CHAPTER 92
Isaac Graham was convicted on five counts of premeditated murder and received the death penalty. Lindsey went into hiding, having participated in numerous interviews following her testimony in court.
There were murmurs of lawsuits against the homicide division of the Greenwood Police and City Hall for Bell’s "accidental death," with the family alleging a cover-up. But after a series of long and heated conferences behind closed doors involving the family's attorneys, the Greenwood District Attorney, and Internal Affairs, the family decided it was best to leave it be or risk some embarrassing revelations about Gerald.
Andy was not charged in Bell's death. If not for Marcus and his camera, he certainly would have been, or at best, he would no longer be a member of the Greenwood City Police Department.
Morry typed up a Pulitzer Prize nomination form and inserted Marcus Cash in the space for nominee. Sadly, he didn't live long enough to witness the day Marcus received word that he had won. And on that spring day when he stood at the podium in the rotunda of the Low Library at Columbia University, Marcus choked up when he spoke of his special relationship with the legendary reporter. Along with thanking Morry and his colleagues at the Greenwood Times, Marcus took some time to speak about John and the short time they spent together, using words like "selfless," "courageous," and "honorable" to describe him.
Six months after the end of the Bedroom Killer case, Dr. Burt Larson received a letter from John. It simply read:
Burt,
Thanks for everything. I'll keep you in mind if I ever need to talk again…but for now, I'm good.
John
EPILOGUE
A warm breeze blew across the sloping hills of Greenwood Cemetery, picking up stray yellowed maple leaves that flittered in an undulating blanket of red, gold, and brown as they moved downhill. At the far right side of the cemetery, near the top of a hill, sat two gray marble headstones. Three feet tall. One and a half feet wide. Four inches thick.
Paulette Michelle Randall.
Trevor James Randall.
John stood rigid before them, thinking back to the last time he was there. It had been eight months ago, but it seemed so much longer now. A lifetime. He was drunk and angry at himself and at the world. He was at the lowest point in his life, and he felt there was no point in pretending anymore. As he stared at the headstones, he thought about how things had changed so vastly for him. If not for Isaac Graham, he would not have found Megan. But five young girls had to die for that to happen and it would always be bittersweet. It was a link that would always be there, but John would focus on other things, happier things, whenever he thought of Megan. And he thought of her every day now. He turned his head up to the sun. It felt good on his face, the one with the scar on his right cheek. He turned around to look behind him and spotted her standing there, thirty feet away, where she'd stopped to allow him time by himself. He caught her eyes and she smiled a warm, reassuring smile that told him, Take as long as you need…I'm not going anywhere.
As she watched John, Megan reached up and unconsciously touched her blouse, feeling the six-inch scar underneath. It was healing well. During her recovery, Dr. Keating told Megan she could be back at work in a few weeks, but she knew then she wasn't going back. Even though Bell was gone, there was no way she could ever step back into that office again. She'd talked with Andy and Kennedy and some of the others when they visited her at the hospital, but she knew that those friendships would fade. They had to. It was part of her healing process: to separate herself from everything that reminded her of that part of her life.
Except John.
She was alive because of him. He'd said it the first time they met on that very rainy day.
I save lives.
Like a future promise to her. A rain check, now cashed.
John squatted down in a spot between the graves and looked from one headstone to the other.
"You know I love you both very much. I always will. I promise." John said, then he let out a small sigh, stood up, and turned away from Paulette and Trevor, and walked down the slope to Megan. She reached out her hand and he took it, and they moved down the hill together.
Dear Journal,
I don’t really know where to begin. A little over two months ago I tried to kill myself. But you know that don’t you. Then I met Megan. Even though I’ve told you about her I still feel the need to say more. But I’m going to have to think about it for a while. I can’t just sit here and say anything that pops into my mind. Whatever I write – I want it to matter. The words need to be right. They need to convey exactly how I feel about her. Exactly how she has changed me. I don’t think I can do that now. But you should know that things are better. Much better. The Killer has been caught. Megan caught him. She needed that…she needed to be the one to catch him and she did. I am so proud of her. She’s been through so much. We both have. Bell is dead. I know I shouldn’t say this, but fuck him.
Megan will be in therapy too. Don’t we make a great couple. Mr. and Mrs. messed up. But I’m ok. I’m doing better. You wouldn’t believe it but I actually took part in Megan’s surgery. She was shot. It was bad. They say I saved her life. But that’s too simple…I’d like to think we saved each other.
Dr. John Randall
Photo ©Nicole Waters
About the Author
Taylor Waters has written four feature film screenplays. You can find the logline and synopsis of each screenplay on his blog at www.taylorwaters.com. The Bedroom Killer is his first novel. He lives with his family in Rancho Santa Margarita, California and is presently working on his next novel.
About the Book
This novel was originally written as a 106-page feature film screenplay. The film rights to The Bedroom Killer are available. Please contact Taylor Waters at [email protected] if you are interested in discussing an option or purchase of the script. The electronic version is available on Kindle.
You can read more about Taylor Waters on his blog at www.taylorwaters.com.
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