by Jada Ryker
“The country was at war. As the fight wore on, both young and older men were drafted into military service. My father first tried to dodge the draft, but then he had a thought. He could escape the prison of the family he had created. He entered the service, and he was gone for eighteen months. It was a calmer time for us as a family.
“After my father returned from the war, he fought with my mother harder than ever. He kept telling her to ‘quit acting crazy or else’. She refused to submit to his unreasonable demands for obedience.
“Eventually, the sheriff came to our house. He took our mother with him. We asked our father where the sheriff took our mother. He replied, ‘The hospital.’ We begged to go see her, but my father said visitors would make her condition worse.
“Soon after, my father loaded all of us kids on a church bus. He took us to the home of a charlatan minister and his wife. Brother Ed and Sister Inez were foster parents for many children in the county. Our father had us dropped off like an unwanted litter of puppies at an animal shelter.”
Tara opened her mouth.
Dreamus raised a hand to stop her. He raised his brows to signal: Let him talk.
She narrowed her eyes in annoyance, but she subsided in her chair.
“While we were in foster care, my younger brother Denis began wetting his pants. He was stressed by all of the changes in our lives. In retaliation, Sister Inez stripped him naked and pressed his bare behind on the hot stove. She screeched, ‘You will not wet your pants!’
“I screamed at her to stop. I comforted Denis as best I could. That single act of violence seemed to be a milestone for me and my siblings. It marked the beginning of brutal acts by people who had been entrusted—and paid—by the community to care for children.
“Eventually, three of us were moved to the Saint Terence Orphanage. My brothers Alvin and Denis and I were together, but we were separated from our other siblings.
“In the orphanage, I helped care for the younger kids in the nursery. I was nine years old, and the children were all less than five years old. I felt comfortable, because I had helped with younger children as long as I could remember. I wasn’t surprised to find these traumatized kids acting out in all sorts of ways, including bed wetting and thumb sucking.
“Sister Carolyn Maria ruled the nursery with a fierce and terrifying hand. If a child wet the bed, then the next morning the sister used her own form of discipline. Her eyes blazed with the fire of righteous indignation as she ran a tub of freezing cold water. Then, she stripped the offending child. The nun angrily dunked the child under the water, while the poor thing thrashed and kicked his feet. Then, she let him up for a gasp of air. Twice more under the water seemed to satisfy her, at least until the next incident.
“I wanted to save those little kids from the nun’s wrath. I started patrolling the nursery at night, when I was supposed to be asleep. Whenever I found a child with a wet or soiled bed, I did my best to save him from Sister Carolyn Maria. I cleaned and changed the child. Then, I stripped the bed. I stole clean linen from the supply room and made the bed. As the last step, I sneaked outside and buried the dirty sheets and clothing in the garbage pit.”
“I’ve heard horror stories about aberrant nuns and priests, but that woman sounds like a psychopath.” Tara’s eyes filled with tears.
“It seems impossible, but I did hear from one of my friends from the orphanage that Sister Carolyn Maria is still alive. She’d have to be about a hundred years old.” Larry’s round face hardened. “I’ve read studies which show people can delay their death.”
Officer Landis looked up from his phone, his eyes wide. “Sometimes a person will hang on to life until after an important milestone, like Christmas or a birthday. But what does that to do with the nun from hell?”
Larry’s face hardened. “I think she’s using sheer will power to delay her reckoning in front of the Lord.”
“Do you know where the nun lives now?” Dreamus asked.
“No, Lieutenant. If I saw her, I’d want her to say she’s sorry.” A dark shadow flickered across Larry’s face. “When she failed to apologize, because she’s not sorry, then I’d be tempted to dunk her head under water until she was sorry.”
“What about the person who was the head of the orphanage? Did the Director know what was going on?” Landis’ fingers flew over his phone. “His name was Father—”
“Father Limmers was in the charge of the orphanage. He and some of the nuns raped, tortured, and abused children, both boys and girls. It was rumored he had fathered babies by young female inmates, who were subsequently shipped to other facilities out of state.
“The priest also led a small band of ‘volunteers’, young men who ostensibly helped him in youth activities, but in reality participated in his crimes against children. They used the pretext of snipe hunts to get the children out in the woods. I was shocked when I found out one of those young men went on to become a teacher at Mayla’s school. I confronted him and told him I’d kill him if he didn’t quit his job at the school and give up teaching.”
Landis’ fingers flew on his phone. “What the heck is a snipe hunt?” He frowned. “Wikipedia, are you kidding me? Listen to this. ‘A snipe hunt is a type of practical joke that involves experienced people making fun of credulous newcomers by giving them an impossible or imaginary task. A snipe hunt is a specific type of wild-goose chase, where a person embarks on an impossible search. The victim is ordered to find a snipe, using a preposterous method of catching it. The methods include running around the woods carrying a bag or making strange noises, such as banging rocks together.’ What a crazy-sounding game. Who would fall for that?”
“The volunteers used the game to get their young targets out in the woods surrounding the orphanage, vulnerable and away from any possibility of help.” Larry’s laugh was bitter. “Help was always an impossible dream, but out in the woods, there was no chance in hell of rescue.”
“Mr. Kenton, did you ever tell anyone what was happening at the school?” Tara’s mouth quivered and tears glistened on her lashes.
“You have to understand it was a closed, self-contained life. School, home, the infirmary, everything we needed was all on site. Outsiders did come in to the compound, such as to deliver food. I did decide to tell a kindly grocer. I shared my plan with my older brother, Alvin, and a friend. They told me that other children had tried to tell adults. Whenever a child tried to tell someone outside the orphanage what was happening, he was told to stop saying bad things about people who serve God. And then, the child would mysteriously disappear. The other children would be told the missing kid had suffered the wrath of God for lying. Alvin and my friend made me swear a blood oath not to tell. They were terrified I’d disappear like the others.”
Tara placed a gentle hand on Larry’s swollen, shaking one.
“When I left the orphanage,” Larry continued, “my life changed for the better. I joined the Navy. Later, I was on shore leave. At a dance, I saw the woman I would marry. It was love at first sight, at least for me. It took a couple of years for me to convince her that she felt the same way. Finally Berea consented to become my wife.”
Dreamus’ face softened. “I’m sorry the system let you down, Mr. Kenton. If I’d been around back then, I’d have taken great satisfaction in arresting the lot of them and throwing them in prison. What happened to the orphanage?”
Landis looked up from his phone. “The orphanage closed years ago.”
Larry put one blunt finger under his glasses to catch a tear. “The institution is gone now, but its legacy lives on. Do you remember Joseph Wesbecker? He lost his job at Standard Gravure, a printing company in Louisville. His resentment grew toward the company. He was on medications for stress and depression. In September 1989, he opened fire with an AK-47 at Standard Gravure. He killed eight people and injured twelve others before turning the gun on himself.
“Joseph was one of us. He was a kid from Saint Terence. He was a lonely and frightened man who’
d come from a traumatic place. He fell into the darkness. It’s a wonder all of us didn’t join him.”
* * * * *
Dreamus asked, “What happened to your mother, Mr. Kenton?”
“Before Mayla was born, Berea suggested we go and see Eva Katherine at the mental institution,” Larry replied. “It had been drummed so thoroughly into my head that visitors would make her worse, I didn’t think of visiting her until that moment.
“My mother had been moved to Central State Hospital in Louisville. The doctor in charge of her treatment believed she was trapped in a self-fulfilling prophesy. She was depressed by the institution. Therefore, she needed the institution.
“Berea and I walked up several flights of stairs to her room. There wasn’t an elevator. My mother recognized me when I showed her my distinctive birthmark. She seemed happy to see me. She was proud when she told me she was in charge of the hospital laundry. I started making plans to bring her home. Then, just four days after my last visit, she died on the grounds. I couldn’t believe I had gotten so close to rescuing her. She was only forty-nine years old.”
“Berea mentioned you took in your father.” Dreamus leaned back in his chair with his hands on the arms, his body relaxed and open. “Is that true?”
Larry nodded. “I’ll show you where he lived. Come outside with me. It’ll give us a chance to stretch our legs.”
The elderly man herded the group outside to the sturdy pier stretching from the bank and partway across the water. Under the bright sun, the lake was a glittering oval surrounded by the colorful autumn trees. The songs of birds mingled with the sounds of insects and frogs. At intervals, tiny log cabins dotted the landscape, tucked among the bright foliage. The sunlight seemed to transform Larry’s hair into a gentle white halo.
Dreamus looked down at the water. A curled red leaf floated by on a gentle ripple. A bug rode along, its black body shiny against the scarlet background.
“My father ended up destitute and alone. He had lung cancer from all of the years of smoking. He wasn’t able to care for himself. I asked myself many times why I built the little cabin for him and installed him in it.” Larry pointed at a tiny building with a miniature front porch. The rocking chair was empty.
Dreamus stared at the empty chair. A chilly wind blew across the lake and pier, sending the chair rocking. “What happened to your father, Mr. Kenton?”
“One night he was out on the pier.” Larry gestured to the far end of the structure. “He must’ve lost his balance. He fell into the water and drowned.”
Tara gasped.
Dreamus squeezed her hand to silence her. “Mr. Kenton, do you remember a man named Bert?” he asked.
“Bert?” Larry frowned.
“He said he worked for you here at the resort when your daughter was young,” the lieutenant insisted.
“I’ve had a lot of handymen come and go over the years.” Larry shook his head. “I don’t remember a Bert.”
“He’s difficult to forget,” Dreamus said. “He’s very tall, about seven feet. He works as a rodeo clown now.”
Landis’ head went up like a deer scenting a predator. “Bert the rodeo clown! After you proved Miss Daisy didn’t commit the murder, he leaned over to you and whispered in your ear.”
Larry was bewildered. “Sure, now I remember Bert. He worked at the resort a couple of summers here and there. He did odd jobs. I haven’t seen him in at least twenty-five years. What about him?”
“Bert made an interesting statement,” Dreamus said, his gaze focused on Larry’s round face. “He stated, ‘I’ll tell you something I thought I would take to my grave. Mayla Kenton wasn’t the perfect little angel her mother thought she was. I saw the little girl kill her grandfather.’ What do you have to say, Mr. Kenton?”
“Bert said he saw Mayla kill my father?” Larry licked his dry lips. “The night my father died, I was asleep. Berea, Mayla, and I lived in the apartment over the store. I awoke. I lay in bed for a second, wondering why I was awake. Berea snores like a freight train, but that night it was just a growly snore.
“I heard voices outside. It was early winter, the slowest season for us. We didn’t have any lodgers in the cabins at the time. I got up and dressed. I looked out the window. I saw two figures on the pier, a shorter one and a taller one. I realized it was my dad and Mayla. She was about thirteen and taller than my father.
“I ran outside and pounded down the pier. When I reached them, I saw the figures move. One fell into the water. Mayla stood at the very end of pier, looking down into the water. I yelled for my dad. Mayla grabbed my sleeve. She said—”
“What did she say, Mr. Kenton?” Dreamus asked.
Larry Kenton swallowed. “I don’t remember.”
The lieutenant slid into Larry’s personal space. “Did Mayla push her grandfather into the water?”
Tara jerked Dreamus’ sleeve. “What are you doing? Stop harassing the poor man.”
Larry waved his hands in conciliation. “No, of course Mayla didn’t push her grandfather into the lake. She wouldn’t do such a thing. Anyway, my daughter is dead. They’ve both been dead for decades.”
“Mr. Kenton, mental hospitals were operated under horrendous conditions,” Dreamus said. “Your mother died after years of misery in one. What if you pretended you had your father’s best interests at heart when you took him in? What if you actually gave him a home so you could make him pay for what he had done to your mother? Did Mayla see you kill her grandfather?”
Officer Landis’ eyes were huge in his face. His phone dangled in his fingers.
“Dreamus! Have you lost your mind?” Tara’s chest puffed under her pink summery top and her fair face reddened. “Why would you make those awful insinuations? Mr. Kenton has been through hell without you verbally abusing him.”
Dreamus tried to take her arm. He unclenched his jaw. “Tara, this is my job. I question people. I follow leads. I solve cases. You knew what I was before we started down our path.”
She angrily shook off his hand.
“Don’t worry about it, Miss Ross. A policeman has to ask hard questions.” Larry squared his sloping shoulders. “I wanted my father to love me and to want me and to protect me. He had abandoned me and my brothers and sisters. I thought if I took him in when I could have turned my back on him, he’d love me and be sorry for what he did. He wasn’t sorry, and he never told me he loved me. When he died, the hope for those words died. I would never have killed my own dream. Life had already killed enough of them.”
Tears fell from Tara’s eyes and dropped on her pink shirt. The splashes darkened the pink fabric to blood red.
As they turned to leave, Dreamus looked back at the lone cabin. A cold wind whipped across the lake and sent the rocking chair into motion. With the sun slanting across the surface of the water and into his eyes, Dreamus thought he saw a thin figure in the rocking chair. The old fashioned suit and hat were pale against the dark wood. A curl of smoke rose from the low brim. The hand slapped the knee, and the mouth curved in laughter. Under the brim of the hat, a dark, emotionless void seemed to trap Dreamus in its malevolence.
* * * * *
Inside the store, Larry flipped the sign on the door from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ and turned the lock. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you folks.”
“I think you can give us more help, especially with the circumstances of your father’s death.” Dreamus reached across and flipped the sign back to ‘closed’. “I want you to come back with us now and make a formal statement, Mr. Kenton.”
Tara put her hands on her hips. “Dreamus, if you drag that poor man back to the police station and interrogate him, I’ll never speak to you again.” She turned to Landis. “Josh, please help me!”
Officer Landis cleared his throat and looked trapped. His eyes rolled toward the ceiling. He brightened. “What if Mr. Kenton wrote out his statement for us in detail, Lieutenant? Then he could email it to us. If we have follow-up questions, he could vi
sit us at the police station.” He craned his neck toward the back of the store. “I noticed an old computer and a dialup modem. You do have the internet, don’t you, Mr. Kenton?”
Tara was on the idea like a duck on a June bug. “Excellent idea, Josh.”
Landis glowed with pleasure until he met his superior’s baleful stare.
Tara defiantly flipped the sign back to ‘open’. “I’m sorry you’ve experienced such heartache in your life, Mr. Kenton.” She reached up and hugged the old man. She peered around his arm to glare at Dreamus.
Larry pulled away from Tara and patted her shoulder. The ticking of an antique grandfather clock was the only sound in the store. He glanced at it. “My greatest fear in the world is that Stephen Hawking is right. His theory is time is not linear. Rather, time is circular. If time runs in a circle, does that mean eventually I’ll be five years old again? Am I doomed to relive my own life over and over?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Retired Sheriff Luke Creeter sat in the straight-back, wooden chair on the wide porch. He held his gun in one hand. His gnarled hand looked like a tree root that had grown around the grip. He stared down the barrel. He fired. “Yee ha! Got me another one!” He pulled the clothesline next to him. The paper target fluttered as he hauled it toward him.
“Why do you have silhouette targets with photos of real faces on them?” In a rickety chair next to the former sheriff, Marisa massaged her pounding forehead. A sharp slat dug into her butt. She wiggled her behind in an effort to get comfortable. The chair creaked.
“Be still, Marisa.” Diana whispered, putting her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I don’t think that chair is very sturdy.”
