Stoker stared at the paper... then balled it up and tossed it away into the trash.
He rubbed his eyes, then closed them behind his palms and leaned over on his desk.
Then bolt upright.
He’d been standing in some distant land... a grassland of some kind—God, how could he had forgotten that?
Or had it just been a dream?
But he’d been there—wherever “there” was, and however he’d “been” there—and had felt what he felt now... that same extraordinary, mind-boggling presence.
Something big was coming, and it was incredibly powerful...
* * *
Eight-fifteen found Stoker confidently striding through the passageway into the court room, on day two of the trial. The bailiff announced his entry.
“All rise, the Honorable Howard Stoker III, presiding.”
Stoker took his position at the bench, busily arranging documents before him, while also subtly taking stock of the atmosphere. It was packed. HLN cameras were positioned everywhere. Both counsels awaited his go ahead, and the homeless defendant, Tiger, sat beside his counsel, Ms. District Attorney, Frenchie Benét. And still... that persistent presence continued to hover about him. He looked to the jury. The head juror nodded they were ready. For a moment—just a moment—they all looked... different. Angry... dirty...
“The state of Florida and Lee County are ready to begin. Counsel?”
“Your Honor,” Prosecutor Harry Gordon, announced, approaching the bench, “we request Kacey Miller be brought to the stand.”
Stoker nodded.
Kacey Miller arose from the gallery and made her way to the stand. Sworn in, she took her seat. A box of tissues awaited use on the banister before her.
“Miss Miller,” Harry began, “for the record, would you please state your full name and occupation for the court?”
Kacey nodded, her hands twitching nervously below view inside the witness box. She was glad she’d mailed that letter now, because with her syndication and now HLN, there was no longer anywhere to hide.
“Um, yes, Kacey Kelly Burnett,” she said, leaning into the microphone.
“There’s no need to lean into the mike, Miss Burnett,” Harry said, smiling.
“I work at the Sunset Harbor Gazette, as a special reporter on this case. I’m, ah, separated from my husband at the moment, and have been using my maiden name of ‘Miller.’”
Harry nodded. “I see. How do you prefer to be addressed?”
Kacey paused. Boy, surprises abounded. Her answer came out totally without thought. “‘Burnett’ would be fine for the purposes of this trial.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Burnett. Now, could you please tell us how you happened to be at the scene of the crime, on March 10, at the ungodly hour of one-fifty in the morning?”
Kacey shifted in her seat, and oddly enough, memory of one of her nightmares flashed before her. The one with Fisher instructing everyone on the fine art of evisceration.
“I was driving the streets of Sunset Harbor scanning police bands. Ever since I moved here, I’d been trying to find a job, and thought I’d try my hand at reporting. Anyway, on this day, I guess I was in the right place at the right time, so to speak—no disrespect to the families intended, your Honor,” she said, addressing Judge Stoker.
“None taken, Mrs. Burnett.”
“Well, I picked up the call not far from the retirement home, actually. I was coming back from the direction of Port Charlotte, and walked on in—”
“You walked into a crime scene?” Harry interjected.
Guiltily, she realized her mistake. “Ah, yes, I’m sorry,” she said, casting Fisher a quick look, who sat in the gallery, “but I had to get the story, I was the first one there.”
“What did you do then?”
“Well, I searched out—”
Kacey paused. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about her contact with Detective Fisher, but didn’t think that applied here. She looked to Fisher, who nodded to her to continue.
“So I searched out someone I knew.”
“And whom would that be?”
“Detective Thomas Fisher.”
“And how do you know him?”
“Well, I’ve been quite a burr in his side, actually, since I moved here, trying to find stories.”
“So, it’s fair to say, then, that both your paths had crossed more than once?”
Kacey nodded, again leaning into the mike. “Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Anyway, when we spoke, he told me to stay out of the way, but also that he couldn’t tell me much about what’d happened. He gave me the impression that whatever had happened, was pretty grisly—something this town had never seen before.”
“And what did he do next?”
“He left, but I pursued an interview with a couple—”
“Jack and Hedda Hocker?”
Kacey suddenly found herself swelling with emotion.
Jack and Hedda. Murdered.
Dead and gone.
Married sixty-one years; met in Korea, he the Marine, she the nurse. It was unfathomable that they were gone after having been so full of life. The whole entirety of their lives, snuffed out in an instant. She tried to respond, but her words had grown thick in her throat.
“Mrs. Burnett,” Harry asked, “are you all right?”
Kacey shook her head, bringing a hand to her face, which had suddenly grown hot and red. Harry requested water be brought to her.
“No, I’m not. They were wonderful people and a lovely couple, and now they’re dead—they’re all dead.”
A bailiff set a glass of water down before her. Kacey paused, took a sip, then grabbed several tissues from the Kleenex box.
“Take your time, ma’am.”
Kacey blew her nose, then continued: “Yes. Jack and Hedda Hocker.”
“And what can you tell us about them—your contact with them?”
“They were—initially—the only survivors from the attack—”
“Objection!” Benét said, coming to her feet. “Innocent until proven guilty.”
Kacey nodded. “Sorry. I meant until the suspects entered this... place... and allegedly did what we are, here, trying to prove or disprove.”
Benét nodded.
“Continue,” Harry said.
“Anyway, I managed to get the Hockers away from there after they’d talked with police, and I figured, would I want to go back to my home after having been attacked in it?—no—so I brought them back to my apartment. Gave them some safety, warmth, and coffee. And we talked.
“Pretty gutsy move, not knowing them from Adam. What’d you talk about?”
“Everything. How they met, their history together, the incident.”
“And what did they tell you, about the incident in question?”
“That they’d been in bed, had been awoken, and that Mr. Hocker—Jack—had confronted the assailants, killing them.”
“He did? He killed them?”
“Yes—two of them. Jack was a thirty-three-year retired Marine. A Master Gunnery Sergeant. I don’t think he ran away from too many things.
(unlike me)
“He was amazingly fit at 79, they both were.”
“I see. And what did they proceed to do, then?”
Kacey found a chuckle had escaped from her.
“Well... Hedda’d grabbed the phone and their hunting rifle, and Jack had grabbed a knife and a .45, and he charged outside to meet the alleged assailants, I guess you’d call them.”
“Charged outside?”
“Yes. That’s what he said. He took out the ones attacking them, then charged outside to help others. He said he took out a few before the police arrived.”
“Impressive,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow.
“They were both impressive people.”
“Fast forward to the next day. What can you tell us about what happened then?”
Kacey again hit an emotional vapor lock.
&n
bsp; “I’d heard,” she said clearing her throat, “I’d heard there’d been an accident... out on the Interstate. Got a call from my editor who had told me that the Hocker’s had been murdered. I rushed to the scene and found a multi-car pileup, but all three bodies had already been removed, two of which were Jack and Hedda.”
“And the third?”
“After he’d done his business, their assailant had taken his own life. He’d jumped off the overpass. The killer did. One of those overpass bridges.”
Kacey took another sip of water and grabbed another couple tissues.
“And is there anything else you can tell us about what you found
(the ring)
“at the crime scene?”
“No.”
“Thank you. You may step down.”
Kacey nodded and stepped down, but not before grabbing extra tissues. Kacey returned to her seat in the gallery to find Sheila giving her a comforting look... and squeezing her hand. “You did great,” she whispered.
“Boy,” Kacey whispered back, “I didn’t expect all those emotions to come out like that. Wow,” she said, wiping her reddened nose and still-tearing and reddened eyes. Sheila patted her leg in response.
“So,” Sheila continued, “should I call you ‘Miss Miller,’ or ‘Mrs. Burnett’?”
“Sorry!” Kacey said, whispering.
Sheila winked back. “Don’t worry about it,” she whispered, squeezing her hand.
Morning transitioned into afternoon, as witnesses and police testified to the brutality of the crimes at the Safe Harbor Retirement Community and their role in it. From the residents’ friends and family who escaped all harm, to Detective Fisher and P.I. Banner. All in grisly, exquisite detail. And, above all, Kacey was somewhat taken aback by the judge’s apparent impassive demeanor throughout the testimony. Had he seen that much violence that it no longer affected him? The jury and audience were the ones who’d exhibited emotion, sometimes out-and-out gasps and tears at the details. Kacey scribbled pages of notes, but also doodled a cart, pears and onions, and lonely barren landscapes before the day was over.
Throughout most of the day Sheila had secretly from the rest of the world held her hand. And Kacey had liked it.
Liked it very much.
Chapter Twenty
1
Ronda Ettbauer continued talking to her fourth-grade West Cheyenne Middle School class as she drew her marker across cell walls. She left behind deftly drawn, strange, angular characters that looked a mixture of Tolkien and Arabic, and spoke the language associated with the script unhesitatingly, though in a part of her damaged consciousness, way, way back in her darkest, most recessed corners, she knew she didn’t know the language. Ronda’s mind, however, was quite clear and lucid on this matter, as flooded as it was with scenes of battle and history in faraway lands she’d never been to, and never would, at least in this lifetime.
Did one really need to travel to faraway places if you’d already been there?
Outwardly, Ronda may have been mumbling to herself, but in her mind she was projecting clearly and succinctly to her attentive class, as she properly enunciated this new language, her class dutifully taking notes. My, she thought, what wonderful, hardworking, and diligent students! No one made jokes, giggled, or passed notes behind her back, which seemed vaguely odd to her. They were all focused on her with rapt attention, taking in all she taught. Sure, they asked questions, but that’s what classes and teaching were all about.
Another class member raised a hand, and Ronda turned to address her. The nonexistent child asked her nonexistent question in this new language, and Ronda answered back in perfect diction and grammar. The child nodded, satisfied with Ronda’s answer. Ronda returned to her task on the wall before her, just as the end-of-day bell sounded, so she dismissed her last class for the day. Wonderful! Now she could spend the rest of her day totally focused on her own work, and not have to answer any more questions. She loved teaching, loved the children, but she’d also found something else that was equally as important. Like her parents always used to say: Your chores first, then you can play. She had done her chores, now it was her time.
Through her mind the images flew... they’d started with something about a blue-gray wolf and a fallow deer giving birth to a powerful blacksmith with a fire in his eyes... birthed along a river on the other side of the world. There was much violence and deceit, but there was also much wisdom and spirituality... and incredible power...
2
Sheila paid the several-dollar-per-car toll, and she and Kacey made their way through the Sanibel Causeway onto the first spit of land.
“Wow,” Kacey exclaimed, “this is absolutely gorgeous.”
“I told you you’d love it,” Sheila said, alternately looking to Kacey and the causeway. “Even the hurricanes couldn’t erase the beauty of the place.”
Kacey stared out her opened window, amazed at lazy and fluffy cumulonimbus clouds hanging low over the deep-blue waters of San Carlos Bay. Pelicans, herons, seagulls and more filled the skies above. She inhaled fresh sea air and allowed its balmy breezes to blow through her hair.
“Oh... this is utterly... beautiful! I’ve lived here over half a year and hadn’t yet gotten down this way—I didn’t even know it existed!”
“I’ve vacationed here a couple times before, had a couple of assignments. I know of this great restaurant. It has a great view of the bay, and, where we’ll be sitting—I made reservations—we’ll be able to see porpoises—”
“Porpoises! How wonderful!”
“They jump right out of the water. The restaurant’s actually on Captiva Island, a sister island farther up at the end of this road.”
As they drove up and over the raised causeway, Kacey again looked to Sheila. She didn’t say anything, just took her in. Smiling, Sheila returned the gesture. Kacey turned back to her opened window.
“Wow... what kind of bird is that!” Kacey asked, excitedly pointing out the bird as it flew high across their path.
Sheila leaned forward. “I’m not positive, but I think it could be an osprey. I get some of those birds-of-prey mixed up.”
“Man, there are so many beautiful places on earth... I wish I could visit them all—oh! Pull over!” Kacey said, pointing to a small beach just up ahead. “I want to get out and check this place out! Get into the water!”
Sheila pulled over onto the white, sandy areas of one of the many roadside beach turnouts. This one was slightly shaded with both Sabal palms and Norfolk Island Pine, underneath which was a picnic table. A man in waders was out in the water, fishing. Kacey was out of the car before Sheila’d applied the parking brake.
Laughing and giddy with childlike amusement, Kacey kicked off her shoes, rolled up her Capri pants, and immediately waded out into the water.
“Oh, this is paradise!” she exclaimed, splashing about in it. The fisherman glared at her. She caught his evil-eye and apologized, calming down. Staring out into the bay, Kacey’s tone changed. “Sheila,” she said.
“Yes?”
“There’s something I haven’t told anybody about what happened to the Hockers, out on the Interstate.”
“Oh, please don’t tell me you perjured yourself.”
“I’d found a ring.”
Kacey closed her eyes, allowing the stiff sea breezes to caress her body and soul.
“So, you did perjure—”
Kacey sighed. “Well, maybe a little—but there’s something about it—and it’s probably not even related to the murder—”
“Kacey, you don’t know that—”
Kacey faced Sheila. She produced the ring from her pocket, slowly uncurling her fingers. It rested in her palm.
Sheila looked to it. “Oh, my God....”
“What?”
Sheila reached out to it, but didn’t touch it. “I’ve... I’ve seen this—”
Kacey closed her hand snatching it back.
“You what? How could you?”
Sheila a
gain reached out to Kacey.
“I... I don’t know—I only know that I have seen that ring before. Maybe in a dream, I’m not sure... but... I know I’ve seen it before... and there was more... could I... could I please see it?”
I will be with you...
Kacey slowly opened her hand and allowed Sheila to take it. As soon as she’d taken hold of it, Sheila’s knees grew weak. Kacey helped her over to the picnic table in the shade. She eased her to the bench, studying her.
“What’s going on?”
Sheila stared at the ring.
“Kacey... this is really weird, and I don’t pretend to know how else to explain it, but somehow—in some way—I know this ring. This is sooo creepy... it’s almost like you and me... I know how much you don’t want to hear this, but I can’t explain how right we are together, and this... this ring... is somehow connected to us, to everything—”
Sheila brought a hand to her head and closed her eyes. “Oh... there it is again—”
“What? There’s ‘what’ again?”
“Images... a couple... traveling across a barren steppe. Just the two of them,” she went on, eyes closed, hand to her head. “They’re attacked.”
Kacey backed away.
Sheila opened her eyes.
“Now what’s the matter?”
Kacey stood before her, mouth open, hair streaming in the wind and seagulls screeching above. She inhaled the sea breeze and suddenly felt incredibly distant from this place—yet as if she were wrapped within Sheila’s warm, loving embrace.
“How did you know that! How... did you know about those people?”
Sheila stared at her blankly.
“I’ve had these same dreams,” Kacey said, “images, scenes—whatever you call them. I’ve had the same dreams you’ve had!”
3
The officer accompanied Detective Fisher into the Punta Gorda detention center.
“You’re not going to believe this. I swear, I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“What the hell is it, for God’s sake?” Fisher again asked.
The officer grunted. “I really can’t tell ya... you’re just gonna have to see it for yourself. It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”
The Uninvited Page 24
