Chapter Nine
By the time Michael and I arrived at the courthouse, Henry Wakefield was already waiting. I found myself scanning the large group of people seated on the chairs and benches in the waiting area in hopes of finding Paula Terman. Henry nodded toward an older, hard-looking woman with bleach blonde hair that looked like straw, seated next to a round, bald man in a suit. It was her attorney and he was whispering to her; she was hanging on to his every word. Henry took us to an unoccupied corner.
“I’ve looked over the home inspections and evaluations. From everything I’ve seen, I truly don’t think there will be a problem. I also believe that both of your standings in the community and in law enforcement will be a strong point, too.” He looked over at Paula. “Now, keep in mind this is only a preliminary hearing so nothing will be decided today. The judge will basically ask if we’re officially objecting to her motion, and then he’ll set a date for trial.”
My stomach was in knots. When Lori Kinderman arrived and the bailiff called our names, my legs felt like rubber as I walked into the courtroom. Paula Terman glared at me as we took our seats, which was concerning. She didn’t know me to hate me, and if she was already acting as if this was personal, I wasn’t very optimistic about the outcome.
After we had all taken our seats and risen for the judge when he took his, he called the hearing to order. He went through the usual case number and readings that needed to be recorded before he began. Judge Lanahan, a small, timid-looking man with dark graying hair, called Paula’s attorney, Larry Seymore, first.
“Mr. Seymore, you have filed a motion seeking permanent custody of Lola Dixon on behalf of your client, Paula Dawn Terman, is that correct?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” He stood and quietly coughed into his hand. “Your Honor, the child’s mother was brutally murdered a little over a week ago and has no living relatives other than my client—her great-aunt. The child has been in the custody of one of the detectives who is investigating the murder, which is unusual, to say the least.” He emphasized “unusual” as he glanced my way, prompting my face to burn red with anger.
He continued. “Needless to say, I feel it is a waste of the court’s time to even hear this case. My client is the child’s only living relative and these people that have the child now are no relation. Therefore, I ask the court to grant custody to my client today and dismiss the objection filed by Mr. Wakefield.”
The judge remained silent, which almost caused my heart to stop. I felt Michael reach over and squeeze my hand; he knew I would lose it if the judge made me give up Lola today. After what seemed like eons, the judge addressed Henry.
“Mr. Wakefield, do you have anything to add?”
“Yes, I do, Your Honor.” Henry stood.
“Your Honor, regardless if Mr. Seymore’s client is a great-aunt to the child, it is our understanding she has never even met the child. Why she has decided now to come out of the woodwork to take custody of a child she doesn’t know, or hasn’t cared to know until now, is anyone’s guess. According to the child’s former babysitter, the mother would consistently refer to her mostly deceased family as trash, and would continuously say she is glad they weren’t a part of Lola’s life…”
“Your Honor, that’s hearsay,” Larry Seymore objected.
“I can bring the babysitter in for testimony if you’d like,” Henry countered.
The judge waved his hand at the both of them.
“This is only a prelim, and we’ll not be hearing testimony from anyone today. Mr. Wakefield, are you finished?”
“No, Your Honor. Lola Dixon is two years old. Why hasn’t Mr. Seymore’s client made an effort to see her great-niece before? There were no visits, no phone calls, no Christmas or birthday gifts—nothing. Your Honor, my clients are well-known, upstanding members of the community that took Lola into their home and have grown to love this child. As you can see in the reports from Richland County Children’s Services, Lola has adapted very well to my clients and their other children, and we feel it would be devastating to this child to remove her. After all, she just lost her mother. We are prepared to put on several child psychologists that will testify to that fact, as well as testimony from the caseworker, Lori Kinderman.”
Henry walked in front of our table before continuing. “And lastly, Your Honor, we believe this move by Ms. Terman is driven by nothing more than money. According to her credit report she doesn’t have a job and knows that by obtaining custody of the child she will receive more welfare money, as well as tax credits. Your Honor, I agree with Mr. Seymore that this case is a waste of the court’s time with the exception that it is in the child’s best interest to remain with my clients—period.”
Henry sat down while the judge began looking at the paperwork, which I assumed to be Lori’s reports. A lump began to rise in my throat at the prospect of the judge ruling against us, and my chest began to heave. Michael, who still had my hand, squeezed it so hard I thought he might break a bone or two.
Putting down the paperwork, the judge let out a loud sigh.
“You’ve both given valid arguments, so it’s apparent this case will need to go to trial. Ms. Terman, how long do you plan to stay in Mansfield?”
Larry Seymore touched her elbow, signaling her to stand up while she answered.
“Your Honor,” she said in a deep, scratchy Southern drawl, which led me to believe she smoked at least three packs of cigarettes a day.
She looked at me before continuing. “I’ll stay here ’til I see this thang through. I’m staying with a friend over in Little Kentucky, and she said I kin stay as long as I want.”
I gave Michael a knowing look. I wasn’t surprised in the least that she had friends in Little Kentucky. A large, unincorporated section just outside of the city, Little Kentucky was settled by Kentuckians looking for work at the nearby steel mill in the late sixties. Its real name was Roseland, but it was a haven for rednecks and hillbillies; chickens, goats, and all. The homes lining the streets had dirt floors, no working toilets, and farm animals in the front yard. I remember once seeing a woman walking the family goat on a dog leash up and down the street.
“All right then, I’m setting the date for trial one month from today. In the interim, the child will remain in the custody of the Hagermans with Ms. Terman having visitation one day a week. We’ll make it Wednesdays from eight in the morning until eight in the evening. During those visitations, children’s services will conduct evaluations and make a recommendation to this court. I will be out of town on the date of the trial so I’ll be turning the case over to Judge Cramer. Court adjourned.”
My heart sank even lower. The thought of Lola spending one minute in Little Kentucky sickened me, and, much worse, the case was going to Cramer. We didn’t stand a chance. The tears began streaming down my cheeks as Michael led me out of the courtroom and to the same corner where we had spoken with Henry earlier. Henry joined us.
“We’re done!” I cried. “Cramer is never going to grant us custody!”
“CeeCee, try to calm down. We don’t know that,” Henry said with a face that was less than convincing.
“Oh my God!” I sobbed.
Michael pulled me to him and did his best to comfort me. I lifted my head and watched as Paula Terman walked by, broadening her smile as she looked at me, revealing her crooked, tobacco-stained teeth. Her smile, as revolting as it was, showed her confidence in winning the case. It also made me want to run over and toss her out a window.
After I pulled myself together, we made an appointment with Henry to prepare for the upcoming trial, and then we headed home. Michael did his best to comfort me as he drove.
“First thing I’ll do when we get home is hire a private detective in Texas. Hopefully, he’ll be able to find something on her. Her appearance alone tells me there’s a lot more to Paula Terman than we know.”
I simply nodded.
When we got home, it was all I could do not to break down in tears as I sat and held Lola. M
ichael quickly found, and spoke to, a private detective in Texas. It should’ve made me feel better, but it didn’t; I felt hopeless.
Naomi called later that evening to see how things went. After I spoke with her a while, Coop got on the phone.
“I know you’ve had a shit day, CeeCee, but I figured you’d want to know this.”
“Know what?”
“I went down to that farm today, you know, the Mormons.”
“And?”
“It’s not good…It’s not good at all.”
Chapter Ten
July 20
I haven’t been able to get my journal out of its hiding place without getting caught. Jake Ellis saw me coming from the woods yesterday and gave me a strange look. Something is going on around here. I heard several members whispering to Illeana in the corner this morning. She looked concerned. I tried to offer my help, but was quickly dismissed. I can’t help but think there was a problem with one of the new members.
Illeana used to not worry so much when they left on their own accord, but lately…Maybe I’m being paranoid, but my biggest concerns are my daughters and husband. I know I shouldn’t have brought them here, but we really had nowhere else to go. I had to find the “one” that truly represented the evil I had experienced as a child, and Illeana is the one. Sometimes I find myself getting drawn into her teachings. I have to make a conscious effort to get the thoughts out and shake my head clean. I know now what my mother must’ve felt like and how scared she must’ve been.
She had us all up at dawn today, preparing the barn for the welcoming. She has already chosen Susan to reflect the Omega this time, which is fine by me. I never want to do that again. I remember feeling physically ill from the whole thing and honestly don’t think I could go through it again.
It was hard, but I managed to take more pictures today and will hide them with this journal. God forbid they find these things.
R—
“Care to fill me in?” I welcomed the reprieve from the day’s events, and wanted to know what Coop saw at the farm.
“It was kind of weird the way it happened,” he began. “A friend of mine called me last night and wanted to know what he could do about his sister.”
“What about her?”
“Apparently, she got involved in some religious group and isn’t taking any phone calls or talking to anyone in the family, so they got concerned. When he was telling me about how they all lived on some farm, I realized he was talking about our group of Mormons.” He sneezed loudly into the phone.
“Bless you.”
“Thanks, damn hay fever, so as I was saying, my friend tried to go down there, but there was a group of guys at the end of the lane that goes up to the farm. He said they wouldn’t let him in. When he said they were dressed kind of like Amish people, it dawned on me who he was talking about.”
“So you drove down there?”
“I drove down there. There weren’t any guys at the end of the lane, but I made it up to the farmhouse before I was fronted off.”
“What do you mean fronted off?” I was beginning to get concerned.
“I wasn’t even out of my car when a group of them walked up to me. Weird-looking fuckers, too. I told them I was a cop and checking on the well-being of a friend’s sister. They brought her out, but made me stand by the car while they got her. There wasn’t much I could do without a warrant or anything.”
“Was she okay?”
“Yeah, but it’s obvious she’s totally brainwashed. She isn’t what concerned me, though. It was the fact that I saw anywhere from forty to fifty people, all dressed the same, in different areas around the farm. There’s probably more.”
I was shocked. “Forty or fifty? That guy at the homicide scene—what was his name? Kirk Richards? He said there were only a couple of people.”
“A couple hundred, probably. Of course, I’m only speculating.”
“We need to go down there again.”
“On what grounds? They won’t let us in, CeeCee.”
I could hear Naomi in the background, beginning to reprimand me for getting on the “cult” kick again.
“Did you see any kids around down there?”
“A couple.”
“That’s good enough for me. We can go down on an anonymous complaint that the kids aren’t being taken care of. We can take a children services worker, too.”
“CeeCee,” he began to whisper so Naomi couldn’t hear, “we can’t do that!”
“Of course we can. We do that kind of shit every day, and you know it, Coop!”
He sighed. “All right, let’s do it in the morning, first thing. I’ll be in your office at eight.”
“I can’t do it tomorrow, I have to bury Lola’s mother. They finally have the body ready.” It was an event I dreaded. “Can you make it later in the afternoon?”
“I suppose.”
I lay awake in bed that night, unable to sleep. My mind was churning with everything from the earlier court hearing to the information Coop gave me about the so-called Mormons. Most of all, I wanted to get Kelly Dixon’s funeral over and done with.
With only a couple hours of sleep behind me, Michael and I drove to the cemetery. We were the only ones to stand and watch Lola’s mother be put into the ground.
The burial service was very intimate and unassuming. I knew the director of the funeral home I used, and he did his best to make the service as nice as possible, considering the circumstances. Michael and I stood by while the casket was lowered into the ground. I had a bouquet of peach-colored roses that I set on top to be buried with Kelly, keeping one of the roses for Lola. After about fifteen minutes, the service was complete. When we arrived home, I felt a deep twinge of sadness.
I found Lola sitting on her bedroom floor with Rena, laughing and playing with large, multicolored musical blocks. She had no idea the woman who gave birth to her and loved her so much had just been put into the ground. I felt an overwhelming urge to pick Lola up and hold her tight, and I did just that, my eyes brimming with tears.
“Mama!” Lola announced as she squeezed her little arms around me.
I was startled. She hadn’t been with us that long, and I guess I had assumed she would eventually look at me as her mother, I just didn’t expect it this soon. I then thought about how difficult it would be if I had to give her up, and my stomach turned. Michael walked over and kissed Lola’s forehead as I held her.
“Hi, baby, are you playing with your blocks?” he cooed.
She nodded her head, wriggling out of my grip to get back to the floor and finish the large, colorful skyscraper she was building. I took the peach rose and pressed it into a photo album that contained pictures of Kelly and Lola that I found in Kelly’s apartment.
I played with Lola for about an hour until I saw that it was time to meet Coop for our drive down to the farm. It was during my drive to the department that Coop called me.
“Our farm visit is gonna have to be put on hold for a while,” he informed me. “The uniforms just called with another suspicious death, a guy hanging inside of a rental locker.”
“What’s so suspicious about that?” I really wanted to get to the farm, and this sounded like a suicide, pure and simple.
“His hands and feet were tied.”
“Oh.” I stood corrected. “Which one is it?”
“The Store-N-Lock It, out on I-71.”
“I’m on my way.” I turned my car around.
Chapter Eleven
I had no reason to believe this particular death was in any way related to those of Kelly Dixon and Ben Rader. Nonetheless, I felt my car pick up speed as I neared the storage facility. A uniformed officer stood at the front gate, allowing only law enforcement in. Coop was already waiting for me outside of the storage locker.
“Take a look first.” He nodded toward the opening.
I only had to walk a few yards before I saw the grubby blue sneakers swaying back and forth about three feet from the floor. As Coop had ex
plained, the victim’s feet were tied together with a thin piece of twine. As I entered farther, I noticed his hands were tied behind his back with the same. Both of these things the victim could have done before hanging himself except for one major problem. There was another piece of twine that connected his hands to his feet; he had been hog-tied.
“See what I mean?” Coop had quietly entered the locker and stood next to me, looking up at our victim.
“I certainly do.” I pointed to the sole piece of twine. “They left some slack on that piece, or else his feet would’ve kicked up more. His knees are barely bent.” I began looking more closely at the surroundings. “Another thing, what the hell did he get pushed off of or jump from? There’s no table, chair, ladder, nothing.”
In fact, there was nothing inside the storage locker at all; it was completely empty.
“Maybe whoever did this had a ladder, pushed him off, and took it with them,” Coop surmised. “He’s not a small man, that’s for sure. It would’ve taken some strength. J.P said he’s probably been here for at least sixteen hours.”
“So everything’s been processed? Tell the lab to go ahead and cut him down and bag him. I’m assuming we don’t know who he is yet?”
“No, but from that bulge in his back pocket that looks like a wallet, we may know soon enough.”
Coop and I stood silent as the coroner’s other assistants (J.P. had already left) carried in a ladder and very delicately cut down the body before placing it on an opened body bag that lay on a gurney.
“Before you zip him up, can you pull his wallet out?” I asked.
As I watched two assistants roll the victim onto his right side in an effort to pull his wallet out of his pocket, I had another thought.
“Wait!” I announced. “Before you put him back down can you lift his shirt? I want to see the back of his left shoulder.”
The two assistants glanced at each other curiously. Then one of them slowly pulled the back of the victim’s T-shirt upward, exposing the back of the victim’s left shoulder. Coop let out a low whistle as we all stared at the tattooed O that was identical to the other victims.
The Rapture of Omega Page 7
