by J. Conrad
Mary is survived by her parents, Patrick and Rebecca; her maternal grandparents Harold and Clarissa Masterson; and her paternal grandparents, Robert and Betty Durham. She is also survived by her best friend of sixteen years, Samantha Esquire, and close friends Roberta Jacobs and Brittany Gomez.
Funeral arrangements are being handled by the Cook Walden Funeral Home at 6100 N. Lamar in Austin. Calling hours will be Wednesday from 1 – 4 and 7 – 9 p.m. A public funeral will be held on Thursday, April 22nd, at 10:00 a.m., at St. Louis Catholic Church in Austin. Condolences may be sent to the Cook Walden Funeral Home.
Above the text was a photo of Mary that I hadn’t seen before. She was smiling and her bright blonde hair fell against her shoulders in waves. Her lips were glossy pink and her skin was glowing, radiant. That’s how she must have looked before we met. That’s how she looked when she was happy.
I got in the car to go to work that day, checking the rear view because I couldn’t remember if I had shaved my peach fuzz or not. My face was pasty-white with dark circles under bloodshot eyes. I barely recognized myself.
I made arrangements with work to take off Thursday morning. The temperature had dropped into the fifties and an elephant gray, overcast sky swelled with rain clouds on the drive to St. Louis Catholic Church. I wore a black shirt and tie and dark sunglasses to blend in as much as possible and pay my respects.
Intentionally arriving after the start of service, I quietly walked up to the massive white granite church, castle-like in stature, and unobtrusively slipped inside. Observing the custom, I dipped my finger in the holy water shell near the second door and made the sign of the cross. I hung back near the entrance until I found a place to stand near some older people I didn’t know. At all costs I wanted to avoid anyone my age who might recognize me. Mary’s parents should be in the front row, so they wouldn’t see me.
It was so dark inside that I had to remove the sunglasses. The ceiling and walls of the cathedral were awash in a soft gold. A wooden crucifix was front and center, glowing underneath the golden piers of the choir loft. Refracted blue and red light shined weakly through the stained glass windows. The smell of myrrh incense was still strong from early morning mass.
In the lower space in front of the altar was Mary’s casket, made of rich burnished copper with silver handles. Surrounding her were stunning floral arrangements made of every kind of flower in every color. One was a spray of only lilies with glossy green leaves. White, pure, and perfectly formed petals gracefully brushed the marble floor with delicate fingers. It seemed to be a symbol of something above gracing something below.
It was an open casket funeral and I could see Mary’s yellow hair arranged in loose curls around her face. She had been placed in a long white dress. I couldn’t tell from where I stood, but I wondered if it was her mother’s wedding dress. It appeared costly, strewn as it was with lace and little gleaming points like diamonds.
I took a deep breath and was aware of how hot and uncomfortable I was in the long-sleeved shirt and tie. For being cold outside, the air inside the cathedral was stifling and warm, almost sickly sweet. There were other discomforts too. My face felt tight. My eyes hurt. My torso started to shake uncontrollably and something warm and sticky oozed down my cheeks. It rolled onto my lips, leaving a salty taste. I realized I was crying. I didn’t dare move and draw attention to myself, not that I could have if I wanted to. My ankles were chained to a half-ton iron ball of guilt, shame, and irresponsibility. Mary was dead, and it was my fault.
Samantha had taken the lectern and was beginning a eulogy of her sixteen-year friendship with Mary. Her voice sounded raw as she did her duty, giving a cheery speech for her deceased best friend. “Mary was always there for me. I always knew if I needed something, she was the one person I could count on. Even though I’ve known her longer than any other friend, Mary had always been the most faithful and trustworthy. In the words of Addison, ‘without constancy, there is neither love, friendship, nor virtue in the world.’”
My head hurt and I felt disconnected, almost as though I was floating. Mentally, I was spinning. My body seemed to turn of its own accord and I began a desperate, silent escape of the church. My feet were below me somewhere, but I couldn’t feel them. I pulled my sunglasses out of my pocket as I approached the door to the lobby and nearly slammed into Mr. Durham headfirst. The recognition was immediate. As my stomach plummeted down into the fiery place where one day I too would go, I waited for the hatred to materialize in Mr. Durham’s eyes.
I started speaking without intending to, my voice choking up. “Mr. Durham. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry that you’ve lost your daughter.”
When he looked back at me, there was no hatred as I expected, only a face that was red from crying and sleepless nights. A pair of joyless eyes looked into mine to see if there was a soul there, and he didn’t find one. He was a father in pain, and with a bent back he trudged off, his aspect vastly more like that of a man in his seventy’s instead of barely forty-five.
I walked to the car under the rain-laden clouds. The wind was picking up, but it never did rain. The rolling, steel-gray sky withheld its tears, though it might have burst at any moment. And like that sky, after that day in the golden cathedral I never cried about Mary. I locked those memories away forever in a deeply hidden, thorny place in the back of mind.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
January 29th
The week following my unsuccessful round of cat and mouse with my tormentor, I stayed very busy. My assumption was the obvious one. This guy, whoever he was, not only wanted me dead, he wanted to make my life a living hell until such time as he was ready to dispose of me. That assumption would now direct my actions almost solely, so that I could stay alive.
He had successfully broken into my house, stolen my Browning and baited me into a crime scene. The cherry on top was how my truck just “happened” to get totaled in the process, and I nearly got killed – after which I was shot at by my own gun. Call it a run of bad luck if you will, but it seemed to me that this guy was driving the bad karma straight to me with an electric cattle prod.
I reported my phone as stolen and got a new cell. There was no sense in trying to track the old one any longer because he would only let me locate it when he wanted me to. I wasn’t going to pay a mobile bill for the privilege.
Over the weekend, Kyle helped me install a low-end internet security camera system that allowed me a view of each side of the house. There were a few blind spots, but all the important areas were covered: the front and back doors and the windows. It wasn’t a big place, after all. I hadn’t figured out what to do in the situation of my power being cut. With no electricity, the security system would be useless, so I’d need to come up something. I couldn’t afford a backup generator.
I also had a basic car alarm installed in the Dodge Dakota, something much better than what had come with the Silverado. Now at least if my vehicle was tampered with I’d know about it. The alarm also had the added benefit that the siren noise might scare him off.
At the pawn shop, I traded in my .22 revolver, paying the difference to buy a 9mm magazine loaded Ruger pistol. It was actually a better gun than the stolen Browning.
I practiced my aim at the shooting range and read about how to hit a moving target. This wouldn’t make me an expert marksman, but it would help. I stockpiled food, water, supplies, and ammunition for the rifle and new handgun. My home improvements had taken a chunk out of my savings, but fortunately selling the salvageable parts from the Silverado replenished most of what I spent.
“You look like a prepper,” Kyle said. He grinned as he reached into the fridge and retrieved a Corona. I’m surprised he wasn’t afraid for his life being in here, after everything I’d told him.
“Well, I am. I’m preparing,” I said.
Kyle frowned. “I still think you need to go to the county sheriff. I can’t believe you didn’t. You could be arrested for what you did.”
“I wanted to. I still w
ant to. I just can’t see how I won’t wind up getting blamed for that crime.”
“I’m serious,” Kyle said. “I know you think you’ll get blamed, but the longer you wait the worse it’s going to be. The guiltier you’ll look. Trust me. You should call your contact and let him know exactly what happened.”
I shook my head. If other people were as sensible as he was it wouldn’t be a problem, but life isn’t like that.
“Reyes isn’t going to believe that someone broke into my four-room house while I was sleeping and took my things. And that the person put my cell phone at the crime scene. No one would believe that. Because how the hell could someone do that?” I said. I grabbed a Corona of my own and slammed the fridge door shut. “And what about my truck? I’m supposed to tell the deputy that I was sitting outside the murder house and an 18-wheeler came out of nowhere and totaled it?” I held my arms out.
“Yeah,” he said. “You should have called the sheriff when that happened – that’s an accident. You’re supposed to report it.”
“But I was parked outside a crime scene – a crime that I discovered! I wasn’t supposed to be there.”
Kyle nodded slowly, glaring at me under his eyebrows. “My point exactly. I’m telling you buddy, this is some bad shit you got yourself into. I wish you wouldn’t have gone after him.”
“Yeah. Well it’s too late now. I guess all this will blow over if the guy is caught or you’ll be coming to visit me in prison.”
“You might not get prison,” Kyle said. “Or not a very long sentence. You might get a fine. It would depend on how they rule in court when you’re convicted for your various crimes. I mean your actual crimes, not if you get blamed for abduction and murder.”
I laughed. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”
We had lots of conversations like this, but it came down to whether I was going to tell the authorities or I wasn’t. I had made up my mind that I wasn’t, at least not yet.
That week I also found two more articles:
January 24th
Travis County man no longer a suspect in County Road 118 case.
WILLIAMSON COUNTY (KVUN) – Emile Richard Woodard, 43, of Travis County, was arrested on January 13th on charges of attempted murder of a Williamson County resident. Woodard was also thought to have a connection to what authorities have been calling the “County Road 118 Case,” a crime discovered on January 5th in which one woman was found dead and another left in critical condition. While Woodard was detained, DNA analysis revealed that Woodard’s DNA did not match that found at the crime scene inside the abandoned home on County Road 118. Additionally, due to insubstantial evidence linking Woodard to the shooting in Williamson County on January 6th, Woodard was released at the conclusion of questioning and testing.
January 26th
Attempted homicide survivor identified, suspect named.
WILLIAMSON COUNTY (KXAV) – The surviving victim of the County Road 118 case, a twenty-four-year-old female, has now been identified as Aria Owen of Round Rock. After being in a coma for nearly three weeks due to life-threatening injuries sustained during her abduction, St. David’s Hospital officials say she regained consciousness on Saturday. Officials also report that Owen is no longer in critical condition, but remains under close supervision.
Carol Brandt, 46, who was found dead beside Owen in the abandoned house, has been further identified as Owen’s stepmother, whom the twenty-four-year-old was staying with before their abduction. Owen has also provided law officials with the name of the man she says kidnapped and tortured them. Officials say that this information is not being released at this time.
Detective Gerald Menard of the Criminal Investigations Division told KXAV, “This was obviously a crime perpetrated by a very sick individual and we’re grateful that Ms. Owen is still alive. That’s something to be thankful for. Because of the nature of this crime and the fact that the perpetrator hasn’t been caught, we’re taking every precaution to ensure the victim’s safety. That includes not releasing certain information until we can guarantee we’re not putting her at risk.”
Regarding potential leads in the case, Menard told KXAV that prior to Owen’s change in condition there had been one possible suspect, but current charges for this and another crime, a recent shooting, have been dropped due to insufficient evidence.
This second article came with a photo, probably obtained from Facebook. It showed the twenty-four-year-old survivor as she looked before the abduction, smiling, with a fair complexion and long dark hair. Her skin had no dirt on it. Her hair wasn’t matted and filthy. Her teeth were straight and white, and she was healthy.
Aria Owen. So she was not only still alive, but she was awake and speaking. That would be a name I’d never forget. Aria, the girl drenched in her own blood, left for dead.
The article on Woodard was confusing. If he was the same person who shot at me on Tim’s ranch, it seemed strange that his DNA wasn’t found in the abandoned house. Unless he was someone hired to take care of me. Maybe the guy who planted my phone – the one who lured me – wasn’t the real man at the top, either. The kidnapper. The murderer. Maybe he had hired several people to do his clean up work and take snoopers like me out of the picture. But why would I be so important?
Aria Owen. “She’s dead anyway.” With her stepmother gone, I hoped that she had some other family to stay with. There must have been a reason she was staying with Carol Brandt. Maybe she left her boyfriend or husband, or maybe she had never left home after college. Who the hell knew. I shook myself out of this pointless mental maundering. I wouldn’t figure out any more about a crime victim than what the papers gave me.
That evening I sat down to plan out the next week when the phone rang. It was last person in the world I expected.
“Hello,” I said. My voice came out flat, monotone. I shouldn’t have answered, but it was mostly a reflex.
“Hi,” said Elizabeth. “I just um, I thought I’d call and see how you were doing.”
I sat there with the phone to my ear, confusion coming in on me like a freight train, like the day she left. Anger quickly followed, my face getting hot and red. “I’m fine.” I cleared my throat. “Why are you calling?”
“Well, I just thought I would call and see how you’re doing,” she repeated. “I feel bad about what happened – I mean about getting mad and leaving like that. I’m sorry.”
I paused. “Okay.”
“So… do you want to talk about it, or maybe get together some time?” she asked.
I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know if I wanted to or not. “You never gave the ring back.”
Silence. “Well, no, I thought… I thought we were just taking a break.”
“How in the hell were we taking a break? I brought all your stuff back to your mom’s house. You wouldn’t return my phone calls. Seems to me we’re done.”
Elizabeth signed. “Trent, I told you. I was a little unsettled about what I learned. I needed some time to think it through.”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t make any sense to me.” It really didn’t. It seemed like a flimsy excuse for her to duck out, probably to cover her ass for something she did. There had to be a way to get her to admit it. “So what did you do?”
Silence again. “What?”
“What did you do? What did you do that you’re not telling me?” I asked.
She huffed, clearly insulted. “What – what do you mean ‘what did I do?’”
“You expect me to believe you left because I didn’t commit to someone when I was eighteen? I don’t know exactly what you were told. But I don’t buy it. I was young and stupid and I couldn’t commit to Mary. But I didn’t kill anyone,” I said. I didn’t really believe my last statement, not entirely. Elizabeth didn’t need to know that though. “I’m not that person anymore. I grew up.” I exhaled but realized I had taken the bait. She had put the focus back on me and I was already on the defensive.
“Yes, because it’s a really big deal
. What if I get pregnant?” she asked.
My insides twisted into a squirming pretzel. “Elizabeth, are you?”
“No. No! I’m not. But what if it happened? Or what if when we get married it happens and then you suddenly don’t love me anymore?” she asked.
So she knew about that part too. “That wouldn’t happen. Being married is different, it’s not like dating in high school. Marriage is permanent.”
“Yeah, it’s permanent,” she said. “Like if you decide you suddenly don’t love me, then we’re stuck together forever to raise our children, miserable for life. Can’t you understand that I’m afraid? I’m afraid of taking that chance.”
She was good. It sounded pretty convincing. “So what did you do? Were you cheating on me?”
Elizabeth let out a rasping, irritated sigh. So quietly as to be almost under her breath she said, “How dare you.”
“When I dropped off your stuff at your mom’s, I heard a man’s voice. Who was it? Was that the guy you’re screwing behind my back?” I fired back at her.
“Oh my God! What is wrong with you? You have no right to excuse me of anything. I’m not the one who abandoned my pregnant girlfriend and didn’t even go see her when she was dying. She was dying, you asshole.”
I delivered the next part slowly. “Were you cheating on me or not? Yes or no?”
“I can’t believe this.” Her voice was shaking. It was like a leaf shivering in the wind, dew dropping from its delicate edges, except the dew was made of acid and it was falling onto a bed of hot coals.
“Yes or no? Answer the question,” I said. “It’s not a difficult question.”
I heard a click and looked down at the phone. Call ended. If that wasn’t a confession I didn’t know what was. For a moment I caught a good, cocky high. I was right! I had to be. Then I sat back down on the couch and rubbed my face, the burning anger and betrayal creeping up my neck like a spider and turning my skin red. The idea of being right made me feel worse, not better. And she still had the engagement ring.
