A Cry in the Wind

by BobA. Troutt

  ***

  It was three minutes to midnight in Birmingham at the Skylight Club on the corner of 8th and Hensley. I was remembering the events of the past year with a bit of sad nostalgia. It seemed everything that had made the news was depressing. There was the Korean conflict and Truman’s threats to use nuclear weapons on Korea. They had started sending American military to Vietnam to aid the French forces there. My favorite little girl, Shirley Temple, retired from show business. What a year, I thought.

  The gathering of my friends and coworkers was not a happy New Year’s party, as much as it was a retirement send off. I was hanging it up at the end of the month after being with the bureau thirty-five years. I wondered if I was cut out for it.

  “What about another round? Brandon, over here,” shouted Ben, one of my buddies.

  Faces about me began to disappear in the bottom of the bottles as he sat down in a booth with my wife, Barbara.

  “How do you think it will feel, Brandon, sleeping as late as you want, and having the whole day to yourself?” Ben asked.

  “I don’t know, Ben, about all that,” I replied. “Ask me in a few years.”

  “What about you, Barbara? Think you can get used to him at home all the time?” Patty, Ben’s wife, asked with a smirk.

  “Oh, I think I could get used to that,” said Barbara. “It might be nice to have someone to keep me warm at night and not be gone all the time.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” Ben raised his glass. “Here’s to the best FBI agent I ever worked with and my best friend. Happy New Year, Brandon!” Midnight had crept up on us. As we all stood and raised our glasses, we all began to count down—“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1—Happy New Year!”

  We all gathered around and started to sing “Auld Lang Syne.” Barbara turned to kiss me; the others patted my back and wished me the best. Some of them I may run into from time to time, but others I may never see again.

  The party began to break up. Barbara and I headed for home. She was keyed up and talking a mile a minute. It seemed she was more excited about my retirement than I was. “There is so much to do,” she said. “I don’t know where to start.” I never said a word; I let her do the talking.

  I had nothing to say. I felt empty. I missed my son; I missed him every day since that day. Spending my retirement with him would have made all the difference. I wish things could have been different, I thought. But things will never be the same.

  Walking into the quiet house, Barbara slipped her arm around my neck and began kissing me. She laid her head on my shoulder and sighed. Then she leaned back and tilted her head the same as mine and suggested we go to bed and celebrate. I eased her arms from around me, turned to her, and as gently as I could said, “Not right now, but you go on, I’ll be in later.”

  She erupted. “Brandon, don’t shut me out again!”

  “I’m sorry baby,” I replied. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “It’s…it’s Josh again,” she cried. “He was my son too! I miss him and love him too. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of him. Brandon, you’re going to have to let go of it. It’s destroying you. It’s destroying us! Can’t you see that?”

  “I can’t let it go, Barbara! He was our son. I wish I could!” I yelled.

  “It’s been five years, baby. Can’t you put it to rest? He’s gone,” she whispered as she lay her head on my chest.

  “I’m sorry,” was all that I could say.

  “Fine!” she shouted, pushing me away. “It’s over. I’ll get my things in the morning. I’m going to stay with Aunt Virginia until I can find a place to live.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I replied. “You stay here, I’ll go.”

  The phone rang. I picked it up and answered it. It was the bureau.

  “I’ve got to go,” I said. “I’ll pick up my things later.”

  As I turned to head out the door, she sat down on the couch and started to cry. I paused for a moment and turned to her and said, “For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry.”

  Then she slowly looked up at me and said, “Brandon, when Josh died, you died too.”

  I closed the door behind me with a sigh of relief. The phone call had been about another possible kidnapping in a small town north of Birmingham, near the Tennessee border. I radioed ahead to Sheriff Dumas Graham, who was a friend of mine, and told him I was on my way. It was about an hour to Dry Ridge. I pushed the old ’46 Nash sedan to the limit. Down those old dirt roads I flew. Dust from the road rolled up even with the top of the car. I could feel, smell, and taste the dust coming in through the bottom of the doors.

  There had been several kidnappings around that area, at least two to four months now since the last kidnapping. We suspected a possible serial pedophile, but we didn’t know for sure. There also had been several missing children, but no leads as of yet.

  Finally, I arrived at the Bean Patch. Dumas and his men were already on the scene. He filled me in on what they’d found. I went over to Emma and started to talk to her. She wouldn’t say a word. She sat quietly and stared into space. They loaded her into the ambulance and rushed her off to Birmingham Central Medical Center. I began to ask questions to find out exactly what had happened. Nobody had seen a thing except Donnie Beachwood. He told me that he saw two men—one running off in the dark and the other in the car driving off. I quickly jotted down his statement. Dumas called the description in on the car and the tag number for both Alabama and Tennessee. Then we searched the woods behind the building for the little girl. We divided up into teams. We didn’t have enough flashlights, but they made do with what we had. We searched for a couple of hours. Being unfamiliar with the woods, we decided to call off the search until morning.

  “That makes three or four children that have gone missing around here,” said Dumas.

  “Yeah, I know,” I replied.

  “There are a number missing in some of the neighboring counties, too. What do you make of it, Brandon?” asked the sheriff.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know. Maybe they will find something in the morning search. I think I’ll go by the hospital tomorrow after the search and try to talk to Emma if I can,” I told him. “Dumas, you can go with me if you want.”

  “Sure,” replied Dumas. “I’ll meet you over there.”

  The night passed and morning came early that New Year’s Day. I had spent the night at the station waiting on the information on the ’51 Hudson Hornet. Finally it arrived. They came up with two names: Gary Wayne Hall and Robert Ray Taylor. I decided I would check them out after I left for the hospital, but for now we had to search the woods behind the bar.

  At the Bean Patch, we had sixteen policemen and agents and twenty-one volunteers to help with the search. Carefully we began combing over the area, hoping to find anything that would help us find the missing girl. There was nothing that we failed to search. We looked in every nook and cranny. The woods were thick with a heavy layer of leaves and falling limbs. It made finding clues almost impossible. The woods were covered with trees, bushes, and hills. As we combed the area high above us, the birds took flight, turning what little leaves that were dangling from the trees. The search went on for hours over a seventy-five foot radius from behind the bar. There was no sign, no footprints or piece of clothing, not one shred of evidence. It was like she had disappeared off the face of the earth. We took a short break and regrouped, hoping with another search we would find something. Some of the searchers had to leave but the ones that stayed went back over it again. Finally after the second search, we called it off for the day. Dumas said he would try again tomorrow with another team.

  So Dumas and I left for the hospital. He wanted to see Emma. On the way to the hospital, Dumas called in to the station to see if anyone had seen the little girl. No one had.

  At the hospital, we made our way up see her. When we entered
the room, we found her sitting motionless in a wheelchair beside the bed. There seemed to be no change. Her sister, Brenda Jean Hasting, stood by her side. We took a few minutes and talked with her about her sister. Miss Hasting seemed troubled and uneasy. Emma was on her way to stay with her because she and her boyfriend were having trouble.

  “Do you know her boyfriend’s name?” I asked.

  “Yes, Gary Wayne Hall,” she replied.

  Then Dumas spoke up, “Wasn’t that the car at the Bean Patch that drove off in a hurry?”

  “Yes, it was,” I replied. “I wonder what he was doing there, especially that far from home. Will you be staying with your sister for a while?”

  She replied, “As long as she needs me.”

  Then the doctor came in. I inquired about the condition of Emma, and he told us that she had gone into a deep shock caused by the trauma of her daughter’s disappearance.

  “Will she ever come out of it?” I asked him.

  “She might,” he said. “Something could snap her out of it; then again, she may never come out. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Has she said anything at all?” asked Dumas.

  “Not a sound,” replied the doctor. “She sits and stares.”

  “Well, Dumas, I’m on my way to Griffin to talk to Mr. Hall,” I said.

  “Can you drop me off at the station?” Dumas replied.

  “Sure thing,” I said. “You ready?”

  Dumas nodded his head.

  “I’ll be checking back with you, doctor. If there’s any change, let me know.”

  “I’ll be here,” replied the doctor.

  A few hours later, I was in Griffin. I started asking around the neighborhood about Emma, and if they knew of a man named Gary Wayne Hall. They confirmed that he was her boyfriend; they had lived there about eight years. From what they said, he was very abusive to her—the police had been to the couple’s house frequently over the last couple of years. One of the neighbors told me that Emma said she was leaving him and going to her sister’s.

  I ran a background check on him, and the neighbors were right. He had an outstanding number of abusive charges against him, along with being a suspect in an unsolved hunting accident. Supposedly, Mr. Hall and another man named Joe Ray Hasting, his best friend, were hunting when Mr. Hasting was accidentally shot and arrived DOA at the hospital. Hall was never charged because of lack of evidence. I immediately suspected Joe Ray Hasting was related to Emma’s sister.

  It was time to pay a visit to Mr. Hall. I radioed for some backup because of his history of violence. When I pulled up in the driveway, the car and tags matched perfectly. I cautiously approached the front door and knocked. “Officer Hackett, FBI,” I said. Then suddenly I heard someone running through the house and out the back door. Quickly, he took off around the house and was followed by the deputies. We chased Hall down across the backyard and cuffed him. He was a fighter.

  “I haven’t done anything!” he yelled as we walked him toward the car.

  “All I want to do is ask Mr. Hall some questions down at the station,” I stated.

  “You can’t arrest me!” he cried as he tried to fight back.

  “Settle down, Mr. Hall, you’re not under arrest,” I assured him. “If you haven’t done anything then why don’t you want to talk to us?”

  “Talk to you about what?” he asked.

  When we got to the station, we took him in and questioned him. It appeared he and Emma had been arguing and he left to get some beer. When he got back, she and Ellie were gone.

  “Are you the child’s father?” I asked.

  “No,” he replied. “Her daddy was killed in a car wreck when she was two years old.”

  “What happened when you came home and they were gone?” I asked.

  “I knew where she would go,” Hall boasted, “where she always goes. Nobody had to tell me. She didn’t have no place to go except to her sister. So I took off after her.”

  “Then what?” I questioned.

  “I was driving along, and it was foggy,” he said. “I couldn’t find her. She wasn’t on the main road so I figured she must have turned off or got lost in the fog. I drove around. By the time the fog started to break up, I saw her car at some joint on Highway 9. I waited outside in the car.”

  “Did you see Ellie or anyone else?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “I never saw her, but there was another man with a grass sack prowling around the cars,” he said.

  “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “No, not really,” he said. “It was still foggy. But he did run in behind the bar. That’s when I took off.”

  “Is that it?” I said. “That’s all, you never saw the little girl? By the way, Mr. Hall, what do you do for a living?” I asked.

  “I’m an iron worker,” he said. “I work out of town a lot. Why do you ask?”

  “I was wondering,” I replied.

  “Can I go?” he asked.

  “I suppose for now,” I answered.

  I headed back to the Dry Ridge Station. Hall’s story seemed convincing. He didn’t seem to be hiding anything. I just wish I could talk to Emma, I thought. About that time, Dumas called and asked to talk to me; I took the call. He informed me that Emma had started to come around. Dumas had also heard from the bureau in Memphis on the other car’s tags. The other car belonged to Robert Ray Taylor; he had a solid alibi.

  I raced over to the hospital. When I got to Emma, she was crying uncontrollably. I asked her sister how long had she been like that. She replied, “A long time. I can’t get her to stop.”

  “Can I talk to her?” I asked.

  “Of course, but be gentle in your words,” she cautioned.

  “Emma, Emma, I am agent Hackett of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and I am here to try to help you. Emma, do you understand me?”

  She kept going in and out of her head. She seemed to be having some hallucinations. The doctor came in to give her a sedative to calm her. As I watched, I couldn’t help but feel her pain. I knew how it was to lose someone you loved, a child. The look in her eyes and the expression on her face was one I had seen before, many times, staring me in the face. Hopelessness, fear, and anger filtered from her eyes. Then suddenly she jumped up like she had heard something.

  “Ellie, Ellie, where are you?” she cried.

  “Stop it, stop it, Emma! I can’t stand it!” exclaimed her sister.

  Then she turned to me like she knew me and uttered, “I smell water. I smell nasty water.”

  “What did you say, Emma?” I asked.

  “Water,” she replied. “Darkness all around. Hair everywhere. Don’t you hear it? It’s the cry of my baby.”

  “Calm down, Emma,” said the doctor. “Nurse, we may have to strap her to the bed. Get some help in here.”

  “I hear you, baby. Don’t cry honey, mama’s here!” Emma shouted.

  “What else do you see, Miss Coy?” I asked.

  She began to sing and cry.

  As they strapped her to the bed, she began to scream and fight to get free. The doctor and I stepped outside. I asked him, “Will she be alright?”

  “I don’t really know,” he said. “We’ll have to wait and see. It could be from the trauma or side affect from the medicine, or a number of things.”

  “Do you think she could have seen or heard something?” I asked.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” he replied. “It’s hard to say. She needs her rest for now.”

  “When can I see her again?” I wondered.

  “Maybe tomorrow or the next day,” he replied. “If this keeps up we may have to resort to shock therapy.”

  I couldn’t let go of what she was saying. I tried to put the pieces together over and over again. It didn’t make any sense. Maybe the doctor was right in saying it was just hallucinations. We had no leads; everything had come to a dead end.

 
Then, unexpectedly, we got a break. A hunter reported that he had stumbled upon an old abandoned well on Highway 9 and apparently he had found a few articles of children’s clothing in the vicinity. I couldn’t believe we had missed the well. It wasn’t too far from where I got the call. I raced toward the Bean Patch.

  When I arrived, Dumas met me out front. He filled me in. The well was about fifty feet from where the boundary of our search was cut off. We were so close. I followed the FBI lab team to the crime scene. Carefully the team removed the top from the well. The worst odor I had ever smelled instantly surrounded them.

  “It’s not going to be good,” I told the others.

  I went over to the hunter to get his story. He slowly filled me in. He had been letting his dogs run. “When the dogs had actually found the well, I didn’t think nothing at first, but then when I found the clothing, I called the sheriff.”

  “Did you see anybody else around?” I asked.

  “No, sir,” he replied.

  “Okay, sir, if you think of anything else, call me at the sheriff’s office.”

  “I will, sir,” he replied and then left.

  With their gear and equipment, they began to pull bodies up from the bottom of the well. The smell was gut-wrenching. They brought up four children’s bodies. The lab team stated the lab work would be complete within a couple of weeks or even sooner. Was one of them Ellie? I wondered.

  As the days passed it began to rain, and they were calling for the possibility of some snow in the next few days. There was something else about the finding at the well I sensed, but couldn’t put my finger on it. It was gnawing at me, but what? What was I missing? Then it dawned on him, water, a well, darkness—a well, an underground well. That’s it. Emma had seen something. She must have had a premonition. It wasn’t hallucinations.

  “Hey, Brandon,” called out Dumas. “What’s up?”

  “Got to go for now, can’t talk,” I yelled back at him.

  “Okay,” he replied.

  When I got to her room, she was staring out the window. Her sister had stepped out. I started to speak, but suddenly stopped as she slowly turned around and faced me. Carefully she eased her way toward me. As she walked up to me she placed her hands on my face.

  “You have to find her, Brandon,” she said.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “How do you know my name?” I asked her.

  “Josh told me,” she said.

  “Josh?” I questioned. “What Josh?”

  “Your Josh,” she said. “He said you are a good man, the best agent ever.”

  “But when, where did you see Josh?” I asked her as she started to turn around.

  I quickly turned her back. “Where?” I cried. “Where have you seen my son?”

  “He said he loved you, Brandon,” she replied as she stared at my eyes.

  Then she passed out in my arms. I carried her to the bed. The doctor came in.

  “She saw my son,” I told the doctor. “She’s talked to him.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he said. “She probably sees everything now. I wouldn’t put much into it.”

  “No, no, doctor you don’t understand,” I replied. “She knew his name. He’s….”

  “Probably a lucky guess,” interrupted the doctor. “You can’t base anything on a hallucinating woman.”

  “But Doc, my son has been dead for five years,” I said. “How can you explain that?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “I’m not a psychic; I have her lined up to see a couple of psychiatrists tomorrow about starting treatment.”

  “What kind of treatment?” I asked. “Maybe there’s nothing wrong with her.”

  “First, probably medicine,” he said, “and if that doesn’t work, maybe shock. That will be our last resort.”

  After the doctor left the room, I walked over to the window to clear my mind. I noticed a few flurries were beginning to fall. As I looked down toward the street, traffic was light. I guessed everyone had called it a day and gone home. That night, I slept in a chair by her bedside. Emma rested well. Her sister hadn’t returned. When I woke up the next morning Emma was sitting up on the edge of the bed staring at me. Startled, I jumped back in my chair. Her dark set eyes seemed to say so much. But I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then she started to whisper.

  “Brandon,” she said. “The one you’re looking for can be found in a house with many rooms, lots of beds, and hair everywhere. It’s empty, cold, out of the way, and a sign that reads CLOSED.”

  “Emma, how do you know?” I asked.

  She hushed me and looked quickly around. She bent over and whispered in my ear, “From Ellie’s cries.”

  Then a nurse came in with her medicine. I slowly got up and wandered around the room, trying to figure out Emma’s clues.

  “Now, Miss Coy, take your medicine,” said the nurse. “That’s a good girl.”

  As I turned to leave, Emma turned toward me and said, “Brandon, Josh doesn’t hold it against you for being gone a lot.”

  When she said that I froze in my tracks; I didn’t turn around. I was afraid to. I quickly took a deep breath and swallowed; my legs quivered and felt weak as tears filled my eyes. “Emma,” I replied, “would you tell Josh I miss him and love him?”

  “I already have,” she said.

  “Thank you, Emma” I replied.

  As I was getting into my car, Dumas pulled up.

  “Brandon,” he called, “the lab reports are in earlier than expected. I thought you would want to know.”

  “That’s great!” I shouted. “Thanks, Dumas, I’ll meet you at the station.”

  During the night there had been a little skip of snow on the ground. The morning was a bit colder than yesterday. But they still called for more snow in the forecast.

  At the station, Dumas asked for the lab report.

  “It’s on your desk,” replied the deputy.

  As they began to look it over, there were four children’s bodies— three white, two girls and one male, and the fourth body was a black female. Their ages ranged from five to ten. From the information given on the missing children, the lab was able to piece together the identities: photos, articles of clothing found on the bodies, height and weight of the victims, fingerprints that were taken from the children, things in their bedrooms, scars, and hair particles compared to the victims’ combs or hairbrushes, color of their hair. A couple of the victims had pieces of paper in their pockets that was overlooked by the killer; these helped ID them and place where they were from. Two of the bodies were from Mississippi, one from Tennessee, and one from southern Alabama, but the black girl was not Ellie. The report estimated that they had been murdered somewhere else and dropped in the well later. They had been dead at least a couple of months; the bodies were badly decomposed but we did have a little to work with. It appeared they had been struck in the head with a blunt object. There was cat hair all over the bodies. It was not clear if the hair was from the murder scene, or where it may have come from.

  “Huh,” I said to myself. “Emma said there was hair.”

  “Who said that?” asked Dumas.

  “Emma, Miss Coy,” I replied, “in her premonition.”

  “What?” said Dumas. “Surely, Brandon, you don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “I don’t know what I believe anymore,” I replied. “But I have to keep an open mind.”

  A deputy walked in.

  “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “But there is someone who wants to talk to you.”

  “Okay, deputy, send them in,” I instructed.

  “Yes, sir,” he replied as he showed the man in.

  “Come on in, sir. How may I help you?” Dumas inquired.

  “My name is Rudy, Rudy McCormick,” he said. “I heard about a strange man with a grass sack and the missing child. I think I saw him.”

  “Where!” I shouted.

  �
��I saw him hanging around the old abandoned motel,” he replied, “on Long Creek Road off Highway 9, about twelve miles from here.”

  “Thank you, Rudy, for your help,” said Dumas. “Deputy, will you take his statement for me?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the deputy.

  “I’m on it,” I said.

  “I’m right behind you,” replied Dumas.

  As we raced out of town, my heart felt like it was lodged in my throat. “Maybe, just maybe,” I hoped, “we aren’t too late.”

  Finally, we reached the motel. It looked quiet, not a soul was around. We quickly took our positions. We had the motel completely sealed off with officers coming up back through the woods. Cautiously, we began to move in. It appeared the building was vacant. I motioned for the others to wait and cover me while I made my way towards the motel. Everything looked good but didn’t feel exactly right. I motioned for the others. Carefully, we swept through each room, looking for anyone that might be there. Suddenly an officer yelled, “Officer Hackett, come here! I’ve found something!”

  Quickly, I rushed to him. When I entered the room, I found a pile of old clothes, a hospital gown, and some empty food containers.

  “Look!” yelled another officer. “Over here in the closet!”

  When I looked, I saw a child’s blanket with bloodstains. I then felt something under his foot. I eased back and bent down, and with my pencil I picked it up. It was a hospital wristband. It read, “Red Hill Sanitarium, Gordon Lee Reels.”

  “I believe we have something this time,” I said.

  I was relieved. I hurriedly cleared the room, and we roped it off. I asked Dumas to check and see if there was a Red Hill Sanitarium nearby. It took a few minutes for me to gather my thoughts. I waited patiently for the lab team to arrive at the scene. After several hours of intense teamwork they gathered up the evidence and headed back.

  The old motel had a stench about it. A lot of the rooms had been ransacked. The wallpaper and paint on the walls were peeling off. The floors were dirty with rat droppings all around. Several of the windows were broken out. There were food cans, bottles, and wrappers everywhere. It appeared as if someone had been staying there. We also found some children’s clothes and shoes. There were also blood stains splattered on the floors and walls. It reminded me of a slaughter house I had seen when I was a child, taking the cows there with my daddy.

  I called into my boss and gave him an update on the scene and the wristband with the name on it.

  “Okay, Brandon,” said the commander, “maybe we have something this time. I’ll check it out and get back to you.”

  As I leaned back on my car to catch my breath, I couldn’t help thinking about Emma, how strong she was, and how determined she seemed. I was hoping to tell her some good news. But as I looked around, I then remembered what she had told me. I noticed the office of the motel looked like a house and the separate parts would be many rooms with a lot of beds. She was right—a motel, empty, cold, out of the way, and a sign on the window that read CLOSED. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what to think. There was no way she could have known this unless she had heard Ellie’s cries. Ellie was trying to lead us to her, I thought. That’s why they were always one step behind. After briefing Dumas about what Emma had told him they headed back to the sheriff’s office. When I got there, a man was waiting to see me.

  “Detective Brandon Hackett,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied.

  He handed me an envelope and left. It was from a lawyer. I opened the envelope to find divorce papers; Barbara had filed for divorce. I folded them up and slipped them in my coat pocket.

  “I’m sorry about that, Brandon,” said Dumas.

  “Oh, that’s alright,” I replied. “I figured it would come to this sooner or later.”

  It had been a few weeks since the disappearance of Ellie. The bureau agreed to let me stay on the case.

  Dumas handed me the printout on Gordon Lee Reels. It revealed that he was a convicted murderer, having killed his father in Mississippi. They placed him in a state mental facility in Red Hill, Mississippi, because he was proven to be mentally unstable when the crime was committed. He slipped in and out of sanity thereafter.

  “I’ll go down there,” I told Dumas. “I’ll be back in a couple of days; keep me posted.”

  In a matter of hours, I was in Birmingham and flying into Jackson, Mississippi. While on the flight I thought about the divorce. I took the papers out of my pocket and looked them over again. As I sat there I stared out the window for a few minutes and then placed the papers back into my pocket. After I landed, I rented a car and drove out to Red Hill. It was a small community that was about five or six miles from Jackson. When I arrived at the hospital I asked to speak to the doctor in charge. However, she was on vacation and wouldn’t be back unto tomorrow. I headed back to Jackson to get a motel room, and then I called Dumas. I explained the situation and asked if he had heard anything on the lab work.

  “Nothing new that we didn’t expect,” he replied. “They found cat hair on the clothes and blanket. The same cat hair that was found at the well scene.”

  “What about the blanket?” I asked.

  “We haven’t heard anything,” explained Dumas.

  “Thanks, Dumas, I’ll keep in touch,” I replied.

  I finally took time for myself. Trying to keep my mind off my work, I started to put the pieces of my life together. What should I do? I thought. Barbara’s right; Josh is gone. I know I have to let it go. Then I reached into my pocket and brought out the divorce papers. As my head fell into my hands, I started to cry. I’m so tired, I thought. I wished things were good again. I looked up at the cold and empty motel room and sighed. It was too late. While I lay back on the bed, I remembered what Emma had told me Josh had said. It wasn’t long until I fell asleep.

  Early the next morning I headed back to the sanitarium. I waited for the doctor to come in. Dr. Irene Stewart had been Mr. Reel’s doctor. When she came in, I told her who I was and that I was there to talk to her about Mr. Gordon Lee Reels.

  “Oh, yes, I remember Gordy,” she said. “That was his nickname. He was here about four years then ran away two years ago. No one has seen him or heard from him since.”

  “What else can you tell me about him?” I asked. “His background?”

  “Well, I can tell you a few things. He came from an abusive home. I treated him for schizophrenia and disillusionment; he lives in a fantasy world.”

  “Is he dangerous?” I asked. “Is he capable of killing?”

  “He can be,” she said. “His multiple personality comes and goes, altering his mood swings from a child to a raging, violent maniac. I don’t understand why the police haven’t already caught him.”

  “He has become our main suspect in a series of child murders. His hospital wristband was found during our investigation.”

  “Let me tell you a little more about Gordy,” she said. “He loved cats, and every time his father thought he had misbehaved or done wrong, his daddy would kill one of his cats in front of him for discipline. His mother became fed up with her husband’s abusive ways and confronted him about it. This drove him into a fit of rage. With an ax in hand he relentlessly hacked his wife until her death. Gordy was just a boy when he witnessed this brutality. I believe this was his breaking point. One day when the boy found the chance, he killed his father, and they sent him here. Gordy believes his mother’s spirit lives in the cats. He also believes that his father was the devil.”

  “No wonder he’s so messed up,” I said. “Do you have any idea where I might find a relative of his that I could talk to?”

  “No,” she said. “I think most of his family has passed or moved away. If that’s all, I need to make my morning rounds.”

  “Oh, by the way, how did he escape?”

  “You tell me,” she answered. “No one knows. He
may be crazy or mentally insane, but you can bet on one thing, he’s not stupid.”

  “Thank you for all your help,” I replied.

  Later on that day, I made it back to the Birmingham office. I filled my boss in on my trip to Mississippi. They had already posted an all points bulletin for him, especially in the South. I asked about the lab results and was told that the report would probably be in some time that evening.

  I got into my car and headed to the hospital at Dry Ridge. As I drove through town, I saw Brenda Hasting coming out of a motel room with Gary Wayne Hall. I slid down in the seat and drove by as she reached up and kissed him goodbye. Can you believe that? I thought. I wondered if Emma knew.

  When I got to the hospital, the doctor was with her. When he stepped out of her room, I asked him how she was. He said that she had made some improvement and that the medication may pull her through. Slowly opening the door, I went in; she sat with her back to me.

  “Hello, Brandon,” she said.

  “Hello, Emma,” I replied. “How did you know it was me?”

  “I smelled your cologne,” she said.

  “Emma, how do you know all these things?” I asked her.

  “I told you, Brandon, Ellie tells me,” she said with a frustrated sigh.

  “Do you see Ellie?” I questioned.

  “Sure I do, silly, don’t you?” she replied. “His nickname is Gordy.”

  “Whose nickname?” I inquired. “How do you know that?”

  “The man that killed my little girl,” she stated. “His nickname is Gordy.”

  Then she rose up off the bed and walked around the room. She then sat down in the chair and stared out the window.

  “Find him, Brandon,” she ordered, “so Ellie can find rest.”

  About that time Emma’s sister stepped in and made her way over to Emma. The phone rang.

  “I’ll get it,” said Brenda.

  “It’s for you,” she said as she handed me the phone.

  It was Dumas.

  “The lab results are in on the blanket.”

  Quickly I hung up and told Emma that I had to run, but would be back later. I took her by the hand and patted it with mine; I told her that I would do my best. She looked up at me and said, “I know you will.” She squeezed my hand tight and looked me directly in my eyes and said, “You know what you were wondering about?” I never said a word. Then she said, “I know.” A chill ran down my spine as her hands turned cold.

  I made my way over to the station. I couldn’t believe how complicated the case had become. I’d never had one like this. When I arrived at the station the blood type on the blanket matched Ellie’s blood type. Luckily Dumas was able to get Ellie’s blood type from a time she had been in the hospital about a year ago. But I tell you it didn’t look good. It seemed that Emma already knew. I had left the station to take a walk; I needed some time to think things through.

  I headed to a bar to have a few. The bottom of my glass seemed so clear to me each time I turned it up, but when I would sit it back down, it filled back up with dark, confusing, and lonely problems. I didn’t had too many, just enough for a buzz; then I headed out the door.

  Dumas drove by and saw me and took me home with him. It was the first good night’s sleep I’d had in a month. In the morning, we grabbed a bite of toast and a couple of sips of coffee and headed out.

  “Thank you, Dumas,” I said, “for letting me spend the night. I never knew a couch could sleep so good.”

  “That’s okay,” he replied. “What are friends for? Are you going down to the station?”

  “No, let me off at the hospital,” I replied. “I’m going to check in on Emma.”

  When I entered the room she was standing at the window.

  “You didn’t make it back last night,” she said.

  “No,” I answered. “I was…”

  “You still love her, don’t you, Brandon?” asked Emma. “She’s a good woman.”

  Then her sister stepped in.

  “Brenda has been out all night, too, Brandon,” remarked Emma.

  “Oh, come on, Emma, I was only out a few hours,” she stated.

  “Brandon, Ellie sent you a message,” Emma interrupted.

  “What was it?” I asked.

  “She told me where she was,” said Emma.

  “Where then? Tell me,” I said.

  “The ground is covered with woods and graves; there is a path in the woods. Drive south on Highway 9. She’ll be waiting.”

  I quickly hurried out of the room and raced toward Highway 9. I didn’t know what to expect. Emma had been right with every sighting, but this time I had a gut feeling it would be different. I drove down Highway 9, looking, when it started pouring down rain. High above me, I could hear the thunder roar and the crackling sound of the lightning across the sky. I was looking for anything that resembled the description Emma had given me.

  Not far down the road, I suddenly saw something. It was a bunch of cats standing beside the road with a little girl. I immediately stopped and got out and yelled, “Ellie! Ellie!” She quickly disappeared into the woods. I took off after her, but she and the cats had vanished.

  I took off running toward the woods, calling her name. She was nowhere to be found. “Ellie!” I cried. All I could hear was the rustling of the trees. Suddenly, something hit me from behind and knocked me out.

  A few minutes later I awoke and looked around. I didn’t see anything or anybody. Slowly I stood to my feet and looked around. There were graves scattered about. I pulled my gun out and cocked it. My head was throbbing. Down the path there were signs everywhere—NO HUNTING and NO TRESPASSING.

  Being cautious not to be ambushed again, I went deeper and deeper into the woods. As the rain beat down, I forced myself on through the woods. I finally saw Ellie. She was sitting on the ground, holding a kitten. I started toward her, very carefully. I tried to be quiet. I didn’t want to frighten her, and I didn’t want to get hit again. I whispered, “Ellie, Ellie.”

  She turned to me and said, “Hi, Brandon.” Then she was gone.

  There sat an old trailer in view. It was imbedded in the neck of the bluff which hung over it, surrounded by trees. I made my way to the door and slipped in. There I saw bunches of candles and flashlights. Evidently, there was no electricity. The windows were boarded up from the inside. There were a few pieces of furniture, and the floor was covered with bottles. I didn’t see any rats, though; I assumed the cats took care of that. In the back of the trailer next to the bluff, there was a small cave.

  Outside, the trailer was surrounded by a band of trees and a graveyard. Then suddenly out of nowhere, Gordy charged in, swinging at me with an ax. We began to fight. He was so strong; I thought he was going to get the best of me. As I tried to reach for my gun, he picked me up like a bale of hay and threw me on the ground. He reached for the ax, and I reached for my gun. Four times I shot him point blank—three shots in the chest and one in the head. He dropped the ax as he fell to the ground and moaned; with a deep gasp of breath he lay motionless. I slowly stood to my feet. I looked around and called for Ellie. Then I saw her sitting beside a grave; I went over to her and knelt down.

  “Tell Mama everything is going to be alright,” she said.

  Then she bent over and hugged me and whispered in my ear.

  “Tell Mama I love her.”

  Then she disappeared.

  “Ellie, Ellie!” I cried. “Where are you?”

  All I could hear was the sound of the falling rain, the distant thunder, and the cry of the cats. I found my way back to the car and called in. I was relieved it was finally over. I waited for the others to get there. Shortly, they arrived and then I left and headed back to the hospital.

  When I got there Emma was waiting. I tried my best to try to tell her about Ellie because I knew the hurt and anger that comes from the loss of a child. She already knew
. Slowly Emma rose to her feet and came over to me; she reached up and hugged me.

  “Thank you, Brandon,” she whispered.

  As she leaned back, I looked into her eyes and for the first time I could see a little relief. Then she rested her head on my shoulder and said, “Go to her, Brandon, she’s waiting for you.”

  Tears ran from my eyes as I felt relief and hope. I kissed her on her forehead and told her that I would be coming back to see her. That day I left a changed man. Letting things go does make all the difference, when you see it firsthand.

  I finished my report, my last report, with all the evidence that I had. It seemed that night at the Bean Patch when Ellie ran in the woods; Gordy had run into the woods at the same time. He found her and took her with him, and, according to the lab reports, he had killed Ellie after he left the motel. The grave where I talked to Ellie was where they found her body. The property the trailer was on belonged to Gordy’s great-grandfather. Sometime before he died, he sold it to Donald G. Reeder, a fake name used to give the property to Gordy.

  I remembered Doctor Stewart stating it was probable Gordy didn’t realize he was killing the children. In his deranged mind he still saw the children alive. He didn’t have any sense of reality. He more than likely took on the role of his father.

  I also came to my own conclusion. Ellie’s spirit, which was in limbo, was the only way out for her and all the other children. Until the killer was found, the children’s spirits were stuck. Through Ellie’s spirit she and the other children were able to cross over and have peace.

  Barbara and I worked things out. I was through with the bureau; she has all my time from now on. I still visit Emma from time to time. They have moved her to a state mental facility. The doctor says she will never live a normal life. Emma hasn’t uttered a word since the burial of her daughter. She’s been that way for two years now.

  I brought her some flowers today, daisies. She loves them; they’re her favorite. I sat down and talked to her, and told her that Barbara said hello. I stayed a while, and then got up to leave. As I said goodbye and headed toward the door, she cried, “Brandon, Ellie is back!”