The darkness swelled around her, black and freezing cold. She shivered,struggling in vain to escape as the pressure on her chest increased with the inability to find air. Her hands were tied too tightly behind her back, and her feet, tethered to the anchor weight, kept her sinking to the bottom. Her cotton skirt floated up, like a parachute. Her lungs were going to explode; she had no choice but to breathe in the freezing, filthy water. She fought it. Shaking her head, she felt the long stands of her hair float across her cheeks, but finally she could resist no more. She opened her mouth and sucked in...
“Wake up, Brian!”
Air! He opened his mouth, and blessed oxygen filled his lungs. Brian Belden’s eyes shot open, and he looked into the frightened and concern-filled eyes of his three best friends.
Dan Mangan was holding him by the shoulders, shaking him roughly, while Jim Frayne, his red hair standing on end, called out his name. Brian’s brother, Mart, knelt beside him, blue eyes wide.
Breathing rapidly, Brian looked around. He was lying on a couch in the game room at the Manor House, the Wheeler’s palatial estate. Jim’s adoptive parents had allowed their son to use the room to host a back to school “boys night out” for his fellow Bob White males. The Bob White girls, Brian’s sister Trixie, Jim’s sister Honey, and Diana Lynch, all sixteen, were having a slumber party at the Lynch family estate.
The guys had played darts, air hockey and pool, watched a few movies, and consumed enormous amounts of food before crashing on the overstuffed couches. Brian vaguely remembered drifting off to sleep, but now, as he struggled to sit up, his dream flooded back to him.
“What was that?” Mart demanded in a shaky voice. “Brian, man, that was just freaky!”
“It was just a dream.” Brian pulled loose from Dan, and swung his legs over the couch.
“Some dream,” Dan told him. “You were holding your breath, and we couldn’t make you stop.”
“You were flailing around, Brian,” Jim picked up the story. “and just before you woke up, you...”
“Screamed like a girl.” Mart finished. “So tell us, brother mine. What was that?”
“I screamed like a girl?” Brian muttered. He figured he should feel embarrassed, but instead he just felt...uneasy. The other boys were looking at him with very real concern, and none of the teasing he would have expected.
“Yeah.” Dan hesitated, looking to Jim and Mart for confirmation. “You weren’t breathing, and you were really cold and clammy. If you hadn’t been twisting and turning, I’d have thought you were dead. Then you opened your mouth and you screamed. But you didn’t sound like you, and then...you sort of gurgled, but you still were turning blue.” he shrugged, “Then you woke up, and...”
“Here we are.” Jim finished the thought. “So, what were you dreaming?”
Brian rubbed his face, and glanced at his watch. It read 2:57 am. “I don’t know what it was,” he began. “But I wasn’t me, I was someone else. My hands were tied behind my back, my feet were tied to some sort of weight, and I was sinking into...I think it was the river. It was so cold, freezing really, and it was dirty. I couldn’t see that it was dirty, I just knew.” Brian stood up and began pacing. “I could feel the pressure on my chest as I sank, and I knew I was going to drown, I could feel my hair, wrapping around my neck and lashing my face.”
“Your hair?” Mart asked. “Brian, your hair isn’t long enough to touch your shoulders, let alone wrap around your neck.” His blue eyes grew very wide. “Are you saying that, in this dream, you were...”
“A girl.” Brian stated. “I was a girl, and someone was murdering me.”
Saturday
Two weeks later.
Brian Belden was afraid to go to sleep. He had had the same, terrifying, sex-changing dream five times in two weeks. Twice he had opened his eyes to those of his brother, but last night it had been Trixie standing over him, shaking him and calling him back from the brink.
Sitting at the conference table in the Bob White Clubhouse, he and the other boys finally filled in the girls. Brian had expected ridicule, or perhaps anger from his sister at being left out of the loop, but instead he found concern and support.
“So the dream has been the same, each time?” Trixie asked.
“Mostly,” Brian explained. “It starts with me feeling myself sinking into the water, all tied up and unable to breath.”
“But you aren’t you? You are a girl?” Honey asked, her hazel eyes confused. “How do you know you are a girl?”
Brian considered his answer before speaking. “I just know. I can feel that I am a girl, or rather, not a guy.” He flushed slightly. “I feel different, I can feel my...um...my breasts, and there are somethings that I feel when I am me, a guy, that...just aren’t there...in the dream.”
He let this tidbit of information sink in, before finishing his story. “I always wake up when I can’t hold my breath any longer. I think I scream, but Mart says I don’t sound like me, like Brian.”
“You don’t,” Dan agreed. and Jim and Trixie both nodded.
Diana had been silent, absorbing the conversation, but not participating. When she spoke, she did so with a firmness that was not usually her style. “Brian, is it possible you are seeing a murder that has actually happened? Do you think you are being haunted?”
“I don’t know.” Brian’s voice began to falter. “I don’t really believe in that kind of thing, but I don’t have a better explanation.” He twisted his hands and looked at his friends. “The problem is, the dream has been just a little different each time. It’s mostly the same, but one thing is different.”
“What?”
Brian nearly smiled, as the other six Bob Whites asked the question in unison. Sobering, he answered, “In each dream, I’ve been a different girl.”
Total quiet met his confession. Finally, Trixie broke the silence, asking, “Are you sure, Brian? I mean, how do you know you’re a different girl?”
“I just do!” Brian said forcefully, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands. “Just like I know right now, that I am Brian, like you know that you’re Trixie. It’s a feeling. While I am in the water, my life flashes before my eyes, but it’s not my life, it’s hers--and each time it has been a different her.”
Honey reached across the table and tenderly stroked Brian’s hand. “It must be horrible, having these dreams. I can’t imagine how I would feel if I had such nightmares.”
“I can’t sleep.” Brian admitted, disarmed as always by Honey. “I’m afraid to sleep, because sleeping means dreaming, and lately, dreaming means...” he shuddered. “I almost fell asleep in Biology class yesterday. If this keeps up, I’ll end up flunking out of college.”
Trixie looked around the table, chewing on her lower lip. Six pair of eyes, every bit as worried as her own, looked back at her. “I think,” she began slowly. “That we need more information. I think that you, Brian, need to tell us everything, and I mean everything, about each of your dreams. Then we do some investigating, maybe see if there are any murders that match.”
Jim frowned. “How are we going to investigate?”
“I can use the library internet system.” Mart said excitedly. “I’ve been doing some research there, and man, it is fast.”
“Maybe we could call Agent Murrell,” Trixie offered. “The FBI agent who spoke at career day?”
“I remember. Do you think he’d help us?” Honey asked.
“Oh, I know Josh would help us.” Diana spoke again, blushing slightly as her friends stared at her. “Agent Joshua Murrell.” she explained. “Daddy arranged to have him speak. Josh’s grandmother owns the ranch next to Uncle Monty’s. They’ve been friends for years.”
“I still have his card,” Dan said. “But I say we use Diana’s connection. Even if we can make any of this make sense, I don’t imagine the FBI would take us seriously.”
“If I hadn’t seen it myself, and if it were anyone but Brian, I wouldn’t believe it.” Jim admitted. “Anyone else we tell...”
“...will think we’re crazy. Maybe I am.” Brian pulled his hand away from Honey and clutched his head. “Maybe I’m on second year overload, and this is all stress?” he asked with false hope.
Trixie pulled a notebook and pen from her backpack. “Just tell us, Brian. Tell us everything. The things that were the same, the things that were different, everything. Then we can see if the seen...scener...” She looked at Mart for help.
“Scenario.” Mart provided.
“Scenarios match.” Trixie finished.
Sighing, Brian began, “They all start the same. I’m a girl, and I’m in a boat. The first one I was wearing a cotton skirt and one of those sleeveless t-shirts with a long sleeved shirt over the top.”
“What color?” Diana asked.
Brian looked at her in surprise. “Green.” he said. The skirt was green. I couldn’t see it, because he put a blindfold on me...her, but I knew it was green. The undershirt...”
“Camisole or tank top.” Honey murmured to Trixie.
“...was light pink, and the other shirt was darker. My...her hands were tied behind my back...with my nylons. Hers, I mean. It was really tight.” Brian continued with his recollection, prompted by his friends as family to remember the most minute details.
When they finished, after three hours of debate and discussion, the Saturday afternoon had drifted into evening, and the warmth of the day was shifting toward an autumn storm. Trixie handed off six pages of detailed information to Mart, and the Beldens headed off to Crabapple Farm. Dan walked Diana home before going back to Maypenny’s cabin, and Honey and Jim made their way up to Manor House. Tentatively, Honey asked, “Jim, what do you think is happening to Brian? I mean, the dreams...do you think they’re really real?”
Jim turned to look at his adoptive sister. Standing on the porch steps, her hazel eyes searched for reassurance that he could not give. Shaking his head, Jim whispered, “I don’t know, Honey. I really don’t know.” He stepped into the house, unaware that his words chilled Honey more than the brisk wind sweeping up the hill.
Monday
As he puttered around his kitchen, making his morning coffee, he thought about his dream the night before. It was an old dream, a familiar dream, and it needed no interpretation.
He was eleven years old again, and it was Ralph’s seventeenth birthday. He had worked so hard, making the perfect present for his adored older brother. Ralph was going to love it. He wrapped his tribute lovingly in red tissue paper. Red was Ralph’s favorite color.
Running outside, he breathed in the crisp October air, reveling in the falling leaves. Later this afternoon he and Ralph could rake the leaves into a pile, and he knew that Ralph would toss him into the soft leaves, scattering them once again, making the air fill with the ever changing foliage.
“Ralph! Ralph!” He spotted the tall figure leaning against an oak, chatting with...a girl! A girl with a blond pony tail, wearing a pair of cropped dungarees and a blue fisherman’s sweater. He ran toward his brother, skidding to a stop right in front of the couple. “Ralph! I thought we could rake the leaves and you could throw me in, and then we could build a fire and roast hot dogs, and then I can give you your present. You’re going to love it. I know you will!” The words tumbled from his mouth in a jumble.
Ralph knelt down in front of him. “I’d love to Li’l Buddy. But Cassie here is taking me out on her daddy’s boat today. I’ll be home for dinner.”
“But I got you a present. It’s a great present!”
“I’m sure it is, and I know I’ll love it. But right now I’m going with Cassie.” Ralph winked at his little brother, and whispered loudly, “I think she’s my best gift today.” Cassie giggled. Rising, Ralph ruffled his brother’s hair and said, “I’ll see you tonight, Buddy.” Then he took Cassie’s hand, and they walked of towards the Ford, leaving a dejected boy behind, watching them leave.
Stirring his coffee, he thought sadly of that day, the last day of his brother, Ralph’s life. The boat had sunk off Killifish point, and both Ralph and Cassie had drowned. He remembered standing on the bluff with his weeping parents as the bodies were recovered. Shaking himself from his reverie, he walked into his bedroom and opened the closet door. There, in a shoe box on the shelf, was the gift he had made for Ralph, still wrapped in the red paper. Ralph had never opened it, never had the chance.
Sometimes years went by, and he didn’t think about Ralph, think about that last birthday. Then the dream would come, and he would know that it was time; time to find another best gift for Ralph.
Tuesday
Mart was almost vibrating. If their mission hadn’t been so important, Dan would have laughed at his best friend. Instead, he took a seat next to Mart, and waited.
“Are you sure Maypenny’s okay with you being here and the girls checking the stations today?” Mart asked.
“I filled them all yesterday,” Dan assured him. “If the girls use more than a single saddle bag of grain, I’ll be surprised. Mostly they’ll be just exercising the horses for Uncle Bill, but I wanted them to feel like they were helping. Now are you going to tell me what’s got you so wired?”
“Brian had another dream last night,” Mart confided. “It was a different girl again. That makes six.”
“How’s he doing today?” Dan asked, shaking his head. “Was it as bad as the first one?”
Mart nodded. “It was at least as bad, maybe worse. I don’t think he slept the rest of the night, and he looked half dead this morning. I’m really worried about him. He has to sleep, or he’s going to make himself sick.” He logged on to the computer. “Let’s see if we can find anything in the news.” Dan leaned forward to watch, as Mart’s fingers flew across the keyboard.
Two hours later, armed with a stack of computer print outs and stomach sinking lumps of dread, the two boys left the library. Mart didn’t even raise a minor protest when Dan took the wheel of the station wagon, and they rode down Glen Road in stunned silence.
Trixie, Honey and Diana were just riding back into the paddock when Dan parked the car outside of the garage. As the girls dismounted to lead their horses into the stable, Trixie called out, “How’d the research go?”
Dan reached up and grabbed Susie’s halter. Somberly he told them all, “Diana needs to call Agent Murrell, and as soon as possible.”
“That bad?” Honey asked weakly.
“Worse.” Mart told her, his voice shaking slightly as he took Starlight from Diana. “I think Brian’s found a serial killer.”
All three faces whitened. Diana pulled her shoulders straight and told Mart, “I’ll go call Josh.” She looked at Dan. “Do you still have his card, or should I call Daddy?”
Dan reached into his wallet and pulled out a dog-eared business card. “I put in in my wallet, just in case.” Diana took it from him, and disappeared towards the Manor House.
“What did you find out?” Trixie asked, as the led the horses into the stable.
“The newspaper files are only archived on the internet back about ten years,” Mart explained, “But I found three murders that fit Brian’s dreams.”
“So, after he found the second one,” Dan interjected, “I went through the microfiche archives. They go back another ten years or so. I went back to 1986, and I found two more. We printed everything out. It’s in the car.”
“I think we need to have an emergency meeting to look at all of your findings.” Honey said. “It’s almost five, and Brian and Jim won’t be home for at least an hour. Why don’t we call a meeting at the clubhouse for seven? That will give us time for dinner and homework.”
“If you make it eight, at my house, I’ll provide dessert and Josh.” Diana said, as she entered the stable. “He said he’d like to hear what we’ve dug up, but I’m not sure he believed me when I told him.”
“I wouldn’t believe it,” Dan told her bluntly. “Not if I hadn’t seen it myself. I’m in for eight.”
“Us too.” Mart agreed. “And we’ll drag Brian kicking and screaming if need be. Honey?”
“Jim and I will be there too. Why don’t we pick you Belden’s up in the wagon? Do you want a ride too, Dan?”
“No. It’s just as fast to walk.” Dan looked at his watch. “Speaking of walking, I have a ton of chores to finish before I get started on homework. I’m going now. Thanks for checking the stations, girls. Were there any problems?”
“None.” Trixie told him, narrowing her eyes slightly. “In fact, it looked as if they had just been filled.”
“Maybe the animals weren’t hungry.” Dan hedged, beating a hasty retreat. “I’ll see you at eight!”
Trixie watched him leave, then turned to her brother. “Busy work?” she asked indignantly.
Mart shrugged, and finished hanging the tack. “I don’t know. I’m just the computer guy.” He turned to his sister. “We’d better get home and break the news to Moms. Want to walk with us, Di?”
“Thanks, but I’ll ride. I left Sunny in the arena. Eight o’clock, Mart. I’ll see if our cook will make a pie.” She kissed his cheek, and headed out to her horse. Mart and Trixie started down the hill to Crabapple Farm, leaving Honey sitting on a hay bale, trying to make sense of the incomprehensible.
Special Agent Joshua Murrell was the picture perfect recruitment poster for the FBI. Tall and athletic, he had the lean muscled form of the Olympic swimmer he had been in his teens. Having decided on his career path at the tender age of five, Josh had worked relentlessly toward his goal, gaining degrees in both Psychology and Criminal Justice before applying to Quantico on his twenty-third birthday.
Now, just a few days shy of his twenty-seventh birthday, his record was impressive and filled with commendations, with another sure to come once his latest collar became public knowledge. As he drove toward Sleepyside, Josh was looking forward to a few days of rest and relaxation before taking his next case.
In truth, he was somewhat intrigued by the telephone call that had sent him on this journey. Diana Lynch, for all of her air-headed act, was actually a very level headed girl. Josh had first met her in Arizona, where his grandmother owned the ranch bordering Monty Wilson’s. Grandma Nancy and Diana’s Uncle Monty were old poker buddies, and it had been easy to get to know the jolly Lynch family with their rambunctious double twins, and lovely older daughter. When Josh had been assigned to the field office in New York, Edward Lynch had issued an standing invitation to the young agent.
Now Diana had a problem, and it involved her friends. Josh wasn’t surprised, as he had spent many days in the Lynch house, and had had opportunity to observe Diana’s Bob Whites. He was amazed at how that little blond spitfire of a Trixie got herself in and out of mysteries, usually dragging her entire gang along with her. Josh had his recruiter eye on Trixie, and Dan as well. Both had instincts that would well serve the Bureau.
As he turned off Glen Road, and up the long Lynch driveway, Josh wondered what the evening would bring. He was sure that it wouldn’t be dull.
“Maybe I’m sick.” Brian mumbled to himself as he tried to concentrate on the text book in front of him. He sat in the library, waiting for Jim to finish his last class. “It can’t be stress. I’m NOT stressed. Maybe I have lead poisoning. Lead poisoning could make me hallucinate, right? Or maybe that mushroom burger I ate at Wimpy’s last Saturday had bad mushrooms. Some mushrooms are hallucinogenic, right? I mean, if I could get cyanide poisoning from Waldorf Salad, I could get hallucinations from bad ‘shrooms.”
“Talking to yourself, Bri?” Jim stepped back as his best friend nearly overturned his chair, jumping away from Jim’s voice.
As Brian glared at him, Jim held up his hands and said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to let you know that Honey called. We’re supposed to meet with Diana’s FBI friend tonight. Are you ready to go?”
Brian’s answer was a nod, as he silently packed up his books and followed Jim out of the library.
Brian had insisted on driving and Jim had let him, because it was Brian’s car and Brian rarely insisted on anything. Brian knew that he had to stay awake. Driving gave him something to concentrate on, other than his weariness, but Jim had remained vigilant the whole trip home, making sure that Brian kept his wits about him.
Now, seated next to Honey in the back seat of the Bob White station wagon, full of roast chicken and wild rice, Brian struggled to stay awake as the car rocked down Glen Road. Honey squeezed his hand, and Brian smiled down at her. Concern was written all over her gentle face, and Brian felt guilty for causing so much trouble. He was so tired. The nightmares were becoming more frequent, and his sleep patterns were completely disrupted. Brian could feel himself wearing down, but he didn’t know how to stop it. As Jim parked the car in the circle driveway, Brian hoped that an answer would soon be forthcoming.
Dan was already waiting with Diana and Josh Murrell. Once greetings had been exchanged, Diana escorted everyone into the family room, and asked Harrison to leave the dessert on the sideboard. Everyone helped themselves to slices of rum raisin or chocolate cream pie, and settled in for discussion.
Mart took the lead, speaking plainly. “Dan and I did some research at the library. We were able to go back through almost twenty years of newspapers, both local and national. This is what we found.” He placed a stack of printouts on the coffee table.
“Mart used the internet,” Dan explained. “But after he found the second victim, I noticed something weird.”
“The dates?” Trixie looked at Dan with wide eyes.
He nodded. “That’s right. The girls disappeared one to two days before Halloween, and were found two to four days after Halloween. So I went through the microfiche, searching near those dates--which helped narrow it down. I found two more matches.”
“Good thinking.” Josh put down his plate. “Do you have a list?”
Dan handed him a sheet of notebook paper. “This is what we were able to find, but like Mart said, we could only go back twenty years.”
Josh looked at the list. “Brian,” he asked, “How old are you?”
“I was nineteen last Friday. Why?” Brian failed to see how his age mattered.
“Just ruling you out.” Josh said. Trixie gasped indignantly, and Honey’s eyes narrowed. “Standard procedure, ladies,” Josh assured them. “When someone comes in with a wild tale--like Brian’s dreams--we always have to consider the source as a suspect.” He placed the list on the table. “Look.” he said. “The first one the boys found was three years ago. Brian would have been sixteen--quite capable, physically, of committing the crime. But, if this is the same killer, the last one on this list happened in 1986. It’s highly unlikely that Brian, at age two weeks, was out on a killing spree.”
“I don’t know,” Mart joked weakly, “Moms always said Brian was precocious.”
Trixie studied the list. In Dan’s neat printing, he had listed the name of the girl, the date and place she had gone missing, the date and location she had been found, and a brief description if possible.
NameMissingRecoveryDescription
Janet Murdock10-29-0211-03-025’4, 110,bl rd shld
DickersonPeekskill Pond
Kylie Hererra 10-30-9811-06-98 5’3, 124, bl, blk sht
BedfordCross River Res
Jamie Chaesny10-30-9411-01-945’6, 120, br, bld, long
Putnam,CTHorseneck Pond
Marsha Wright10-28-9011-02-905’7. 145, bl, bld, shld
StatenIslGreat Kills Harbor
Cynthia Pollok10-31-8611-02-865’6, 135, hzl,br,long
BrielleSouth Hudson
“What do you think, Josh?” Diana asked softly. “Are we all nuts?”
Agent Murrell hesitated. “Officially, yes. Contrary to popular belief, the FBI does not have an X-Files division, at least not one that I’m aware of. We don’t rely on psychic visions and alien invasions to solve cases, just hard work, research and the grace of God.” He looked at the group of teens before him. “Personally, and unofficially, I’d say you have something here. I just don’t know what, and I certainly don’t understand how. I want to talk to Brian a bit, and then I’m going to set up in Mr. Lynch’s den. He had the broadband installed, right Di?”
Diana giggled. “He did, but he hasn’t figured out how to use it yet.
“The necklace.” Brian interrupted, his voice sing-songing the words, vague and dazed. “You forgot the necklace.”
All eyes turned to him. “What necklace, Bri?” Jim asked, placing his hand on Brian’s shoulder. Instantly, Brian’s eyes focused, and he shook his head, as if clearing it.
“What?” he asked.
“You said we forgot the necklace. What necklace?” Josh moved from his chair, kneeling in front of Brian.
“I was sitting here, thinking about our trip to Arizona that Christmas,” Brian said. “Your Grandmother brought a chocolate pie to dinner, and it had cinnamon in it. The pie reminded me.”
“Mexican chocolate.” Josh told him. “Grandma Nancy’s specialty.”
“So, I was thinking about chocolate pie, and Arizona, and I guess I drifted off,” Brian continued. “And then I could see this necklace. More than one. All of them the same, but different, and I knew that I forgot it.”
“Tell me about the necklace, Brian.” Josh gentled his voice, as though he were speaking to a child. “Can you describe it?”
“It...they were kind of like Trixie’s bracelet, but bigger.”
Trixie pulled up the right sleeve of her baby blue sweater, revealing the silver ID bracelet Jim had given her on the way home from Iowa. “This one?” she asked, blushing slightly.
“Yes. Only bigger, and they didn’t say Jim, it was another name.”
“What name, Brian?” Josh asked. “Was it the same name on all of the necklaces? Can you remember?”
“I remember.” Brian said, his face pale. “They all said, Ralph.”
After Brian’s announcement, Josh had taken his FBI toys into the den, and the Bob Whites began to make their way home. Mart, Dan and Jim held a brief discussion in the corner, and then confronted Brian.
“Which one of us is sleeping in your room tonight?” Jim asked. “We thought we’d let you choose.”
“None, would be my choice.” Brian responded.
“Wrong answer, buddy.” Dan said, slinging an arm around Brian’s shoulders. “Quite frankly, you look like crap.”
“I can handle this.” Brian said, defensively, shrugging off Dan.
“No, you can’t. Not alone.” Jim’s voice was firm. “Look, you need to sleep. We’ll give you a nice dose of Benadryl--you look like your allergies are kicking up a bit--and one of us will stay with you, to make sure you keep breathing all night.”
“I don’t have allergies.” Brian protested.
“Tonight, you do.” Mart informed him. “Your nose is all stuffed up and you need an antihistamine. Since you won’t decide, I will. Jim will take tonight, and since we have a half day tomorrow and late start on Thursday, either Dan or I will take tomorrow night. Now let’s get the girls home.”
Outnumbered, Brian gave in with little grace and a lot of relief. He was tired, so tired he felt sick with it. Maybe accepting help wasn’t a sign of weakness. He hoped not, even as he prayed for one night of unbroken sleep.
Josh worked until two am. Ed Lynch’s office was well appointed, just like the rest of the mansion. Josh grinned as he stroked the stone jaguar paperweight. He recognized the ancient Incan design, as it matched the tattoo on his left shoulder. This of course, was a reproduction, but it was still very handsome.
Using the newly installed broadband, Josh was able to tap into FBI cold case files and start his own in-depth search. He was amazed and not a little disconcerted by the detail matches between Brian’s memories and the information in the FBI files. Josh was a pragmatist, it came with the job. Psychic mumbo-jumbo didn’t fly with him, but Brian had not only described the clothing worn by the victims, he had described the identification tag found on each victim. The ID tag, whose existence had been kept out of the media.
In the course of his searching, Josh had discovered more victims, dating all the way back to 1955. The odd thing was the time spacing between murders. They seemed to occur every three to five years, all following a similar pattern. The girl disappeared before Halloween, and reappeared as a floater a few days after. Not a floater, Josh reminded himself; all of the girls had been weighed down. The more recent victims had been chained to anchor weights, the earlier ones tied to various heavy objects. Besides the manor of death--drowning--and the metal ID tag necklaces worn by all but the first, there was little else to link the victims. They came in various shapes and sizes, from different parts of New York, in an age range between seventeen and twenty-three. Not even hair and eye color were a constant. Rubbing his eyes, Josh stood and stretched. It was time to hit the sack; tomorrow he could start fresh, looking for the common thread. If necessary, he’d even call for reinforcements, but for now, he was content to work on this particular problem all by himself.
Wednesday
Brian’s post dinner trance evidently satisfied his dream quota for the night, because he slept like a log until the alarm rang at seven-thirty in the morning, waking up groggy, but the best rested he had felt in days. Jim groaned from his sleeping bag on the floor, pulling his pillow over his head. “Sleep okay?” he mumbled from below his pillow.
“Like a rock.” Brian replied. “I don’t think I even moved.”
“What time to we have to be at school?”
“My first class is at ten. You have the same class.”
“It’s Wednesday?” Jim groaned, “Ugh...World Civ.”
“Well, at least we won’t be late.” Brian grinned. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Fine.” Jim told him, crawling off the floor. “I’m taking your bed.” he crawled off the hard floor and on to the soft mattress. “Wake me up when you’re out.”
By nine o’clock, both Jim and Brian were clean, fed and loaded into Brian’s car--the 1953 Ford Victoria he had purchased from Mr. Lytell three years earlier. After three years of working on it, the engine was now fully operational, and the Queen, as she was affectionally called, sported a recent cherry-red paint job. She was the vehicle of transport for Jim and Brian as they traveled off to SUNY Westchester each day, and she certainly drew a lot of attention. The pulled into the college with twenty minutes to spare, and headed off to World Civilizations--one of the dullest classes ever invented.
“Today we will be watching a film on Constantinople.” Professor Jahrman intoned nasally. “This is an older film, and is not available on tape. I had to borrow it from a local high school. This should take most of our class time, and I will expect you to take copious notes.”
Brian stifled a moan. He had a feeling that the high school from which the film had been obtained was in Sleepyside. As the opening credits crackled past in stellar black and white, Brian leaned back against the wall and let his mind wander. Sure enough, this movie was a repeat, and not a terribly exciting one at that. Soon his eyes drifted closed, and he began to dream.
Her first thought was pain. Curled up in a ball, her hands tightly tied behind her back, the rough hemp digging into the soft flesh of her wrists, face was resting on a rough surface that felt like carpet. Tentatively, she stretched out her legs, wincing when they moved less than eight inches before hitting an obstacle. Her feet were tied as well, ankles rubbing against each other, but the binding was softer, more elastic. Bumping and rocking along to the hum of a motor, her body was completely out of her control. The air was close, warm and smelled of exhaust; she felt as though she were in a coffin, a moving coffin, and she wracked her brain, trying to find a way out. It took a moment before she noticed that the motion had ceased. She heard a voice, muffled and faint, and cringed back as there was a click, followed by a rush of cold air. Strong hands yanked her up and out of her would-be tomb, and she realized she had been in the trunk of a car, as her body landed on it’s bumper. Twisting and shuddering, she tried to pull away. That action was halted by a hard slap across the face. Moaning, she let the tears fall from her eyes. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she focused them on the car. It was a newer model, white, with polished chrome. Those same hands grabbed her roughly and slung her over his shoulder, and she heard him curse as she was bounced along. The smell of rotting fish filled her nostrils, as she was unceremoniously dumped into...a boat? Metal, cold metal on her bare legs, as it rocked gently and the voice above her sang softly. The song she recognized, but not the singer. Her last real memory was of being outside the A &P in White Plains. How did she get here? Why? Despair filled her heart as he grabbed her hair and hauled her to her feet, rough hands tying heavy canvas sandbags to her ankles. Still singing, his face covered by a cardboard mask, he looped a red ribbon around her neck; she felt something fall between her breasts, and looked down. It was a gift tag, imprinted with a birthday cake. With terrified eyes, she looked up at her attacker. He smiled at her and finished his song, “Happy Birthday, Dear Ralph, Happy Birthday to you!” A hard shove to her chest, sent her sailing over the side of the boat. As she hit the water, her feet shot down, and she gave one last look towards the sky before her head plunged below the surface.
Brian jerked awake with a gasp, causing several students to turn their attention away from the film and towards him. Professor Jahrman frowned from his desk. “Mr. Belden,” he drawled, “If you decide to sleep through my class, please try not to wake the other students.”
“I...I’m not feeling well Professor. Please excuse me.” Brian bolted from the classroom, leaving everyone staring after him.
Jim quietly gathered both his and Brian’s belongings, saying apologetically, “I’m sorry, sir, but Brian is my ride.”
Jim found Brian sitting on the stone steps, his head in his hands. He was ashen faced, and sweat ran from his brow, despite the chill autumn air.
“What happened in there? Jim asked softly.
“I watched that film every year from sixth grade through my senior year,” Brian began. “I think I can recite the commentary. I was zoning it out, and I must have fallen asleep. I started dreaming...I...Oh dear Lord...Jim...Am I losing my mind?” Panic flooded his voice.
“No.” Jim made the statement without hesitation. “I don’t know what is happening to you right now, but you are the sanest person I know.”
“It was different this time,” Brian whispered, his voice sounding strangely disembodied. “This time I was tied up in the trunk of the car. I saw him, but he was wearing a mask--one of those little cardboard half masks. He took me from White Plains. I remember White Plains. An A & P. Is there an A & P in White Plains, Jim?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll find out.” Jim answered softly.
Brian didn’t seem to notice. He was focused on his tale. “He took me out of the trunk, and he threw me over his shoulder like a sack of dog food. He carried me down to a boat, and he was singing, Jim. He was singing the Happy Birthday song, and when he finished, he pushed me into the water. There was a sandbag; I was sinking, and then I woke up. What does it mean?”
“I don’t know.” Jim admitted. “I wish I did, but I don’t.” He stood, and held his hand out to Brian. “Come on. Let’s bag today and go home. I’ll drive.”
“I don’t know if I can.” Brian rose and began to pace anxiously.
“What? Why not?” Jim was perplexed.
“When he pulled her...me...out of the trunk, I saw the car, Jim I saw it. It was my car!”
“You mean her car.” Jim said, still confused. “The victim’s car?”
“No.” Brian stated firmly. He stopped and looked directly into Jim’s green eyes. “Not her car, Jim,” he said. “His car. My car. I recognized the plates. It was the Queen, Jim. It was my car.”
Wednesday
He was running out of time. Ralph’s birthday was only a few days away and he had yet to find the gift. Lord, he was tired. He’d been doing this for fifty years, giving tribute to his lost brother, praying each time that Ralph would accept it and return. After the first one, he had always shopped away from home. That first time, he had been young and foolish, barely seventeen, and the girl in White Plains had been irresistible. He had a feeling that it was time to come home.
Reaching into the lower right drawer of his desk he placed his fingers strategically, tripping the latch and revealing his secret compartment. Slipping the stainless steel gift tag into his hand, he admired the shine and the coolness as it slid through his fingers. The first time, he hadn’t thought things through. Back then, he had used a regular gift tag, and it had disintegrated almost before the gift left his possession. The next time, he had been better prepared, inspired by the metal shop class he had taken in college. Each one was precisely and carefully crafted by his loving hand.
Placing the tag in his pocket, he closed the drawer and left his office. He waved to the woman at the counter, and she smiled. For a moment, he considered her, then discarded that idea. She was thirty, married with two children. Ralph needed someone unencumbered, someone young and fresh. He, himself, needed someone small and meek. As he approached seventy, he was losing some of his strength. His arthritis troubled him more often, and he couldn’t handle a struggle very well anymore.
As he approached his destination, he saw them. A gaggle of high school girls, eating lunch at a corner table. Taking his regular seat at the counter, he signaled to Mike for his usual meal, using the bar mirror to watch the girls.
Trixie Belden was a pretty little thing. Blonde hair a little shorter than Ralph’s taste, but her blue eyes glowed with life. She was a spitfire, though, and he wasn’t sure he could handle her if she put up a fight.
Honey Wheeler was acceptable, but the shoulder length hair was a little too brown and her eyes were not blue. Diana Lynch was completely wrong, although she was beautiful. Both girls were from wealthy families, too, and that could be problematic. He wasn’t usually so picky, but this year was different. This was his fiftieth year, his golden anniversary. He needed perfection, for he fully believed that this would be his last tribute, his last gift.
Another regular joined him at the counter, signaling to Mike for a cup of coffee. They exchanged pleasantries, and he turned his attention back to the mirror. That’s when he saw her.
It shocked him that he hadn’t thought of her before. He’d known her family for years, but he’d never really noticed her until today. How odd. This girl was small and compact, quiet to the point of being timid. Her long straight blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her pale blue eyes glanced shyly around the restaurant; her delicate fingers plucking nervously at her denim skirt and dark blue sweater. She was the one; he knew it. The perfect gift stood in the middle of Wimpy’s Diner: Ruthie Kettner.
Wednesday
It took Jim an extra ten minutes to talk Brian into the car. As Jim pulled out onto the highway, he glanced at his friend. Brian was sitting stiffly, his fists tightly clenched, his expression grim.
“Do you want to go home to the Farm?” Jim asked. “Or maybe to the Manor House?”
“I don’t care.” Brian forced the words from between his clenched teeth.
“Let’s go to my house,” Jim decided. “My parents are away, so we’ll have privacy. We can call Josh from there and wait for the rest of the gang to get home. How does that sound?”
“Fine.” Brian’s toneless reply was completely automatic.
Jim spared him another glance. What he saw offered no comfort. Brian Belden was teetering on the edge of an abyss, and Jim didn’t know how to keep him from falling into the darkness.
“I love half days!” Trixie whirled around in a circle. “Lunch out and an afternoon to ourselves!”
Diana hooked her arm through Ruthie Kettner’s. “Ruthie and I are going to pick up our costumes for the dance. Do you want to come?”
“I’d love to!” Honey smiled. “I was wondering what you decided. I swear, the only thing bad about having college boyfriends is not being able to take them to the school dances.”
“Jim and Brian get to take us to the dances that aren’t at the school.” Trixie argued. “I think our little private party is fine.”
“You’re coming to our party, aren’t you, Ruthie?” Honey asked. “Dan was supposed to invite you.”
“He did, and she is.” Dan interrupted the conversation, dropping his arm across Ruthie’s shoulders. “Mart and I will bring Di and Ruthie over after the dance.”
Mart kissed the top of Diana’s head. “So, my precious, did you pick up your costume yet?”
“We were just going to do that. Want to come...along?” Diana fluttered her lashes at him.
“Oh, let’s all go!” Trixie said impulsively. “Just because I’m not dressing up doesn’t mean I don’t want to know how you’re dressing. Are you going to be Bob Whites again?”
Dan looked horrified, and Diana burst into peals of laughter. “N...no.” she sputtered. “I don’t think I could get Dan into feathers. We decided to go with a fifties theme. Ruthie and I had Ella make us a couple of poodle skirts, Dan’s going to dig out his leather jacket, and Mart is borrowing Tom’s old one.”
“And Brian has graciously allowed me,” Dan looked pointedly at Mart, “to borrow the Queen for the evening. We shall arrive in style.”
Mart grimaced. “ It leaves me quite chagrined to admit that my eldest sibling seems to have an unexplained preference for the automotive machinations of the esteemed Daniel. .”
All four girls looked to Dan for translation. “Mart is sad. Brian likes me better.” he stated plainly.
“So does most of the known world.” Trixie snorted. Mart turned to protest, but was interrupted by the ringing of Honey’s cell phone.
She stepped away to answer it, and the others watched as the expression on her face changed from one of amusement to concern. She snapped the phone shut and said, “That was Jim. We need to get to the Manor House right away.”
“I’ll get the car.” Mart said.
“I’ll walk Ruthie home and meet you there.” Dan said.
Ruthie looked at them all, confused, but realizing that something was very wrong. “Nonsense,” she told Dan softly. “You go with everyone else. I’ll go pick up the costumes and Diana can fill me in later.”
“Are you sure?” Dan asked
“Positive. Go.”
Dan grinned his appreciation and took off after Mart, yelling, “Wait! I’ll drive!”
Jim was pacing in the foyer when the rest of the gang arrived. As they tumbled in through the door, he raised his finger to his lips. Suddenly silenced, they followed him into the study. Brian was sleeping on Mr. Wheeler’s wide leather couch, an empty tea cup on the end table.
“What happened?” Trixie demanded in a whisper.
“He had one of those dreams.” Jim whispered back. “We were watching a film, and the next thing I know, he’s bolting from the room. I’ve never seen him like that before.”
“I’m surprised he is sleeping.” Honey noted.
Jim’s face reddened, and he looked at his shoes. “I...uh...I slipped some of Mother’s valium into his tea. Only a half!” he hastened to assure her.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Josh Murrell said as he strode into the room. “Have you filled them in yet?” he asked Jim.
“No. They just got here.” Jim told him. “Were you able to get any more information?”
“A little. Why don’t we sit down.” Josh headed for the club chair in the corner. “I’m assuming Brian won’t be joining us anytime soon?”
“He’s been asleep for about an hour.” Jim said “But I didn’t know what else to do. He was agitated and then almost comatose, before going back to agitated.”
As everyone gathered around the agent, Josh opened up his briefcase and started talking. “I was able to find sixteen drowning victims in the unsolved files. The first was back in 1955 continuing to happen in various increments from one to five years apart. Most serial killers are driven by a need for power, often sexual in nature. This one doesn’t appear to follow that kind of pattern. I think that the distance between killings is one of the reasons he wasn’t identified as a serial killer.” Josh pulled out a map, marked with tiny flag stickers, and spread it out on the table. “The FBI might never even have been involved, but the girl he killed in 1963 was from Pennsylvania. She was found in New York Harbor.” He pointed to a green sticker. “I color coded the stickers by decade. The fifties are blue, the sixties green, seventies yellow, eighties orange, nineties white, and everything since 2000 is red. Do you notice a pattern?”
Trixie leaned forward, concentrating. “Except for the first one in 1955, the victims were found away from Sleepyside.” She looked up at Josh. “They were taken farther away too.”
He nodded. “What else?”
Honey made the observation first, tracing the map with a slender finger. “He’s moving closer to Sleepyside, isn’t he?”
“I think so.” Josh admitted. He turned to Jim and said, “Your turn.”
“Brian had a total meltdown this morning,” he explained. “But he saw something different and it really freaked him out. It freaked me out too.”
“For crying out loud, Jim! What?” Mart had reached the end of his patience.
“The car.” Jim told them. “Brian saw the car that the killer used to transport the girls. It was the Queen.”
“But...but...how?” Trixie sputtered.
“I don’t know.” Jim admitted.
“It was still white, like new.” Brian’s voice came groggily from the couch. They all turned to look at him. He sat up, stretching. “It was my car,” he said. “But she was new, white with polished chrome. There wasn’t a spot of rust on her, and she ran so smooth. I...the girl...was in the trunk, and I could still hear the engine purring.”
“Do you know the history of the car, Brian?” Josh asked.
Brian shook his head. “Not really. I bought her from Mr. Lytell almost three years ago. Before that, I really don’t know.”
“That car was sitting behind Mr. Lytell’s storefor as long as I can remember.” Mart offered. He realized what he had said, and his blue eyes grew wide.
“How old is this Lytell?” Josh asked.
“Nearly seventy,” Honey said.
“No. No way!” Trixie shook her head. “Mr. Lytell is a nasty old crank, but a killer? A serial killer? No.”
“At this point, Trixie,” Josh said, “I can’t rule out anyone. What I can do is run a check on the car.” He looked at the anxious faces around him. “I’m going to see if I can get a couple of agents up here to help me. I have a feeling that our killer is going to strike again, and all of my work indicates that he’ll hit close to home.”
“He’s already picked her.” Brian spoke again, his voice taking on the same vague, singsong tone it had when he had mentioned the necklace.
Everyone turned to look at him. Josh moved from his chair, asking softly, “Who did he pick? Who is she?”
“The gift.” Brian sat perfectly still, his dark eyes glazed. “Back to the beginning. Birth and death. It’s time.”
“It’s time for what, Brian?” Josh asked.
Brian shuddered, and his eyes focused on Josh’s face. Bewildered, he looked up and whispered, “I don’t know.”
“Phil.” The sound of his name stopped him in his tracks.
“Rodney,” He smiled at his old friend. “Buying flowers?”
“Yes. You?”
“I have an appointment tomorrow. I’ll take flowers out this weekend.”
“I can take some for you tomorrow. I know you don’t like to miss the date.”
“I’d appreciate that.” He was genuinely touched. “Thank you. We’re getting old, Rodney. Who’ll remember them when we’re gone?”
“When we’re gone, it won’t matter anymore Phil.”
“I guess you’re right, old friend. Good night, and good dreams.”
The two men shook hands and parted ways.
Friday
Brian knew he wouldn’t last much longer without a full night’s sleep. Dan and Mart had bunked in with him on Wednesday night, waking him every hour until dawn. Thursday had passed without incident, although he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his problem from his parents. Thursday night, under the guise of studying World Civilizations, Jim had watched him sleep.
Now it was Friday. Josh was back from New York City after gathering his forces--a single additional agent. So far there weren’t any girls missing--at least not locally. Another week of school had passed, although Brian knew he would be hard pressed to recall a single thing he had been taught. He was tired, to-the-bone tired, and yet he stood in front of the mirror getting ready for a party.
It wasn’t that much of a party, he told himself. It would just be himself, Jim, Trixie and Honey for dinner. Mart, Diana, Dan and Ruthie would join them around ten, after the school dance had finished.
“Brian! Let’s go.” Mart’s voice echoed up the stairs. Sighing, Brian pulled on his jacket and headed downstairs. He stopped short at the sight of his brother and friend. Both boys had pegged their jeans, rolling them up to just above their ankles. Mart had gelled his crew cut into short, pointy blond spikes, while Dan had combed his dark hair into a bouffant duck tail. Both were wearing white t-shirts and black leather jackets. Brian felt as though he had just stepped into a revival of Grease.
“Wow!” was all he could say.
Within minutes he was in the back seat of the Queen, headed for the Manor House. They dropped him in the drive and headed off to pick up their dates. Brian waved and trotted up the hill.
Dinner had gone well. Roasted turkey, cornbread pudding and orange-glazed asparagus--flown in from Chile--made for a wonderful autumn feast. There was ice cream in the freezer, waiting for the rest of the group to arrive. Trixie and Jim were arguing good-naturedly over which movie to watch, while Honey and Brian engaged in a game of checkers. Brian had just completed a double jump when he felt a wave of lethargy crash over him. He was drowning in it, unable to see or hear anything but the voice and vision in his head.
“Ceeee....meeeee...tarrrrr...eeee!’ The voice that was and was not Brian’s rang out eerily in the game room. Honey gasped, and Jim and Trixie abandoned their tussle over the
DVDs to sprint to her side.
“Say it again, Brian.” Jim ordered gently.
“Cemetery. It is at the cemetery. Birth and death. Written in stone. It ends tonight. Needs must end.” Honey, unable to take any more of the sing-song tone, reached out for Brian’s hand. He jumped, falling back into his own skin.
“Call Josh.” Trixie ordered, holding back tears of fright. Jim jumped to obey.
“We have to go.” Brian said, getting to his feet. He began pacing, his breath coming in short bursts. “We have to go now.”
“Okay, Brian. We’ll go.” Jim assured his frantic friend. To the girls he said, “Get your coats. Josh is on his way to the cemetery. We’ll meet him there.”
“It ends tonight.” Brian looked confused. “Did I say that?”
“Sort of,” Trixie told him, handing him his jacket. “You said a lot of things, big brother. Not much made sense.”
“Nothing makes sense, Trixie. Nothing.” Brian looked so forlorn, Trixie wanted to cry. Instead, she just took his hand.
Honey took his other hand, whispering, “Let’s go find the answer.”
Friday
SJSHS
Dan parked the Queen in the student parking lot. Then, in character, he hopped out, slid across the hood and opened the door for Ruthie. She giggled and accepted his hand, her baby blue poodle skirt swinging against her legs as she slid out of the car. Dan then banged on the back window and hollered, “Mart! You’re steamin’ up the windows.” Taking Ruthie’s hand he headed for the gym, leaving a laughing Di and sputtering Mart to untangle themselves from the back seat.
It was an omen. There, parked outside the high school, was all the proof he needed. His car. His beloved Victoria, his sweet partner for the first ten years. How it had hurt to sell her, even more than watching her rust in back of the store. She looked different, red now, instead of white, but she was still beautiful. Her presence here tonight must mean she approved. She had returned to help him in his mission. It was only fitting. Reaching under his shirt he lifted a silver chain, fingering the four keys that hung from it. He had kept a key for each of the cars that he had used. He hoped it would still work; it had to. He smiled into the night sky.
“Stay back!” It was a command, issued from a man who was all FBI agent. Josh Murrell met the four Bob-Whites just inside the cemetery gates. “You should not be here. You will stay back and allow me to confront the suspect. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” They answered in unison, but Josh could see rebellion in Trixie’s eyes. Moving silently, weapon drawn, Josh crept up behind the stooped figure kneeling in front of a granite headstone.
“Freeze, FBI!” he shouted. “Put your hands on your head. Slowly!” The old man complied, his hands shaking. Pulling out his handcuffs, Josh secured his prisoner, and called out, “All clear!”
Trixie, Jim, Brian and Honey came running. Mr. Lytell still knelt, his hands cuffed behind his back.
“Oh, Mr. Lytell, why? Why?” Honey asked.
“Why? Because she was my cousin. I always bring flowers on her birthday and the anniversary of her death. Since when did that become a crime?” Mr. Lytell sounded as grumpy as ever.
Trixie read the stone. Cassandra Jean Lytell. “How did she die, Mr. Lytell? she asked.
“The boat capsized. She and her boyfriend Ralph drowned. It was his birthday, and she borrowed my uncle’s boat as a present for him.” Mr. Lytell said gruffly. “Now would you please tell me why I am under arrest?”
“Where is Ralph buried, Mr. Lytell? Trixie asked, her stomach filling with dread.
“Over there,” the old man said, pointing with his head. “With the rest of the Strattons.”
“Stratton?” Trixie looked at Honey. “As in Principal Stratton?”
“Phil, yes. Our families go back a long time. Ralph and Cassie probably would have gotten married if that boat hadn’t turned over. Their deaths nearly destroyed our families. Tragic.”
“Mr. Lytell, where did you get the car you sold to Brian?” Agent Murrell asked. “My records indicate that you purchased it new in 1953.”
“I did.” Mr Lytell told him. “Then I sold it to Phil in ‘55. I bought it back from him in ‘66, and I sold it to Brian in 2003. Only that time I remembered to sign over the pink slip. Now would you please explain to me what is happening here.”
“It’s not him.” Jim declared. “It’s Principal Stratton. Ralph’s brother.”
As Josh moved to open the cuffs, Brian said quietly, “He has her. But I know where he’s going.”
Dan moved across the gym floor looking for his date. He spotted Diana’s purple poodle skirt, and made his way to the buffet table, where she stood with Mart. “Have you seen Ruthie?” he yelled over the music.
“I can’t hear you!” Mart yelled back. He pointed to the door, and Dan followed him into the slightly less noisy hallway.
“I asked if you’d seen Ruthie. She was going to the restroom, but that was ten minutes ago.”
Mart shook his head, and Diana volunteered, “I’ll check the bathroom.”
Uneasily, Mart said, “I’ll walk you down.” Diana raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. Dan headed back into the gym. A few minutes later, Diana and Mart returned, shaking their heads. Worried now, Dan headed outside, the others hot on his heels.
They found him standing in the parking lot, staring at the empty place where he had parked the Queen.
As they stood in confused silence, Diana’s cell phone started to ring.
It was perfect. Everything was perfect. The car, the night, the girl securely tied and placed in the trunk. It had been all to easy. He had simply watched her at the dance; watched as he had hundreds of time in the role of Principal. When she had excused herself, he had silently followed her. As she made her way back, he had stepped into her path and asked for a moment of her time. She had followed him willingly, after all, he was the kindly old Principal she had known for years.
He parked just off the path and opened the trunk. She was awake, her blue eyes wide with fear and confusion. Humming to himself, he checked her bonds before throwing her over his shoulder and heading down the path to the boat launch at Killifish Point.
Mart would remember the next hour for his entire life. It was a frenetic mix of memories, each sharp and defined. Jim’s voice on the phone. Diana’s tears on his neck as they realized what had happened. The fearful and murderous look in Dan’s eyes as he took Tad Webster’s truck keys from his outstretched hand. The three of them squeezed tightly into the cab of the ‘72 Datsun, bumping and shaking about as Dan drove at speeds at least twice the legal limit all the way to Kilifish point. Finally, the way time suddenly went from fast forward to slow motion.
Josh’s car and the Bob-White station wagon were already there, as well as a second federal vehicle--Josh’s back-up. Paying absolutely no attention to Josh’s orders to stay put, they all ran pell-mell down the path.
The boat had already put out onto the river, Principal Statton rowing and singing loudly. Josh raised his gun, as did his partner. “Federal agents! Halt!”
The man kept on rowing. When he reached his destination, he dropped his anchor. Again Josh called out, “FBI! Surrender and return to shore. We will shoot!”
Phillip Stratton stopped singing. There on the shore were unexpected party guests. Unwanted ones. Squinting, he could see two men with guns. This would not do. He reached under his seat and pulled out his own gun, placing it on his lap. He pulled his lovely gift to her feet and began singing as he placed the tag around her neck. “Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birth...” A shot rang out, and a bullet hit the water to his left. One of the unwelcome guests was determined to ruin his party. He raised his gun and fired. A muffled cry told him that his hours at the gun range had been well worth it. He began singing again.
On shore Agent Pat Croft hit the ground, a bullet in his left thigh. Josh yelled to the kids to take cover, and aimed his weapon at the boat. Out on the boat, the madman had finished his song and was now standing. Taking careful aim, Josh fired two rounds as Phil Stratton pushed Ruthie Kettner over the side of the boat.
“No!” The words were wrenched from Brian’s throat as he watch Ruthie sink into the cold and dirty water of the Hudson River. He didn’t notice Principal Stratton falling over the other side. all his attention was on the drowning girl. He knew how she must feel; the panic, the fear, the knowing. He himself had felt it. Only Jim’s hands around his arm kept Brian from running into the water.
Josh didn’t hesitate. He saw the man fall and knew that his aim had been true. Swiftly stripping off his clothes, he ran into the frigid water, quickly finding his stroke and moving with lightening speed toward the boat. Reaching it, he took a deep breath and dived deep.
The darkness swelled around him, black and freezing cold. He forced his eyes open, but debris made it hard to see. As he was reaching the end of his air, he spotted a small burst of pale blue. Quickly he surfaced, breathed deep, and dived down again.
Ruthie struggled in vain to get free. Her quilted felt skirt floated up, like a parachute. Her lungs were going to explode; she had no choice but to breathe in the freezing, filthy water. She fought it. Shaking her head, she felt the long stands of her hair float across her cheeks, but finally she could resist no more. She opened her mouth and it filled with water. Her life began to float lazily in front of her eyes, almost like a silent movie. She gave herself over to the welcoming darkness and never felt the hand grab her by her ponytailed hair.
Josh surfaced, breathing in the blessed air. The girl was unresponsive, so he set to swimming, being sure to keep her head above the water as he dragged her along.
As he reached the shallows, Dan and Mart ran out to him. Dan gently took Ruthie out of Josh’s arms and ran with her to the shore. Mart offered Josh a hand which he took gratefully.
Dan set Ruthie down next to Agent Croft, and looked at Brian beseechingly. “Please, Brian! Please?”
Brian dropped to the ground and began CPR, compressing her chest, and breathing air back into her lungs. Mart and Josh arrived on shore and fell to the ground, watching. Brian kept working, and as he worked, he prayed. In his head he could hear the voices, the voices from his dreams. They were cheering him on, sending encouragement, and they kept him going. Finally, Ruthie gave a gasp, and Brian turned her on her side as gallons of river water seemed to pour from her mouth.
In the distance sirens sounded. Brian looked out over the water and for a moment, he thought he saw the ghosts of victims past smiling at him. It was finally over. Tonight he would not dream.
Author Notes
This was my story for the first Dia de Los Muertos challenge in 2005.
Challenge Elements:
The story should be a spooky story involving the dead that includes:
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•A mention of the BWG trip to Arizona
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•A Spanish/Mexican/Aztec work of the author's choice
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•Ralph's birthday (be creative!)
