathroom. This had become very interesting when they became teenagers with shaving, zits and a newfound need to primp. It had to have been both laughable and irritating for their dad, but he never let on how he felt.

He opened the door to his old bedroom and peeked in. Amazingly it looked unchanged. His old bed, the dresser and what looked like the same old comforter. He set his bag down and walked down the hall to Matt's old room. The door was closed and it opened grudgingly. It looked like a prison cell. The mattress was bare, no rugs, no curtains, and dust covering most of the furniture. It appeared no one had been in the room in a very long time. There was a sadness to it. Jonathan closed the door and went back to his room to unpack. Even though it was Saturday, his dad would be working at the drug store and should get home about six, if he remembered things correctly. This gave him a couple of hours to kill. He went downstairs and out to the backyard. It had seemed so much bigger...then. There were still all the beautiful lilac bushes, holding on to the last remnants of summer, and over in the corner were the plants he and Matt found so fascinating, the Death Camass. It intrigued them because their dad had told them, "It can kill man or beast." Sure, it was poisonous, but it would take a lot more than they had growing in their garden to do the trick. Still, Jonathan always wondered, just how much would it take? He never did find out. And there in the center of the yard was...Bertha. The giant oak tree that was a swing set, tree house, and jungle gym all rolled into one. Many an afternoon was spent climbing, hiding and jumping in, out of, and around Bertha. He could still see the scars his old friend wore with pride. He laid down under the giant old tree in the cool soft grass. He closed his eyes and let the sounds and smells flood his senses. He went to sleep in the embrace of his youth.

"Jonathan, hello, where are you?" It was like a distant voice, coming through the fog. "Jonathan, its dad...hello?"

Slowly he returned to consciousness. He sat up and could see his dad through the screen door in the kitchen. He stared at him for a second, not sure where he was. His dad turned and saw him sitting in the back yard and hurried out the door. Running up to him he said, "Are you all right? What are you doing out here laying in the grass?" Jonathan rose to his feet, reached out and embraced his dad...for the first time in his life. He could feel him stiffen, unsure of what to do, but Jonathan held on, and began to cry. His dad's arms slowly closed around him, and they held each other, as a father and son should, but never had. Jonathan let go, and stepped back a pace to look at the man he'd taken so much from, never having said...thanks.

"Son, are you okay?"

"Yes dad, I'm fine. I just want to tell you one thing." His voice began to quiver and he knew he'd better say this before he started crying again. "I just want to tell you I love you and thank you for all you did for me. I've not been a good son over the years and I desperately want to make up for it."

His dad stood there in shock. "What are you talking about, not a good son? You're a wonderful son, and I couldn't be more proud of you."

Jonathan turned away and walked toward the back fence. He thought, how could I have pushed this man out of my life, how could I have been such a fool?

His dad yelled to him, "I'll go in and make us some dinner, you take your time."

Jonathan turned in time to see the screen door close. This was his chance, he could finally find out who his dad truly was. When you're young, they're just your parents, handing out the rules, making you go to school, setting curfews. But as you grow up, if you're smart, you'll find out who they really are and what makes them special. He'd never had that chance with his mom. He was not going to let this opportunity with his dad slip away, again. As he walked across the yard to the back door, he thought how, although unfortunate, Fran's death had given him a second chance to discover his roots. The smell of his dad's biscuits and gravy made him feel... at home.
Chapter 3

For the first time in Jonathan's life, he and his dad sat and talked for hours. It was enriching. His dad told him about when he was young, growing up in the little town of Neodesha, some 20 miles north of Independence, and how he eventually met their mom. Jonathan could see how much he still missed her.

"Remember how we'd go out to Elk City Lake and fish? Well, that's where I met your mom."

Jonathan eased back on the couch and drank it all in. "Really? That's where you guys met? How?" "We were both about seventeen, still in high school but I didn't really know her then. Her parents and my parents would go fishing out there and one day we sort of...bumped into each other." He looked away for a second, but gathered his thoughts and continued. "Anyway, while they fished, we sat and talked. She was so pretty and friendly. She had me hooked in the first five minutes. Of course I didn't let her know that...well at least I don't think I did." They both laughed and that seemed to ease some of pain of telling.

"Yeah, so dad what happened next? Obviously you guys got together."

"Well, we sat and talked most of the afternoon. When it was time to go I asked her if I could call her, and she said, "Yes". I'll tell you Jonathan, my heart almost jumped out of my chest. Here was this beautiful, enchanting girl, and she was actually going to let me call her. So, the next weekend I did call her and we went to a movie."

"Where? What did you see?" Jonathan was starting to feel the excitement his dad had felt, back then.

"I drove down to Independence, because we didn't have a movie theater in Neodesha, and I have no idea what movie we saw. I sat and stared at your mom all night. I took her home and asked if we could go out again the next weekend. I must have done something right, because again she said yes.

"Anyway, one thing led to another and when we graduated from high school I asked her to marry me, and once again she said, yes." He seemed to be looking right past Jonathan into another time. "No one will ever know how much I loved her." He suddenly got up and walked to the front window. It was late and the only light was coming from the corner street lamp. He stood gazing out the pane for several minutes. Jonathan thought maybe he was tired, plus they certainly had never discussed this before.

"Dad, shall we call it an evening?"

"Yeah, let's do. I'm tired, and we have an early day tomorrow, what with Fran's funeral and all."

He followed his dad up the stairs, they said goodnight and went to their bedrooms. He could hear him cleaning up before bed in the bathroom, just like he did all those years when Jonathan was young. It was truly a dichotomy, his father's living habits had virtually not changed at all, and yet, they'd just had a discussion about his mother, which had never happened before. He thought, "This is truly going to be a coming-of-age visit."

Once he knew his dad was in bed, he headed to the old bathroom he and Matt used to share. It was empty, but clean. On the way back to his bedroom, he just had to take one more look in Matt's room. He stepped in, turned on the light and closed the door. The room felt cold, and not really part of the house, much like Matt never really felt like part of the family. But where was he? He hadn't had the heart to ask his dad about him. He sat down on Matt's bed, thinking about how different Matt was. He always liked to find trouble, and if he couldn't find it, he'd make it. Jonathan never understood that. And now, maybe he was in big trouble, something he couldn't get out of. Jonathan had seen a side of Matt no one else ever had, at least when they were young.

They were sixteen years old and had taken the old pickup truck out near Oswego to do some pheasant hunting. They'd work the ditches and ask farmers if they could hunt their cornfields. Late one afternoon they came across one lone old cow. She appeared to have gotten stranded and lost from the herd. Matt walked up and began talking to her. Got right in her face and started yelling things, like, "Hi, is anyone home?" Then he'd turn and laugh out loud. Jonathan had an eerie feeling about it and kept asking him to stop. Matt suddenly turned and looked at him with a look that sent chills down his back, then turned back around and shot the cow right between the eyes with his shotgun. She stood there for a second, then dropped to her knees and fell forward on her face. It made Jonathan sick. It also scared him to death. This might be his brother, but who, or what, was he really? Jonathan immediately started walking to the truck. He could hear Matt behind him. He didn't know what to say. They got in the truck and Matt asked, "Are you alright little brother?" He'd call him little brother, because Matt was born four minutes before Jonathan.

"Are you kidding? You just killed a cow, shot her with your shotgun. No! I'm not alright."

Matt leaned over close and said, "Well, you better be alright little brother, because if anyone hears about this, I'll know who told them, understand?"

Jonathan could feel the chills running down the back of his neck. He had no choice, "Yeah, okay, I got it."

"I'm serious Jonathan, no one knows about this!"

"Okay, Matt, no one will know...I promise."

They didn't speak all the way back to the house. Jonathan had put his gun away in the cellar and went to his room. He couldn't sleep; he kept seeing that poor cow drop. For days he did his best to stay away from Matt. He just couldn't look at him. Finally, a week later Matt walked into his room and sat down on the bed. "Hey, Jonathan, I'm sorry about the other day, you know when we were hunting...the cow?"

Jonathan was reading a book at his desk and hadn't turned around to acknowledge Matt. He let a few seconds pass then said, "Fine."

He heard Matt get up and leave, and the cow incident was never mentioned again.

He hadn't thought about that for years. He was tired and his dad was right, they did have an early morning tomorrow. He took one last look around, turned off the light, closed the door behind him and swore he'd never go back in that room again.

The service was simple, but had a certain air of elegance about it. Everyone was there, which included Fran's close friends and the immediate family members. Jonathan hadn't seen most of them in years and some only long ago. The casket was closed, which he was thankful for, because he wanted to remember Fran, as she was the last time he had seen her, full of life and energy. He wandered around shaking hands and engaging in small talk, mostly about Fran. It was strange how these people had taken on a new meaning to him. They were where he came from, his heritage. He went over and sat down by himself, just watching them; wondering about them. Who were they, really, and how did he wind up in this family? While he was still off in his forgotten past, someone sat down beside him.

"Hi Jonathan, do you remember me?" He turned to see a familiar old face, his great Uncle Chuck. Chuck was his Grandfather Sam's brother. Sam had been married to Fran for many years, but had been killed in a car accident some twenty-five years ago. Jonathan didn't really know Sam since he was so young when he was killed. Chuck didn't live in Kansas, he'd moved away years ago to Toledo, Ohio. Didn't look anything like his brother Sam, was short, slightly stooped and had a head of thick white hair.

"Of course I do. Uncle Chuck, how are you?"

"Under the circumstances, I guess okay. Fran was so dear, it's a sad day."

Jonathan could see the pain in his face and the realization that he was getting older and soon it would be his turn.

"She sure was. I will miss her a lot." He then felt guilty. Everyone knew what Fran had done for him and that he hadn't been back to see her in years.

"You know Uncle Chuck, I feel terrible, because I've been such an idiot. I let all these years slip by and now I can't do anything about it." He could feel himself welling up. Chuck reached over and put his hand on Jonathan's, "Jonathan, don't you think we all have regrets? There's not a person in this room who doesn't feel sorrow over something they did or didn't do, said or didn't say. Fran knew you loved her and that's the most important thing. Don't beat yourself up over something you can't change." He squeezed Jonathan's hand, got up and walked off. Jonathan sat there in shock for a few seconds. He had no idea; no idea at all this family had such love for each other. But how would he? He'd been away too long...trying to become a famous writer.

Things were dying down and people were saying their good-byes. Fran would have been pleased with the service. It was cheerful and brought a lot of people together who hadn't seen each other in years. And, sad as Jonathan was over why he was there, it had been an awakening. His family, his history, he was now seeing it through eyes of curiosity and, an unquenchable desire to know more. He was going to find out everything he could. He was going to explore all those gray, murky areas. He would find some of them were very, very...black!

Matt never appeared.

Chapter 4

He decided to stay for a while, discover what he could, see things, talk to people and dig up whatever history about his family he could find.

The night of the funeral he'd asked his dad if that was all right. He got a resounding, "Yes." Before they'd gone to bed that night his dad had said to him, "It's so good to have you here, son, please stay as long as you want." Jonathan figured he'd start in his own house. He knew they had photo albums and family stuff in the cellar. What better place to start exploring?

The cellar had always doubled as a tornado shelter, which they had fortunately never needed, but he knew it held some intriguing history.

His dad had left for work, so down to the cellar he went. It ran under about half the house with an outside entrance down some old wooden stairs, with a hatch cover door. There was light in the cellar, but he took a flashlight anyway. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been down here, but it looked exactly as he remembered it. Surprisingly, there was his old shotgun, covered in dust and cobwebs, standing back in the corner, where he'd put it after the cow incident. Matt's gun was gone. There were old bikes, pots and pans piled in old wooden crates, a couple of mattresses, an old black and white television set, and there sitting on an old wooden table, the treasure he was looking for. Cardboard boxes neatly wrapped in tape - the photo albums. He decided to take them upstairs to his room where he could sort through them in better light. There were four fairly large boxes, which took a couple of trips.

He picked the first box off the pile and cut it neatly open. There were some old newspaper clippings, and the photo albums he sought. The pages were brittle, and as he turned them, the pictures began to slide and fall out. They'd been glued in and the adhesive had turned to powder. Sadly, most of the pictures hadn't been labeled. He recognized some of the people in them, and some he didn't. He thought he'd sort them out in those two categories, recognized and unrecognized. He could then sit down with his dad and go through them.

It took him several hours, but he loved every minute of it. It was remarkable to see his dad when he was young, Fran and Sam when they were younger and there, possibly the most treasured of all, his mom. His dad was right, she was beautiful. Regrettably, there were so few of her. She was only twenty-one years old when she died. It suddenly hit him, how as he and Matt had come into the world...she had departed.

It took his breath away for a moment. He'd been right there when she died. Surprisingly, in all these years he'd never really thought about it, now it seemed overwhelming. He set the pictures down and lay back on his bed. He was suddenly tired and depressed. All he could think about was that thirty-one years ago next month, his mom died in the same room he was born in. He drifted off to sleep and dreamt of angels.

He awoke to a rapping noise. It sounded like it was coming from Matt's room. He sat up on the bed and listened more carefully. No, not Matt's room but on the backside of the house. He looked out the back window, and there sitting in Bertha was a large woodpecker. He raised the window and yelled out, "Hey, get out of our tree." The woodpecker jerked his head around, stared at Jonathan for a second then flew away. He laughed out loud, closed the window and sat down to finish sorting the pictures. It took him several more hours and he finished up just about the time his dad got home from work. He heard him come in the door and ran downstairs to meet him. After dinner his dad agreed to sit down and go over some of the pictures with him.

Jonathan had put all the pictures of his mom in a separate pile. He figured his dad didn't need to see those. It would be too painful. They started with all the people he didn't know. They were mostly great grandparents, uncles, aunts, nieces, and nephews. His dad knew some things about some of them and very little about others. Still in all, Jonathan found it fascinating. They went at it for over an hour and Jonathan could see his dad was getting tired and needed to take a break. "Hey, is Sorenson's malt shop still open?" Jonathan asked. "My treat, I'll take you for a malt."

"Sure, but I'll buy," his dad said eagerly. After a brief skirmish about who was going to pay, Jonathan won and off they went. He used to ride his bike down to the shop and it seemed like a very long way. Now, in the car they were there in a few minutes. The shop had changed some, but the malts hadn't. There was a certain comfort in that. His dad got his usual chocolate, and Jonathan his all time favorite, cherry-vanilla. They sat and chatted at the counter, just like old times. He was starting to see his dad in a new light; more open, able to talk about things that had been uncomfortable in the past. They finished off their flavorsome malts and drove back to the house. As they parted ways at the top of the stairs Jonathan turned to his dad, "Dad I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying being here with you, and having you help me discover my past."

"Oh, I think I know. You see I'm enjoying it as much as you are." He smiled, turned and went into his room.

It must have been the sugar in the malt, because Jonathan found himself wired, wanting to stay up and continue on his quest. He'd gotten through one and a half boxes and had about two and a half to go. Some of these people were looking a little more familiar. He recognized them, but really didn't know much about them. He began to sort according to; 'thought he knew,' 'sort of knew,' 'didn't have a clue.' He was halfway through the last box when he looked up and saw it was three in the morning. He needed to sleep. He rolled over and was out in an instant. Tomorrow he was going scouting.

He heard his dad downstairs making breakfast. He could smell the pancakes and bacon. It was too much. He was out of bed and in the kitchen in seconds. "Morning dad. How'd you sleep?"

"Good son, how about you?"

"Pretty good. I stayed up till around three going through those pictures. They really are interesting. Maybe, if you have some time tonight we can go through some of them...again."

"You bet. I have to work till around five, then we can have some dinner and get back at it." His dad put some cakes and bacon down in front of him and sat down at the table. "You know Jonathan, I find this very interesting."

"What?"

"Your new-found fascination with your family. What prompted this?"

"I don't know, maybe Fran's death, maybe the realization of how precious life is, or maybe it was just time. I don't know dad, but I'll tell you one thing, I'm glad I have a chance to do this."

"Me too, son, because I think it's going to be healing for both of us." He glanced at his watch. "Well, I'd better get going, but I'll see you tonight." As he left, Jonathan watched him walk out the door. He'd always taken his dad for granted – never again.

He finished up his breakfast and decided he'd go over to Fran's house. There were still some relatives staying there for a few days, to clean up personal matters, and he was hoping to spend a little time talking to them. He figured he might not have this chance again. Fran's old house was just off of Sixth and Cedar. It was a great old two-story brick house with an enclosed front and back porch, and a big yard that went up in the back and had tiered flowerbeds surrounded by thick bushes. He and Matt used to have great war games up there. When they were little and spent the night they could always hear Fannie coming up the stairs. The floors would squeak and creek, which gave them time to act like they were asleep. She'd tiptoe in, check them and always make sure they were covered up and warm! Looking back, Jonathan could see how much she loved them. Sweet memories, left longing.

As he climbed the porch steps he could hear laughing and talking from inside. It was a warm fall day and for some strange reason the world seemed so... serene.

He opened the screen door, it screeched just like his dad's, it must be a family thing, he thought. They were all glad to see him, Aunt Tilley, Uncle Chuck, and several local townspeople who knew Fran. They were all having donuts and coffee. Aunt Tilley ran up, gave him a big hug and asked him to come sit and talk for a while. This was just what he hoped would happen. They were very content to talk about all the old times, old friends, the good old days. The more he listened, the more he thought, maybe they're right. The one person he really wanted to talk to was Uncle Chuck. Chuck had made an impression on him at the service with his honesty and sincerity. After several cups of coffee, and a few trips to the restroom, he got him cornered in the dining room. It was just the two of them.

"Uncle Chuck..."

"Jonathan, why don't you call me what everyone else does, C.G.?"

"Okay, I guess I didn't know that's what everybody called you."

"Yep, C.G., I always liked it better than, Chuck."

"Well, okay...C.G. I don't know exactly how to approach this so I guess I'll just come right out with it. I'm trying to find out as much as I can about my family...and I figured you could probably help me, assuming of course you want to."

C.G., as he was now known, threw back his head and laughed. Jonathan thought, great, here I'm trying to be serious and he thinks this is funny. C.G. gathered himself, reached out and grabbed Jonathan's shoulder, "Forgive me. I'm not laughing at you Jonathan; it's just funny how as we get older, older like you, not me, that we get this new- found interest in our past. Believe me, I went through the same thing. I couldn't have cared less when I was young, then about the time I hit forty or so, it struck me...who were these people, where did I really come from, what skeletons were in the closet I didn't know about, etc. etc? I know how you feel, and yes, I'll be glad to help you, although I don't know how much I can."

Again, Jonathan was startled by Chuck's, uh...C.G.'s, frankness. "Well, thanks, I guess."

Still laughing, he said, "No, I'm serious, I'll do whatever I can to help you, and please forgive me. I wasn't laughing at you. It just stirred old memories."

They sat and talked for over an hour. Jonathan could see C.G. was getting tired. Most everyone else had either left or gone up for a nap and C.G. was getting anxious for his. Jonathan thanked him and asked if they could meet again. C.G. agreed, but said it would have to be in the next couple of days, because he was leaving for Toledo. Jonathan told him that would be fine, just to call him and let him know the best time to come by.

All the way home he thought about everything C.G. had told him. How Fran's parents were adamant about her not marrying Sam. They never really gave her any good reasons, just that they didn't approve. Apparently that wasn't good enough for Fran and they married anyway. Once Kim came along their tune changed. Fran's parents loved her and that seemed to change their attitude toward Sam. He was a good husband and father, and they grew to appreciate that.

Fran's parents had a small farm outside Cherryvale, just northeast of Independence. It was about then that C.G. stopped and seemed reluctant to go on. Jonathan was afraid to press him, for fear he might not want to talk later, so he dropped it. Maybe when they met again he could pursue it.

When he got home he decided to take a break from genealogy and see just how far up Bertha he could climb. After all, she hadn't changed all that much...he just hoped he hadn't.

A bit sore and scratched from his aborted attempt to climb Bertha, he managed to make it downstairs for breakfast the next morning. He ate alone because his dad had gone into work early. He scanned the newspaper, intrigued with all the local gossip. That, absolutely had not changed. As he gingerly climbed the stairs, feeling every muscle in his body, he kept thinking back to C.G.'s abrupt stop when Fran's parents' home came up. Well, maybe he could broach it with him today. They had agreed to meet for lunch. He took a long hot shower, popped a couple of aspirin, and truly felt he was moving near normally when he arrived at the café. C.G. was already there, sitting at a table and chewing the fat with a couple of guys. When he saw Jonathan hobble through the door he came over to see what was wrong. "My gosh, what's wrong with you? You're walking almost as bad as I do."

"Is it really that noticeable?"

"Well, maybe not," as he turned and winked at his buddies, who turned away laughing. "Anyway, come over and sit down, we'll order some lunch." They moved into a small booth in the corner.

"So, how are you C.G.?"

"Compared to you...I think pretty good." He couldn't contain himself and burst out laughing. "I'm sorry Jonathan, what happened?"

"Let's just say Bertha got the best of me."

"Bertha? Maybe I don't want to know."

"Bertha is the giant tree in our backyard Matt and I used to climb and live in most of the summer. I thought I'd climb her for, you know, old times sake."

"Uh huh," C.G. acknowledged trying to hold back his amusement.

"You know the tree doesn't look any different, but I guess I've changed."

"Changed? Well maybe, but aged, absolutely. Why is it youngsters look at the elderly and think they were always old? We were all young once, and you don't have a corner on it just because you're young right now. I actually enjoy watching people discover their aging process. At least you got up in the tree a ways. I couldn't even do that now, and wouldn't try. Someday you won't either. But you know what? You won't care."

He smiled at Jonathan with this kind of insightful grin. Jonathan didn't feel quite as sore.

"C.G. I don't exactly know how to ask this...but I noticed yesterday when we were talking that you seemed reluctant to discuss Fran's parents farm, and I was just wondering why?"

He sat back and gazed out the café window. He seemed to be deep in thought. He finally turned back at Jonathan and said, "I guess you don't know what happened out there?"

"No. No I don't."

"Well, I tell you what. Let's finish up our lunch and take a spin out there. This is your family too, and I guess you have every right to know."

Needless-to-say, Jonathan's interest was piqued now. He wolfed down his sandwich and soda and was ready to go. C.G. however, was somewhat slower and wanted to talk some baseball. Finally after what seemed an eternity of talking fastballs, homers, and the hit and run they headed to Jonathan's car. C.G. told him how to head out of town to the old farm. It was about twelve miles northeast of Independence with one farm after another. It really was pretty with all the golden tones and the old barns and fields. C.G. pointed to a dirt road heading east and told him to take it. Down about two miles there sat an abandoned farmhouse and barn. C.G. said, "Pull in here."

The fences were broken down, windows boarded up and the barn a skeleton of what it once was.

"This is it?" Jonathan said incredulously.

"Yeah, this is it."

They turned in the driveway and slowly crept up to the house. Jonathan jumped out and eagerly wanted to start looking around. He didn't know what for, but he knew there was history here. C.G. sat in the car. He was thinking back to what had happened here, and knew he was now going to have to tell his fervent nephew. He watched Jonathan roam around the house, pulling on doors and boarded up windows. He went around the house and out to the barn. Hurriedly, he returned to the car, as if C.G. would have a magic way of getting in. He opened the door on C.G.'s side of the car "Don't you feel like getting out?"

C.G. paused a moment looking up into excited eyes, "Oh sure, I'll get out." Jonathan helped him out of the car and they started walking slowly toward the house. There was an old wooden bench near the front stoop. C.G. motioned at it and said, "Come on, let's sit down there for a spell." Jonathan agreed and they sat down in the warm afternoon sun. It was so quiet and peaceful, only a gentle breeze rustling through the big trees.

"What do you think son, nice and quiet isn't it?"

"Yes, it's wonderful. Why wouldn't anyone want to talk about this place, and why is it abandoned?"

"Well, the house is, but lots of the property is leased to other farmers who use it for crops or grazing land. I guess nobody wanted to live here after..."

"C'mon C.G. you can't do this again. You didn't bring me out here to just look around. What happened?"

C.G. started to tell Jonathan a terrifying tale of what had happened over 30 years ago, in this house.

"Every Sunday afternoon Fran and Kim would come out and bring Howard and Doris dinner. Howard and Doris Taylor were Fran's and Tilley's parents, and Kim's grandparents."

Well, anyway one Sunday, Fran was sick and couldn't make it, so Kim came alone." Again he stopped, unwilling to go on. "You know Jonathan, I'm not so sure your dad shouldn't be telling you this," he said almost tearfully.

Jonathan could see that whatever this was, C.G. was very uncomfortable with it. He didn't want to press it so he said, "Well, if you think that's best. I do appreciate you bringing me out here though," hoping he'd respond with, "Oh well, since we're here," but he didn't. Jonathan could see in those old eyes, sorrow that he'd done this.

"I tell you what C.G., let's head back to town and I'll buy you a malt."

He just couldn't bring himself to press it further, seeing how excruciating it was for him to talk about it. They drove back to town with C.G. not saying another word. Once at the malt shop he seemed a little better and even laughed about how long it took both of them to get out of the car. They sat at a table in the corner, and while waiting for their malts, C.G. reached over and grabbed Jonathan's arm, "I'm sorry I put you through that, but...I really do think you should ask your dad about it. He could probably explain it better anyway."

They finished up and Jonathan drove him back to Fran's house. He would be leaving in the morning and Jonathan felt a deep sense of pride in having gotten to know him a little bit. They gave each other a hug on the front porch and C.G. went in for his afternoon nap.

Jonathan would never see him again.

Chapter 5

That night he and his dad had dinner and some light chitchat about their activities that day. For some reason Jonathan was reluctant to bring up his trip with C. G. out to the old farm. There was something inside telling him to leave it alone. On the other hand he was dying to find out what happened out there. In the end he let it go...for the time being.

He couldn't sleep that night. He tossed and turned and just couldn't get the farm and the lingering suspense out of his mind. He decided to go over to Fran's the next day and look around. If he could find out, without bringing it up to his dad, so much the better. With that in mind he finally dozed off. The next thing he heard was the front screen door closing as his dad headed off to work. He felt groggy and tired as he sat up in bed, then the thoughts started pouring in and he began to feel rejuvenated. He showered, and drove over to Fran's. Only Tilley was there now, finishing up Frans's affairs. As he came through the front door he could see her sitting at the dining room table.

"Good morning, Tilley, how are you?"

"Oh, good morning, Jonathan. Well, I've been better. This is fairly painful, having to sort through this stuff and then take care of it. Luckily Fran was well organized and pretty much had things in order, still..."

"Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"That's sweet dear, but I think I've got it. You know, there will probably be something here for you."

Jonathan was thinking about other things and was caught off guard. "What? I'm sorry, I didn't hear you Tilley."

"Jonathan, come sit down." He pulled up a chair next to her and sat down, then reached over and gave her a hug. "I'm sorry Tilley, I'm just a little distracted. Now what was it you said?"

"Yes I can see something is bothering you. What is it dear?"

"C.G. and I took a drive out to the Taylor farm yesterday...and, well, never mind it just shook me up a little bit."

She turned away, looking out the dining room window, "What did he tell you?"

"Nothing really. He started to tell me something, then just stopped. He seemed disturbed by whatever happened out there and finally told me to ask my dad. But you know Tilley, I'm not comfortable doing that right now. I know this has something to do with my mother, and, well, talking about her seems very painful for him. I'm just not sure I want to put him through it." He paused for a long minute; Tilley said nothing. "On the other hand, I desperately want to know. What do you think I should do?"

Again, she just sat staring out the window. Every time he brought this piece of personal history up, a veil of sorrow seemed to fall on whoever he was talking to. He sat quietly waiting for a response. Knowingly, she turned and looked him in the eye, then reaching out and taking his hand in hers said, "Jonathan, there are some things better left alone...this is one of them."

He'd never seen her so resolute. Besides her words, the look in her eyes told him to leave it be. He would, with her.

"Tilley, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. Now, can we get back to whether I can help you?"

She seemed to soften and that warm smile she was known for, returned. "Of course, dear, and no, I don't need any help."

"You're absolutely, positively, unequivocally sure?"

She laughed and said, "Yes, completely sure."

He asked if it would be all right if he looked around, upstairs, in the cellar, wherever. She told him to go right ahead and enjoy himself. Before he got up she said, "As I told you before, there will probably be something in Fran's will for you. As soon as I know I'll get in touch; now go explore."

He started upstairs in Fran's bedroom. She had pictures of Sam on the walls and dresser, and a few of the two of them together out at the lake and the day they were married. There were pictures of Kim when she was young, and one beautiful photo of her when she was pregnant. He took it and sat down on the bed, holding it in his hands, mourning. He and Matt had never been allowed in Fran's room, so he'd never seen these before. He finished up looking around in her room and went back downstairs, still holding the picture of his mom. He showed it to Tilley and asked, "Do you think I could keep this?"

She smiled at him and said, "Absolutely, positively, unequivocally – yes!"

He set it down on the table, nodded a warm thank you and made his way to the cellar.

It was very much like the cellar in his house, old, dark, dank and poorly lit, but he didn't care, this was an excursion; a journey into his past. He moved things, peeked into boxes and just generally snooped around for about an hour. There was nothing of great interest, but nonetheless it was fascinating. He didn't find anything he felt was historical, at least in the ancestral sense, so back up stairs he went. There was Tilley, still working away on Fran's papers.

"Aunt Tilley, I think I'm going to take off, but thanks for letting me look around. It was wonderful." She handed him the picture of his mom and said, "Here, don't forget this. You know Jonathan, Fran loved you very much and was very proud of you. She'd be pleased you've taken this interest in your heritage."

As he looked at her he just kept thinking about how no one wanted to talk about the farm, and what happened there. "Thanks, Tilley. I loved her too. Remember, if you need any help..." She laughed and waved him out the door. He drove home and immediately went out to the back yard and propped himself up against Bertha. There were many times when he was growing up he had deep and insightful conversations with his big, old, barked friend.

It was obvious, the only person who he could talk to about this aspect of his past was his dad, and he wasn't sure if that could happen. He looked up, through what looked like a thousand branches, into a pale blue sky. How could he possibly approach this, what if his dad withdrew? They'd come so far since he'd been home. He certainly didn't want to jeopardize this new relationship over family history. But somehow, some way, he had to know. Whatever happened at that place at that time obviously didn't have a lasting effect on his mother; she was fine until he was born. And the Taylors, he never remembered hearing anything about them, or how they had died. He'd always assumed they had just gotten old and passed away. Maybe not. Maybe that's what this was all about. Something bad had happened to them out there and his mom had seen it, or discovered it.

Well, great, he thought, that brings me right back to where I started – my dad. He'd be home soon, maybe this was as good a time as any.

Right on schedule he came strolling through the door. He'd stopped at the market and bought a couple of big juicy steaks to barbecue. For the first time since Jonathan could remember, he had a real look of contentment about him.

"Well son, how was your day?"

Wow, this was going to be tough. Here they were finally communicating and having fun and now what he had to ask was possibly going to betray that.

"Good dad, how about yours?"

His dad was already prepping the steaks and going into his cooking mode.

"Fine son, same old stuff. What did you do today?" He asked shouting from the kitchen.

"I went over to Fran's and talked to Tilley."

"Really, what about?"

"Oh, just stuff, you know, asked if I could help her with anything. Asked her if I could just look around, things like that."

"Yeah, did you find anything worth keeping, like an old iron or some socks?" Jonathan could hear him chuckling at his own cleverness.

He thought, well I might as well crack the door open and see what happens.

"Yeah, I found a great picture of mom."

The cooking noises in the kitchen stopped. He waited, not knowing what might happen next. Suddenly his dad appeared in the kitchen doorway, "What picture?"

"She's pregnant...and beautiful."

His dad stared at him for a minute, then came and sat down on the couch, realizing how much this probably meant to Jonathan.

"Could I see it?"

Jonathan was thrilled, maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as he thought.

"You bet," and he ran upstairs as fast as he could to get it. He hurried back and sat down next to his dad, handing him the photograph. He held it firmly in his hands, but his face was soft and sad. Almost tearfully he said, "She was beautiful, wasn't she?"

Jonathan put his arm around his father's shoulder, "She was gorgeous, dad."

They both just sat and gazed at the picture for a while. Jonathan wondering about the past; his dad, longing for it. Finally, he turned to Jonathan and said, "Well, what do you say we have some dinner?" He placed the frame gently on the table, got up and returned to the kitchen. Jonathan sat there wondering what would happen next. Was this good? He wasn't sure, but he was going to have to find out.

All through dinner he kept mulling over how to approach his questions. He felt like he'd opened the door, with the picture of his mom, but from there to the farm was a quantum leap. He decided the best thing was to tell his dad that he and C.G. had taken a ride out to the old Taylor place, then he'd see what happened.

After dinner, while his dad was making them some coffee, Jonathan ran up and got more pictures. He thought showing him the photos might be a good way to ease into a discussion. They sat across from each other in the living room with the pictures on the coffee table, along with his mom's beautiful portrait. Jonathan did some arbitrary sorting and casually said, "Yesterday C.G. and I took a ride out to the old Taylor farm."

He didn't want to look up, for fear his dad might be staring daggers through him. First the picture of his mom, now the Taylor farm. He just kept sorting, not looking up.

"Really?" his dad said in a questioning voice.

"Well, he and I had lunch together and I was asking him about our family and he sort of mentioned it. Next thing I knew we were on our way out there."

"He sort of mentioned it?" He asked sternly.

"Actually I asked him about mom's grandparents, and I guess that's how it came up. Anyway, we went out there and looked around a little bit, but it's all run down and there's not much to see."

"What else did he tell you about it?"

Jonathan could see his dad was getting very serious, and if he was going to pursue this he'd better do it honestly and with respect.

"Dad, he started to tell me about something that happened out there, but stopped short and told me to ask you. Believe me, I don't want to upset you, but I hope you can understand, this is my family too, and although I've not shown the interest or concern I should have, I truly want to know now. This isn't some whim or casual interest. This means a lot to me. But if you'd rather not tell me, I'll understand. I won't quit looking, but I certainly won't bother you with it. I know now how deeply you loved mom and me and Matt. I guess I took that for granted, and that was my mistake, but now I'm trying to put my negligence behind me and do things right. My time here with you, I'll cherish always and I don't want to jeopardize it, but I have to find out dad, and I'd rather hear it from you."

His dad appeared stunned, maybe a little overwhelmed. He'd filed this all away deep in his memory, now, here was his inquisitive son perplexed, asking questions he'd hoped he'd never have to answer. Jonathan sat back in the chair uneasy and hoping he hadn't crossed the line.

"I'm not quite sure what to say."

"Dad, if you don't want to discuss it, I told you, I'll understand. You and I have never talked like this. We're probably long overdue. But as I said, if..."

"No, you're right. We are long overdue. I've kept your mom like she was stored in my own private little memorial. I can see now that was wrong, but my intention was never to hurt anyone, especially you. It's just that she died so young, and you and Matt never knew her. I guess I just felt like she was all mine."

"She was and I'd never want to take your memories away from you. You're right, I never knew her, but I'd like to know, at least a little bit."

His dad seemed to relax and slump back on the couch. There was a slight look of relief on his face, as though he knew he'd been harboring this too long.

"Well, what would you like to know? I'm not sure I can answer all your questions, but I'll do my best."

"Well, let's see, you told me how you guys met, and that you asked her to marry you when you both graduated from high school, but then what happened?"

He figured if he slowly approached the farm thing if might be easier.

"We stayed engaged about a year and when we were twenty, we got married. Nothing big, you know family and a few friends. Your mom was stunning. I guess I still couldn't believe she wanted to marry me. Anyway, we rented a little house just off of third and I went to work at the drug store and she started as a trainee at the clinic. I'll tell you, Jonathan, we were as happy as any couple could have been. There were days I went to work and swore my feet never touched the ground."

"Then..." He stopped short again. Jonathan could see this wasn't going to be painless. He suddenly felt guilty, how could he ask this of his dad. Just so he could find out about his history, he was going to drag his dad through the mud. Make him deal with things, "better left alone" to quote a close relative.

"Dad, it's okay, you don't have to go on. Let's just drop it."

"No, I need to do this, you need to hear it. Secrets just fester with time, and this one has been buried long enough." He got up and went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. It took a little longer than normal, but when he came back he sat down and took Kim's picture in his hand. Still looking at the photo he said, "Did you ever hear of Jack Zane?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Oh, believe me, if you had heard of him, you'd never have forgotten."

"Why? Who was he?"

His dad told him the terrifying story of, serial killer, Jack Zane. "They weren't sure how many people he killed, but it all ended, out there at Howard's and Doris' farm."

"What?" Are you kidding?" Jonathan was flabbergasted. He sat up and looked at his dad in disbelief.

"I wish I was. He'd been on the run for days. It was in all the newspapers. The press had started calling him InZane Jack. He was crazy; like a wild animal. He'd held up a service station in Topeka, killed the attendant, and was then spotted heading south. Unfortunately, he tried to hide out at the Taylor farm. Somebody tipped off the police and they surrounded the house."

He quickly looked away; Jonathan could see his eyes welling up.

"You know what, dad, let's call it a night. I had no idea..."

"No, I'm fine. I want to finish this."

He put the picture down and wiped the tears from his face. "He killed them, shot them both in the head, the son of a bitch. Then, like cowards always do, he shot himself."

Well, that explained his great-grandparents, but what about his mom. C.G. had said she was there.

"Dad, C.G. told me mom was there, is that true?"

Now he really began to tear up, "Yes, she was there. She'd gone out to take them dinner. She and Fran use to take them dinner almost every Sunday. Fran was sick, so that day your mom went alone. She saw him...shoot them. Somehow she escaped in the commotion. The police found her out near the barn hiding between hay bales. He'd beaten her - my wife. She told me later that Grandpa Howard had saved her life. When Zane started hitting her, he jumped in and tried to save her. What he did probably cost him his life, but it allowed Kim to get away. He shot Howard and Doris, but before he could go out looking for your mom the police showed up. Thank God, or he'd have shot her dead!"

His dad slumped back on the couch, exhausted. He'd sat on this nightmare since Kim's death, and now, although brutally painful, it was out. Jonathan was horrified. He had figured what had happened couldn't be good, but this...this was almost more than he could believe.

They both sat staring at each other, worn out. Almost by instinct, they silently went up to bed.

Woebegone days had returned to Independence, at least for Jonathan and his dad.

Chapter 6

He'd decided to go back out to the farm the next day by himself, just to look around. There was a part of him that needed to envision what had happened there. Maybe it was the writer in him; maybe the son.

He waited until his dad left for work. Now, knowing what had taken place there, the drive out felt different; unnatural. The day was overcast and cold, heavy dark clouds with the threat of rain. As he approached the old farmhouse, it looked almost ghostlike. It was as if it were beckoning to him. Slowly he pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the house. He sat in the car staring at it. My God, he thought, my great grandparents were killed here and my mother was beaten and could have lost her life...I wouldn't be here. It was a chilling consideration.

He walked around to the back of the house. The door and windows were boarded up, but he had to see the inside. He kicked in the back door. There were some old torn drapes hanging on the insides of windows and broken down old furniture here and there. Cobwebs and dust covered everything. He propped up part of an old crate and sat down. All these years had gone by and he had never known any of this and hadn't cared. Now, here he was sitting in the middle of it. He didn't quite know how he felt; somber, cold, and certainly melancholy. As he looked around he began to wonder exactly where it had happened. Were there any remnants of it? Although morbid, his curiosity far exceeded any feelings he had of being morose. He began to move around the room, looking for clues. It had been so long ago, over 30 years; there couldn't possibly be any evidence remaining. Undaunted he continued his search. Carefully he made his way upstairs. Boards were gone and others were broken. Sections of floor were missing and he could see right through to the first floor. He cautiously maneuvered through each room. There were three bedrooms and a large bath. The tub was gone, but the hole was there. The upstairs was completely empty, no signs of life...or death.

On his way back down his foot broke a timber on the stairs and he fell awkwardly onto the partial railing. His hand slid forward onto a large rusty nail, the pain was excruciating. It went deep and as he pulled his hand back he began to bleed profusely. He ran to the car and dug an old rag out of the trunk. The makeshift bandage wasn't stopping the bleeding and he knew he had to get back to town and find a doctor. Pulling out of the driveway, he looked at the old house and thought; I'll be back.

He headed to the drug store, assured that his dad would know a local doctor. Of course, he was going to have to explain how this happened, but really needed medical attention. He found his dad stocking some shelves, "Hey dad, how are you," trying to hide the bloody, bandaged hand.

"Jonathan, what a surprise. What are you doing here?"

Reluctantly he held out his hand. "Well, I sort of hurt my hand."

His dad grabbed his hand, "My God, what happened? You're bleeding!"

"Dad, I went back out to the farm, was looking around and fell on the stairs. A nail went into my hand."

"Well, we've got to get you to the doctor. Come on I'll take you."

As the car moved quickly down the street Jonathan said, "I just had to go back out there. You know, just look around. I'm sorry."

"Son, you have nothing to be sorry for. I understand your curiosity, but remember, curiosity killed the cat, just make sure it doesn't kill you." He turned and smiled at Jonathan.

They pulled up and parked at Dr. Jim Wiggin's office a few blocks from the drug store. "I'll take you in and introduce you, then I'd better get back to the store. When you're done call me and I'll come get you."

He took him in and introduced him to Dr. Wiggins, who was about Jonathan's age. He was taken to an examination room where the nurse quickly came in and began cleaning the wound. "Have you worked for Dr. Wiggins long?"

"Oh yes, for a while. He's wonderful."

"Yes, but is he a good doctor?" he said trying to be funny.

Looking at him questioningly she said, "Well, he'd better be, he's the only one we have."

She left the room, telling him the doctor would be in shortly. His hand had been cleaned and was feeling better. Unlike New Orleans, the doctor here appeared in a few minutes. "Sorry you had to wait, Jonathan, but Mrs. Hale was being typically impatient. Let's have a look at that hand."

Jonathan liked him immediately. He seemed kind and genuine. After a few painful minutes, stitches, and a tetanus shot, Jonathan asked if he had a minute to talk. Dr. Wiggins took him to his office. "Have a seat. Hope you don't mind if I eat my lunch while we talk."

"Oh no, not at all. I don't want to interrupt your lunch, I can..."

"No, please stay. I've always liked and admired your dad, and I'd like to get to know you...again."

They sat and chatted about life in New Orleans and Independence and how different their lives were. Jonathan remembered Jim when they were both little, but Jim and his mom had moved away when he was about ten. He'd gone on to school and gotten his medical degree before he decided to come back to Independence to take over his dad's family practice. After a little more reminiscing, Jim asked him how he hurt his hand.

"I was out at the old Taylor farm and fell on some dilapidated stairs."

"What were you doing out there?" He asked munching down some chips.

"Well, that was my great grandparents' home, and I just wanted to see it before I headed back to New Orleans."

Taking a sip of Pepsi he asked, "Forgive me, but weren't they killed out there – shot by that madman?"

Jonathan couldn't believe it. Jim knew all this, and he didn't. "No, that's alright, and yes they were. Can I ask how you knew?"

"Well, again forgive me, but as I remember your mother was out there when it happened. I only know this because my dad told me. He was the one who examined her...after it happened. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

Still a little in shock Jonathan said, "No, really it's okay. To be honest it's one of the reasons I hung around. I've been away a long time and with Fran's death, I've begun to realize how neglectful I've been. I wanted to spend some time with my dad and also to find out about my family."

"You know, Jim, I'm glad you told me. I'm trying to find out as much as I can."

"Well, Jonathan, if that's true you might want to talk to my dad."

"Your dad? He's still...here?"

Jim polished off the last bite of his sandwich and said, "You bet. He lives in the house right behind us. He's retired and just taking it easy. He had a slight stroke a few years ago, so he's...a little, slow, but I'm sure he'll remember. You're more than welcome to try."

"That would be great. You said us; you're married?"

"Very, that was my wife who cleaned your wound."

"Great, and I was kidding her about your competence."

"Oh, don't worry about it. She's used to it, after all, what are they going to do? I'm the only game in town."

Jim escorted him to the waiting room and let him use the phone. He also gave him the senior Dr. Wiggins' phone number and told him he'd let him know he'd be calling.

In a few minutes, Jonathan's dad arrived. He picked up his car at the drug store and drove home. His hand was throbbing. His dad had given him some pain medicine along with the antibiotic Dr. Wiggins had prescribed. He went upstairs, popped his pills and took a nap. Tomorrow he'd contact old Doc Wiggins. Hopefully, he could remember.

There was a light tapping at the door, "Jonathan, are you awake?" His dad did not want to disturb him, but did want to find out if his hand was all right.

"Son, are you okay?"

Wearily, he sat up in bed. "Yeah dad, I'm fine." He threw on his robe and shuffled to the door. He cracked it open and went back to sit on the bed. His hand was throbbing and felt twice the size of his other one. His dad came and sat down on the bed beside him.

"How is it feeling?

"Well, its felt better. But I'm sure once I get up and around, take my pills and have some breakfast, it'll be fine."

"You know I'm off today, so if you need some help, or someone to drive, let me know. I'm just hanging around doing some chores."

"Thanks dad, but I think I'll be okay. I'll clean up, eat and then call, and hopefully go over and see the senior Dr. Wiggins."

His dad stood up and said, "You're going over to see him, huh?"

"Yeah, he saw mom after...well, anyway, I thought I'd go talk to him."

"Well, forgive me if I don't go along. There are some parts of this I'd just a soon not be aware of." He started for the door.

"Dad, please know, I'm not doing any of this to hurt you."

"I know son. But, you have to remember, I was here. I lived through it and even though I understand what you're doing, it still hurts." He turned and went out the door, closing it behind him. Jonathan sat staring at the closed door. Maybe he should just drop this. He'd found out what had happened, at least most of it. Why put his dad through any more?

No matter what he was going to do, he did have to clean up and have some breakfast. Showering with this heavy bandage on was a whole new experience. He finally put a plastic bag over his hand and struggled along washing with his one good hand. It took quite a bit longer, and he wasn't sure he got all the areas he needed to. Hopefully, eating would be easier.

It was...a little. His dad had left breakfast warming on the stove for him and was out in the back yard raking leaves and trimming shrubs. Jonathan stood at the kitchen counter eating and watching his dad work. He thought, what a fine man, and what a fine father. He put the plate down and went out to the back yard. "Dad, can we talk a minute?" His dad leaned on the rake, "Sure son. What's on your mind?"

"I've been thinking about this a lot. I need to go forward with it, but I promise I won't ask you any more questions, or involve you in any way, unless you specifically ask to be."

His dad, still leaning on the rake, looked up through Bertha and said, "Boy, she's been here a long time, seen a lot, heard a lot. I remember when you and Matt would climb all the way to the top. It used to scare the heck out of me. But I knew you had to do it, find out if you could. Well, I guess this isn't any different. You have to find out for yourself. So if I sometimes seem a little afraid or apprehensive, maybe now you'll understand. Go, do what you have to do, and if I want to know anything, I'll ask." He smiled warmly and went on with his raking.

Jonathan made his phone call and found both Dr. Wiggins' there and told them he'd be right over.

It was a brick house in the older part of town. Jim Wiggins greeted him on the front porch, inquired about his hand and took him in to meet his dad.

He had white thinning hair, a drawn face, and dark brown eyes. There were obvious signs of a stroke, a bent hand and arm and slight tightness on the left side of his face. His speech although slow, was clear.

"Dad, this is Steve's son, Jonathan. Remember I told you he was coming over."

Walter Wiggins sat processing the information. "Yes, I...remember."

Jonathan suddenly felt uncomfortable. What could this poor old man remember about something that happened over 30 years ago?

"Jim, I'm sorry I asked you and your dad to do this. I should probably just leave. He looks tired and..."

"Jonathan, he's always like this. He'll be fine. Believe it or not he was anxious to see you again. He actually remembered when you fell out of that big tree in your back yard and broke your arm.

"His memory, especially long term, is fine. It just takes a while to get it out."

"Are you sure? I don't want to cause any trauma."

"Come on, sit down. I'll help you. Ask whatever you want."

Jonathan thought he'd make it short and sweet and not tire him out. He asked about his mom and what Dr. Wiggins remembered about her and what happened to her.

Slowly, but very matter-of-factually, Dr. Wiggins told him what he remembered. She had been a delightful and beautiful young woman; always happy and upbeat. That day however, she was in bad shape.

"When they brought...her in, ...she was cut...and bruised, and...had obviously been...beaten." He stopped and took a long sip of his water, wiped off his mouth, smiled gently, then continued. "She was...crying. I told her...I needed...to treat...her cuts...and bruises. I did...the best I...could...and sent her home. I'm sorry...that's all...I can...remember."

Jonathan thanked them both and told Jim how much he appreciated it and hoped he hadn't tired his dad too much. Jim assured him it was fine and not to worry about it. He just hoped it had helped.

Driving back home he thought how amazing it was to sit and talk to the man who had actually treated his mom after this tragic incident. He wasn't sure how much help it had been, but he was glad he'd done it.

He didn't exactly know what to do next. And, for some odd reason, Matt kept drifting in and out of his mind.
Chapter 7

He decided to take a couple of days off from his search; maybe talk his dad into doing the same. It would be great to spend some time together, fishing, hunting or just hanging around without the ever-present investigation draped over their conversations.

Before going home from Dr. Wiggins' house he decided to take one more spin out to the farmhouse. He hadn't quite finished looking around because of his hand. He figured he wouldn't find anything but wanted to have one last look.

It was a nicer day than the last trip, although still crisp and cool. The sun was out and that cast a more affable look to the place. He immediately headed for the kicked-in back door. Walking up to it he noticed it looked different. It had been boarded up again. He stopped dead in his tracks. He'd only told a couple of people he had been out here, and none of them would have known he kicked in the door. He stood, looking around, wondering how this had happened, and more importantly...who had done it.

After several minutes of pondering, and coming up empty, he kicked the door in again. The inside was as he remembered it. He looked around for several minutes and found nothing; at least, nothing of any significance. There was, in fact, no evidence of what had happened there.

He walked out to the barn, but didn't go in. It didn't look sturdy enough to have someone walking around in it. He stood, wondering where the hay bails were that his mom had hidden in. He sat down on an old log lying next to the barn and tried to imagine what had gone on that day.

Zane must have surprised them; barged in the back door, gun in hand. Told them all to be quiet and sit down. A fierce looking man with nothing to loose. He'd killed many times before, so what were three more? All the time hoping he wouldn't be found. He had tried tying them up and in the process started slapping his mom around. Grandpa Taylor probably jumped in to save her. In the melee, his mom had ducked out the back door and hidden near the barn. The police arrived and pinned him down. For whatever reason he'd killed Howard and Doris – then turned the gun on himself.

Flapping of wings, as pigeons left the barn, snapped him out of his daydream. Whoa, he thought, Could it have actually happened that way? Well, there was one way to find out, he'd check the police records and old newspaper articles. They should tell him something. He walked back by the house, still bothered by who might have boarded it up. His immediate concern however, was checking records. First on the agenda though, was vacation time with his dad.

They had a great time together; went pheasant hunting out at some of their old haunts and actually got a couple of birds. No one could cook up pheasant like his dad. They took in a movie and had a couple of malts together. It was time well spent and time well past due. Jonathan told his dad about his upcoming investigative venture, to which his dad had said, "Good luck son, I hope you find what you're looking for." Jonathan hoped so too.

He started at the library, hoping that it would still have old newspaper clippings. The place hadn't changed a bit. Small, brick, rustic; just as he remembered it. As he approached the counter an unfamiliar, but pleasant face greeted him. "Yes sir, can I help you?"

"Yeah, but first can you tell me if Ms. Tatum still works here?"

"No, she retired three years ago."

"I see. Are periodicals still where they used to be?"

"Yes, is there something special you're looking for?"

"Well, actually I'm looking for thirty year old newspapers. Would they still be back there?"

"No. Those would be on micro-fiche."

She steered him to the proper area and gave him the film he needed. He began his sifting and sorting. As he zipped along, suddenly, it jumped out at him:

END OF ROAD FOR KILLER JACK ZANE-

He froze, suspended in time. He'd heard about it, talked about, even seen where it happened, but here it was staring him in the face. He read it slowly and carefully. Amazingly, it was almost as he'd dreamt it.

Killer Jack Zane died today, of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. While holed up in Howard and Doris Taylor's farmhouse he shot and killed them, then turned the gun on himself. Kim Grimes Smyth, the murdered farmer's granddaughter, escaped but not unharmed. Zane had apparently beaten her and when her great grandfather came to her rescue, she fled through the back door and hid among some hay bails near the barn.

This story began with Zane's holdup of a service station in Topeka. He killed the attendant, stole a car and headed south, eventually making his way to the Taylor farm. County sheriff Roger Sellers received a tip from L.J. Proctor, who owns a farm adjacent to the Taylor place. Based on that information they surrounded the house, but before they could act, Zane killed the Taylors and shot himself. The only survivor, Kim Smyth, did not want to be interviewed by the paper.

He read on, but the rest was incidental. His mom had never consented to an interview and apparently never talked to his dad or her grandmother about the ordeal. The story ran in the paper for days. There were even articles from the national wire services. Zane had become infamous throughout the mid-west with his killing, and plundering. Everyone was glad to see the crime spree end, but all were horrified he'd killed two more innocent, elderly people.

Jonathan sat back in his chair and let go a deep sigh. There was something about reading it, seeing it in print, that disturbed him. He drove home still troubled. He had an uncharacteristically quiet dinner with his dad and went up to bed. His dad could see something was wrong, but thought it best not to ask. Jonathan couldn't sleep. He kept seeing the house, the barn, the articles. My God, he thought, how in the world did my mom survive this and not have it affect her the rest of her life? He suddenly felt alone and sad. Strangely, he missed his mom. There was a gap, this huge dark void between his birth, her death...and now. He wanted to fill it, but how, with what? He didn't know. All he knew was he felt empty. Sleep, finally came.

The next day he awoke exhausted. His hand was much better and he could actually shower in an almost normal manner. The unwashed spots were lessening daily. His dad had made him some breakfast and left it warming. He was going to miss this room service when he left, but it would be his dad he'd miss most. He ate and went out to the back yard to think under Bertha. Matt came cascading into his mind, again. Jonathan was becoming more and more bothered by the prospect that something awful had happened to him. He didn't know what, but something inside told him, it wasn't good. He peered up through Bertha into the light gray sky, his mind wandering. He could almost see his mom running, terrified, wondering if she'd get away. Then burying herself in the hay, praying he wouldn't find her. The relief, when the sheriff and his men arrived, followed by the horrifying discovery her grandparents had been killed.

It hit him like a bolt of lightening. He jumped up and ran in the house. Feverishly he began flipping through the phone book. "L.J. Proctor, how could I not have thought of this? He's the one that tipped the sheriff. Could he still be alive and living out there?"

There it was, L.J. Proctor, 4465 CR 11. Now what to do, call him or just go out there? He had to be old, would he want to talk, or have to recall that day? Jonathan didn't know, but one thing was sure, he was going to try and talk to him.

The next morning he drove out to Mr. Proctor's. He figured it would be better to just show up, rather than call him. That way he couldn't hang up on him or refuse to let him come out.

He turned on the dirt road and slowly drove by the Taylor house. For some reason it looked even more ghostly than before. Probably the articles he'd read. On down the road he went. Mr. Proctor's farm sat across a large pasture from the Taylor's. As Jonathan pulled into the drive he looked back at the Taylor house and thought to himself; Yep, he'd have had a good view of the place. He sat in the car for several minutes, wondering if this was the right thing to do. Well, he'd driven all the way out here, so he might as well get on with it. It seemed quiet enough; no evidence of life. As he made his way up the path to the front door it looked like it was ajar a little. Just when he hit the first step on the porch, a massive black dog came shooting around the house. He froze; the dog was snarling and growling and looked like it wanted to take his head off. But before it could sink its teeth into him a voice from inside yelled, "Duke, stop!" The dog stopped dead in his tracks, but still looked very irritated. Jonathan was afraid to move, what if that was only a temporary order? Hesitantly he said, "Hello," hoping for a friendly response.

"What do you want? The same voice asked from inside the dark house.

"Well, Mr. Proctor, I was just hoping to talk to you for a few minutes...if that's alright."

"About what?"

"Sir, would it be okay if I came in? Your dog looks like he wants to kill me."

"He does!"

Jonathan eased up the steps to the front door and tried to peek in. "Mr. Proctor, if I could just speak to you a few minutes, I would really appreciate it." He could vaguely see a figure making its way to the door. As the door creaked open there stood a worn and wrinkled face, a big man with a penetrating look.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Jonathan slowly opened the screen door. The sooner he could have something between himself and "Duke" the better he'd feel. Jonathan held out his hand, with no response. "Mr. Proctor, I'm Kim Smyth's son. I was..."

"I know who you are," he said turning and walking to his couch.

"I saw you out here the other day snooping around. What the hell were you looking for?"

"My past, Mr. Proctor...my past."

Proctor turned and looked at him with a curious glare, "Oh, you mean what happened over there, thirty years ago?"

"Yeah. I never knew my mom, so I'm trying to find out as much as I can about what happened here...to her."

Jonathan went ahead and sat down on an old dusty chair, trying to look at Proctor through the scant light in the room. The old man just kept staring at him, hard, expressionless, sizing him up. Finally he said, "You want something to drink?"

"No, I'm fine, but thanks anyway." Maybe he was going to talk. Proctor got up and went into the kitchen, still tall and straight even at his age. He came back and sat down sipping on a can of beer.

"So tell me, son, just what do you think I can help you with?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure. Anything I guess, what you might have seen that day, remembered...something."

Proctor downed a few swigs of beer, never taking his eyes off of Jonathan.

"Were you surprised to find the back door boarded up again?"

"That was you, huh? Well you scared the heck out of me," he said half chuckling.

"I figured it'd give you a start," he said somewhat self-satisfied, slugging down some more beer.

"Well, it did do that." He paused for a moment, "I don't mean to be pushy, but is there anything you can tell me about that day, anything at all?"

"I tell you what, I'll tell you everything I remember, if you promise not to bother me and Duke ever again, deal?"

"You bet, absolutely!"

"It was a day kind a like today, cold, dreary. I was out back cutten' fire wood. I could hear what sounded like a commotion over there, so I sort of made my way across the field to get closer. It sounded like a hell of a mess goin' on inside, screamin,' furniture breakin,' I wasn't sure what to do. There was this strange car sittin' on the side of the house and I could make out this guy inside the house raisin' hell, yellin' and wavin' something around. It was about that time I headed back here to call the sheriff.

"About half way back or so, I heard the back door slam and turned around the see your mom run out to the barn. I could see she was bleedin.' Well, I threw it in high gear and got back here as quick as I could, called the sheriff and sat here and waited. It wasn't long before the first car showed up, then a couple more. They were yellin' at the house, I couldn't make it out, then all of a sudden, "bang, bang", then a few seconds, and "bang" again. The sheriff yelled a few more times, then they charged the house. Everybody was dead inside, 'sept your mom. They found her out there on the far side of the barn, hiding in some hay. I saw 'em take her away. She was pretty shook up.

"The sheriff came and talked to me, thanked me for callin' in. Then a few reporters came around, but I didn't tell them nothin.' You know, this is the first time I've really talked about it since then. I stay to myself, me and Duke, and the farm, I like it that way."

Jonathan didn't know what to say, he was transfixed with amazement. He thought, this man saw it, saw my mom. He sat back in his chair, still stunned by what he'd heard. Watching Proctor finish off his beer, he said, "Thank you...thank you very much. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

Proctor tipped an imaginary hat, as if to say, good-bye, so Jonathan got up to leave. He stopped at the door, turned and said, "Thanks again, it truly helped."

Proctor waved once more as Jonathan made his way out the door. Duke was quietly lying on the porch and never moved. He drove back to town, went up to his room and curled up on his bed.

Chapter 8

It was time to leave. He'd been away from home for almost two weeks, and he needed to get back. He had one last dinner with his dad, and arose early to leave the next morning. As usual, his dad was up to make him breakfast and see him off. What a wonderful time they'd had; gotten to really know each other after all these years.

"Dad, I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed this; us getting reacquainted."

"Me too, son. I'll treasure it always. I wish Matt could have been here and maybe the three of us could have gotten...well, it's been wonderful."

That was the first time he'd brought Matt up. "Me too, I've been wondering about him. Have you heard from him since he left?"

"No, he just disappeared. I've made inquiries, but no one seems to know anything. It's like he fell off the earth. If I think about it too much I get a sick feeling inside. I finally figured, if he wanted to talk to me, he'd have to contact me, since I don't know where he is. I hope that happens, because he's still my son, and I love him." He got up and went into the kitchen. Jonathan followed in a few seconds. He put his arm around his dad, "It's not your fault. We both love Matt, but he has to feel the same way. Like you, I wish he'd reach out, but until he does...I guess we'll just have to wait."

His dad turned, looking him in the eye, "I know, but it doesn't take one thing away from what we've shared," and gave him a big hug.

As he packed his bags he just couldn't help wondering why it had taken him so long to come home. Then he realized how lucky he was to have had a second chance. On the way out of town, he made a stop at the cemetery. He'd come by on his first day in, but that was before he knew what he knew now. She was buried next to her parents. It was a simple, yet elegant head stone. The cemetery was small, all dirt roads and lots of old trees. They were bare now, as fall winds had taken their leaves. He parked and made the short walk to the marker. Placing a blanket on the ground he sat down and talked to her for a while. Only a few days ago he'd known so little about her, now...well, he still didn't know her like he wished he could have but now there was a warmth inside he'd never felt before.

"Mom, I hope someday I can meet you in heaven. I'm sorry I wasn't a better son to dad and a better grandson to Fran. I have no excuse, other than youth and self-interest. I hope you know I'm trying to make up for lost time. Dad and I have had a great time together over the past few days, and they won't be our last. By the way, he still loves you more than you'll ever know.

"Well, I'd better get going mom, but I'll see you someday and I love and respect you even more than before."

He put a small bouquet of flowers at the base of the headstone, knelt, said a small prayer, then drove out of Independence, heading home. It was a long and reflective drive. He wasn't sure it had all sunk in yet, but he knew his life had changed, forever.

Ah, New Orleans, how he loved it, Cajun food, Canal street and the mighty Mississippi. It seemed like another country from Independence. In many ways, it was.

In short order he settled back into his daily routine, reading, writing and badgering his agent about lagging book sales. When he left, he was well into his third Jake Mozzetti mystery novel. It was good, he felt renewed, invigorated, excited to write again. He had a new lease on life, he'd connected with his dad and had discovered things about his family, that while disturbing, were also interesting, and most important...were his.

He breezed through his third novel, with a passion and flow he'd never felt before. Then started on his fourth. His agent, although pleased with this newfound fervor, was a little worried about where this enthusiasm was coming from. Jonathan explained how he had rediscovered his family and how it had inspired him.

And so it had. He rededicated himself to his writing career, went home for holidays and birthdays and generally found his life renewed. Each time he went home, it was wonderful. The time spent with his dad was always fulfilling. Independence wasn't the sad little town he'd grown up in anymore. It certainly wasn't New Orleans, but it was home, in its own irreplaceable way.

Although writing with more zeal and proficiency, his book sales did not equate. But unlike the past, he was a little more at peace with it. He was writing for the sake of writing now. If that translated into literary success, so be it, if not...well it didn't.

He finished his fourth book and had moved onto a fifth. It had been three years now since Fran's death, and his enlightening trip home. Normalcy had returned to Jonathan's life.

His favorite writing environment was having the television on, either muted or at a very low volume. He felt like he could write and when he needed a break, check out whatever was on the tube. Usually an action movie or sporting event; he really didn't need the sound on for those. One evening on a cable channel, while muted, he noted a lead in for a special on the ten most notorious serial killers of the past fifty years. He knew most of the names, but one jumped out at him...Jack Zane. For the most part, he'd forgotten about him, had tried deliberately to put him out of his mind. But here he was right in front of him; he had to watch. The network was doing two a night for five consecutive nights. Jonathan was ready the night they focused on Zane.

It started with a little family history; he'd been born in Iowa, had a very violent father, abused mother, and was one of three children. He had gotten in trouble early, dropped out of school and entered the world of crime at a young age. By best accounts he'd killed his first victim by the time he was seventeen. From there it went down hill fast. Robbery, murder, the whole nine yards became his M.O. Most of his crimes occurred in the mid-west and he always seemed to find someone to harbor him. He was of medium height, stocky, thick head of hair and a severe looking face.

All the old feelings came flooding back. This man, this animal, had beaten his mom and killed his great grandparents. It didn't seem real. Here he was on national TV, what about his victims? No media coverage for them, just anonymous statistics. No one cared, other than his family, that this guy had killed and beaten his family members. And what about all the other victims, who were they, what happened to their families? The police weren't even sure how many people Zane had killed, how many lives he'd destroyed.

When it ended he got up and turned off the television. He was sorry he'd watched it. It opened up old wounds and made him feel uneasy. He went to bed, but couldn't sleep; kept seeing that face. He lay awake for hours, wild thoughts racing in and out of his mind. He finally got up and decided to try writing again. He was too tired and couldn't get the program out of his head.

He awoke the next morning, lying on the couch. He wasn't even sure how he'd gotten there. For some strange reason he needed to find out more about Jack Zane. He didn't know exactly why, but he did. He decided to devote the day to designing a plan. He was, after all, a mystery writer, and there were still mysterious things about his past that bothered him.

The first and most obvious question was, what happened to Zane? He shot himself, then what? Where was he buried, who claimed the body, did he have family and who and where were they? As he began writing down questions, it suddenly struck him, "Why not do a book on the guy? There were plenty of books on other serial killers, maybe no one had done one on Jack Zane. After all, he'd destroyed part of the family, so why not try and make some money off of it.

He began by calling the county coroner in Kansas. They told him they'd have to dig through the old files and would get back to him. He then decided to start digging through the newspaper archives and gather as much information as he could about the guy. He would then try and follow that up with interviews, if he could find anyone who wanted to talk about him. That would give him a good start, and as he'd learned writing fiction with his character development, one contact leads to another, then to another and so on. Once he'd put all this together, he was sure he'd have enough for a book.

As he began to read through all the old articles, he was horrified. The killings, mutilation and brutality, how in the world could anyone be this deranged? As Zane had made his was across the mid-west, he'd left a trail of terror and tears behind him. From Indiana to Nebraska he'd robbed, raped and killed without discretion or remorse. He'd wiped out an entire family in Seymour, Indiana while robbing their country store. In Chillicothe, Missouri he'd shot and killed two service station attendants in cold blood and then burned the station with them in it. He'd raped and murdered a schoolteacher in Waterloo, Iowa. It went on and on and Jonathan began to feel sick to his stomach. He thought to himself, how does this happen, how does someone's life get so far out of whack he can do these things? Right then he didn't know, but he was going to try and find out.

Having gathered all the information he could from the papers and magazines he waited for the call from the coroner's office. With that in hand he could hopefully start some interviews. Sure enough, the coroner called back. He was told that Zane's brother, Jeffery Zane, had claimed the body but they didn't know what happened to it after that. When Jonathan asked them if the brother had left a forwarding address they told him yes, Minot, North Dakota.

The country was in the throes of a heavy winter, and North Dakota was suffering under massive snowfall and arctic freeze. There was no chance to go there and, he really didn't want to. He was afraid to call, for fear the brother might disappear or refuse to see him. He'd have to wait for a break in the weather and then chance it.

He continued his writing, inspired by a good response to his third novel and hopeful the fourth would have some success as well. Winter's grip never let up, and he knew he'd have to wait for spring. The fifth novel, his biggest so far, was coming along well, and he'd put the Zane file on the back burner, waiting for the spring thaw.

Chapter 9

Winter in New Orleans is like winter in, oh say, Florida...nonexistent. So as the country slowly exorcised itself from freezing temperatures and white blankets, Jonathan sat unaware. Over four months had passed and he'd been so busy writing, the thought of Jack Zane had only occasionally crossed his mind. He went home for Christmas, had a great time with his dad and old friends. Now that he'd gotten re-involved with his family, there was only one part missing...Matt. He was hoping that while doing his research on Zane, he might do a little, on the side, looking for Matt. Obviously, Matt didn't want to be found, but it would be nice to know where he was, and if he was all right.

May rolled around and Jonathan decided to begin his search. First on the agenda was to find out if Jeffery Zane was still alive in Minot. He called information and sure enough there was a J. Zane listed. He sat holding the number in his hand. Questions began building in his mind; should he pursue this, what might he find, could this put a strain on his relationship with his dad? All legitimate questions, most of which he didn't have an answer for. He kept thinking about a bit of advice Fran had given him when he was in high school.

He loved baseball and was thinking about going out for his high school team. He'd never really played much organized ball, just the games around the neighborhood with his buddies. It was his junior year, he'd grown a little, practiced some and thought he might talk to the coach. Mr. Browning, the baseball coach, was a big man, intimidating, and ran a pretty tight ship. Jonathan was torn, so he asked Fran what she thought he should do. She asked him how serious he was and if he was willing to pay the price it would take to play. He told her he thought so. She sat him down on her couch and said, "Jonathan, you can think about it this way, and that way, but what does your gut tell you?"

"It tells me to play."

"Then do it. You'll find as you grow older, your gut instinct is rarely wrong. If that's what you're feeling, then go give it your best."

As usual, Fran was right. He did give it his best, but some things just don't work out. A week into practice, during sliding drills, he twisted his ankle so badly he couldn't compete for a position. But that was okay, he'd tried, and who knew, barring that injury he might have made the team. He didn't go out his senior year, what with all the problems at home with Matt, and trying to help his dad. He always held that against Matt a little, but he knew he'd done the right thing.

Well, here he was again facing a dilemma, should he, or shouldn't he? He rocked back in his desk chair, staring at the phone number and thought to himself, what does your gut say? The answer came quick and clear - do it.

He'd decided that if he talked to Jeffery Zane, he wouldn't let him know who he was. If Zane knew his family had fallen victim to his brother, that would be the end of it. If however, he told him he wanted to do a book on his brother and there might be some money in it for him...well hopefully the reaction would be favorable. He made the call. A coarse old voice said,

"Yeah?"

"Mr. Zane, Jeffery Zane?"

"Yeah, who is this?"

"Mr. Zane, my name is Jonathan Smyth. I'm a writer and was calling to see if you'd be interested in helping me out?" There was an uncomfortably long pause. Zane said nothing. "I was wondering if...I'd like to write a book about your brother, Jack." He heard the click at the other end, then the dial tone. Zane had hung up. That positive gut feeling, had suddenly gotten a little disquieting. No, he thought, I can't give up, not on the first attempt. But how in the world was he going to approach this guy? He didn't know right then, but he'd sleep on it. There had to be a way.

The next morning while having a little breakfast, and checking the box score on the Cards; it hit him. Write the guy a letter. People always read letters, and that way you can explain the money thing. That had to appeal to him. Jonathan had checked and although there had been editorials and essays on Jack Zane, nobody had ever written a complete book about him. He figured Jack had caused his family lots of pain and now here was a chance for them to recoup a little.

He set about writing the letter, explaining how nobody had written a book about Jack, and with the public's never ending interest in criminals and their lives, the book had a very good chance of doing well. That could spell big bucks. He finished up, and sat back admiring his craftsmanship. He just hoped Jeff Zane did too. He dropped it in the mail, May 12th - Mothers Day. He put his phone number and a self addressed, stamped envelope inside. Now, he'd sit and wait.

Several weeks went by. He began to think he'd have to attack this from a different angle. Then, in early June, he picked up that self addressed envelope at his post office box. Frantically, he opened it. On a small piece of paper, scribbled in pencil, "Call me." That was it, nothing about when, what time, how soon, but hey, it was far better than, "Don't call me."

He rushed home and started making out a list of questions. It was four in the afternoon, which meant it was three in Minot. He'd wait until early evening, let him get through dinner, then make the call. At seven, Minot time, he called. The phone rang and rang, and just about the time he was going to hang up, "Yeah," that same grizzled voice asked.

"Mr. Zane, this is Jonathan Smyth calling you back." Again, the painful pause. "Oh yeah, I got your letter."

"Does it sound like something you'd be interested in?" Jonathan had decided to play it very cool. Make Zane think he needed him more than he needed Zane.

"So, how much money we talkin' about here?"

"Well, it depends."

"On what?"

Jonathan could sense the irritation in Zane's voice.

"On how well the book is written, how factual it is, how well it's received, that kind of stuff." Another one of those interminable pauses.

"Listen Mr. Zane, there's a lot that plays into a successful book. You don't just write them and bingo, they're a hit. It takes a lot of work, time and effort. I would need to come up there and spend some time, talking to you, and any other family members who'd be willing, then do more research, because this has to be accurate, then who knows how long it would take me to actually write it. Then it has to be edited, printed and distributed. Only after all that will we know how much money we're taking about.

So if that doesn't appeal to you, let me know right now, so I don't waste yours or my time." Whoa, he thought, That might have been a little heavy.

"I see," Zane said quietly. This time Jonathan sat and waited.

"Go ahead and plan on comin' up. Just let me know when."

Again the phone went dead. Boy, he thought, this is going to be one exciting interview.

He'd fly into Bismarck, rent a car and drive up to Minot. He'd get directions when he called back to let him know when he was coming. He gathered up all the information he could find on Jack Zane. He wanted to look as prepared as possible, and not miss a thing. There was a part of him that was going to have a difficult time with this. After all, this guy's brother had killed his great grandparents and tried to kill his mom. For the time being, that part of him was going to have to remain hidden.

He made his arrangements and flew out in late June. He'd never been to North Dakota, and was looking forward to seeing it. Bismarck reminded him of Independence, only bigger. Maybe it was that Orleans thing again. Zane had told him to head into town, then go east on highway 2 until he got to county road 8, then turn north for eleven miles. Their place would be marked with a chain mailbox and crossed pitchforks on the gate. How appropriate, he thought, pitchforks, "I wonder if they were ever used..."

He stopped himself, how could he find anything amusing in this macabre affair?

The directions were right on the money. County road 8 was dirt, rough, and seemed-never ending, especially when you could only go fifteen miles an hour for fear the car might dismantle. Eventually he saw it, old weathered pitchforks, crossed on a large, weathered wooden gate. The chain post holding up the mailbox was rusted and about to fall down. The house itself was old, worn and had seen better days. The gate was unlocked, so he got out of his car and eased it open. He pulled the car in and parked on the side of the house next to a fatigued old tractor. As he gathered up his materials, he got a sudden chill. What if Jack Zane was buried here, or they had his ashes? He shook it off and was about to get out of the car when around the side of the house came a bushy brown oversized dog. Not again, he thought, I don't know if I can go through this again. It jumped up on the side of his car, licking the window. It looked friendly enough, so he got out. Overly friendly was more like it, jumping, licking, drooling, just generally mauling him. By the time he got to the front door he looked like he'd walked through a swamp. Strangely, when he knocked on the front door, the dog disappeared around the side of the house. He waited, knocked again, no answer. He'd told Zane he'd be here on the 24th. Maybe he was in town, or out in the fields. He walked around the side of the house, hoping he wouldn't have to go through another drenching. Nothing, no dog, no cows, no Zane. He'd gotten a room in town, so he'd check in, and call later.

The motel was small, basic room, bed, TV and phone. There was a small diner down the street, so he went and had an early dinner. When he got back to his room he called, no one answered. He watched a little television and decided at ten to go to bed. The guy has to be there the first thing in the morning. He hadn't been asleep twenty minutes, when there was a tapping at his door. Startled he sat up in bed, "Who is it?"

"Zane."

He threw on some sweats and ran to the door. Not opening it, he said, "Jeff Zane?"

"Yeah, sorry to bother you...this late."

Jonathan flipped on a light and opened the door. There stood the most frightening looking man he'd ever seen. Weathered face, wild hair and eyes like a doll's, cold, lifeless. For a second he wanted to gasp and slam the door, but this is why he had come, so he invited him in.

"Nah, I don't wanta to come in...I jest wanted to tell ya, if ya wanta come out in the mornin, I'll be there." With that he turned around and walked off. Jonathan closed the door and sat down on the end of the bed. Bending over, he put his head in his hands and thought, have I gone back to another time, and place? Is this guy for real? Well, he'd sure enough find out the next morning. It had been a long and tiring day; he crawled back into bed and was out like a light.

The next morning after some breakfast and lots of coffee, he drove back out to Zane's place. Pulling into the drive he wondered if he was going to have to go through another dog bath, or if he was lucky, get into the house before Drooler knew he was there. He got out of the car as quietly as he could and light footed it to the front door; so far, so good. He knocked ever so softly, curious that the giant canine hadn't shown up. After a few more raps, a voice from inside said, "Yeah, who is it?" Was he kidding? How many other people would be out here this early in a new rental car?

"Mr. Zane, it's me, Jonathan Smyth."

"Hold on a minute." Hopefully he was putting the dog away. Finally he came to the door, looking like he'd just gotten out of bed. He unlocked the door, swung it open and turning away said, "Come on in and have a seat," then disappeared into the kitchen. The place was a mess, clothing laying everywhere, beer cans on the floor, stuff packed and stacked in corners, and dust covering everything. Jonathan picked out the least offensive looking chair and cautiously sat down. Pretty soon, Zane emerged from the kitchen with a hot cup of coffee in his hand. He sat down, in what was obviously his chair and said, "Okay, let's get goin." Jonathan laid out his papers and tape recorder as best he could and started to ask his first question.

"Hold on, what's that gadget?"

"It's a tape recorder, so I can record what's said."

"Well, I didn't know nothin about recordin stuff."

"See, Mr. Zane, I'm going to be gathering lots of information and there's no way I could remember it all, or even write it all down, so I record it and then there's never any question about what you, or anybody else, said. It saves from me misquoting you, or your saying I didn't get it right."

Zane sat slurping on his coffee and staring at Jonathan. Waiting through the pauses had become second nature to Jonathan, so he waited.

"Well, okay, go ahead."

"First of all, where's that dog?"

"That big mangy mutt, oh, he ain't my dog. He belongs to a fella up the road. He won't come around if I'm here."

"Why?"

"Cause I'll put an end to him. He's killed some of my chickens and a cat I had."

Jonathan paused for a minute and then went on.

"Alright, let's start with your family. Tell me about your mom and dad and, you're one of three children, correct?"

Still slurping and pondering, he began, "Yeah, that's right, there was me, Jack and our sister, Barbara. We was raised in Storm Lake, Iowa. Fact is we was all born there. My dad did odd jobs, carpentry, ditch diggin, stuff like that. Our mom did waitresson at the local café. We never had much money and never really knew where the next buck was comin from, but some hows we made it." He seemed to pause there, so Jonathan figured another question was needed.

"Tell me about your dad, what was he like?"

"Let's see, he was a big man, hard ya know? Had big hands, tough." He stopped again, Jonathan could see he was thinking back, he left him alone.

"He liked to drink, some nights he'd come home in a bad mood. We was all scared, so we'd hide under our beds. Sometimes he'd come get us, sometimes not...but he'd always find mom. He used to smack her around pretty good." He stared at Jonathan with a look of, maybe I shouldn't be telling you this.

"That must have been hard for all of you, especially your mom."

"It was, it was real hard. Mom and me and Barb never said much, but Jack tried to stand up to him." He drifted, seemed to be in another place for a few minutes. "I think it's what made Jack so...crazy. Dad beaten him, lockin him in the shed...treatin him like a dog."

"Did he ever do anything to you like that?"

"Oh yeah, he hit me a few times, but never like Jack, never locked me up."

"What about your mom and sister?"

"He hit mom, but never saw him hit Barb."

Jonathan continued to pursue the family questions. He wanted Zane to feel comfortable with the process before zeroing in on Jack. After several lengthy descriptions of the excessive brutality by a man who should have been arrested and put away, he zeroed in on Jack.

"You mentioned before that you thought that's what made Jack so crazy. What did you mean by that?"

"Well, when we was little, Jack was okay, but after some beatins and being locked up he seemed to change, got like an animal, did some crazy things."

"Like what?"

"He'd catch strays, dogs and cats, and skin em. Once he put one of em in dad's truck. We thought it was funny, you know smelled real bad, till dad figured out who did it. That was one of the worst beatins Jack ever got, he could hardly walk.

"He'd pick fights with older, bigger guys, and usually win. Hell, he was used to gettin' beat up, so wasn't nothin for him to get hit. We'd have to pull him off, he's like a mad dog."

This was certainly explaining part of Jack's psychotic behavior, but why the cold-blooded killings?

"What happened to your mom and dad...and Barb?"

"When we was in high school, dad got in a bar fight and was killed. Guy stabbed him in an alley. It was right after that Jack took off. Mom lived on a while, then died about ten years ago. Barb finished high school, got married, had some kids and still lives in Storm Lake."

"And you?"

"Barb was there for mom, so after Jack left, so did I. Got odd jobs with the railroad, traveled around, finally settled here, after I met Molly."

This was the first mention of someone else in his life, but there was no evidence of a woman, or anyone else living in the house.

"Molly, she's your wife?"

"Yeah...was, she died last year. Smoked too much I guess."

"So, you're all alone here now?"

"Yep, just me and Jim."

"Jim?"

Holding up his coffee cup and letting out a boisterous laugh, "Yeah, Jim Beam!"

What else could he do, but laugh, "Of course." He'd found out all he needed to know about mom and dad, as well as Jeff and Barb, it was time to find out what, if anything, he knew about Jack's criminal career.

"So, you said Jack left right after your dad was killed, what happened to him, where did he go?"

"I gotta take a leak, you want somethin to drink?" And he got up and started out of the room.

"Water...water if you've got it." He could hear from down the hall, "Oh we got plenty of that."

He returned in a few minutes with an old, fogged, dirty glass full of what Jonathan hoped was water.

"Thanks," setting the glass down with no intention of drinking it. "Now, what about Jack?"

"Oh yeah, well I didn't see or talk to him for a while. Didn't really know where he went. Then one night, right for I left, he called and told me he thought he'd killed somebody."

"Thought he'd killed somebody, he didn't know?"

"He was pretty sure. Said he'd got in this fight at a bar and he and the guy went out back. Before the guy got off a punch, Jack hit em with a piece of pipe. He said he was pretty sure the guy was dead, so he took off."

"How old was he when this happened?"

"Oh, probably seventeen or eighteen. He'd been gone, I don't know, maybe six months. After that call I decided to hit the road. Mom and Barb were gonna be better off without us around."

Jonathan remembered reading, that the authorities thought Jack Zane killed his first victim when he was about seventeen.

"When's the next time you saw him or heard from him?"

"I didn't. Next thing I knew, I was readin' about him in the papers. Looked to me like he'd gone over."

"Gone over?" "Yeah, you know, gone over the edge, killlin' and stealin.' I didn't know where he was and he didn't know where I was, that was just fine with me. I'd call mom once in a while, see how she was doin, but we never talked about Jack. I think it hurt her too much."

"So, you never saw Jack again...till he was dead?"

"That's right."

"Now the coroner told me you claimed the body."

"Well, they contacted Barb, but she didn't want to go get him, so I did."

"What did you do with him?"

"Took him back to Storm Lake. Buried him near mom. There was lots of people who didn't like that, but there was lots of people who loved our mom, so they let us do it. He's in an unmarked grave."

Jonathan flipped off the recorder and sat back in the chair. So, that's where he is, he thought.

"Mr. Zane, you've been a big help, but I have one more request. Could you call your sister and tell her I'll be coming out there, and ask her if she would mind talking to me, like you have."

"Well, I'll call her, but she's pretty sensitive about this stuff."

"I understand, but tell her she only has to answer if she wants to. I'll be as gentle as possible."

Zane agreed to try, so Jonathan packed up his gear and left, but not before answering one more question about the money. It had been both enlightening and depressing, but finding out about a man like Jack Zane was bound to be dismal.

The flight home was tiring. He knew this wasn't going to be fun, but...well, it was a more disturbing than he'd anticipated. This was as close to a serial killers life as he'd ever been, and although he was a murder mystery writer, that was all made up...this was real. His apartment never looked so good, so warm. He'd appreciate it while he could, because he was heading to Storm Lake, Iowa as soon as possible, with or without the cooperation of Barbara (Zane) Wilkes.

Chapter 10

It had been a while since he'd spoken to Amy, at least three months. Their relationship had been on and off for over a year. Right before Jonathan left for Fran's funeral, they'd called it off. In many ways he missed her, but there were some things they just couldn't seem to overcome. But on this particular evening, she sounded warm and friendly, just what he needed. They agreed to have dinner the next night, no strings attached. He actually felt some excitement about it and was looking forward to seeing her again.

It had been two weeks now, and he hadn't heard back from Jeffery Zane. He thought he'd give it a few more days and then call him. He was, however, going to Storm Lake, no matter what.

They picked a restaurant they had never been to, which wasn't easy to find since they both loved going out to dinner. Sitting at the bar, he could see her coming up the walk. Wow, he thought, she is beautiful. She approached him in her usual coy way, then reached out and gave him a big hug. "Jonathan, it's so good to see you."

"Amy, you look...stunning!"

They had a drink at the bar, caught up on each other's lives and waited for a table. As they talked, Jonathan felt torn. He was definitely attracted to her, but some of the old feelings were rumbling around inside. He decided to make the most of the evening and not worry about past liabilities. Amy Rogers, worked for the University of New Orleans, as an associate professor of literature. That was, in fact, how they had met, at a book fair at the school.

As they ate their dinners, he told her about his adventure and what had happened to his family; even told her of his pursuit off Jack Zane's infamous legacy. At first she seemed taken aback a little, but the more he told her, the more she became intrigued.

"Well, what's your next move?" She asked with genuine curiosity.

"I'm heading for Iowa. The sister lives there and Jack Zane is buried there. Plus, that's where they were born and raised, there's got to be some information there."

"What if the sister won't talk to you, or for that matter tells everyone in town not to talk to you?"

"Huh, well, I guess I'll just have to cross that bridge when I get to it. But, I think she'll talk to me. Their family went through a lot and this is a chance for them to possibly make a little money from what was a horrific experience. That certainly was a motivation for brother Jeff."

Amy rocked back in her chair; Jonathan could see she was thinking. In the past, he'd sometimes found that a little scary.

"Jonathan, I'm going to propose something, but I don't want you to think it's any more than what it is...an honest offer, no strings attached."

Oh boy, he thought, where is this going? "Okay, I'm listening."

"It sounds like you have a lot of research still to do, and who knows how many people to talk to in Iowa. I'm offering my help. Now, don't get spooked, you know I've always enjoyed your books; I just like murder mysteries in general. All of a sudden you're involved in the real thing, and I would love to be part of it."

It was his turn to rock back and contemplate. He felt comfortable doing this alone, but sometimes another perspective was valuable, and it might expedite the whole thing. But, what kind of help was she talking about?

"That's a fascinating offer Amy. To be honest you caught me a little off guard. I had every intention of doing this alone...but, there is something to be said for two minds, etc. What exactly were you thinking?"

"Good question, I'm not really sure. I just have this feeling I'd like to help you, and learn along the way."

"I do want to make one thing clear here Jonathan, this is not a come on or an attempt to bring us back together, by some devious means. I'm being completely honest about my motives." He knew she was telling the truth. They'd gone together for almost two years and she had always been honest with him, sometimes it seemed, to a fault. Their issues were those of lifestyle.

"Alright, let's give it a go."

"You're sure you're alright with this? I don't want you thinking there's anything weird going on here."

"No, I'm fine, as a matter of fact, I think it's a good idea. You might see something I've missed, or find something I would have overlooked. I trust you Amy, I know you're being completely honest."

"Good. When and how should we get started?"

"First of all we need to sit down and go over my game plan. See what I've done so far and what I had planned next. That way we can decide who does what and how, plus you might have some good ideas on how to proceed that I haven't thought of."

It seemed to bring a relaxed, yet exciting atmosphere to their dinner. They planned on meeting over the weekend to begin their assault on Iowa. It would be an experience neither one of them would ever forget.

Jonathan prepared breakfast, maybe not as delectable as good old dad's, but not too shabby either. As usual, Amy was right on time, ate her breakfast and appeared eager to get started. "Okay, where should we start?"

Jonathan had laid out all his information on his desk, the interviews, newspaper clippings, and various articles he'd found. Amy sat down and began reading through them. Jonathan figured he'd give her a little space and time to get through all of it. As he sorted through his notes, he watched her. Her facial expression told it all, from interested to horrified. She hadn't even finished, when she pushed the papers away and said, "My God, what an animal. I can't believe..."

"Are you still sure you want to be involved?"

She sat quietly staring almost through him. She was trying to absorb everything she'd just read. It was almost as if she was in some sort of nightmarish trance.

"Amy...are you okay?"

"What? Yes, I'm sorry, it's just...how does someone become like that?"

He moved around to her side of the desk and sat beside her. Putting his hand on hers he said, "I don't know, but that's what we're going to try and find out. That is, of course, if you're still interested in helping me, if not I'll understand."

She pulled her hand out, patted his and said, "Oh, I'm in. You can't imagine how in I am. As detestable as that was, it did nothing but spur me on. Yes, Jonathan, I'm in all the way."

With the initial shock past, they proceeded to lay out a strategy. He would go to Iowa, while she tried gathering more information on Zane's other victims. He could focus in on Jack Zane the killer, and how that aspect related to his family, while Amy focused on the other murders. Between them they hoped to establish some sort of continuity and pattern to his acts. This would provide a time line and flow for the book.

At dinner Jonathan had explained everything he'd found out about Zane up to that point, except one small item. He never mentioned that his own mother had been there when his great grandparents were killed. That was one little part he held sacred; wanted to keep for himself. She might discover it later, but he'd deal with it then. For now it was his.

He made his arrangements and the next week was on his way. They had agreed Amy would begin researching all the past victims and then try to line up addresses and phone numbers of relatives. When Jonathan returned they would start pursuing those leads.

He flew into Des Moines, rented a car and drove up to Storm Lake. He'd decided to stay in Cherokee, just up the road. Jeffrey Zane had never called back, so he assumed either he hadn't tried calling his sister, or she had refused to talk. Either way, it was going to be a challenge.

With the flight and driving time, it was late when he checked into the motel. He was tired. A good night's sleep and a little breakfast in the morning, he'd be ready for whatever lay ahead, he hoped.

Pulling into Storm Lake, he couldn't help but wonder how many of these little towns there must be throughout the mid-west, and for the most part, they all looked alike. This one, however, had one unique distinction. It had been home to a notorious serial killer.

He parked his car on the main street, got out and just walked around, wanting to get a feel for the town. There were the usual places, drug store, café, and small shops, ranging from tools to clothing. Everyone seemed friendly and polite. He wondered if that would change, once he started asking questions.

His first stop was at the post office. If anyone would know Barbara (Zane) Wilkes, the postman would. It was a small brick building with one walkup window. The woman behind the counter looked liked she'd been there when the town was founded.

"Excuse me, I wonder if you could tell me where the Wilkes family lives?"

Not looking up, still sorting mail, she said, "Oh, I imagine I could. Who wants to know?"

"I do...Jonathan Smyth," he said looking at her like, "What business is this of yours."

"I'm sorry," she said putting down the mail. "We don't get many new people in town, so I was just curious."

"That's okay, I just wanted to find them, get caught up on old family business." He could see she wanted to ask, but thought better of if.

"Well, if you go straight out of town to the east, then turn right at the second road and go, oh, about, three miles, you'll come to their place. It's on the right side of the road. It's a big, old, two-story house with a red front door. You can't miss it."

He thanked her and left, not sure about how to approach it. For now he'd look around a little more, then drive back to Cherokee.

Once in his room he called Amy. He told her he'd made it safe and sound, had looked around the town most of the afternoon, and found out where the Wilkes' lived. It was late July, so Amy was off school and could devote lots of time to finding out about Zane's past victims. She told Jonathan she'd had some success in finding numbers, but it was so long ago and people had moved, died or just disappeared. But she would keep plowing until she came up with some good leads. They hung up, and he got into bed trying to sort out what he was going to do next. If he called and told Barbara Zane Wilkes he was there, she might hang up. If he just showed up, who knows what might happen. He was tired and couldn't think of a third option, but after a good night's sleep...well, something might come to him.

He awoke refreshed and went to get breakfast. While turning some, less-than-over-easy eggs, it came to him. Why not call Jeffery Zane again and see where that might lead. He hurried back to his room and made the call. Amazingly, Zane was there. Jonathan asked him if he'd had any luck contacting his sister, and if so, what had she said. Zane said he'd talked to her, but she was not too receptive to the idea, or to quote Zane, "She dint walk ta talk to ya."

Jonathan asked him what he thought might happen if he just went out there. Zane told him it would probably be okay, she and her husband Clyde, were pretty nice folks. That was it then, he'd just show up. But first he had to decide on whether to talk to people in town before going out. He decided to go out first and not have the Wilkes' find out he was asking about them in town.

The postal clerk's directions were perfect. Down the dirt road and there it was on the right side, red door and all. There was a pickup truck out front and a couple of dogs playing around in the yard. He pulled up and parked along side the truck. This immediately brought the dogs running. At least they didn't jump, lick and slobber all over the car, and they looked friendly enough, so he got out. A few jumps up, whiffs and sniffs and they seemed to accept him. He hadn't taken two steps when a tall, lean man walked out on the front porch.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes... Mr. Wilkes?"

"Yeah."

Jonathan continued walking toward the house, accompanied by the frisky mutts. Mr. Wilkes stood with his hands in his overall pockets waiting.

"Mr. Wilkes, my name is Jonathan Smyth, and I was hoping to sit down with your wife and talk to her about her brother, Jack Zane. I'm a writer and..."

"Hold it right there. She talked to her brother Jeffery about this and told him she didn't want nothin to do with it."

"I understand, but did he mention it might mean some money to you?"

By now he was up on the porch standing in front of a man at least six feet six, who couldn't have weighed more than one hundred and seventy-five pounds.

"You see, I'm a writer and I want to write a book about him. If it's successful, well, it could generate a lot of money for you both."

Jonathan could see an ease in his stature, and softening in his tone.

"Hold on, you wait right here and I'll go talk to her."

Clyde went inside and left the front door open, only the screen was closed. Jonathan could hear talking toward the back of the house, but couldn't make out what was being said. He walked back down the porch steps and waited. The day was getting hot, and the dogs had decided to cool down by lying under the truck.

He heard the screen door open and turned to see Clyde and Barbara standing there. As he started back up the steps, Clyde said, "'For we go any farther, we want ya to explain this money thing."

Jonathan agreed, so they let him come in and sit down. As with Jeffrey, he told them about everything that was involved in writing a book, and that it would take some luck, money and good timing for it to be a success. Barbara hadn't said a word, sitting quietly and watching. When he finished, Clyde grabbed Barbara's hand and they went into the kitchen. Jonathan sat patiently, wondering if these delays and pauses were a genetic trait in the Zane family.

Shortly, they came back and sat down. Barbara said, "You can probably tell I don't like talking about Jack. That was a terrible time for my mom, and me and I've tried not to think about it. But with everything Jack put us through, I guess if we could...get something back, that'd be okay."

Jonathan could feel himself relax inside. Maybe, just maybe this was going to work. He got out his papers and recorder and once more explained why he needed to record everything.

"Barbara, tell me about growing up, your mom and dad, what you remember about Jack and Jeffrey."

Jonathan wanted to see if it connected with what Jeffrey had told him. She confirmed their dad was abusive and treated Jack badly. When Jack took off, she was glad, even though it hurt her mom. When Jeffrey left, however, she was scared, he'd been nice to her, and she and her mom were then alone. Even though he'd heard all this before, it was much sadder coming from Barbara. As she talked on, it seemed she was miscast in this family; nice, caring, but had definitely been traumatized by what had happened. It appeared she and Clyde had built a nice little life out here in the country and were very happy. As she spoke, Jonathan thought about calling it off. This was bound to bring up old memories she and the town had buried for years, plus if the book was a success, national attention would come storming its way into this peaceful little community. Jack Zane had been dead and buried for over thirty years, and was now going to be resurrected in all his ignominy.

Jonathan suddenly realized Barbara had stopped talking, and he was now providing the silence.

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking about what you said and how your brother told me exactly the same thing. Your childhood must have been very...difficult and sad."

She began to tear up and looked at him through watery eyes, "Yes. It was, except for my mom. The only part of my childhood that had love in it, came from her."

"Barbara, would you like to stop? I can come back tomorrow."

As she wiped the tears from her cheeks she said, "Yes, that would probably be best."

He drove back to his motel. He felt so much differently about this interview. With Jeffrey, it was like pulling teeth from someone who was only after the money. But with Barbara, she was speaking from her heart. Oh sure, she was interested in the money, but only as recompense for all the pain she'd been through. Jonathan felt compassion for her, a sense he might be bringing more heartache back into her life. He wasn't sure he wanted to do that, but if he walked away, that was probably the end of the story, and his search for what happened thirty years ago to his family.

Chapter 11

He couldn't sleep, tossing and turning most of the night. It kept gnawing at him. There was a part of him desperate to find out everything he could. There was also a part of him that said this book could be big, which would not only give him a measure of success he'd yet to attain, but could possibly provide some monetary solace to all those other families hurt by Jack Zane. Then there was that persistent voice inside asking; do I really want to put her through this again?

He finally fell asleep about three in the morning. He awoke, exhausted; not a good way to start a very important day. He showered by rote, and staggered his way down to the diner. He figured a pot full of coffee would bring him around. By the time he got back to his room he was feeling much better, awake. Coffee always did have that effect on him. He called Barbara, to make sure he was still welcome, gathered up his stuff and made what he hoped would be his final trip to her home.

It was eleven in the morning and getting hot. When he arrived, the dogs had already taken up sentry duty under the truck. As he got out of the car, they looked at him like, oh yeah, you were here yesterday, besides it's too hot to be greeting anyone. He tapped on the screen door and heard Barbara say, "Come on in." As he stepped through the front door he could smell it...coffee.

"Would you like some coffee? I just brewed it."

If he had anymore coffee, well, it might get embarrassing.

"Sure, that would be fine, just black thanks." What the heck, maybe she wouldn't notice him, not drinking it. She set the cup down on the table beside him, then went and sat on the couch. Jonathan waited a minute then said, "Is Clyde going to join us?"

"No, he had to go to town and pick up some equipment. Besides, he doesn't like hearing about my family. He said to me once, 'How in the world did you ever come out of that bunch of crazies?'"

"To be honest, I've kind of wondered that myself," Jonathan said trying to be upbeat. "You seem so... kind."

She leaned back on the couch and looked out the front door. "I got it from my mom, she was nice, sweet and loving. I'll never know why she married my dad, but she did and we had to live with it."

Jonathan could see she was a little more comfortable with this. Maybe she was going to be able to tell her story...for the first time. Who knows, this might just be cathartic for her.

"Now, Jeffery told me Jack was buried in an unmarked grave near your mom."

"Yes, out at the old cemetery. Only Clyde and I know where it is. We were afraid what people might do. There were quite a few people in town who didn't want his body brought back here, but he had no one when he died, and I knew mom still loved him. She could never understand why he became so evil."

"Barbara, do you think it would be alright if you showed me the grave? I promise I won't let anyone know where it is."

Now she leaned forward and looked at him hard. He could see a little bit of that Zane stare.

"I don't know. I'll have to think about that."

"I understand. Now, you and Clyde never had children?"

She eased back, Jonathan hoped he hadn't crossed the line.

"We tried, but I miscarried twice. We felt the Lord was telling us we just weren't meant to have any, so we gave up trying. I miss having children in some ways, but, there is all this heredity stuff, so maybe it's best we didn't."

"You're afraid another Jack might come along?"

It had hardly rolled off his tongue when he thought, you idiot, of course that's what she's afraid of. Quickly trying to backpedal, he said, "I'm sorry, I had no right to say that, please accept my apology."

She set her coffee cup down, got up and walked to the front door. Although in her early sixties, she was still an attractive woman; tall, well kept and rather stoic. She stared out at the huge old oak tree at the far end of the yard. He could see her sliding back in time, wondering, yearning.

"No, that's okay. You're exactly right. With a brother like that, how could you not be worried? Clyde and I felt that might have been part of the reason we couldn't have children. One Jack Zane...was too many."

She returned to the couch with a look of peace on her face. Jonathan sensed she was actually relieved not to have had children. Just the possibility of having a child like Jack would have been more that she could bare.

"Barbara, I'd like to ask you something, but if it's too painful, you just say so, and we'll move on."

"Alright, what is it?"

"Do you think Jack was a born killer, or was he created, say by your father?"

It appeared she'd never thought about it, let alone ever been asked. She squeezed the coffee cup in her hand, slowly turning it, looking him straight in the eye.

"You may not believe this, but I have thought about that. I don't know much about this genetic stuff, but I do know Jack was mean at a very early age. Long before dad started abusing him.

"I guess I think he was born that way, and dad just made it worse."

Jonathan thought, pretty insightful. It was time to cut to the nitty-gritty.

"Again, if you'd rather not answer any of these questions, just tell me. I have to get down to the basic facts, some of which I know are going to be difficult for you to answer."

"Go ahead, I'll tell you if I don't want to answer them."

"Tell me your worst memories of Jack, going back to when he was little, and then what you thought once he was gone and you found out what he had become."

Well, this ought to do it. He was either going to get all the information he needed, or be asked to leave. Either way he had to try. She got up and started to the kitchen, "Would you like some more coffee?"

"Oh, God n...sure."

He got up and yelled into the kitchen, "May I use the bathroom?" He heard her grunt a yes, so he hurriedly prepared for the next coffee onslaught. When he got back she was waiting for him, and he had a hot, fresh cup of coffee waiting as well.

"Barbara, if you'd rather not...?

"No, I'll tell you. There seems to be a part of me that wants to get rid of this. After mom died, I had no one to talk to about it, and even when she was alive, we didn't discuss it a great deal. It hurt her too much.

"From the time I can remember, Jack was different. He seemed to love to hurt people, animals, anything he could watch suffer. I used to watch him play with the other boys, and every chance he got, he'd hit them, hurt them. It seemed to bring him some sort of pleasure. I never did understand it...and neither did my mom."

She turned away and he could see her wipe a tear from her cheek.

"Barbara, if you want to stop we can. I can see how hard this is for you."

"Mr. Smyth, you only see what's on the outside, you have no idea what it's been like to live with this. People looking at you, judging you, thinking you must be bad too. Even people I considered friends, saying things behind my back, treating me like I have some disease.

"You know, the only thing, besides my faith, that changed that?"

"No, what?" "Time. Eventually everybody just forgot about it. It was old news. Not until then did I get to start living my life normally. Clyde and I got married, took care of our little farm out here and they just...forgot."

Oh boy, this was what he was worried about. She had no idea what could come of this, the media, television, who knows what all. There was only one thing to do, tell her. He owed it to her.

"Barbara, before we go any deeper into this, I need to tell you something. If I write this book, with all this in it, quoting you, people in town, Jeffery, it could bring a lot of unwanted attention your way. I'm really not sure what all might happen, but there is the possibility, actually a good probability, that the media and sightseers might descend on you and Storm Lake. I just wanted you to know that, before we continued."

She got up and moved to the front door again. He could see she was tired, tired of talking and tired of having had to live with this her entire life. It was as if he could read her mind, "Why me? Why couldn't I have had a normal family?"

She turned, straightened up and said, "No, it's time I said my piece. I've had to live with this my whole life, and now, for the first time, I can tell my side of it. How much I hated what he was, what he did to our family, and how sorry I am for all those families he hurt. When he killed himself I was glad, but I can't imagine how horrible it must have been for all those moms and dads, brothers and sisters who lost loved ones. This will give me a chance to tell them so. It's probably too late, but I still want to tell them."

Jonathan was surprised. He sensed a certain strength about her, but he hadn't anticipated this response. He could see she was determined to purge what had festered for so many years and, reach out to the victims of her brother, of which she was one.

"Well, I'm glad you feel that way, Barbara. I personally think you're doing the right thing. I promise you, I'll do all I can to help you, however this goes."

It was mid-afternoon, and she asked him if he'd mind coming back the next day; she was very tired. He, of course, agreed and packed up his stuff. On the way out he ran into Clyde in the drive.

"How are you, Clyde, sorry I missed you today."

"I'm fine, how'd it go?"

"Well, I think I'll be back tomorrow, and hopefully we can finish it up. You have a very sweet wife there, she's been wonderful."

Clyde smiled and waved a good-bye as he walked on toward the house. The dogs finally came out from under the truck and he petted them as they jumped around him.

As Jonathan headed south to Cherokee, he couldn't help but think how completely different Barbara was from Jeffery, not to speak of Jack. Clyde was right, how in the world did she come from this family, or maybe more accurately, how did she survive it?

Perhaps, tomorrow he'd find out.

Chapter 12

Amy had been researching, reading articles, tracing names and numbers and her first real find was the Hansen family in Broken Bow, Nebraska. She'd been scanning everything she could find on Jack Zane. There was actually more than she thought there'd be. Jonathan had centered on his family, but once Amy started really digging, she'd found all kinds of leads. As is usually the case in research, one piece of writing leads to another, then another and so on. A professor Wilsey, at the University of Chicago, had done some research and a few insightful articles on serial killers, some of which dealt with Jack Zane. Through that Amy had found leads to a few of his former victims. This in turn steered her to an article in the North Platte, Nebraska newspaper. A local reporter had covered the story, interviewed family members and then written a gut wrenching account of what had happened.

By 1965 Jack Zane had established himself as a murderer. One of his last grotesque acts of violence took place outside the town of Broken Bow.

In July of that year, Zane was operating throughout the mid-west. Most of the time he'd just rob or steal, but then, for no apparent reason, he'd go off like a time bomb. That was the case July 7th, 1965.

Zane was on the run; had held up a small grocery in Norfolk, Nebraska, wounded the clerk; took the money and was heading west. The Hansen family, Tom, Louise and their two children, Mike and Ann, were driving up to the Victoria Springs recreation area to do some camping. They had left early that morning to get set up and have some fun before bunking down for the night. They had a family-size tent, cooking gear, sleeping bags and most important, Spots, the family dog, that Mike had named when he was little because Spots was part Dalmatian and covered with... spots. The family loved these get-a-ways and always looked forward to camping out under the stars. They liked to move around when they camped and had found an ideal location, in a thicket of trees near the Middle Loup River.

The night was warm and the sky was clear, the stars seemed to be only a few hundred feet above them. Mike felt like he could almost reach up and touch them. To his embarrassment, his father actually caught him trying. Tom and Spots were busy gathering firewood, mostly Tom, while Louise and Ann laid out the sleeping bags and set up the gear. Once the tent was up and the campfire was roaring, they decided to roast some marshmallows, and Tom read a scary story; the kids loved it.

They'd finished up their sticky late night snack, heard another spooky story, which insured them sleeping next to mom and dad, and had crawled into the tent for the night. The campfire was only embers, but still put out enough heat for Spots. The night was quiet now, only the gentle rustle of leaves in the trees from a warm west wind. The Hansen family slept and dreamed, while an incomprehensible evil approached.

Jack Zane had ditched his car and was now fleeing cross-country. His journey would bring him to Victoria Springs and the Hansen's.

From a deep sleep, Tom heard a cry, almost like a scream. He put on his shoes, grabbed his coat and picked up his flashlight. He quietly slipped out of the tent to find out what it was. He circled the tent and checked near the campfire, which was only a glow by now. Where was Spots? It wasn't like him to wander off. Tom, unable to find him, thought maybe Spots had gone down to the river for a drink. He slowly and cautiously moved in that direction. He didn't want to call out, for fear he might wake the rest of the family. He found a small path through the brush and walked cautiously while working the flashlight back and forth. Just ahead, he thought he saw something, that familiar black and white, lying still, not moving. His pace quickened, then the shock, "My God, it's Spots!" He was lying on his side with his eyes open and his tongue hanging limp, a large pool of blood under his head. His throat had been cut. Tom bent down, crying, stunned, how could this have happened? Suddenly a chill ran through him, he stood and quickly turned. There he stood, stone-faced, cold, staring at Tom with fire in his eyes. Tom dropped the flashlight, feeling a sudden hot burning in his stomach. Still staring at this entity from hell, he grabbed and felt a sharp hard object sticking in his gut. He dropped to his knees, now bent over, unable to breathe. He rolled onto his side, trying to call out, but unable to make a sound. Zane stooped down and pulled the knife from his belly, then grabbed him by the hair, pulled his head back and drew the blade across his neck. Tom could feel the warmth of his life slip away. He quietly died next to Spots.

Zane silently made his way toward the tent, on fire, wild. He pulled the flap open and gently moved inside. Louise slept soundly, while Ann dreamt of her birthday party next week, cake, balloons, and friends playing games, and Mike snuggled next to mom dreaming of the stars he loved so much.

It was about 9a.m. when the park ranger pulled up. The camp looked still, too quiet. The tent was closed with no sign of movement. He knew the Hansens, had talked to them a number of times when they were camping. This however, seemed different, lifeless.

As he approached the tent he began to get a queasy feeling, there was definitely something wrong. Where was the dog? He pulled back the tent flap, and there in a grotesque display of blood and carnage lay Louise Hansen. He stood frozen in disbelief, and horror. He tried to turn and walk but stumbled and fell to the ground. This was more than he could believe; crawling to his truck he pulled open the door and called for help.

The police would find Ann down near the river next to her father and Spots, throat slit. Louise had been raped, beaten and brutally murdered. Mike was unaccounted for initially, but would turn up the next day in the little town of Dunning. He had escaped during the chaos, wandered in shock, until he staggered into the little town north of Broken Bow. Zane, as usual, had disappeared.

Amy stopped reading. She felt sick to her stomach. Maybe she didn't want to pursue this after all, she thought. She'd go home and think about it and talk to Jonathan that night. It was one thing to see this stuff in movies, knowing it wasn't real, or to hear about it second hand, but they were heading into uncharted territory, at least for them. This was going to be the real thing, real people, real...victims.

Chapter 13

It was late, he'd had dinner and the television was on, but he was thinking about his interview with Barbara that day. He couldn't get over how different she was from Jeffery. He could feel her compassion, her longing to be free of this. Yet, there was a strength about her in wanting to tell her story and face the inevitable onslaught of questions and judgements. In just two days, Jonathan had grown to admire and respect her. Tomorrow, one way or another, he was going to wrap this up and let her be...for a while.

The phone rang, it was Amy, "Hi Jonathan, how's it going?"

"Good, how's it going for you, any progress?"

Amy told him about the Hansen family and how she was having a difficult time getting over it. Every time Jonathan heard one of these terrifying stories he became more determined to find out all he could. There was also that ever-increasing eerie feeling that this demon had actually touched his family. In many ways it was just too close for comfort.

He told her about his interview and how in some ways he regretted having to go back out, while on the other hand he was anxious to find out more. They chitchatted about the weather, politics and the St. Louis Cardinals, when Jonathan suddenly realized they didn't know what had happened to Mike Hansen.

"Amy, did that article mention what happened to Mike Hansen, I mean did he go on to school, get married, have kids, what?"

"No, it didn't. And I hadn't thought of that until you mentioned it. I guess I was...recovering. That's great Jonathan; I'll get right on it. He has to be somewhere. He'd be in his early forties by now. Don't worry, I'll find him."

He told her he'd call the next night after he finished what he hoped was his final interview with Barbara, then he'd be heading home and they could coordinate what needed to be done next.

He packed his bags, checked out of the motel and made the final drive to Storm Lake. For some reason he felt invigorated. Maybe it was the fact that he was leaving, or maybe he felt like he was really going to learn something today, whichever, he arrived enthusiastic.

Clyde was gone, as he had been the day before, and Barbara had the coffee on. Jonathan didn't need any coffee today; he was wired enough. The dogs greeted him with less excitement, as he almost felt like part of the family by now. He tapped on the door, and Barbara beckoned him inside.

"Good morning Barbara, how are you?"

"Fine Mr. Smyth, how are you?" He had asked her to call him Jonathan, but for whatever reason, she preferred to be formal. She appeared more tense and expectant.

"Are you sure," he questioned. "You seem a little...uneasy."

"Well, you know I've been thinking about all of this, and I have some very mixed feelings."

Oh boy, he thought, she's going to beg off. "Barbara, as I told you yesterday, if you don't want to go any further with the story, I'll understand."

"No, I talked it over with Clyde, and we both feel I need to tell my side of this. The doubt, came from what you said about reopening this, you know the media, sightseers, stuff like that.

"But I think it's more important to get this out, say what I have to, and live with the consequences."

Jonathan was relieved, but still had one more touchy question she hadn't answered, "Did you think anymore about my wanting to see his grave?"

"Yes, I discussed that with Clyde and we agreed; that when we're done here, Clyde will show you where it is. But you have to promise not to tell anyone or I will deny everything."

"Absolutely, I will not divulge that to anybody. You can trust me."

They took their usual seats; she on the couch and he in the adjacent chair.

"Barbara, you've told me a lot about your family, as has Jeffery, so let's just concentrate on Jack and what you remember about him and your reactions."

"I guess my main feeling is disbelief. I've never understood how anyone could be that mean, let alone someone in my family. Sure, dad was terrible and abused us, but I didn't turn out all bad, and neither did Jeffery."

"Well, maybe it's that genetic thing we talked about. There are such things as bad seeds," Jonathan said agreeably.

"Yes, you're probably right. I guess there's no other explanation for it. The first really bad thing I can remember him doing was on Halloween when I was about ten years old. Jack was about twelve. Mom had let me go up the road to the next farm where my friend Donna was having a little party. We couldn't really trick or treat back then, because the farms were too far apart. Mom sent Jeffery up to get me and walk me back to the house. It was a dark, cold night so we were hurrying. When I got to my room I was freezing. I couldn't get in bed fast enough. I slipped under the covers and felt something warm and wet down by my feet. I jumped out of bed and threw the covers back, there was Donna's cat, Spike, skinned and laying in my bed. Spike had vanished a few days earlier, and Donna thought maybe a coyote had gotten him or he had just run off."

"How do you know Jack did it?"

"Well, it wasn't the first time he'd tortured an animal and besides, he brought the skin to me the next morning."

"He just walked in and handed it to you?"

"He knocked on the door and said 'Are you in there, sis? I have a present for you." I wouldn't answer the door, but he came in anyway, walked over to my bed with one hand behind his back. I wouldn't look at him, I was afraid of what he was going to do. He pulled the covers off my face and something started tickling my nose. I had to open my eyes, and there it was, Spike's tail rubbing up against my face, and it was still attached to the skin. I screamed, he laughed and slowly turned and walked out of the room, leaving the skin on my pillow.

"I'll never forget it and I never forgave him. I never told Donna what had happened to Spike. I figured it was better if she didn't know. That was the first really horrible thing I remember him doing...but it certainly wasn't the last."

Jonathan sat there thinking, my God, this guy was sick right from the beginning. Barbara is probably lucky to still be alive.

"What's your first recollection of him hurting another person?"

"When he was about fourteen, he beat up, actually knocked out this kid who lived on a farm behind us. He drug him out to one of the pastures and tied him to the back of a cow and left him. He laid him on the cow's back then tied his hands and feet underneath the cow's stomach. When he woke up, he couldn't get loose and couldn't get off the cow. The really bad part was the cow tried to get him off by rolling and rubbing up against the fences. They didn't find him till the next morning. Poor Jerry was cut and bruised and had to be hospitalized for a couple of days. His parents had the police looking for him and were scared to death what might have happened to him. Jerry would never tell who did it; I think he was afraid Jack would do something even worse to him. Everybody kind of knew who did it, but they couldn't prove it, so, like always, he got away with it.

"Little did we know at the time that was only the beginning. He'd only be around about four more years and then, thank God, he left. But, that's when the really horrible crimes began.

"I had no idea what kind of animal he'd turn into, the unbelievable things he'd do. Even now, it doesn't seem real. To know I grew up with someone who could commit those crimes...seems unbelievable."

Jonathan could see she was tiring, "Barbara, are you okay, do you want to keep going?"

"Yes, I want to finish this today," she said emphatically. "One thing I do want to make clear, Jack never hurt or abused me, my mom or Jeffrey, physically. He did lots of things to us emotionally, but never laid a hand on us. I don't know why I needed to say that, but I did."

"I understand," he said, really not knowing why he said it. "Now, tell me what you thought after he left, and the tragic stories began to emerge."

"Horror, disbelief, but there was a part of me that knew he was capable of doing those things. I became very shy and withdrawn. I figured if I didn't talk to anyone, maybe it would just go away. Of course it didn't. The worst part though was watching what it did to mom. She could never understand it. Not only what Jack did, but the way people started treating her. Almost all her close friends turned away from her. Like I said before, it was suddenly like we had a disease. That was the hardest part for me."

"Did you and your mom ever talk about it much?"

"No, not really. There was one time, after the newspapers reported he'd killed the schoolteacher in Waterloo, Iowa, that mom really lost it. Clyde and I were living in town and she was still out here on the farm. She called me and asked me to come out. It was all over the news, Jack Zane, strikes again. She was crying, but sounded mad. I'd never heard her that way, although she'd had many chances to feel angry. I hurried out and found her sitting, right here on this old couch. When I walked in she looked up at me and said, "What in God's name is wrong with him, how can he do these things...kill an innocent schoolteacher? I hope they hunt him down and...he doesn't deserve to be on this earth."

"I sat next to her and held her. She was in agony, and there was nothing I could say to help her. We just sat and held each other for maybe, thirty minutes, not saying anything. Then she sort of straightened herself up and said, 'I'm sorry, I'll be okay,' and got up and went into the kitchen. That was the last time we ever talked about Jack until the day she died. I think part of what killed her was a broken heart, over Jack."

All the enthusiasm and vigor had drained out of Jonathan. He sat back in his chair emotionally exhausted. It was all beginning to mount up on him. For days, weeks really, he had immersed himself in this, killing, rape, murder, and it was starting to take its toll.

"You know, Barbara, that should probably do it as far as interview questions, if it's okay with you I'll just wait for Clyde, he can show me the grave and I'll be on my way."

She seemed relieved and said that would be fine. She knew where Clyde was in town and called him. Jonathan sat alone looking around the room. So this is where this evil man grew up, he thought. He'd been so busy interviewing Barbara he'd never really thought about it. He could hear her talking on the phone in the kitchen, so he got up and walked around, looking at pictures, nick-knacks, family stuff. On a dinner hutch in the corner was a picture of Barbara's mom, Evelyn. They looked a lot alike, except for the sadness on Evelyn's face.

Barbara could see Jonathan looking at the photo when she came back in the room, "That's a picture of mom five years before she died."

"She was beautiful. You look a lot alike."

Barbara walked over and picked the frame up in her hand, "I loved her dearly; she didn't have an easy life."

They sat and talked about other things, birthdays, dogs and small towns, until Clyde came home. Jonathan gave her a hug and thanked her for letting him do this. He followed Clyde to the cemetery which was located about a mile and a half outside of town, opposite from the farm. It was an old dirt road covered with bumps and holes. Off to the right side was a small clump of trees. Jonathan could see some headstones in the distance. They pulled in and drove to the back of the cemetery. They parked under one of the shady old trees then walked through some sparse grass to a white, well-cared for tombstone – Evelyn Zane. Clyde bent down and dusted it off and rearranged some wilting flowers. Jonathan stood quietly watching. Clyde stood up, "I'll take you to his grave, then I'm leavin'. You can stay as long as you want. I know you and Barbara talked about the fact you have to keep this a secret."

"Yes we did, and I will...I promise!"

"Okay then, take two steps back and look down, you'll be standin' right on it."

At first Jonathan looked at Clyde in disbelief. Clyde nodded so Jonathan took two steps back, looked down and saw nothing.

"He's here, right under my feet...how do you know?"

"It's unmarked so no one knows. We had it arranged so he was near Evelyn, but so's no one else would know. I know where he's buried, cause I was here when they did it. Believe me you're standin' right over his head.

If that's all you need, I'll be on my way," he said reaching out to shake Jonathan's hand. He walked to his truck, waved goodbye and was gone.

Jonathan stood there, unable to comprehend the fact he was standing over the grave of the man who killed his great grandparents, beat his mother, killed the Hansens, the schoolteacher, and who knows how many more. He got a queasy feeling and quickly stepped to the side. It was unnerving and he had mixed feelings about it. He went over and sat down next to Evelyn's grave marker, staring at the ground Jack was buried under, listening to the birds and locusts in the trees. It seemed like such a peaceful place to have such wickedness present. He'd seen enough. He got up, said his good-bye to Evelyn and looked down once more to the ground under which Jack Zane was buried and then began his trip back to New Orleans.

He hoped to never see Storm Lake again.

Chapter 14

He got in late, tired. He had been thinking on the plane, that a short break might be good for him. He could feel it all weighing on him. He went home and straight to bed. Amy knew he was coming in, but he'd told her he'd call the next morning.

When the phone rang, he was in a deep sleep. For the first time, in what seemed like weeks, he'd actually slept well. The ring seemed far away, like part of a dream; then slowly coming out of his slumber, he realized it was his phone. Sleepily, he said, "Hello."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" Amy said, surprised to find him still in bed.

"Yeah, what time is it?"

"Noon."

"Are you kidding?" He looked at his clock, she wasn't kidding; it was noon.

Jonathan told her to come over in about an hour and they could have some lunch and discuss what to do next.

"Boy, you look tired," Amy said upon entering the apartment.

"Thanks, that will certainly perk me up."

"I'm sorry. I know this is wearing on you. I just don't want you to get... sick." She felt Silly, she knew she wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know.

"Oh, I know. I was only kidding. Believe me, I know how I look, and more, how I feel. I was thinking on the way back about taking a few days off and getting away from this. Maybe go fishing or boating, just put it out of my mind."

He'd made some sandwiches and put one down in front of her.

"What do you want to drink?"

"Pepsi, if you've got it."

They sat and chatted about things, that is, everything but Jack Zane. Amy agreed it would be a good idea for him to take some time off. They could discuss their next move when he got back, plus it would give her a little more time to pursue some additional leads.

Jonathan called his old high school buddy, Bill Lars. They rented a fourteen-foot fishing boat and made their way to Chandeleur Sound. Three or four days out on the water sounded like a few days in heaven.

He'd told Amy he'd call her when he got back. She'd been following up on the Hensen case, trying to find out what had happened to Mike Hansen. Through various phone calls she discovered that following the murder of his parents and sister, he'd gone to live with his grandparents in Brewster, Nebraska. He then went off to college at the University of Colorado, majoring in law enforcement, and was now working for the state police in Montana. He was married and living in Billings.

Amy had tried reaching him, but he hadn't returned her calls. Maybe Jonathan would have more luck. She was bursting at the seams to tell him what she'd found and it seemed like an eternity before he got back. One week to the day after he left, he phoned. She could hear in his voice he was rested, and ready to begin again.

"Jonathan, you'll never believe this, but I found Mike Hansen."

"Where? What's he doing? How'd you find him?"

The news was...inspiring. The week away, although absent of luck fishing, had been rejuvenating. He felt a new sense of purpose, and desire to get going again.

Amy explained everything, and said she'd be right over. While he waited, he began to formulate a plan. First, he'd try to contact Mike Hansen and find out if he'd be willing to talk. However that went dictated what they'd do next. Amy arrived loaded with information. They poured over it, trying to find any morsel or clue that might lead to other victims or family members. Their first, and best, choice was Mike Hansen. From what they could determine, he was possibly the only survivor of one of Zane's most gruesome attacks.

Amy had discovered some little known, or at least little publicized facts about a few of the other cases and was going to start her research on those. Jonathan would try and contact Mike Hansen, with the hope he'd have more success than Amy did.

It was mid-August now and when Jonathan called, he was told Mike Hansen was on vacation and wouldn't be back for ten days. Jonathan continued to help Amy and on the twelfth day called back.

"This is Sgt. Hansen, may I help you?"

It caught Jonathan off guard he didn't expect Mike Hansen to answer the phone at the state police office.

"Yes...well, Sgt. Hansen, my name is Jonathan Smyth...and I was calling... actually it's a personal matter. Is there a better time and number where I can call you later? I don't want to disturb you at work."

Hansen quizzed him about what he wanted and initially refused to talk about it. Jonathan explained how he, too, had been a victim, or least his family had, and his sole intent was to give the families, at least those who wanted to, a chance to make their feelings known. And ultimately, maybe make a few bucks off the man who had inflicted so much pain on them. Hansen told him he'd think about it and to call him back in a few days.

Jonathan knew that of all the people he would talk to, Mike Hansen had probably suffered the most. He was there when his family was killed, and had somehow managed to escape. It all had to be indelibly etched on his mind. He had certainly filed it away and hoped never to have to discuss it again. Now, here he, Jonathan, was trying to reopen old wounds. His guess was, Mike Hansen would not want to discuss it, and Jonathan, although disappointed, would understand completely.

He waited a week then made the call.

"Sgt. Hansen, its Jonathan Smyth again, calling back as you asked."

There was an uncomfortable pause, followed by a clearing of the throat, "Oh yes. I tell you what, why don't you call me at home tonight. We can discuss this better."

"Of course... absolutely." Jonathan was shocked. Maybe he was wrong and Mike Hansen did want to tell his story. He'd felt the same way about Barbara (Zane's sister) and, she'd come forward, and she probably had more to risk than Hansen.

It was seven o'clock in the evening in Billings when Jonathan nervously made the call. The phone rang for an eternity and Jonathan was about to hang up, when a voice said, "Hello?" It was the voice of a young girl.

"Hi, is your dad there?"

"Yes, I'll get him."

Her voice was sweet and polite; Jonathan didn't know he had a child, or possibly children. It would probably make this all the more difficult.

"Hello."

"Mr. Hansen, its Jonathan Smyth."

"Oh yes, I tell you what, can I call you back in a few minutes. We're just putting Katy down for the night."

"Of course." Jonathan hung up and waited patiently, wondering how this was going to play out. Mike Hansen had a family, sounded happy and had probably buried the horror of that night so deep in his psyche...well, the odds were he wasn't going to want to relive it. Thirty minutes later the phone rang, "Hello."

"Mr. Smyth, its Mike Hansen."

"Yes, thanks for calling me back. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to interrupt when I called earlier."

"That's okay, we always put Katy down about seven-thirty, read her a bedtime story...you know."

"She sounded like a very sweet little girl. How old is she?"

"Ten (the same age Mike was when Zane killed his parents). It's hard to believe, they grow up so fast. It seems like just yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital. Now she's riding her bike, spending the night at her friends house...well, anyway, I've talked this over with my wife, Nancy, and I think at this point I'd like to find out a little bit more about what you're doing and how it would affect my family.

"To be honest with you Mr. Smyth, I'm reluctant to dig all that up. The only person I've ever talked to about it is Nancy, and she'd prefer we left it alone. Our main concern is Katy.

"Being a police officer I've seen my share of crime, although up here it's pale compared to big city crime, but nonetheless, a murder's a murder no matter where it takes place. But you develop an ability to keep it at arms length, not let it get inside you. It's the only way to survive. But what happened to my mom, dad and sister that night..."

He stopped. Jonathan could almost feel the pain. "I understand...well, let me rephrase that, I too lost family to this man, not to the extent or gravity you did, but still, I had family members killed. Believe me I'm not going about this lightly or without concern. You, probably more than anyone, have been affected by this malevolence. Please know that's not lost on me. I know how painful this would be and the possible repercussions. I will handle it any way you want, and if you would prefer not to discuss it, that will be the end of it. I'll walk away and not bother you again."

Mike seemed genuinely stirred by what Jonathan had said. They agreed to talk again. Mike would talk to Nancy and get back to Jonathan within the week.

In Storm Lake, Barbara, was starting to feel the early ramifications of her discussions with Jonathan. While there, and with her permission, Jonathan had tried to talk to several of the townspeople about what they remembered; all refused to discuss it. Now that he was gone, and with what they perceived to be impending trouble, they had asked Barbara to have her brother's casket removed and buried elsewhere. They figured if he wasn't there, the media and thrill seekers wouldn't come around.

Barbara had grudgingly agreed. She called Jonathan to let him know what she was doing.

"Mr. Smyth, its Barbara Wilkes."

"Yes, Barbara, it's good to hear from you, how are you?"

"Well, I was calling to let you know that we are moving Jack's casket."

"What? Why?" He said dumbfounded.

She explained the pressure from the locals and that, although reluctantly, she understood and had agreed.

"Have you already dug him up?"

"Yes, he's gone. We sent him up to Jeff's place. He said he would bury him on his property and no one would know the difference."

"Wow! That happened pretty fast. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. The next day after you left, several of the town board members came out and asked me to do it. They just don't want the publicity or attention, especially over someone like Jack. It's probably for the best, I'm not sure I want that kind of attention either. Maybe with him gone, you can tell my story and that will be the end of it.

"You have to promise me, however, that you won't tell anyone where he's buried."

"You can count on it. I'm sorry this happened, but as you say, maybe it's for the best. I'm sure with his burial site somewhere else, they'll leave you alone."

"I certainly hope so," she said. "Well, I just wanted to let you know, and thanks for understanding."

They hung up and Jonathan sat in amazement. How is it, he thought, that an evil presence like Jack Zane can have such a far-reaching affect on people, thirty years after his death?

He didn't have the answer - it just seemed to be the way of the world.

Chapter 15

Amy had been pursuing the schoolteacher's murder in Waterloo, Iowa. In September of 1962, Zane had broken into the apartment of Sharon Weiss and Donna Meyers, both schoolteachers at a local elementary school. Only Donna was home at the time. When Sharon got home he was still there, having raped and killed Donna. He then raped and beat Sharon, leaving her for dead. She recovered and moved away immediately. Her whereabouts was unknown. Amy was trying to hunt her down to see if she'd be willing to discuss what had happened.

Initially, she hadn't had any luck. Insisting this was a very important family matter, a school district clerk had called and told her about a retired teacher still living in town who had worked with both Sharon and Donna - Miss Carla Crosley. Amy found a phone number for her and called. An elderly and pleasant sounding voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Miss Crosley?"

"Yes, this is Miss Crosley, can I help you?"

Amy explained who she was and what she was trying to do. Miss Crosley told her she hadn't heard from Sharon for over five years, but the last she knew she had moved to St. Louis, Missouri.

Amy asked her if she had gotten married and could possibly have a different last name now. Carla told her the last correspondence she had still had Weiss on it.

There was one other thing though, "I know she had a daughter. She sent me a couple of pictures and wrote about her a few times, then it just stopped. That was the last I heard from her."

"Miss Crosley, have you tried to get in touch with her since?"

"Yes, but the letters are always returned...I guess she moved. I have no idea where she might be now, I'm sorry."

"No, thank you. You've been a great help."

"There's something else Ms. Rogers."

"Yes?"

"I think her daughter is mentally handicapped. At least it looked like that in the pictures."

"Thanks again, Miss Crosley."

It had been over a week and Jonathan had not heard back from Mike Hansen. He was torn, should he call or just keep waiting? He talked to Amy about it, and they decided waiting was probably the best choice. Jonathan would give him another week.

Amy was unable to find a Sharon Weiss in St. Louis. She'd apparently moved. At one of their earlier confabs, Jonathan had shown Amy how to follow up on finding people. As he said, "they always leave tracks, you just have to know where to look."

She'd start with the St. Louis school system and hoped to hit pay dirt. It would take a few days and some persistent hounding, but eventually they came up with some helpful information. Sharon Weiss had, in fact, taught in the system, but had quit a little over five years ago. They didn't know where she went in the main administration office, but someone did tell Amy, she'd taught at Washington Elementary. The principle at Washington was new, but told Amy there was one teacher who had worked with Sharon, that was still there, Gail Gordon. She found a listing for a Gail Gordon and called.

"Hello."

"Yes is this the Gail Gordon who teaches at Washington Elementary?"

"Yes."

Amy could tell by the response, she must have sounded like a telemarketer. She immediately clarified who she was and why she was calling. Gail told her Sharon had moved away about five years ago, to Joplin, Missouri to get away from the big city. She'd had a few problems with her daughter, and thought maybe a smaller town would be helpful. To her knowledge she was still living there.

Amy checked information and bingo, there she was. She hesitated to call, thought better of it and waited to talk to Jonathan. There was something here, and she felt it was better to discuss it with him first.

While waiting for Mike Hansen to call, Jonathan had actually found time to get back to his novel. It had been so long, he had to start reading from the beginning to find the story line. Once there, it began to flow. He'd missed it, all this sleuth work had taken him away from what he truly enjoyed – writing.

He was feeling it, the rhythm, the passion. The phone rang; it was Amy. She had good news, and a peculiar feeling. There was no turning her down, she was on her way. Oh well, he thought, I guess I can get back to this later...uh huh.

It felt like he'd just hung up the phone, when she rang the buzzer. She was excited, but cautiously so.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I don't know exactly. You know I've been trying to find Sharon Weiss...well I found her."

"Great, what's the problem?"

"That's it, I don't know. There's just something strange about this, call it intuition. But I feel like there's more here than meets the eye."

"What? Why do you think that?"

"Well let's start at the beginning. She's raped and left for dead in Waterloo, then immediately vanishes and winds up in St. Louis. This is also the first time we know she has a daughter, who may be mentally challenged. She's there a few years, has trouble with her daughter and moves to Joplin."

"Yeah, so, maybe she was looking for that small town feeling again. After all, Joplin ain't Nawlins," he said, trying to add a little humor.

"Hey, I'm serious. There's something weird here. I can't put my finger on it, but something's not kosher."

Jonathan got up and went to the kitchen to make coffee. As he reached for the pot, a chill ran down his spine. My God, he thought, that's Jack Zane's daughter. He raped her, she became pregnant, then ran away and is still running today. Hurriedly he ran back to the living room, "Amy," he stopped dead in his tracks. She was sitting on the couch with her head in her hands, sobbing...she knew.

She looked up tearfully and said, "The daughter's his, isn't she." Jonathan sat down beside her, put his arm around her, "Yes, maybe...I don't know."

"The poor woman is running from something she can't ever get away from," Amy said, heartsick.

"Yeah, I guess so." Jonathan got up to get her some tissue. "You know Amy, you and I have read about and talked to people who've encountered this man...but to bare his child...I can't imagine."

She wiped away the tears, "Well, what are we going to do? I mean here she is trying to run and hide, and now we're going to... expose her? I don't know about you, but I don't think I can do that."

He knew it would happen eventually, the moral dilemma, he just didn't see it happening this way, with Zane's child.

He sat down on the couch next to Amy, "You know we're still guessing here. We don't know for a fact that he fathered a child, we're just supposing."

She looked at him with fiery eyes, "Oh come on, you know damn well that's his child. You're just hoping it isn't so it doesn't put you between a rock and a hard place, having to make a moral decision."

"Yeah, you're right. I guess I wish there were some way to deal with this, you know, help her."

"Oh, I think we can help her...let's leave her alone." Amy's tone wasn't quite as caustic.

Jonathan decided discretion was the better part of valor and left it alone. But in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't some way to broach this. He'd let it percolate in his mind for a while.

The call finally came. It was early evening when the phone rang, "Hi, this is Jonathan."

"Mr. Smyth, its Mike Hansen."

Jonathan was stunned and hoped it would be good news.

"Yes, Mike, how are you? Thanks for calling me back."

"I'm fine. Sorry, it took a little longer than I thought, but this is a pretty important decision for us."

"Yes, it certainly is. Believe me I understand, and whatever you've decided is fine with me," Jonathan said, still hoping for the best.

Mike sounded different, less apprehensive, resolute. "We've decided to go forward with this."

Jonathan could hardly believe it. He was dead sure they wouldn't. It was hard to contain his excitement.

"Oh, wow, that's good news. I was afraid you...can I ask why?"

"Of course, I would expect you to. We came at this from every conceivable angle. In the end we decided it was best to deal with it now. If you hadn't come forward, someone else would have, it was just a matter of time. Katy's ten, the same age I was when it happened, and right now we think the impact would be less damaging than later. She's still in a fantasy world to a great extent, which is probably what helped me when it happened. At that age, you don't know all the ramifications of something like that, so you don't dwell on it.

"We also think it's important to let people know how the victims deal with it, and continue to deal with it over time, because it might just help future victims. Don't worry, we're not kidding ourselves, we know they'll be some garbage that goes along with this, the press, curiosity seekers and the like, but we just feel the end justifies the means."

Jonathan was very impressed with the logic, and fortitude. There were probably a lot of people in Billings who had no idea what Mike had been through. With him coming forward, that would all change.

It's one thing to be a hero for doing good deeds, it's quite another to be looked at as a survivor of an unspeakable crime. People envy heroes; they usually feel pity for survivors. They can't help it, they're just glad it happened to somebody else. But, Mike was a survivor and a proud man with what seemed like a wonderful family. If anyone could handle it, he could.

They talked on for a few more minutes, Jonathan telling him he would make immediate arrangements to get to Billings. He would arrive on September 18th.

Jonathan had re-addressed the Sharon Weiss issue with Amy. Amy was adamant about leaving her alone. Jonathan, however, decided to call her and see what happened. He promised Amy, if Sharon was reluctant at all, he'd drop it. The next evening he made the call.

"Hello."

"Yes, Sharon Weiss?" he asked apprehensively.

"Uh huh."

He was hoping she'd hang on long enough to hear him out...she didn't. As soon as he said he was a writer doing a book on Jack Zane, all he heard at the other end was a dial tone.

He didn't blame her, she'd been trying to escape this all her adult life. And every day she had to look at her daughter and be reminded of what had happened. Maybe Amy was right, just let it be. But Jonathan thought, if this woman could vent all this pent up anger, hostility and resentment, she'd be all the better for it.

He'd give it one more try – he'd write her a letter. It had worked before so...maybe. He wrote it, explaining what he was doing, and how it might just help her, and mailed it before he left for Billings.

Chapter 16

As the plane soared over the Rockies, Jonathan looked on in awe. He'd never really seen the mountains, at least mountains like these. They were magnificent. From a sightseeing perspective, he was looking forward to the trip. As for the rest...well, he'd play that by ear.

He'd flown into Denver and from there had taken a commuter junket up to Billings. As they came in over the city, he could see the housetops immediately below, when suddenly...they touched down. He would see the runways set up on a bluff over the city. It was a unique aeronautical experience.

Mike Hansen was waiting for him. As people always do, Jonathan had a preconceived notion of what Mike would look like, and he wasn't too far wrong. Average height, stout man with short sandy hair and penetrating blue eyes. They exchanged greetings, hopped in Mike's truck and headed for the motel. There was some small talk, about the beautiful weather, and of course the unusual landing. Mike laughed, told Jonathan, he hears that every time someone flies into their airport the first time. "Wait till you take off, if you thought landing was fun." Mike actually found that more amusing than Jonathan, but he laughed anyway.

All the way to the motel Jonathan kept glancing at Mike out of the corner of his eye, hoping he didn't notice. He couldn't help thinking, this man, only a boy then, survived the attack of a mass murder, and now I'm here to talk to him about it.

It was about 4 p.m. when Mike dropped him off. He'd come back and get him about six and take him to their home for dinner. After dinner they'd have time to talk.

Jonathan called Amy to let her know he'd made it safe and sound, despite the local placement of the airport, then cleaned up, got all his materials in order and waited for Mike.

Right on schedule Mike pulled up. Jonathan jumped in and they made the short drive to the Hansen house. It was a nice two-story, well kept and homey inside. Nancy, Mike's wife, met them at the door, introduced herself and invited Jonathan in. There, playing in the family room was Katy, a cute little blond with her dad's big blue eyes. She came out, said "Hi", and went back to playing.

Nancy had prepared a wonderful homemade meal. Jonathan felt stuffed. He waited in the living room while they put Katy to bed, then Mike summoned him to the family room.

"Jonathan, can I get you some coffee?"

"Sure, that would be great. That was such a superb meal I feel like taking a nap. Some caffeine would be welcome."

As Mike made the coffee, he asked Jonathan about his life, where he'd come from, how he'd become a writer, but nothing about his history with Jack Zane. Jonathan figured it would be he who would have to bring it up. Nancy stepped in and said she had some things to do upstairs, so he and Mike could go ahead and talk. Mike plopped down in his lounge chair, while Jonathan relaxed on the couch. Mike looked across at Jonathan and said, "So, Jack Zane rears his ugly head once again."

Well, I guess he wouldn't have to mention it after all. "Yeah, I guess so. You know Mike, I've been wondering for some time now how this insane killer, who's been dead for what, some thirty years now, can still reach from the grave and affect peoples lives. It doesn't make sense. My mom, your parents and sister have been dead almost that long and...well, I'm sure you see my point."

Mike leaned forward in his chair, put his elbows on his knees, "It's because people are fascinated with the dark side of life. Look how we glorify killing, robbery, violence in the movies, on TV. It's unbelievable to me, but there it is. And then we wonder why there's so much crime. It's one of the reasons Nancy and I chose to live here, away from the big city. Not that we don't have crime, we do, but it ain't nothing to...say, New Orleans." There was a little glint in his eye, like "I got you."

"Well, certainly I'd have to agree. Look at me, I write about crime to make a living. You're right, there's definitely a market for it. I don't know if this book will be a hit or a bomb, but one thing it will be is honest, no glorification. He's going to come across just as he was, a maniacal killer, whom the world is better off without."

"Well, that shouldn't be hard, that's what he was," Mike said relaxing back in his chair.

"Mike, I don't know quite how to start this, given the horrifying experience you went through, so just start where you feel comfortable."

"Comfortable, Jonathan? There's nothing comfortable about this."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"That's okay, I know what you meant. Let's see, where to start talking about the most horrible event in your life. I guess at the beginning.

You probably already know some of this, so stop me if you do."

"No, you just talk, I'll listen." Jonathan said, turning on the recorder.

"We'd gone camping up at Victoria Springs; it was one of our favorite spots. We could camp out, play around, do a little fishing, it was a great place for our family.

I'll never forget that night; it was clear, crisp with a half moon. We'd cooked over the fire, dad read us a story and we'd bunked down for the night. I was sleeping on one side of mom and Ann on the other. Dad would sometimes sleep outside with Spots, but that night he slept in, at the foot of the tent. It was a big tent, could accommodate all of us, even Spots. I never heard him get up in the middle of the night. The first thing I remember was someone in the tent, I thought it was dad."

Jonathan was sitting up now, attentive, "Were you afraid?"

"Well, not at first. I remember looking up and seeing a shadow against the tent wall. I said, 'Dad what are you doing?' He said nothing, that's when I got scared. I tugged on mom, she looked at me and I guess could see the fear on my face, she sat up and that's when..."

Mike got up and moved to the window, his voice quivering.

"Ann sat up and began screaming, I saw a flash of something shinny...and she stopped. Something warm splattered across my face. Ann wasn't moving. Mom tried to get up but he grabbed her by the throat and shoved her back down. Then he grabbed me by the neck and was choking me. My mom grabbed something, maybe a flashlight, and hit him with it. He let go of me and went after her. I started crawling out the side of the tent. He grabbed my leg and pulled off one of my socks. After I got out of the tent, I ran. My mom stopped screaming. I ran down to the river and hid in the weeds. I know now, that I was probably only a few feet from my dad and Spots. I could see a little in the moonlight, so I waited for him to come out. It wasn't long before he came out and looked around, I know he was looking for me, but probably thought I'd run away. He went back into the tent and...then came back out and down to the river. I guess still looking for me. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. I was frozen. He could have stepped on me and I wouldn't have made a sound. He rummaged through our stuff, found the car keys, got in the car and drove off. I couldn't look in the tent, or look for my dad or Spots, I just turned and walked out through the fields. I knew they were all dead. I don't know how long it took, I know it was daylight when I wandered into Dunning."

He turned, came back and sat down, tears in his eyes. Jonathan fell back into the couch distraught. He felt a knot in his stomach and thought he might throw up.

"Mike can I use your bathroom?"

Mike, with head in hands, pointed down the hall. Jonathan stood in the bathroom staring into the mirror. Was this worth it he wondered? What have I put this poor man, this family through? He washed his face off and made his way back to the family room. Mike hadn't moved, still sitting, leaned forward in his chair, looking down at his feet.

Jonathan sat back down on the couch. He didn't quite know what to say. Mike looked up at Jonathan said, "Well, there it is. I don't know what else I can tell you?"

"Don't worry, that was enough. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"I knew what I was in for, you were honest about what you needed. It's funny, it never gets any easier. It's something I live with day after day. There's virtually not a day goes by I don't think of it in some way. Maybe it's because I'm in law enforcement, I don't know, but it's always there. Knowing my parents and sister will never get to see or know my sweet Katy."

"How could it not be? I think about my mom, who wasn't killed, every day. I think you've handled it very well."

Jonathan had stayed long enough, "Mike I've taken up enough of your time tonight, I'll head out if that's okay."

Mike drove him back to his motel. Jonathan had offered to take Mike to lunch the next day before he left, Mike accepted. He was emotionally drained. He didn't know how many more of these gut-wrenching interviews he could take. There was a new part of him that mourned after each one.

It was a quaint little restaurant in downtown. Jonathan had packed and was ready for his 3 p.m. flight. Mike would take him to the airport after lunch. Jonathan was curious how, or why, Mike went into law enforcement.

"Mike, why law enforcement?"

"Good question. I suppose part of it had to do with what happened. If I could stop or prevent what happened to my family, make sure nobody else had to go through it...I guess that's why I went into it."

"Do you feel like you've been able to do that...make a difference?"

"Yeah, I do. I mean, I'm not naïve, there will always be crime, but if I stop one killing, one rape, save one person's life, it will all be worth it. As a matter of fact I'm part of an investigative team right now working on a series of killings, that probably involves a guy just like Zane."

"Really, you mean here in Billings?"

"No, in and out of Montana. It's been going on for several years. The guy comes down to the states, usually Montana, North Dakota or Idaho, kills, robs, rapes, then ducks back into Canada."

"Has he killed in Canada as well?"

"Oh sure, he bounces back and forth. We've nicknamed him the Border Butcher, but up in Canada they're calling him La De'couper, the carver."

"My God, it never stops, does it? Here we are over thirty years after Zane, and it still goes on...why?"

"I think it's genetic. In this line of work you have to study what makes these guys tick. Almost every time there were signs when they were young, you know, beating other kids, real antisocial behavior. Then it seems to take its natural course and moves into truly violent crime. I've seen it time after time. As painful as it is, look at Zane. That's the way he started."

"So you've studied Zane's past?"

"Oh yes. You have to know your enemy Jonathan, how they think, act, feel. It's the only way we'll catch them."

Mike got him to the airport on time, and was right about the take off – scary. On the flight back Jonathan couldn't help but be impressed by Mike and his family. Not only had they survived, but had excelled. Mike was now in pursuit of the very kind of evil that had, to a great extent, destroyed his life...one brave man.

Chapter 17

The letter had been sitting on her dresser for several days. She'd looked at the return address, saw the name Jonathan Smyth and had decided not to open it. What she found curious, however, was that she hadn't thrown it away.

Rebecca had finally gone to sleep, so she had some time for herself. A hot bath, glass of her favorite chardonnay, then crawl into bed and read. She longed for these moments. Rebecca was thirty-seven now, and as an adult, was a formidable challenge to take care of. She wasn't profoundly underdeveloped, but did need help daily with basic living skills. Sharon was accustomed to it, but as she'd gotten older it wore on her even more, sometimes to the point of total exhaustion.

The hot bath had relaxed her, she slipped into the warm bed, book in hand. She was reading Toni Morrison's latest. She loved the way she wrote, it seemed to touch her soul. She read a few lines, then was drawn to the letter on her dresser. I'm going to have to either read it, or throw it away, she thought. She knew what it was about, at least generally. All these years she'd kept it a secret, only a very few close friends knew the truth and they'd never let it leak out, she hoped. She closed the book, took a sip of wine and lay back against the pillow. Her mind drifted back to that horrifying day.

It was her first year teaching. She'd gotten her elementary teaching degree from the University of Iowa and landed the job at Hawthorne Elementary in Waterloo. Her college sorority sister, and fellow education major, Donna Meyers, had also graduated, but in secondary education and was working at Taylor Jr. High. They'd found a cute little apartment and moved in together. They were almost giddy over their good fortune.

School had been in session about three weeks. Their time schedules were a little different, but for the most part they got home about the same time during the week. It was an overcast fall day, heavy clouds with a threat of rain. Sharon knew Donna was home when she came in, her bags and coat were lying on the couch. Sharon yelled a hello, but there was no response. As she moved down the hall to the bedrooms she got an uneasy feeling...there was something wrong here. Donna's bedroom door was closed. Sharon could hear quiet movement inside. She stood outside the door, uncertain about opening it. "Donna, are you alright?" she said through the closed door. Again no response. Slowly, she pushed it open, while gradually sticking her head in.

She felt a hot flash, and a ringing in her ears. She was suddenly on her back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as it whirled around and around. There was a dark figure standing over her, she couldn't make it out. The figure had her by the neck... strangling her into darkness.

The voice sounded miles away, "Ms. Weiss, Ms. Weiss, we're here to help you." She couldn't roll over. She was lying face down in a pool of her own blood. Gentle hands cradled her, covering her with blankets. "I'm Sgt. Lewis with the police, the ambulance is on the way."

It would take weeks to recover, but only a few hours to find out Donna had been killed. She'd almost been choked to death and had a severe concussion, and...he'd raped her. It was all too much, too painful, she had to get away. As soon as she was able, she moved away to a big city, St. Louis.

Even now, over thirty-seven years later, it was excruciating. And of course, there sleeping in the room across the hall, was Rebecca, the daughter of serial killer...Jack Zane.

She took another sip of wine, then another, got up, grabbed the letter. She stood looking at it, wondering, agonizing. Should she or shouldn't she? She felt a chill and got back in bed still holding the envelope. Why not, she thought, I don't have to answer it. She gently opened it, almost afraid to read what it said.

It was written with sympathy and concern. Not a feel sorry for you, sympathy, but genuine. It touched her, and there was a small amount of fascination in his proposition. She had suffered at the hands of this animal, and was still suffering today. She'd become estranged from her family, by her choice, not theirs, had no close friends and had to raise Rebecca with no real help. She'd had to lie about a fantasy father, live a life in the shadows, and now she was almost sixty. The demon from hell had stolen her life. Maybe there was something to this recouping thing. She certainly could use the money...but was it worth the exposure?

She took her last drink of wine, rolled over, decided she'd think about it. She was worn out.

He was hoping there'd be a letter waiting for him when he got back, but no such luck. Deep down he knew she wouldn't respond and who could blame her. It was a lot to ask, have her come forward after all these years. But still, there was a part of him that felt like she needed to do this, purge all this anger and frustration. He wouldn't pursue it, however, it would be her decision and hers alone. If he never heard back from her, that would be the end of it.

Amy continued her research, but hadn't come up with anything substantial. Jonathan decided to put everything they had together and see how it all fit. Who knows, maybe he had enough, and would only have to fill in here or there. However it went, this was as good a time as any to start formulating the heart of the book.

As he poured through the material he began to realize how much information they truly had. Interviews, newspaper articles, police statements and so on. There was plenty to get started. Amy would come over and help him arrange and form a time line. It was tedious work, but there was a certain air of obsession about it. Jonathan would work late into the night, driven, needing to get on with it. Amy too had become fixated and could feel Jonathan's passion. On several occasions she'd spent the night; they were still trying to maintain a business relationship, but it was becoming more difficult.

One evening, while they were laughing over some pizza, before getting back to work the phone rang. It was Barbara Wilkes, "Mr. Smyth, it's Barbara Wilkes."

"Yes Barbara, how are you?"

Her voice sounded...different, sad. There was something wrong.

"I have distressing news," she said, her voice breaking up. "Jeff has been killed."

"Oh my God, Barbara, I'm so sorry. What happened?" He could hear her sobbing. There was a pause, she cleared her throat, said, "He was hit by a drunk driver. It was late and he was coming home from his card night in town, and this guy ran a stop sign and hit him broadside. They said he died instantly."

"Again, I'm terribly sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

"No...thanks. I just thought you'd want to know."

The phone went dead. He turned to Amy with a stunned look, "Jeffery Zane is dead, killed by a drunk driver."

"Oh no, that's terrible. How was his sister?"

"Sad. That poor woman has suffered...well, more than her share. I feel so sorry for her, she was truly innocent in all this. I've sat and talked to her, she's a good woman and means well. This is just another shot in the heart."

He sat down on the couch, leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't help thinking how unfair life was sometimes. Barbara Wilkes was trying to lead a good, decent life, but for some reason...life was constantly testing her.

Amy cuddled in beside him, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I guess so. But don't you find it curious how some people seem to catch all the breaks and others don't catch any?

I mean this woman is born into this family that has an extremely abusive father and on top of that one of her brothers becomes an infamous serial killer. Her mother dies from heartache and sadness and now her other brother gets killed by a drunk driver. Come on, doesn't this seem a little, extreme?"

Amy didn't quite know what to say, so she moved closer and held him tight.

"You know, Amy, the further I get into this the madder I get. This guy's dead and buried, and still, he's ruining peoples lives. It's positively, unbelievable.

"Will it ever stop? I mean, come on, here we are thirty-five years after the fact and look at the impact he's had on us."

"Yes," she said, sitting up, "But that was our choice. We decided to research this and dig up all this information, contact and interview these people. Had we not done that...well, we wouldn't be having this discussion. Jack Zane would remain dead and buried - in every way."

Of course she was right, but it didn't lessen his frustration with what he perceived as evil seeping into the lives of good people.

For the first time, in a very long time, he and Amy slept together. He wasn't sure he should, but there was a part of him that needed to.

In the middle of the night he suddenly awoke, sat straight up in bed, My God, he wondered, where's Jack Zane buried? Jeff was the only one who knew...now he's dead.

After all this time, all this pain, the guy's vanished. Hidden somewhere on a farm in North Dakota... beyond belief.

Chapter 18

Rolling over he found she wasn't there. Still with eyes closed he pawed at her pillow, where was she? He hadn't slept well, so it took a few minutes for him to come around. Sitting up, he looked to the vacant side of the bed...I knew this was a bad idea.

He slowly arose and made his way into the bathroom. While cleaning up he thought he could hear something coming from the kitchen. He put his robe on and made his way to the sound. Amy was making coffee and toast. Sleepily he said, "Good morning."

"Good morning," she said looking up from the kitchen table. He could see in her face a look of, "What were we thinking?"

He grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down across from her. She had the paper in front of her and tried to make it look like she was actually reading it. Without looking up she said, "Jonathan, what were we thinking?"

"I don't know Amy, but I can tell you one thing...I enjoyed it!"

Now, she looked up. There was a softness in her eyes, a glow. "So did I," she said cautiously.

He reached across the table and took her hand in his, "Amy, I don't know where this is going, but you and I have been down this path before and if we're going to venture down it again...well, I'd like it to work this time, or not make the trip."

She stared deep into his eyes and could see he was being genuine. "Believe me, I feel the same way. I got up early this morning and I've been thinking about it ever since."

"Well, what are your thoughts?"

"Let's just take it easy, let it flow naturally. We've been, especially you, under a lot of pressure over the past several months, and I'd like to see us let this take its natural course...not force anything.

"I think last time we pushed it a little, you know, pressed too hard. We know each other better now, and I certainly feel more comfortable about...us."

They continued to talk over coffee and agreed to just try and let their relationship blossom over, whatever time it took. This was best, just let it happen, naturally.

He hadn't awakened Amy in the middle of the night with his disturbing realization about Jack Zane, so after they cleaned up and sat down to discuss what direction to take, he told her.

"Amy, I woke up in the middle of the night and realized, no one knows where he's buried."

"Zane? Oh my God, that's right."

"With Jeff dead, no one knows where he is on that farm. He could be anywhere. That was a pretty big spread as I remember and Jeff could have dug a grave a thousand places."

"What are you going to do?"

"Well, I think the first thing I have to do is call Barbara. Maybe she knows where he's buried."

"And if she doesn't?"

"I have no idea. If I went back up there snooping around it would certainly cause nothing but trouble. Maybe, people up there don't even know he's...I'll bet you no one, other than Barbara, knows they moved the body; or least where they moved the body."

Amy got up and made her way into the kitchen for more coffee. She brought two cups back and set one down in front of Jonathan.

"Why does it matter where he's buried," she asked sitting down on the couch.

Taking a sip and rocking back in his favorite chair he began to wonder that himself, now that she'd brought it up. "I don't know. I guess it doesn't really. But, there's some part of me that says I should know...that maybe I need to know."

"Okay, if you think it's important, then you had better pursue it. I'd better get going though. I'll call you later." With that she was out the door and gone. Unlike their previous attempt at a relationship, there was a certain contentment this time. He liked it.

He called Barbara, hoping she'd know something. She did. They were selling Jeff's land to the local school district for an administration building and county recreation center. What was left they would make into a small park. There was an incongruity there, but Jonathan just couldn't quite put his finger on. All he could think of was that story about Jimmy Hoffa being buried in the end zone of Giants' Stadium, only this time it would definitely be true...Jack Zane, most likely, would be buried under concrete.

Oh well, Amy was probably right, what difference did it make? As a matter of fact, there was no one he could think of who deserved a concrete tomb more than Jack Zane. It almost gave Jonathan the feeling Zane couldn't reach out from the grave anymore. He was encased for eternity...at last.

Chapter 19

She'd worried about it for days, then finally decided to call him to see if he'd be receptive to talking, while still keeping her identify and situation anonymous.

Jonathan had decided he'd never hear back from Sharon Weiss and that was fine. Although he felt there was a tender and touching story there, he'd leave it alone.

It was Saturday morning, Amy had spent the night again and times were good, as far as their relationship was going. She was making breakfast, and as Jonathan entered the room, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Smyth, this is Sharon Weiss." He motioned to Amy to get her attention.

"Yes, of course, Sharon, I sent you a letter a while back. Thank you for calling." Amy ran into the room, trying to listen in on the conversation.

"Yes you did, and I'm sorry to have taken so long to get back to you, but this is a very big decision for me."

Jonathan and Amy sat down on the couch together, Amy still trying to eavesdrop.

"Believe me, Sharon, I appreciate your situation and I want you to know, I would do nothing to jeopardize your... secret."

"Well, that's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. I would be willing to discuss...my circumstance, but only under the condition of anonymity. If you can't or won't do that, or if you exposed me either by accident or intentionally, I would deny we ever talked and disavow any knowledge of what you wrote.

"I don't mean to be harsh, but I have a lot at stake here and, I will not expose my daughter to the kind of scrutiny this would bring. If you will agree to my terms, then and only then, will I be willing to sit down and talk to you."

"Fair enough. I will agree to any and all terms you set forth and if I can't agree to something for some reason, I'll tell you and we'll drop it."

They talked on for a while, agreeing to meet in Joplin in a week's time. Another trip, another story. There was a part of him anxious to go and find out more about this, what seemed to be, a never-ending story. But there was also a part of him hoping this would be the end.

Maybe with Zane, soon to be encase in concrete and, his research hopefully coming to an end, he could wrap it up, then sit down and start writing the book.

With any luck... that is.

Chapter 20

He sat staring at the library door, waiting. He'd been here before, hunting. Some two years ago, he thought. She was a beautiful young co-ed. He sat back in the car seat, his mind drifting back.

It had been early fall, a warm evening. He'd been watching her for several days. Her routine was predictable and he knew it well. Every weekday morning she got up at five, hopped on her bike and rode the short distance to campus to do the weather and news for the school radio station. It was dark when she left, but she never seemed to be afraid. She lived with two roommates in a small house off, but close to, the campus.

He'd slept in the car down the street waiting for her to leave. The fire was building, he could feel it inside. There was a part of him that resisted, hated it, but there was a bigger part, the evil side, that pushed him, drove him, made him do these horrible things. That was the part that controlled him as he hid in the dark, waiting to strike.

She kept her bike in back, behind the house. She'd ride down the alley, onto the street and off to campus. He had parked at the end of the yard, just behind the fence.

She never knew what hit her. He had her in the car and was gone before anyone knew. He drove out of town into the hills, a place he'd scouted out. It was quiet and serene, where no one would see or hear...this insane, unspeakable drama.

He raped, beat and left her for dead. It was only later he read she'd survived. It didn't matter now; he was back again, crazy with anger and rage. The sound of giggling brought him back. He sat up and watched as she and a friend left the library, laughing and talking. He'd wait until they parted company and then pursue her.

He turned the car around and crept along at a safe distance behind them. At the corner they separated. She was alone now walking with more purpose. He knew her route, knew when she'd turn and go in the back way to the house...he'd be waiting.

Sometimes it seemed too easy, they were so unsuspecting and vulnerable. She was so beautiful lying in the seat next to him. Like the others, she never saw it coming. As the car sped along out of town, he stared at her, lust and wrath burning inside. He never wanted to know them, know anything about them. Then it would become personal. If they had a personality, he might hesitate and, that could be fatal. This wasn't about sex, it was about power and control. Having someone under total submission...to the point of taking their life.

He drove to the same location as before. Even he found it a little eerie, knowing he'd left the other girl for dead and somehow, some way she'd survived, escaped with her life. But the feeling soon passed and he went to work. This time he wouldn't make the same mistake.

He was boiling with rage, unable to contain himself and went at her like a crazed animal.

He sat back, looking at what he'd done, as he always did, knowing he should feel something...but what? He'd heard people talk about sorrow, compassion and regret, be he had no idea what those words meant. When it was over, it was over and, he could walk away...and forget.

He made sure she was dead this time, then partially buried her under some trees. By the time they found her, if they found her, the animals would have taken care of her, and he'd be long gone, back across the border, safe in Canada.

Jonathan flew into Kansas City, rented a car and drove down to Joplin. He planned on meeting Sharon Weiss the next morning at her home. It was Saturday and she'd be home. It was late October and the fall colors were beautiful. He arrived Friday night and called to let her know he was in town. She asked him to come out to the house about 11 a.m.

It was a modest home, older and had a certain air of distinction about it. It was a crisp morning, but clear. He arrived right on time. Approaching the front door, he felt a little apprehensive, not really knowing what to expect. He'd been through interviews with victims before but he sensed this was going to be different.

Sharon Weiss was in her late fifties now, but looked older. She invited him in, but he could feel her trepidation. The house felt old inside, a little disorganized. She apologized for the clutter and asked if he'd like some coffee. Boy that's certainly a constant during these interviews, he thought. She returned with what appeared to be instant coffee and took a seat across from him. He took a sip and asked if it would be okay to record their conversation.

"Well, first Mr. Smyth, I want to make sure we have all the ground rules understood."

They went back over the understanding they had reached in their original conversation, Jonathan, again agreeing to all of it. One thing Sharon was adamant about was no recording. If something happened to him, well, who knows who might get a hold of the tape.

"I'll just jot down some notes if that's all right?"

"Yes, that will be fine," she said, grateful he'd cooperate.

"I don't know where else to start but ask you to go back to the beginning if you don't mind," he said feeling a little uneasy.

She agreed and started on the day it happened, describing it in vivid detail. Jonathan watched as her eyes filled with tears, thought again, maybe this isn't worth it. It was a long and sad story of pain, running and two destroyed lives. Here it was again, this animal reaching out from the grave and still affecting people. Would it ever end?

"I kept running...I guess to get away from it. But after awhile, I realized that would never happen with Rebecca. I love her deeply, more than she'll ever know, but to be honest, there's a part of me that resents what she's done to my life. I suppose that sounds cold and selfish, but it's there...and I can't deny it. But, I've suppressed it all these years and will continue to do so. Even if Rebecca was capable of knowing, I would never let her know how I feel."

Of all the people Jonathan had interviewed, she had suffered the most, and was still suffering, and would until the day she died. He'd gotten all he thought was necessary and began to pack up his stuff.

"Sharon, I want to thank you for doing this. I know it wasn't easy, and I probably dug up some old memories and feelings you'd have just as soon left alone."

"Yes, that's true, but there was a certain...cathartic aspect to it. I actually feel a little bit cleansed, so I guess it wasn't all bad," she said with a slight look of relief.

"Well, I'll be on my way and, I promise I won't bother you anymore."

She escorted him to the front door. He'd wanted to ask about Rebecca, but thought better of it. He thanked her again and drove back to his motel. He couldn't get over how much her life had changed after that one horrifying day. Sometimes, he thought, there just is no fairness in life.

He hadn't been in his room long when the phone rang. It was Sharon Weiss.

"Mr. Smyth, I don't know if this would mean anything and, I apologize for not mentioning it before, but several years ago a woman called me, who had also been raped by Zane and, had given birth to a boy. She would never say how she found me and, I'm not sure why she even called me, but she did tell me she'd had a son by him."

"No, Sharon, this could be important. Do you know where she is, or where her son might be?"

"Sorry, no. I didn't really want to talk about it much, so I made it short. She did tell me her son had disappeared. I don't know why, but maybe she thought I knew something."

"How long ago do you think this was?"

"Probably five or six years ago. I'm sorry, I just forgot about it, then after you left, it just popped into my head."

"Did she give you any indication how old her son was?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"Again, Sharon, thank you for consenting to do this. I hope I can call you in the future...about other things."

He liked her, she'd paid a dear price and weathered it well. Some would have tried abortion or given the child up for adoption, but she'd done the difficult thing and raised her daughter.

The flight home went quickly. He was anxious to get back to writing. This would certainly be his last interview. He and Amy had gathered all the information they could and it was time to start the literary process.

Chapter 21

As they poured through all the information Jonathan realized just how much material they had. It's funny, he thought, as you gather all this stuff, it comes to you in bits and pieces, then when you sit down to put it all together...well, there's an amazing amount.

No matter, he and Amy were both excited and nervous about getting started. It took them two solid days to sort and arrange, and as they went through this process, Jonathan was haunted by what Sharon Weiss had told him. A call from nowhere telling her Zane had a son out there somewhere...a most chilling thought.

He couldn't dwell on that however, the task at hand was to write the book. He'd been thinking about a title, and the only thing he'd come up with so far was "Reaching From the Grave," or "Buried, But Still Alive." Amy wasn't thrilled with either title, so apparently he'd have to do some more thinking.

He hunkered down for what he hoped would be several days of hard work. He was looking forward to it. The process, albeit slow, was always invigorating. There was nothing he loved more than to get into that zone, the story would just flow out of his mind and onto the page and, before he knew it he'd written several thousand words. The second day he was there, rolling. He'd completed the introduction and was well into the first chapter, it was falling into place.

Late in the afternoon the phone rang. It sounded far away, he was in that special place...distant, in the book. Once he realized what it was, he thought about not answering it. He hated these distractions, breaking his concentration. He decided not to answer, keep the momentum. A few minutes passed and it rang again. It must be important, he thought. Grudgingly he answered.

"Yes."

"Jonathan?"

"Yes, this is Jonathan," he said, thinking the voice sounded familiar.

"Jonathan, this is Mike Hansen...from Billings."

"Oh, sure. I'm sorry, Mike, I've been writing and was a little distracted. How are you?"

"Fine. I'm sorry to call...with bad news, but you need to know what's happened."

A terrible feeling suddenly enveloped Jonathan. As if impending doom had reached out and grabbed him.

"What? What's happened?"

"There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just come right out with it. We found your brother."

"Oh my God, where? How is he?"

There was a distressfully quiet pause. Jonathan's terrible feeling turned into a sickening knot in his stomach. Part of him felt like hanging up, not wanting to know.

"I'm sorry, Jonathan; he's dead."

He collapsed on the couch, ill. Thoughts and memories racing through his mind. How? Why?

"Jonathan, are you there?"

Trying to gather himself, he sat up and cleared his throat, "Yes... yes I'm here."

"I wanted to get to you, as soon as I knew. Again, I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

It was strange, but Mike made it sound more professional than personal, almost detached.

"What happened Mike? I mean, how in the world did you come across my brother?"

"Well, this is the really difficult part Jonathan. Remember when we had lunch and I told you about the serial killer that bounced between Canada and the U.S.? It was your brother, Jonathan."

There it was, right in the face – BAM!

His first reaction however, was disbelief.

"Are you sure? How do you know it's my brother? My God, I haven't seen him in years, how would you know that's who it is?"

Mike had been through this before and could sense Jonathan's anger and doubt, he understood it.

"Fingerprints, Jonathan. The fingerprints belong to a Matthew Smyth, born in Independence, Kansas on May 7th, 1963. Our records show he had a fraternal twin brother... Jonathan Smyth...

"I know how shocking this must be Jonathan, but I knew you'd want to know, had to know."

"Yes...I want to know. I guess I also need to know how all this happened."

Mike explained how they'd been pursuing, what would turn out to be his brother, for several years, knowing eventually he'd slip up...and so he had. His last killing was on the college campus in Great Falls, Montana. He was trying to pull his usual slip in and out, leaving the victim in the hills. This time, however, a fellow student had seen the abduction and followed him, taking down the license plate and calling the police. By the time they caught up to him he had killed the girl and was on the run, but rolled his car in a ditch, Matthew was thrown from the vehicle, hitting a tree. He was killed instantly. They'd found some of the girl's clothing in his car. They were still in the process of tracing back fingerprints and DNA to many of the past crimes, although Mike was quite sure they'd match most of them.

"I know this is all overwhelming right now Jonathan, but I have to ask one more question...I'm sorry."

Jonathan, still in shock and not sure how he was going to tell his dad, asked, "What is it?"

"What do you want me to do with the body?"

He still couldn't get over the fact his brother was a serial killer. Oh, there was a small remote part of his mind that didn't find it completely shocking, but still...

"I guess, I'll claim it. How does that work exactly, I mean...I just can't believe this is happening, you're sure it's my brother?"

"Yes, I'm positive Jonathan. I tell you what, why don't you give it a couple of days, then we'll arrange for the transport."

"Jonathan, as sad as you are, and as hard as this is to believe, there is a positive here...he won't be killing anymore."

Mike was right, but it did little to ease the pain right now, knowing what this would do to his family...his dad. Jonathan would wait until the next morning to call him. That would give him time to think of the gentlest way to tell him...if that were possible.

Jonathan arose early having gotten no sleep. Amy had wanted to come over, but he'd told her he wasn't feeling well, he just needed some rest. The more he mulled it over in his mind the sicker he got. It seemed incomprehensible now that all these years had gone by and not once had he seen or heard from his brother. It kept gnawing at him, that had he made the effort, somehow gotten a hold of him, maybe, just maybe, he could have prevented all this. He could feel the guilt and anguish smothering him. He'd gotten up in the middle of the night, nauseated, gone to the bathroom and thrown up. Sitting on the couch in complete darkness he couldn't help thinking about Barbara Wilkes. Now her pain was now his pain, he understood all too clearly some of what she'd been through. He and Matthew had never been close, never even knew each other after high school, but to have all this time go by and then find out your twin brother is a killer....

He paced around the room, sobbing, talking to himself and wondering out loud how he was going to tell his dad. He'd already had enough sorrow in his life, losing his wife and best friend before their lives had actually started. Now one of his two sons was dead, having died in disgrace and infamy. How do you tell him, what words? He didn't know, but he'd have to figure out a way.

Although tired and emotionally spent, he made the call. He wasn't even sure what he was going to say. It was Sunday morning, he wanted to catch his dad before he left for church.

"Hello."

"Dad, it's Jonathan."

"How are you son? It's good to hear from you."

Jonathan felt weak, not sure he could go through with this. "Dad, I have something very serious and sad to tell you."

There was silence at the other end, he could almost hear his dad bracing himself for the worst.

"I'm not sure exactly how to say this..."

"Just say it, Jonathan."

"Matthew is dead...was killed."

After a disquieting pause, "How?"

"Dad, I'm so sorry..."

"How Jonathan? How was he killed?"

"Running from the police. His car ran off the road into a ditch, rolled and he flew out hitting a tree. He was killed instantly."

"Thank God for that. Why was he running? Where did this happen?"

There was no easy way, how do you dance around something like this? You don't, you can't.

"He was running from the police because he'd raped and murdered a college student...in Montana.

"Dad, I don't quite know how to say this, but Matthew had become a serial killer moving back and forth across the border from Canada to the U.S. killing, robbing and raping. The police had been after him for years. It finally came to an end two nights ago."

He collapsed on the couch, barely able to hold onto the phone, his hand shaking. He could hear his dad crying, unable to speak.

"Dad are you all right?"

"How did this happen Jonathan," he said in a trembling voice. "My God I've never heard anything so horrible...my son a killer, God, it's beyond comprehension."

"I know dad, I can't believe it either. I feel guilty. I never even made an attempt to find him, see what he was doing. I keep thinking had I made the effort, maybe this wouldn't have happened."

"Don't blame yourself, if anyone is to blame it's me. He was my son and once he left I tried to put him out of my mind. He'd been so difficult to raise, I'm sorry to say, I was glad to see him go. But with kids you always hope they'll find themselves, you know, get their lives straightened out, then come back and everything will be okay. But, Matthew was different, I never sensed that about him. He always seemed to look for trouble. After awhile, I just gave up...and that's my fault. A parent should never give up...never!"

"Dad, you were right, Matthew was different. I never told you about some of the things he did when we were kids, but some of them were pretty terrible. I guess, like you, I hoped he'd go away and turn his life around. He didn't, and I'm sure, beating ourselves up, isn't going to change anything now. I wish like anything it had turned out differently...but it didn't."

They were both exhausted and depressed. They said good-bye, agreeing to talk in a couple of days and decide what to do with his body.

Jonathan walked over to his desk and looked at all the material on Jack Zane then reached out and swiped it off onto the floor.

Chapter 22

The day after he found out, Jonathan called Amy to tell her. To say she was shocked would be an understatement. She immediately came over to console him and, to discuss what affect this might have on his writing the book.

They sat and talked most of an afternoon, Jonathan constantly drifting back to his childhood, unable to come out of the malaise he found himself in. Amy would sit patiently listening and only occasionally try and draw him out. She knew he was going to have to work himself through this and the book would just have to wait.

He called his dad every day to see how he was holding up. His dad was frustrated, members of the press had shown up and were snooping around, asking questions, causing problems ... in quiet little Independence.

Jonathan was trying to get back to the book, but finding it difficult. His dad called and told him he was being hounded by the press. They were digging into their family history and had found out about Jack Zane's killing Jonathan's great grandparents. He sounded upset and in need of some assistance. Jonathan told him he'd be there in a couple of days to help him. He and Amy had talked about it and he'd decided to go, even before his dad called.

Initially Jonathan tried to be civil, but as they relentlessly pursued them, it became more and more difficult to stay even remotely polite. It had been three days and Mike Hansen had called again wanting to know what they wanted to do with Matthew's body. With everything Jonathan had been through regarding Jack Zane's remains, he'd suggested to his dad they have Matthew cremated. Now, all this unwanted attention from the press cinched the decision. Jonathan asked Mike if he could discreetly take care of it and then send the ashes to his dad in Independence. Mike agreed.

He was dreading the trip. He and his dad had really found themselves as father-son over the past few years, and now the relationship was going to be put to the test.

When he arrived at the house, everything looked normal, at least on the outside. He thought he'd play it safe and park down the block and come in the back way. His dad was making lunch and turned as he came through the back door.

"Oh, Jonathan, it's so good to see you...it's been...chaotic around here."

Jonathan could see and sense the relief in his dad. On his way home he'd thought about the many victims he'd interviewed and how some had handled it and others hadn't. Now, here he and his father were facing the same prospect, stand up, or lay down – it was their choice.

He walked across the kitchen and gave his dad a hug, "Interesting huh? So, how are you holding up?"

"Okay, I guess. I think part of it is still the shock over what happened. I hardly had time to think about it, when bang, here were the reporters asking questions. I tried to be honest, but I don't think that's what they were after."

"What do you mean? What were they after?"

"Dirt! They really didn't care about us, or how this affected us, they just wanted all the gory details."

"Like what?"

"Stuff like, what was he like as a kid, and did you sense he was a killer when he was young, garbage like that."

"Oh Dad, I'm so sorry. That must have been awful. What did you tell them?"

"Nothing! I just told them he was kind of a loner and left when he was a teenager and we hadn't heard from him since.

"That seemed to appease them, at least temporarily. But then they went into town and started asking all kinds of questions about our family and family history. That's how they found out about Zane killing Howard and Doris."

"What about mom, did they ask you about her?"

His dad moved into the living room and sat down. Jonathan could see it weighing on him and nothing would send him into a deep melancholy like the thought of Kim. Jonathan followed, sitting down across from him, waiting. He could see his mind spinning, wishing none of this had ever happened. Finally, Jonathan decided he had to say something, "Dad, let's talk about this..."

"No, I'm all right. You and I have been able, over the past few years, to discuss things, one of which is your mom.

"I told them virtually nothing about her. I said she had been there when the murders occurred, but had escaped, unharmed."

"Did they seem satisfied with that answer?"

His dad sat up straight, defiant, "Who the hell cares? That's what I told them, and that's all they're going to get...from me!"

"Good, good for you. It's none of their business. If they ask me, they're getting nothing," Jonathan said defiantly.

"It's not you and me I'm worried about," his dad said. "Its people in town, you know, our friends. Oh, I know most of them are good people and loyal to us, but sometimes when notoriety presents itself...well, they just can't help it. I'm afraid that's what might happen.

"But, you know, Jonathan, there's nothing I can do about it."

Jonathan could see his dad had just talked himself into and out of worry and concern over something he had no control over.

"You're right, dad, there is nothing we can do about it."

His dad got up and went upstairs, telling him he'd be back in a minute. Jonathan sat stupefied that they'd fallen into this surreal mess. One minute he's investigating a serial killer, the next he's related to one ... astonishing.

His dad returned with a wrapped box, his hands slightly trembling.

"Here it is...Matthew's ashes," he said handing the box to Jonathan. It was padded and covered in heavy plastic. Jonathan held it, not fully believing his brothers remains were in it. Then he got that eerie feeling, the same one he had standing on Jack Zane's grave. It ran through him like a current of electricity. He slammed the box down on the coffee table. His dad looked at him curiously, "What's wrong?"

"Sorry dad, I had...never mind."

"No, what's the matter, why did you do that?"

"Well, you know I went and saw where Jack Zane was buried and when I was standing over his grave..." He paused.

"What? What happened?"

"I don't know, this strange, ghostlike feeling came over me. I really don't know how to explain it...but, I just felt it again.

"You know, maybe I've just been to immersed in all this stuff...maybe it's gotten to me a little."

"A little...Jonathan, I think you need a break. I can deal with the situation here, why don't you go somewhere, take a vacation, get away from all this?

His dad picked the box up off the table and took it back upstairs. When he returned he was acting more upbeat and positive things would work out fine. Of course, he was doing this for Jonathan's sake, he was still worried; not only for his family and their reputation, but, by how Jonathan acted and reacted to his brother's ashes. It was unsettling.

Despite his dad's suggestion, he decided to stay a few days and spend some time with his dad, make sure things didn't get too crazy.

His fondness for his dad had grown over the past few years and he felt a certain responsibility to protect him. Oh, he knew his dad could take care of himself, but there was a little voice inside that told him to stay around.

Once the press had gotten all they could out of Jonathan, his dad and the locals; they moved on. The history of what happened was easily obtained through newspaper clippings and the like and, to the press, Jack Zane was old news. They were after sleaze about the new killer, Matthew Smyth. Once that was exhausted, they left; and not any too soon according to most of the local townspeople, including Jonathan's dad. Now, hopefully, things could get back to normal.

Since Matthew had been gone so many years, there really wasn't anything to tell. By all accounts he'd been a pretty normal little boy. Oh, he'd had his moments, like all kids, but nothing out of the ordinary...according to the good folk of Independence. The media would have to dig elsewhere to come up with the sordid details they so desperately wanted.

Jonathan stayed a few days with his dad, then headed back to New Orleans. Amy and the book were waiting.

It was raining heavily and by the time he got into his apartment he was soaked. Amy had been there and cleaned up his mess, which he'd left out of anger, along with a note:

Dear Jonathan,

I don't know what happened, but I found all your paper work on floor...so I cleaned it up. Hope things went well in Independence. Please call as soon as you get back. We can get together and plan our next move (moves – ha,ha).

Love,

Amy

He was tired and decided to take a hot shower, then call. He could see he had some voice mail, but it could wait. When he was warmed up and comfortable, he'd call Amy and check his messages.

He got a hot cup of coffee, sat down at his desk and played back his voice mail. There was a message from his dad, wanting him to call and let him know he'd made it back safe, and one from Amy wanting to basically know the same thing. Then, a mysterious one, from a reporter in Iowa, he said he had some questions, but also had some information he thought might be of interest.

What could he know, Jonathan thought, I think I've heard all the questions and what information could he have that I haven't come across in my research?

Well, whatever info the guy had would have to wait until tomorrow, right now he was going to call his dad, and then call Amy and ask her to come over for the night. Maybe they could get an early jump on some of those moves she'd mentioned in her note.

Chapter 23

They'd driven over to Cedar Key for a couple of days, just to get away and enjoy each other's company. But now it was time to get back to work and, once and for all, jump into the book. Their relationship was getting serious. Jonathan and Amy were now spending most nights together, and each had made, some subtle, some not so subtle, insinuations about a long-term commitment. At first it was kidding around but as the days and weeks passed it took on a tone of sincerity. They actually found themselves enjoying their discussions about their future together. They both loved the research and writing, the water, reading, and had even talked about children, both wanting them. But for now, they decided to get this book out of the way first; then see where life took them.

Jonathan had never responded to the call from the reporter in Iowa. He figured if the guy really had something, he'd call back...he did. He'd left a couple of messages while they were down in Florida and their first day back he called again. Jonathan sensed it was the reporter and decided he might as well get rid of this guy, so he answered in a rather abrupt tone, "Yes!"

"Mr. Smyth, my name is..."

"Pardon me, but I've answered all the questions I'm going to about my brother, so I would appreciate it if you'd leave me alone...okay?"

"Well, that's fine, but I was calling to give you some information, rather than try and get some. But if you'd prefer to be belligerent about this, I'll most definitely leave you alone."

Jonathan, thinking maybe he'd been a little hasty said, "Hold on, I'm sorry, but things have been a little nuts since this story broke. I'm sure you understand."

There was a disquieting pause, then, "Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, I thought you might want this bit of information I dug up. I know you're writing a book on Jack Zane and you just might find this interesting."

"I'm sorry I cut you off, what was your name?"

"Bill Tibbets, I'm with the Des Moines Register."

"Have I ever talked to you before Bill?"

"No, I was in Independence when you were there, but I never spoke to you. I did speak to your dad and several townspeople, but never approached you."

"Okay, what do you have that might be of interest for my book?"

Jonathan figured if he kept him on the Zane book, he wouldn't get pulled into talking about his brother.

Tibbets told him that his brother-in-law lived in Storm Lake and was close friends with Barbara and Clyde Wilkes. Clyde had told his brother-in- law that the coffin they dug up and moved to North Dakota was...empty. Barbara figured what the townspeople didn't know, wouldn't hurt them. Even though he was a killer, she couldn't stand to think of him buried under a construction site. Jack Zane was still right there in Storm Lake.

Of course Tibbets wanted some kind of remuneration for this information if it in any way appeared in the forthcoming book.

Jonathan was stunned. He couldn't help but think, will this guy ever go away?

It was very disturbing news but, could have an affect on the book. The first thing he needed to do was verify if it was true, but how? He wouldn't feel comfortable just calling Barbara Wilkes up and asking her. What if Clyde had told his friend in confidence, now Barbara finds out he spilled the beans? No, there had to be a better way...he just didn't know what it was right now.

He decided to talk to Amy about it and get her thoughts. She'd gone home to get some things and would be back by dinner. Jonathan sat down at his desk staring mindlessly at all the information on Zane. It seemed every time he felt an end to this...another tentacle from Zane's past appeared.

Here Jonathan had been feeling very comfortable knowing the guy was finally buried under concrete, underneath buildings...and now he finds out the monster is right where he'd been all along. As he sat, mind wandering, he began having doubts about even doing the book. After all, this book would do nothing but rekindle interest. He leaned back in his chair looking up at the ceiling and thought, My God, I may, through this book, do more to enhance this guy's legend than anyone before, is that what I really want to do?

He heard the key turn in the lock. It was Amy. Maybe she could shed some light on this.

"Hello, Jonathan?"

"In here," he said, still sitting in his office.

She put her stuff down and walked into the office. She could see he was lost in thought.

"What's wrong, what are you thinking about?"

He sat up, still somewhat distant, but fairly sure he heard the question. "Why, why do you ask?"

"Because you look like you're in some far off place. What's the matter?"

"You know that reporter that kept leaving me messages and called when we got back from Florida, well I finally talked to him...and, it was unsettling to say the least."

Amy sat down in the chair in front of the desk, "Unsettling how?"

"Zane is still in Iowa."

She stood up, put her hands on her hips and looked at him like he was crazy, "What do you mean he's still in Iowa. Barbara had the body moved up to North Dakota."

"Well that's what she wants everybody to think. They moved an empty coffin."

She sat back down. She could see he was dead serious. "How do you know all this, who told you?"

"The reporter's brother-in-law is a close friend of Barbara and Clyde Wilkes and Clyde told him that's what happened."

"Do you believe him?"

"Yeah, I do. I think he checked it out and I'm sure he wouldn't have told me if he wasn't sure it was true because he knows I'd verify it."

"Uh huh and, how exactly are you going to do that?"

He leaned back in his chair again and put on a wry smile, "Funny you should ask, that's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about."

There was no response; she sat waiting for something more, something meaningful.

"I'm sorry," he said wiping the grin off his face, "I'm really in a quandary here. Not only about this Zane coffin thing, but, I'll tell you Amy I've been wondering if I should even write the damn book.

"Here Zane keeps reappearing, won't seem to go away and, this book is going to do nothing but boost his image, albeit an evil one."

She reached across the desk and grabbed him by the hand, "Let's go talk about this in the living room."

They sat down on the couch, Amy looking him dead in the eye, "You really are reconsidering aren't you?"

"Yes...he's like black paint, running into all the vibrant colors of everyone's life, changing them, turning them dark. I don't know if I want to be part of that. And you and I both know that's precisely what will happen if I write this. Even though he's dead and buried, his evil will seep out and, who knows who it might affect next. I truly am concerned about this Amy, I feel like I'm at a critical crossroads."

She didn't quite know what to say, she'd seen him in various emotional states during the past few months; shock, disbelief, sorrow, but never had she seen him questioning the entire project.

"Well, you're right about one thing, this is a critical decision and to be honest I'm not sure exactly how I feel about it. I understand what you're saying, but we, especially you, have put in so much time and effort, not to speak of money...I don't know. Believe me, I see your point. I know this has had a much deeper effect on you, because your family was directly involved, but on the other hand, I think the passion you felt, came from that. It's that very thing that made you want to do this in the first place and I think it's probably what ultimately will make you write the book.

"I know you have legitimate concerns about what might come of this, but don't forget you're telling this story not only from the victim's point of view, but as a victim yourself. That's powerful stuff Jonathan and I have to believe the other victims you interviewed, who consented to tell their stories, didn't want that to be in vain. You know better than I how painful it was for some of them and now if you don't write the book...well, it's as if you put them through it for nothing.

"I'm sorry, but that's the way I feel. I think you'd be cheating them and yourself. But you have to do what you're comfortable doing and what ever you choose, I'm behind you."

He looked at her warmly, realizing how much she meant to him, her honesty and intelligence, her...her.

"Well, I guess you're right."

"No, you can't guess I'm right...you have to know I'm right, or it's not your decision."

"Jonathan, what does your heart tell you?"

Well, here it was. This wasn't about the book; he knew she was right, if he didn't write it now, all that went before would be a prevarication. This was now about him and about Amy. He also knew that what he felt in his heart was...love. He'd never told her so, well not precisely, but he knew this was the right time. He grabbed her by both hands and looked into her eyes; he could see she didn't know what was coming, "No, you're absolutely right about the book - that would be dishonest. But what I feel in my heart, is love...for you, Amy."

He could feel her hands clasp tightly to his, her eyes welling up and, for the first time that evening she was speechless.

She was, of course, right and he would move forward with the book, but there was still that nagging issue about Zane's coffin. He still wasn't sure what to do about it, but he would definitely have to find out where the body was buried.

Chapter 24

He stared at the old photos, then the new. He couldn't help but see the resemblance. That terrifying night flooding back into his mind. Zane pulling at his foot until his sock came off, suddenly he was free. He remembered that face, the face of Satan. And now, here it was again, looking back at him from photos taken at the car wreck. There was no doubt in his mind, they were one in the same, but how was this possible? Zane had been dead over thirty-five years.

Mike Hansen was tired, it was late and Nancy would have dinner waiting. He thought about taking the pictures home and then decided it was better left at the office. He'd have plenty of time to work it out tomorrow. Besides it was bringing back chilling old feelings. There was something deeply disturbing here, he wasn't even sure he wanted to know what it was.

He could hear the rustling in the tent, "Dad what are you doing?" The flash of the blade, the face from hell, he was pulling desperately trying to get away, could hear his mother and sister. Zane had a hold of him, dragging him back, he could feel himself weakening, unable to pull away...

He sat up in bed, dripping with sweat, trembling. He hadn't had that nightmare since he was a little boy. Now it was back, why after all these years?

It was three in the morning so he slipped out of bed and went downstairs. He felt chilled, anxious. He lay down on his side on the couch, wondering. Why now, why would this dream come back...now.

Suddenly, like a bolt of lightening...it hit him. He got up, ran upstairs and took a shower. He had to get to work. No matter that it was 4 a.m. This couldn't wait.

He arrived at the office running on adrenaline. No one else was in this early, so he would have plenty of uninterrupted time to sort through the material. Part of him was fearful what he might find, but there was a bigger part that had to know. He lined up the pictures, Zane and Matthew Smyth. He stared at them...those eyes, there was no mistaking it, they were the... same.

He rocked back in his chair, trying to piece it together. My God, he thought, could they be related? There was only one way to find out. They'd saved DNA evidence from Smyth in an effort to possibly solve other crimes. He would have to get DNA from Zane to see if there was a match. He knew how to do that and he knew where Zane was buried. It had been reported that Barbara Wilkes had the body moved to North Dakota, but in checking with the construction crews, an empty coffin had been unearthed and reported to the authorities. Suspicious of what might have taken place, the authorities had checked further and found Jack Zane's body had, in fact, not been moved. He was still buried in Storm Lake.

Now it would simply be a matter of asking Barbara Wilkes if they could exhume the casket and, if she refused, get a court order to do it. But as Mike mulled it all over in his mind, the impact of what he might find, he realized, could be devastating. The townspeople of Storm Lake, believing Zane had been removed, the people of Independence, Kansas finding out a serial killer had in fact fathered hometown sons. But worst of all, Steve Smyth finding out his two sons weren't his and, Jonathan discovering his father was...Jack Zane.

What if he was wrong? What if there was no relationship and he'd drug all these people through the mud for nothing based only on his hunch. It was still early, no one else in yet. Mike couldn't help studying the pictures, the similarities, it was uncanny. Deep down something told him he was right, but what if he wasn't, then what?

He decided he'd pool as much information as he could without exposing what he was doing and then sit down with his superior and discuss it. If he felt it had validity, then he could go forward.

Jonathan had restarted the book, felt differently about it, now that he knew about his brother. It seemed more personal now, Amy was right, he was writing this from the perspective of a victim. Oh, he was part of the victim's fraternity before, but this was different. Not only was he a victim, he was related to a man who had created victims. It gnawed at him, slowed him down, stifled his ability to write. He would just have to overcome that, he thought, but the Zane grave matter was something else. He decided to call Barbara and feel her out. Not directly ask, but delicately probe. Who knows? Maybe she'd trust him and tell. He made the call.

She answered in her usual low-key manner.

"Barbara, it's Jonathan Smyth."

"Oh, yes, Jonathan, how are you?"

"Fine thanks. I was just calling to see how you and Clyde were doing. It had been a while since we last talked and I was thinking about you, and...well just wondering how things were going."

"Well, we're staying pretty busy. It's always slower with winter coming on, but we have plenty to do. How are you doing?"

He sensed this wasn't going to be easy, maybe impossible, but he thought he'd pursue it a little further.

"Well, I finally finished gathering information for the book and I've started writing it. And, thanks again for your help. I don't know if you know, but my brother..."

"Yes, I heard. I'm so sorry. It's strange isn't it, you and I both related to...well you know."

He'd thought of that, but it had never really hit him till she said it. "Yeah, it sure is. I had no idea when I was there interviewing you that we'd have this in common.

"This is fairly new for me, Barbara, I'm not sure it has completely sunk in."

"Give it time...it will. Believe me no one will let you forget it."

She'd told him this before, but it didn't mean anything then. He was just gathering information, trying to be sympathetic. Now he was looking at it from the other side and it hurt.

"I'm sure you're right, all the media came calling when they found out. It was hard on my dad, probably like it was on your mother, but we have weathered it for the time being. I'm not sure what effect the book will have on all this."

"I sense some reluctance, you're still going to write it aren't you?"

There was no relief in her voice, Amy was right, her concern was he might not write the book.

"Oh yes, I'm writing the book. This is a story that needs to be told for all our sakes."

"Good, for a second I thought you might...well, I'm glad you're going through with it."

The conversation was warm and friendly and there was a certain chemistry they'd formed, but that was about to be tested. There was no other way, he was just going to have to ask her and hope she understood.

"Barbara, I have a difficult question to ask you. And believe me, I'm only asking because it might have a bearing on the book."

There was that same uncomfortable pause he'd grown accustomed to when she'd answer questions before.

"Well, alright, what is it?"

"I got a report that Jack's body was still there in Storm Lake, that in fact you hadn't moved it. Now before you answer, I want you to know I don't care, it's your decision, and whatever you tell me stays right here. If I have to divulge it, I'll call you first."

The pause was unbearable, he wasn't sure for a minute if she hadn't quietly hung up.

"I don't quite know what to say Jonathan, you've sort of caught me off guard. I guess my first thought is, what makes you think I didn't have him moved?"

"Well, in all the turmoil of reporters, questions, suspicions, someone brought it to my attention that...well, he was still buried there in Storm Lake. Again, Barbara, I only asked because it could play into the writing of this book.

"If I write he no longer resides there, and that's incorrect, it will cast doubts on the rest of the facts in the book. Believe me, it's the only reason I'm asking."

He knew this would bring a longer than usual pause, but to his surprise she responded quickly.

"I see. Well, I guess that would make a difference in the credibility of the book. Jonathan, it's just been so difficult, mostly since you brought all this up and then left. Don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming you, only stating a fact. The people in town got very upset by the attention you brought and were even more upset by what might follow. I had to pacify them and make them think I moved Jack's body."

She paused, realizing she'd tipped her hand. Jonathan waited patiently, cognizant of the same thing, but he wanted her to say it.

"I guess you're going to find out anyway and, I'm sure eventually everyone will. It just seemed to be a quick remedy at the time. I had Clyde and a friend, who was sworn to silence (Jonathan could guess who mums the word was), dig a hole out in the cemetery and pretend they were removing a coffin. We then sent a weighted coffin to my brother Jeffrey and told him to bury it. He was not aware Jack's body wasn't in it. I was afraid if he knew the truth, he might wait, and that...well, you know."

"So there you have it and I'm sure all hell's going to break loose once people here find out, but I've dealt with worse."

Well, there it was, the last bit of information he needed. He apologized for having, once more, put her through this and reaffirmed he would keep it to himself as long as possible, certainly until the book came out, although he knew in his heart, the reporter and his gabby brother-in-law, would soon leak the story. He sensed in her telling him...she knew it too.

Chapter 25

Mike Hansen had worked on it for days - statistics, similarities, patterns, M.O.'s, and felt he was ready to present the information to his boss, Norman Willoughby. Willoughby had been with the Montana Bureau of Investigation for over twenty years and was well-respected, both as a policeman and an administrator. He was known to be fair, but frank. If he had something to say, he'd say it.

Mike was nervous, because at this point the connection between Zane and Smyth was just a hunch and, the bureau didn't operate on hunches, especially Willoughby. Nevertheless, he had to present what he had. Willoughby knew he wanted to talk about something, he just didn't know what.

Mike arrived early, gathered up all his information and was at Willoughby's office at the schedule time.

"Good morning, Mike, how are you?"

"Fine, Mr. Willoughby. Thanks for seeing me."

Willoughby invited him to sit down at the conference table and got them some coffee.

"So tell me, what do you have here?"

Willoughby was more than aware of Mike's past and how he had suffered at the hand of Jack Zane. He also knew there were some similarities between the crimes of Jack Zane and Matthew Smyth. What Mike hoped to show him was that there were far more than just similarities; these two were related...blood related.

"Again sir, thank you for this time, I know you're very busy."

Willoughby smiled and took a drink of coffee, "You're right about that, so let's get to it."

"Well sir, as you know there were some similarities between the crimes of Zane and Smyth...but there's more to it than that. I believe these two men are related."

He knew this would get Willoughby's attention and it did.

"Related? How so?"

"Admittedly, it's part hunch right now, but if you will give me some latitude, I have no doubt I can prove it."

Willoughby leaned back in his chair, put his coffee cup down and stared deep into Mike's eyes, "And what in the world makes you think they're related?"

Mike went through all the stats, similarities, crime commonalties, then finally had to tell him he formulated this theory on the fact they looked so much alike.

Willoughby couldn't help himself, he burst out laughing, "Mike, haven't we trained you better than that? They looked alike? You know people have told me I look a lot like Jackie Gleason."

Mike knew it was a reach, but he had to pursue it, "Sir, please bear with me, I think when you've heard more, it will be clearer."

Willoughby agreed to hear him out, but warned him it better have true merit. Mike had an excellent reputation with the bureau and this was the only reason Willoughby was indulging him.

Mike explained the history of Matthew Smyth and how he and Zane had actually crossed paths, even before Smyth was born, that, in fact, Zane could be his actual father. He told Willoughby that he believed Zane had raped Matthew's mother, impregnating her and, she had kept it to herself; then tragically died giving birth to Matthew and Jonathan. It was characteristic of many of Zane's crimes and they knew for a fact he had fathered children by several of the women he had attacked and the women either got abortions or raised the children in anonymity. But given this presumption, he was going to need some help in pursuing the DNA testing required to prove it. Willoughby was intrigued, but cautious.

"You realize of course, that if you're wrong, you will have opened a can of worms and, we don't like opened cans of worms, if you get my meaning."

"Believe me sir I've given a lot of thought to that very thing. I know it could not only be embarrassing to the bureau, but devastating to those involved. I have not gone about this without due consideration. I think you know if I didn't have a very strong feeling about this, I wound never have brought it up."

Willoughby did know that and told Mike to pursue it, but to keep him posted and, if at any time he thought he was off track, or wrong, to terminate it immediately.

"Worms can turn into snakes and come back to bite you," he said as Mike left the office. But Mike had gotten what he wanted - the go ahead. There was a certain excitement about that, which he would have to temper with caution.

Now that he'd straightened out the location of Zane, Jonathan felt more at ease about getting back into the book. He and Amy had laid everything out in sequential order and he was starting to see it come together. He would work on the book during the day and look forward to Amy coming over for dinner, watching a movie or just talking. Sometimes she'd stay the night, sometimes not, depending on her schedule at the university. Either way things had settled into a comfortable and creative routine. They were both happy with the arrangement, so far.

Jonathan had all the material and facts he felt he needed to make the book, interesting, provocative and if written well, chilling. He'd thought long and hard about what approach he wanted to take and what message he wanted to convey. Certainly no one who was aware of who Jack Zane was could think of him as anything but a monster, but beyond the obvious, what was he, as a writer, trying to express? How should he deal with his Great Grandparents being killed by this man, mother beaten, and then to find out his own brother was a serial killer. Then there were all the victims, how to arrange them, intersperse them, weave the tale and yet not make them sad and pathetic, because they weren't. This was completely different from fiction. He could do what he wanted there, but this; this was a challenge, to maintain honesty and integrity, while telling the truth. He felt his biggest impediment would be to not constantly vilify Zane. That could be an easy crevasse to fall into and there was certainly a part of him that wanted to do that, but if this turned into a book devoted to demonizing Zane, it would be redundant and mind-numbing.

The more he thought about it, the more he believed this book had to be about survival. Every one of these victims had in his or her own way survived... that was the real story.

He'd decided to call the book, Surviving Death. To a great extent, that's exactly what most of them had done, some right in the face of it. Unlike the other titles, Amy loved it, thought it was exceedingly appropriate. He was in the third day of dedicated writing when the phone rang. It was Mike Hansen. Mike had labored over what he was doing and knew he owed it to Jonathan to tell him of his suspicions. What he didn't know was how he was going to tell him. Part of Mike couldn't help but wonder if Jonathan hadn't considered the possibility that Zane was his father. After all, Jonathan had done lots of research on Zane and knew his propensity for raping women, so there had to be some contemplation there. But even if he had considered it, who in the world would want to believe it. Therein was the problem, how was he going to broach this with him, knowing he wouldn't want to hear it, and would not accept it...and who could blame him.

"Hello, Jonathan, it's Mike Hansen."

"Hi Mike, how are you and how's the family? And by the way, thanks again for all your help in taking care of my brother. Whatever costs are involved just send me the bill."

Mike could feel his stomach sink, this was going to be tougher than he thought.

"Don't worry about it. I'll see what I can do to keep the costs down. I know this has been very difficult on you and your dad."

"Yeah, but it seems to be subsiding a little now. You know the press, when bigger fish come along to fry."

"Yes, I sure do, I've been through it, and it ain't fun."

"So, Mike what can I do for you?"

Well, the time was at hand, and he still wasn't sure how to say it.

"I was calling because I've been doing a little more background research on Zane, and...well, Jonathan I'm going to run something by you and I want you to know I've thought long and hard about this and believe me I would never bring it up if I wasn't convinced in my heart it had significance."

Jonathan felt a queasy feeling come over him, an anticipation of dread like he'd never had before. Filled with apprehension, he said, "What? What are you talking about Mike?"

"You've done a lot of research on Zane and probably know his patterns and methods better than I do."

"Yeah, what are you getting at?"

"I'm sorry to have to ask this, but has it ever occurred to you that Zane might be...your father?"

There, he'd done it. Mike had no idea what to expect but thought it probably wouldn't be good. He waited nervously.

Jonathan couldn't believe what he'd just heard, but he could tell Mike was serious and sincere. He didn't know what to say, couldn't believe this was happening again. As if it wasn't bad enough his brother was a murderer, now this implication his true father was too.

"I don't know why you've done this, Mike, but I can tell you I'm greatly offended. I thought you and I had...a certain connection, but apparently I was wrong."

"Jonathan, you have to believe I wouldn't call you about this unless I was very sure it was true. And you're right, we do have a connection. People had asked me to talk about Zane and the night my family was slaughtered before, but I never felt comfortable, until you asked me. That made this all the more difficult."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Jonathan said sarcastically. "I tell you what, if I want to discuss this further, I'll call you back. Otherwise, please don't bother me again with this and, if you make this public knowledge without verifiable evidence...well, I'd probably contact my attorney, no, I'll definitely contact my attorney."

He hung up feeling depressed, empty and angry. Amy was coming over in an hour and he was going to have to calm down by then. He paced around his apartment trying to sort it out. He knew Mike wouldn't call unless he had good reason. After all, he was a policeman, well trained, diligent and had been a victim of Zane. What possible ulterior motive could he have? Was it a veiled threat so Jonathan would keep his family out of the book? No, he was thinking crazy now. Mike was an up front guy and never would have consented to the interview, unless he wanted to. If all that were true, then there was only one possible answer.

Jonathan fell onto the couch, his head began to ache, his stomach twisting into a knot. He wanted to yell, scream at the top of his lungs, "My God, tell me this isn't true." With all his posturing and denial, he couldn't shake the fact that Mike's question had crossed his mind. There was a place, hidden deep in his psyche that had wondered the same thing. But whenever it reared its ugly head, he squelched it. He didn't want to believe it, couldn't believe it.

He lay on the couch mortified, when he heard the key turn in the lock...it was Amy. He quickly jumped to his feet and ran to the bathroom. He didn't want her to see him like this, she wouldn't understand and would ask questions. He just wasn't up for it. She came in, yelled a hello and went to the kitchen to start dinner. Jonathan washed his face, tried to clean himself up so she wouldn't be able to tell what he'd just gone through. He wiped off his face, combed his hair, then looked at himself in the mirror to make sure he looked okay.

He was suddenly struck by something, something familiar, a hint. He leaned into his reflection, staring deep into his own eyes. What was it? He thought. It looks familiar, funny I've never noticed it before. He bent closer, his face almost touching the glass. He jumped back, crashing into the wall, then slumping to the floor. If the eyes are truly windows to the soul, he'd just seen a glimpse of ...the eyes of Jack Zane, lying deep, hidden all these years.

Amy, wondering what was wrong came to the door and asked if he was all right. He could not face her, let her know his terrible secret...not yet. He told her he was sick and needed to be alone. Reluctantly she left, telling him she'd call him first thing in the morning.

It wasn't a complete lie, he was sick, heartsick. He made his way to the bedroom and crawled into bed. He felt weird, knowing Mike could be right and would soon prove it, then what? Visions and thoughts of his dad came flowing into his mind, he thought, hasn't this poor man had enough pain and now this. The agony of it all was almost too much to bear, he didn't know what to do. Should he call Mike back, should he forewarn his dad? He felt like he was coming apart, pulled in different directions, ripped at the seams. The thought that this...killer, this...personification of evil could be his father, he felt himself going insane, flopping around in bed, unable to accept the impending truth.

It was late now, the room black without a hint of light and he began to go to sleep out of sheer exhaustion. As he drifted into that haze before unconsciousness, he could see his dad, standing in the kitchen, making him one of those wonderful breakfasts...then he was not there.

Chapter 26

Mike had decided his first attempt at Zane's remains would be through his sister, Barbara. If she refused, he'd then take legal action, based on a possible link between Zane and Smyth and their related crimes. He was, of course, hoping she'd consent, and save everyone a lot of provocation.

He was quite sure she knew nothing of the possible relationship between Zane and Matthew and Jonathan and, wasn't comfortable being the one to tell her, but after his last conversation with Jonathan he figured, like it or not, he'd have to be the one to break the news.

He sat at his desk waiting, not knowing what for, just waiting. He knew he'd have to make the call, but...he just didn't want to. It kept running through his mind, what would it prove? That he was right? Big deal, that seemed like a high price to pay for being correct. And, if he left it alone, well, maybe it would all go away or at least his part of it, that is until Jonathan's book came out. Then things would change, people would get curious again, start snooping around and someone else would put this together and might not be so kind about it. No, he had to go forward with it. He'd come this far and there was no turning back. Jonathan would want to know, maybe not right now, but sometime soon and when that happened, who better to help him through it than a former victim.

As he reached for the phone, it rang. Startled by the timing, he answered with a surprised, "Hello?"

"Mike, its Jonathan Smyth."

Mike was taken aback to the point he wasn't quite sure what to say. Quickly gathering himself he said, "Jonathan, what a surprise, I wasn't sure I'd ever hear from you again. I'm very sorry for shocking you with what I said the other day."

"Yes, well believe me it was a shock. I'm not sure I've completely recovered yet, but nevertheless I did want to talk to you about it...what you said."

"Okay, I'll certainly listen to whatever you have to say and, please feel free to ask me anything you want."

"Well, for starters, yes it had crossed my mind that Zane might be my father, but it was such a horrible, repugnant thought, I would immediately dismiss it. I mean, how does one believe such a thing? I guess it was hidden away in some remote corner of my subconscious and I left it there, then all this happened with Matthew and it kept increasing, more often than I liked, but again I would push it out of my mind, or at least I thought so. Then you called and boy, did that bring it back in a rush..."

"I'm so sorry Jonathan, I just had..."

"No, Mike, its all right, let me finish. After you called, I had a bit of a...well, let's just say I fell into a deep depression, anyway, Amy came over and I was trying to clean myself up in the bathroom. For some reason, I looked deep into the mirror and...I knew you were right. I could see it, Zane's eyes, lying deep and dark inside me. I guess it was just never as strong a presence in me as it was Matthew, but it might have shown itself in my curiosity about Zane and his killings.

"Well, I called to tell you...thanks. Had you not come up with this, I'm sure someone else would have and probably wouldn't have handled it as nicely as you have."

"I don't know Jonathan, you might be right, but what I do know is I have a strong belief this is true and I will do everything I can to make it as painless as possible for you and your dad. I don't know how successful that will be, but it may give you a whole new slant on your book."

Jonathan hadn't had time to think about that, but Mike was absolutely right and, he knew in his heart, this was the final chapter, there was nothing left.

He told Mike he'd do all he could to help him with Barbara in exhuming Zane's remains, or anything else that might help expedite the process.

Jonathan's next big challenge was telling his dad. He didn't want to wait until someone in the media found out and started asking questions. The best thing to do was tell him right now, get it over with.

He called his dad and told him he wanted to come home for a few days, do a little more research and spend some time with him. His dad was thrilled. He knew that would end soon enough, but he wanted to be there, in person, when he told him the alleged and appalling news.

He had also stalled Amy long enough and it was time to tell her the truth. As he was leaving the next day, he called and asked her to come over that night. He'd led her on with the flu story and felt guilty for having done so, but the realization was just too much at the time.

She was on her way over, not suspecting at all what he was going to tell her. He'd decided not to mince words, to come straight out with it. After all, it wasn't his fault and he was going to have to learn to live with it and, hoped she could too, because this was certainly going to have a bearing on their relationship. Would she look at him differently now? What about children? He was sure these were things she was going to have to think about and he owed it to her to be honest and open. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he now had some self doubts, what about serial killers and their offspring? Could this be passed down? Evidently so, look at his brother. But did it come in degrees, levels and when and how could it reveal itself. Sure it happened early on with Matthew, but could it come later in life and if so, how late, how strong? My God, this could drive him mad. He'd never been bent that way, so why start worrying about it now. On the other hand, he'd always been interested in murder mysteries and now serial killers - was that the evil passed down from Zane trying to manifest itself? The more he thought about it, the more crazy he got.

Amy arrived in a tentative mood, not sure what was up, but sensing something. Jonathan greeted her and tried to act as normal as possible, given what he'd been through in the past several days.

He sat her down on the couch and explained what had been happening and how the flu story was bogus. He just couldn't face the overwhelming knowledge that Zane was probably his real father.

Amy sat stunned, not sure she'd heard him correctly. Of all the things she thought he might say...this was certainly not one of them.

"My God, Jonathan, I can't believe it. You really think its true?"

"At first I didn't believe it, didn't want to believe it. When Mike called and told me what he thought and asked me if I'd ever considered the possibility, I got belligerent and basically hung up on him. But there was a part of me that had thought about it. Then that night you came over and I was in the bathroom, pretending to be sick, and it hit me. I looked in the mirror Amy and saw it, saw him, saw the evil."

"Jonathan you're scaring me," she said getting up and moving to an adjacent chair. "Tell me you're not serious, what evil are you talking about? I've known you off and on for years and over the past several months on an intimate basis – never did I see anything like you're talking about."

He knew he had to be honest, but he could see it, feel it, she was uncomfortable and looking at him in a changed way.

"Listen, before you came over I thought and thought about this and felt the only way to deal with it was to be honest, that's what I'm doing. I love you and I love us, but there can't be any secrets, any hidden agendas. This would have come out eventually and who knows where we might be in our relationship and how that news would effect us. I want you and me to be...us, and there can't be something like this hanging over our heads.

"Amy, you're right, you've never seen anything like that in me and you never will. The only part of this that we'll probably never be able to shake is the stigma that Zane was my father and Matthew was my brother. However, I'm willing to rise above it, I have to...I hope you will too."

He could see she was still in a state of shock, but she got up, came back and sat down beside him. She took his hands in hers, looked into his eyes, "I'm probably not fully aware of the impact of all this yet, but I love you Jonathan and I'll be here for you."

He told her how he was heading back to Independence the next morning because his dad was not aware of any of this and the shock of finding out his sons were actually the product of a serial killer was going to be crushing.

Amy spent the night, but Jonathan could feel a delicate distance and uncertainty. And, why not? She'd just been told half of his immediate family were murderers. It was only natural she'd have some trepidation.

They parted the next morning and he began his sad journey home to tell his dad the unthinkable.

It was December and winter had come to the mid-west. When he arrived in Independence it was cold, gray, and dreary. Perfect, he thought, for what I have to tell him. He'd driven up, figuring it would give him more time to think and prepare. It certainly gave him more time to think, but there was no way to prepare for what he had to do.

There was snow on the ground, and the house looked cold and ominous. As he walked up the steps onto the porch, he began to feel weak, sick to his stomach, not sure he could go through with it, tell this man who was his real father in every sense of the word. The man who'd raised him, stood by him, loved him, and now here, through no fault of his own, Jonathan was going to have to break his heart. He entered the house and could hear his dad in the kitchen, tears began running down his cheeks...Zane had reached yet another victim, and this one he was going to hurt the worst of all.

Chapter 27

Mike had made his call to Barbara Wilkes explaining the situation and supposition he'd formed. She was aghast to find out that Jonathan might actually be related to her brother. She expressed her like and concern for Jonathan and asked for a day to figure out what to do, but felt sure she'd help him out and let them dig up Jack's remains.

She knew, however, that could be the end for her in Storm Lake. Once the feds moved in, so would the press and it would quickly become unendurable. She told Mike she just needed to talk it over with her husband and she'd get back to him the next day.

In the mean time, Mike had started making arrangements for the unearthing of Zane's body in Storm Lake. He felt very confident she would consent, and he could hopefully bring this to an expedient close.

Jonathan's father had never seen him cry, except when he was little, so the sight of him with tears streaming down his face was painful. He immediately moved to him, grabbed him by the shoulders, "My God, son, what's the matter?"

Jonathan couldn't keep it in anymore, the reality of it finally hit him, seeing his dad, it rolled over him like a heavy sea. Sobbing he said, "Dad, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry for what?" His dad couldn't believe what he was seeing. What could possibly be this bad? This sad?

"Dad, c'mon lets go sit down in the living room. I have something I need to tell you."

They moved to the living room, Jonathan trying to gather himself. All the way up from New Orleans he kept thinking how difficult this was going to be, but now...looking his dad in the face, well, it was going to be much harder than he ever imagined.

There he sat, a look of deep concern on his face, the worry only a real father would have for his son. And, make no mistake about it, this was Jonathan's real father, no matter what genetics might say. He knew how he felt, but what was his dad going to think, would this change him, make him feel differently? This was so overpowering it had to change him to some extent, there's no way it couldn't. All these wild thoughts rushed through Jonathan's mind, while his dad sat patiently, waiting for what he sensed was news of the worst possible kind.

"Dad," he said, his voice breaking and weak, "There's no easy way around this, no gentle way to say it..."

"Jonathan, its okay, whatever you have to tell me...just tell me."

He could feel the emotion building up again, the pressure in his throat, the tears wanting to fall, "There's a strong possibility that Zane did more than beat mom up...he probably...raped her."

His dad got rigid, looked stern, "What? What are you saying?"

"It looks like he raped her and she became pregnant...with me and Matthew." He collapsed back on the couch, totally drained, feeling sick all over, thinking he wanted to die and leave all this behind. His dad sat paralyzed, unable to speak, frozen in disbelief.

Finally, realizing what he'd been told, "Jonathan, what makes you think this is true, I mean...how is this possible?"

"Mike Hansen called me from Montana and told me of his suspicions based on the strong resemblance between Zane and Matthew."

His dad stood up, indignant, "Are you kidding? This is based on the fact that they looked alike?" He was growing more angry by the second, "Jonathan, you can't be serious, why would you do this, come here with only suspicions. I can't believe you'd do this to me, haven't we been through enough?"

He turned and went upstairs, Jonathan could hear his bedroom door slam shut. He sat limp on the couch, all emotion gone. He didn't blame his dad, he'd had the same reaction when he'd heard it; disbelief, anger, denial. What was important, was that he be there for him when he did accept it, let him know that it in no way would it change their relationship. For Jonathan, he always had been and always would be...his dad.

Barbara had gotten back to Mike and given him the go ahead to dig up her brother's remains. She knew the town would protest, but she'd also decided once they removed him, she was going to have him cremated and end it. Maybe with him out of the cemetery, things would die down and she and Clyde could at last live in peace. If not, well, they'd just have to move on. There were plenty of places they could go and slip back into anonymity.

Mike had arranged to have the Iowa Bureau of Investigation take care of the casket removal and forward DNA information to him in Montana. He'd also set up the cremation for Barbara. They'd notify her when the ashes were ready. He was trying to keep it as low key as possible, but knew once the news got out, the media would descend. There was probably nothing he could do about that, except move fast, and get it over with as quickly as possible. The IBI told him they would do their best to expedite things.

Jonathan's dad didn't come out of his room the rest of the evening. Finally, after mindlessly watching some television, Jonathan went up to bed. As he passed his dad's bedroom door, he stopped, heard nothing and went on to bed. Hopefully, they could talk the next morning. Jonathan was exhausted and went to sleep in a matter of seconds.

He awoke the next morning to the smell of coffee. He crawled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and was shocked to see he looked like a toad. His face was all swollen and his eyes red. After trying to clean up a little bit, he made his way downstairs. There was his dad, making breakfast in the kitchen. Jonathan pulled up a chair and sat down. He felt like warmed over death. His dad stopped cooking for a second, turned and saw how bad he looked, "Are you all right? You don't look very good."

Jonathan looked up, amazed at his dad's cheeriness. "Oh, I'm okay, how are you feeling?"

"Better... did you get any sleep?"

"Yeah, actually I slept like a log."

His dad placed one of those delicious breakfasts, only he could make, in front of him, then got himself one and sat down. He looked fine, better than Jonathan actually. He gazed at Jonathan pleasantly, "I thought about what you said most of the night, what it meant to me, what it meant to us, and you know what? It doesn't change a thing. Even if it is true, and the bastard was your biological father, I'm still your real dad. I'm the dad who took you to school, bandaged the cuts, went hunting with you...and I'm the dad who raised and loved you your whole life. So, I don't care what the results are...I'm your true dad, and I always will be."

Jonathan could see the pride, the dignity and, most importantly...he was right, he was his true dad, not that malevolence buried out there in Iowa.

Dad, I couldn't have said it better myself. You are exactly right, you are the only dad I've ever known and will ever know.

"You know, of course, there are going to be questions, most of which won't be pleasant, but you know what...we can deal with them. Heck, we've already been through this before with Matthew, so why not put the finishing touch on it."

They toasted each other with their coffee cups and, dove into their gourmet breakfasts.

Three days had passed and the IBI had done the excavation, removed the casket and the remains of Jack Zane, and forwarded on the necessary DNA evidence. Mike would now have the Montana Bureau of Investigation pathology lab do the tests to determine if Jack Zane and Matthew Smyth were, in fact, related. He put it on a priority basis.

Just like clockwork, all hell broke loose in Storm Lake. The town council went ballistic, demanding to know what was going on. They were still under the assumption Zane's body had already been removed and was no longer in their cemetery. They, of course, came immediately to Barbara and demanded an explanation. She had no choice but to own up to what she'd done, apologize, and try to explain to them that things would be different now. She was having her brother's remains cremated and that would put an end to it. Typical of government entities there was a split in sentiment. Some felt she'd betrayed them; lied about her brother and the only logical alternative was for her and Clyde to move as soon as possible. Saner voices however prevailed, which included the mayor. They felt she was probably right, things would settle down and there was no need to panic at this point. She and Clyde had been longtime and loyal citizens and were welcome to stay. She was relieved, because of the two choices, staying was what she wanted most.

Mike sat by the phone, anxiously awaiting the results. After what seemed an eon, his secretary buzzed him and told him the test results were in. He ran to the lab. A man in a white lab coat was waiting for him, looked unemotional, placid. He motioned for Mike to follow him down the hall. They went into a room full of test tubes, computers and strange looking pieces of equipment.

"Here, sit here," the tech said, pulling out a chair.

Mike sat down in front of a large metal table with paper, beakers and computer printouts. He waited impatiently as the lab tech talked on the phone. He wanted to start looking, sorting, but knew he'd have no idea what he was looking at, so he waited. Finally, the man came and sat down beside him. He reached across a table and grabbed the computer data. Pulling them in front of Mike he said, "Lets see, you wanted to know if these two men were a match, yes?"

Mike wanted to grab the guy by the collars and say, "Are you kidding, why else would I be here?" But he thought discretion was the better choice, "Yes, yes that's right."

The man started sliding his finger down the numbers and mumbling to himself. Mike could feel the heat rising in his neck and, just about the time he was ready to blow, the guy stopped, "Ah, here we go, this is what you're after." He pointed and looked at Mike.

"So what does that mean, are they a match?" Mike said impatiently.

"Absolutely...there's no doubt about it."

Mike slowly rose from his seat, turned and walked out of the room. He was both relieved and saddened. The facts were in and the facts were...Zane was the biological father of Jonathan and Matthew Smyth.

He went back to his office and sat in his chair staring out the window at the cold winter afternoon. A storm was moving in, which only added to his sorrow.

The upside was he'd forewarned Jonathan, which would allow him and his dad to prepare for the worst. Still, what tragic and heartbreaking news. Zane had certainly destroyed his family, but he wasn't part of it. Jonathan was going to have to deal with the fact this guy was his father, albeit in the genetic sense only and their dad would have to live with the fact he'd raised the sons of a serial killer. Mike wondered if Jonathan would have ever dreamt this is how the story would turn out when he started his research.

Jonathan had let Mike know he was going to his dad's and he could be reached there. Mike made the call. Jonathan's dad answered, "Hello?"

"Mr. Smyth, this is Mike Hansen from Montana calling. Is Jonathan there?"

"Well Mike, he's taking a nap right now. This has been kind of tough."

"Yes sir...I'm sorry. I can call back later."

"No, it's all right you can tell me what the results are."

Mike was hoping to talk to Jonathan. He'd never talked to Mr. Smyth before and the first time he did, well...its horrible news.

"So, you and Jonathan have talked about this?"

"Yes, last night and this morning. We're ready for whatever it is you have to tell us."

There was a disquieting silence on the other end of the phone.

"Mike, I'm assuming by your reticence, that the results were positive. Zane was their biological father."

"Yes sir, you're right...and I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Jonathan and I talked about it and both of us feel it changes nothing. He's my son and I'm his dad. It's always been that way and always will be. These lab results change nothing."

"I'm glad you feel that way, sir, as you probably know, my family fell victim to Zane as well and, if I've learned nothing else over the years, it's that you just have to be stronger than the infamous legacy of this man. And it sounds like that's exactly what you and Jonathan are doing. Please give him my best and tell him I'll be in touch. If there's anything I can do for either one of you, please don't hesitate to call."

They hung up and Steve Smyth sat motionless. With all the talk, all the posturing, it still hurt. Oh sure, they'd act like nothing had changed, but it was tainted, just a little. These were, in fact, his adopted sons, not his...hey, he thought, don't give in to that stuff. Jonathan is your son in every way and that will never change, come hell or high water. He did wonder if Kim would have ever told him, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

It was getting on toward dinnertime, Jonathan still sleeping, so Steve made his way to the kitchen to start dinner. Maybe tonight they could have a pleasant dinner without emotional distress. Just sit and talk and enjoy each other's company. Once the news broke, well, they probably wouldn't have that luxury for a while. T-bone steak, he thought, Jonathan loves T-bone steak.

Chapter 28

Jonathan finished the book, actually it finished itself; he had become a participant, no longer an interviewer or observer. He was so enmeshed in the story, that the words flowed, he'd never written so well, so articulately. He sent it off to his eagerly awaiting publisher and sat back and watched it sell - and sell it did. He'd never had anything remotely close to the success Surviving Death was having.

Over a year had passed since he'd finished it and it was still doing well. He and Amy went to book signings, parties and he'd even started to speak at various functions about the book and the research that went into it. He knew part of the intrigue of his speaking engagements was that he was not only the author of the book but the son of the lead character. At first, he struggled with that concept, but then realized there was nothing he could do about it and, in fact, was being rewarded, along with the other victims, for being Zane's son. Strange though it was, he felt good about the fact he could financially help out those Zane had left in despair. And he was enjoying the signings and talks. He could see people look at him in a curious way, but then once he spoke, told his story, they realized he was truly not like his brother or father and was trying to help those who'd paid such a dear price.

The first person to reap the reward of Jonathan's success, was his dad. He made sure his dad didn't have to work anymore unless he wanted to. This allowed him to pursue his true love...cooking. As a matter of fact he'd even written a small book about cooking, called "The Delectable Breakfast," which had done modestly well, with some pressure from Jonathan on his publisher, although, his dad didn't know and wouldn't have cared. All he knew was those great breakfasts he use to make, were now in print. As he told Jonathan shortly after the book came out, "Sales be damned, I WROTE A BOOK!"

He seemed happy and content, adored Amy and couldn't have been more proud of Jonathan, for standing tall, surviving the media onslaught, and writing one phenomenal book.

Jonathan and Amy had gotten married right after the book came out, found a nice little home in New Orleans and were doing quite well, given the success of the book. The book signings had slowed, but he was still getting requests to speak and, in fact, gave a few lectures at various universities around the country. He thoroughly enjoyed the lectures, because there was participation, students asking questions, a real give and take. It stimulated his creative juices.

He'd even started another book, nonfiction, on the mentality, personality and traits that make up a serial killer. He wanted to address the nature or nurture argument. He'd certainly seen both sides and felt he could bring an accurate perspective to it. He and Amy were beginning their research on it, but he still jumped at every opportunity to lecture.

It was coming up on two years since the book had been release and he received a request to speak from his old alma mater, the University of Kansas. A professor in literature there, whom Jonathan had taken a creative writing course from, called and asked him to come and talk about his book, the research required, and any new projects he had going on. He was thrilled. There's always a part of you, that boastful part, that wants to go back and show everyone how well you've done in spite of what they thought when you were a student there. This, along with the fact he could sell some books at the book signing after the lecture was more than enough incentive. It was set for late October.

Jonathan and Amy flew into Kansas City, rented and car and made the drive to Lawrence. The university put them up in a very nice hotel, paid for their meals and generally treated them like royalty.

He hadn't been back to KU in, well, he wasn't sure how long. Maybe since he'd graduated. It didn't look any different and he was enjoying showing Amy around what he liked to call a "Big School." She'd graduated from Tulane, which she liked to call a "Good School." They laughed and had a good time looking around. He showed her where he'd lived, the field house where the "Big School" basketball team played, and all the hidden little places he'd go to read or study.

"You know, Amy," he said as they strolled around the campus, "It's funny, when I was a student here...well, I was from a very small town, went unnoticed, really stayed to myself for the most part. Oh, I had a few close friends, but we were never part of the in crowd, so to speak.

"Now here I've come back to lecture...wow, it doesn't seem real."

Seeing his head start to swell, she felt it was her responsibility to bring him back to earth a little bit. Amy had always been a big basketball fan and knew some of the history. As they walked she grabbed his sleeve, "Didn't Wilt Chamberlain go to school here?" She said trying to hold back a smile.

Jonathan burst out laughing, "Okay, okay, go ahead and steal my thunder, see if I care."

They continued on, still chuckling about his pseudo triumphant return. As luck would have it, they ran into Professor Gibbs, who had made all this possible.

"Professor Gibbs, it's so great to see you," Jonathan said extending a hand. He hadn't seen the professor in many years and only talked to him on the phone about this lecture. He looked decidedly older, but why not...he was, but still had that gleam in his eye and a firm handshake.

"Jonathan, I'm so pleased you accepted my invitation. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to hearing you speak. I've read your book and, it was chilling, but even more important, at least from my perspective, it was well written."

"Well sir, coming from you that is a true compliment, thank you. Professor Gibbs, I'd like you to meet my wife, Amy. I can't tell you how much she helped me with the book \- she was...and is, fantastic!"

"I can see that, it's a delight to me you Amy. I'm pleased you could be here for Jonathan's celebratory return."

They chatted a few more minutes, then parted ways with the professor reminding Jonathan he had to be at the lecture hall no later that four the next afternoon. They were expecting quite a large crowd.

He and Amy finished up their campus tour and made their way back to the hotel. He wanted to have plenty of time to go over his notes again, get a good night's sleep and be ready for this much anticipated day.

As Jonathan laid out his speech he could see Amy sitting pensively on the bed, she seemed to be far off...daydreaming.

"What are you thinking about?"

"What? Oh, never mind, just thinking."

"Come on, you look like you're in another land."

"Okay, I've never brought this up, but I guess now's as good a time as any."

Jonathan put his work down and sat on the bed next to her. "Wow, this must be serious," he said half hoping it wasn't.

"Have you ever wondered how or why your mom kept her rape a secret...from your dad, her parents? I don't know if I could do that, you know what I mean?"

Jonathan lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah, I've wondered the same thing, especially over the past few years. I guess I hoped no one else would wonder. I have thought about it a lot Amy, and the only answer I have is that back then people kept secrets, especially things like rape, anything they perceived to be dishonest or disgraceful."

"But Jonathan, it wasn't her fault, how could that be construed as disgraceful? The guy was a murderer, evil."

"I know Amy, but back then things were handled differently. Trust me, she thought it was shameful and better kept to herself. What my dad and her parents didn't know, couldn't hurt them."

Amy lay back beside him, "What a heavy burden to carry. She must have been special."

"She was!"

He'd made Amy listen to these speeches so may times before she knew them by heart. Maybe, he thought, it was just once too often, and that was the reason she fell asleep on the bed this time. Whatever the case, he tried not to take it personally and finished it up...talking into the mirror. He just prayed she wouldn't pull a repeat performance the next day.

The next morning they loaded up what he hoped was an ample number of books into the car, then had breakfast, at which he demanded she have multitudinous cups of coffee, then off to the lecture hall.

"Are you nervous?" She asked hurriedly, starting to feel a little hyper.

"Yeah, more so than ever before. I guess it's because it's my old school, you know, the king is dead, long live the king." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, hoping she'd catch his meaning.

"Oh, I see, so I am in the presence of true greatness," she said trying to be serious.

"Yes, I couldn't have said it better myself...true greatness!"

"Well, let's just hope I don't fall asleep again during his majesty's oration. I mean how would that look to the rest of the peasants."

"Touché! You're darn right I'm nervous and, you'd better not fall asleep, because the rest of the peasants would be the least of your worries."

They were still trading barbs as they pulled into the parking lot. They made their way to the lecture hall where Professor Gibbs was waiting. He sent some students back to Jonathan's van to get the books and sat down with Jonathan and Amy to go over the agenda.

Jonathan remembered the auditorium, but it seemed smaller now, more intimate. The sequence was set and the three of them went into an adjacent room for some snacks. It would be the same room for the book signing. It was spacious with his book displayed and a large poster indicating he'd be doing a signing after the talk. He looked around and thought, Wow, this place could hold a few folks, I hope we get them.

They did, the lecture hall was packed. With all these people, it now looked much larger than before. He'd gone from true greatness to...pure apprehension, which he hoped would give him a sharpness and, maybe even more important – keep Amy conscious.

It could not have gone better, he had them in the palm of his hand, to quote Amy when he was done, which probably meant she was awake throughout the speech. There was a good give and take, with lots of questions. Given the response of the crowd, Jonathan felt sure he'd be signing lots of books and getting to talk, albeit briefly, one on one with some of the attendees. He was right, lots of people came in to get books and get the chance to meet him up close.

Amy sat next to him and fed him the books. At one point, he couldn't resist, turned to her and said, "I don't know about you but I feel a certain...what shall we call it...greatness here."

She rolled her eyes, shoved another book at him, said, "Yeah, okay, whatever your prominence."

They'd gone through about fifty books, signing, dedicating and having some nice flattering conversations, when a young woman, probably in her late twenties stepped forward.

"Mr. Smyth, it's such an honor to meet you...and I was wondering, if, well...there's someone I would like you to meet when you're done...if you don't mind."

Jonathan didn't understand why she just didn't bring whoever this was up to the signing table with her, but agreed to meet them, if she didn't mind waiting. She said she didn't and they'd meet him back in the lecture hall when he was through signing.

As he put his last salutation and signature in a book for an older man who wanted to reminisce, he'd completely forgotten about the lecture hall meeting. He was starting to pack up, when Amy reminded him of it.

"Jonathan, don't forget that woman in the lecture hall."

"Oh jeez, I'd completely forgotten about that. Okay, I'll run down there, see what she wants, or who she wants me to meet and I'll be right back."

"Fine, leave me here to clean up the mess...I'm just kidding, go ahead, I'll finish up here and wait for you."

He made his way into the lecture hall. There sitting alone in the front row was the woman and a small boy, about seven or eight years old. As Jonathan approached she stood up, the boy remained seated.

"Mr. Smyth, this is my son Ted."

"Ted, it's nice to meet you," Jonathan said, extending his hand.

Ted sat quietly, looking down at the floor. Jonathan squatted down, still holding his hand out.

"Ted, I'm pleased to meet you." The boy slowly raised his head, his eyes moving up from the floor deliberately. As their eyes met, Jonathan pulled back his hand and stood straight up. He felt a chill run down his back. He turned and looked at the mother, "Who are you?"

"My name is Monica Lane and this is my son Ted...who also happens to be...your nephew."

"What are you talking...Oh my God...Matthew?"

"Yes, I was a student in college in Idaho...and, well...I escaped. This is his son."

Jonathan sat down beside the boy, still shaken. Monica came to him and held his hand, "I'm sorry, I didn't know exactly what to do, but I thought you'd want to meet him. He's a good boy and wanted to meet you. I hope that's okay?"

"Well, certainly it's okay, I don't quite know what to say...except it's okay."

"Why don't you and Ted talk for a minute. I left his backpack in the other room, I'll go get it and be right back."

Jonathan turned to Ted, "So, Ted, tell me how old you are?" Still looking straight ahead the boy answered, "I'm eight, uncle." He now turned and looked Jonathan directly in the eyes, his demeanor changed. Jonathan could see something familiar, frightening.

"You know, Uncle Jonathan, you have that same look on your face, like when my dad shot that cow back in Independence." Then he grinned.

Jonathan stood up slowly, terrified, not believing this was happening. He stared at the boy, not knowing what to do. Monica returned and Ted instantly wiped the grin off his face and looked back at the floor.

"Well, did you guys get acquainted a little bit?" She asked.

Ted looked up at her, "Yes, mom, we had a good talk."

"Mr. Smyth," she said moving in front of him. "I can't thank you enough for doing this. I don't expect anything from you, I just wanted you to meet Ted. Who knows, down the way, maybe you two can have a relationship."

Jonathan was speechless, still not believing what had happened. She patted him on the arm, "Well, I guess we better get going, but I hope to talk to you again sometime."

Jonathan nodded and, as they walked out the door, the boy turned and looked at Jonathan, "I'm serious Uncle Jonathan, no one better know about this!" And was gone.

Jonathan sat and began to shake, he felt like he was going to explode. Amy found him, sitting alone, crying.

"Jonathan, what's wrong? Who were those people?"

He grabbed her face and held it to his, sobbing he said, "Oh my God, Amy...it's starting all over again!"
