While rubbing his sore head he stretched out his legs and kicked down the makeshift wall. Slowly he worked to erase any evidence that he had been there. He piled the cardboard back into the massive green recycle container and grabbed his morning supplies out of his pack. He pulled a wet wipe out of the container and wiped down his hands and face. This one can be used again. The faucet by the dumpster was another luxury he enjoyed. After he rinsed it off he neatly folded it back to the position he had found it and slipped it back into the package. Making supplies last was critical to avoid flying the sign. Standing by the traffic light past the highway off ramp with a sign always brought enough cash to sustain, but it was also risky. Chicago was working hard to help the homeless and the first act was to ticket anyone panhandling. How this helped, Malcolm wasn’t sure, but he didn’t want to be messed with so he stretched every penny.

After everything was reset, Malcolm pulled out his breakfast. A whole box of mini banana muffins a week past expiration was his big find last night. With the box set up as a lap tray, he opened 4 muffins, setting them in a perfect line and folding each wrapper. Having things in order gave Malcolm comfort. After he finished the first he reached for the one at the end of the line to keep the other two balanced in the middle.

“Are you Malcolm Morgan? Also know as M&M?”

The voice appeared out of thin air and caught Malcolm by surprise. His entire frame reacted by knocking his breakfast over and spilling his water. He jumped out from under the mess and stood face to face with a clean-cut man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase. His young face was pale and severe under his short neat black haircut.

“Who the hell are you? Whaddya doing sneakin’ up on me like that?” Malcolm spit out the words as he scrambled to clean up his breakfast mess.

“Are you Malcolm Morgan?” He repeated.

“How do you know my name?” Malcolm asked as he tucked the last of his breakfast back in the box and zipped it into his bag.

“So, you are Malcolm Morgan?”

“Jesus! Yes. Answer my damn question.”

“I have a delivery for you.” He knelt down and used his knee to balance the briefcase as he opened it. Malcolm couldn’t see all the way inside, but from his quick glance it appeared to be empty except for one envelope. The kid looked like an over-achieving college student or an under-developed stockbroker. He pulled the envelope out and stood back up as he held it toward Malcolm.

“Am I being sued? No one said I couldn’t stay here. I haven’t been a bother and I clean up after myself. I don’t want it, I don’t want that notice.” Malcolm folded his arms across his chest.

“I was instructed to bring this to you. I can’t make you take it.” The man leaned down and placed the envelope on the stoop where Malcolm had been eating just moments before. Malcolm turned his head sideways to read the front of the card. This was obviously not from the city. The beige envelope was the shape of an oversized Christmas card and the brown print was in a beautiful handwriting:

Mr. Malcolm Morgan
AKA: M&M
Powder Books rear entry
5700 Harper Ave.
Chicago, IL 60637

“What the hell?” Malcolm snapped around to interrogate the man, but he was gone. He looked both directions and saw no sign of the young stranger. His headache began to throb again. Did I just imagine that? He turned back to the envelope, surprised that it was still there and then he sat on the stoop and rubbed his temples.

Traffic was picking up on the street, reminding Malcolm that it was time to move on to the park. Glancing over at the envelope, he cringed. He didn’t want to leave a trace of his presence at the bookstore. Damn it! Damn it! He stood up and hiked the pack to his shoulders then he picked up the envelope and folded muffin wrappers to head for the dumpster. He opened the lid and threw in the wrappers, but he couldn’t throw the envelope in. What the hell is it? After stuffing it in his pack, he heaved it back on and headed for the park.

Usually once Malcolm reached Olive Park, he claimed a spot in the shade and read a book that he had pulled from the bookstore trash. The covers were torn off, but the story was intact. Today his routine had been broken and he couldn’t get settled, instead he walked the perimeter slowly trying to make a plan. Who sent this letter? Malcolm had no relatives left. Ginny had left him and taken their son across the country to live with her folks months before their accident. He had tried to set up life as a bachelor in a respectable way in hopes that she would allow Jonathon to visit him after they got settled. He called a few times and made some head way. He convinced Ginny that he really had stopped drinking (which was a lie) and she finally agreed to come back for a visit. It was the trip back that killed them. When they were well past due he called her parents house and Ginny’s mother answered.

“You killed them. They’re gone. Crashed. Dead. I told her not to go, that you were just a lousy, lying, drunk, but she went anyways and it’s your fault. You killed them, you bastard.” He remembered every word and he knew she was right. He was lying and it was his fault. That night Malcolm drank everything he could get his hands on and was told he fell down the stairs trying to leave his apartment and was rushed to the hospital. When he finally woke up, ten days later, the doctor told him that he would likely have died from alcohol poisoning if he hadn’t been treated when he was. He never told anyone that he couldn’t remember any of it, but he was sure the fall was not accident. Even though he broke his leg the fall had saved his life. And for what?

He lost his job and only weeks later he lost his apartment. That was four years ago when he packed the one bag and a few things that would fit in the Jeep and left everything else behind including the cast he had smashed into pieces in order to bathe one last time in the privacy of his home. Malcolm lived in his Jeep for the first year. Eventually he had to give that up too when he didn’t have any money for gas and began receiving tickets for not moving it. Then after a few days he needed some money for food, so he sold it to the guy with the little used car lot on Hyde Street for $300. That money lasted a long time on the streets. Since then it had been a new place every few weeks. He tried the tent city where some of the other destitute people of the city ended up, but there were too many fights.

There was no one else. He lost his mother to cancer at seventeen and he never met his Dad. There was no one left who knew his name. Why would I get a letter addressed to an alley stoop? Who does that? Finally he veered off to the nearest bench and pulled out the letter and his pocketknife. He slid the blade into a tiny opening on the side and made a perfect clean slice across the top.

Inside was a one sided card that was the same color as the envelope with a simple message printed in the middle:

Mr. Malcolm Morgan (aka: M&M):

Please meet with me regarding your future. There
 is an opportunity for you that will benefit us both.
 I will be expecting you at the Fieldstone Tower at
3pm Wednesday August 21st.

Fieldstone Tower
40th Floor
663 N Michigan Ave
Chicago, IL 60611

Malcolm checked his watch, noting the bizarre invitation was for tomorrow and the address was less than a mile from the park. Why would I go? He carefully placed the invitation back in the envelope then into his bag and pulled out a book. Reading usually took his mind off things and it worked for at least an hour until the thoughts broke through. What is the Fieldstone Tower? I know all the big buildings in that area. Why don’t I remember this one?

The day drug on much longer than most. When nightfall hit, Malcolm decided to make dinner of the remaining muffins and to avoid his bookstore alleyway home. He considered staying in the park, but didn’t want to get kicked out by some bored night cop after the park curfew, so he hoofed it to the bridge. There were bridges all along the Chicago River and he knew of a few premium spots that would work short term. After passing up the first two because of other squatters, he decided that he better deal with the next one, occupied or not.

There were a group of five people huddled around the edge of the bridge. They didn’t seem to notice him, so he found a spot under a cypress tree and got comfortable. It didn’t take long for the usual bullshit to begin once they noticed him. “What’s up, brutha? You need to rent a room for the night? I don’t charge much, just a fiver.” Malcolm didn’t respond and the voice separated itself from the group and headed his direction. “What? You don’t wanna talk to me?” When he got close enough Malcolm sat back up and looked directly at him. He recognized him right away from tent city, but didn’t know his name. He was wearing a black t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and camouflage pants. Like most street people, he was dirty and scruffy. His long brown hair was in a ponytail except the short pieces that escaped and formed a frizzy halo around his head making the beginning of his beard indistinguishable.

“Oh, shit! M&M! I didn’t know it was you. Sorry, man.” Malcolm didn’t answer as he repositioned himself back on the ground, using his bag as a pillow and turning his back to the group. He had started to drift off when he heard his name among the murmurs of the group. “You don’t wanna fuck with that guy. You don’t know about M&M? He used to live in tent city. Man freaked out! No one fucks with him anymore. Almost never talks, but when he does, SHIT! I remember someone tried to take his spot and dude went on for 20 minutes straight rambling about rights and respect. He was going so fast it sounded like dude was rapping. Name’s really Mark Morgan or something, so after that everyone started calling him M&M. He disappeared for a few days after that, I heard he got locked up in some crazy house.” Then the murmurs turned to whispers and Malcolm tuned them out.

Why do I live like this? I haven’t had a drink in over three years. I’m almost 40 years old. I can’t stand these people, but I’m no better than them. For months, or possibly years, Malcolm had been numb to asking himself these questions and now they wouldn’t stop all because of the letter. I will go. I have nothing to lose.

After he made the decision sleep came and went quickly and before he realized it the time had come to head toward the Michigan Avenue tower that he wasn’t sure existed. The sun was a spotlight shining directly on Malcolm each step of the way. Usually he avoided walking around during this time, he liked to be invisible. Malcolm passed all the familiar buildings along the way and the closer to the address, the more sure he was that this was some kind of prank as he never noticed a building that could have 40 floors or more named the Fieldstone Tower and surely he would remember that. One last glance at the address, 663 N Michigan Ave, and as he looked up there it was.

How could he have missed this glorious building? The entire structure was made of steel and glass. Sunshine seemed to pierce through the building that was easily 50 floors high and a peak formed at the top like a castle in the middle of downtown Chicago. Malcolm approached the building cautiously, gripping his invitation and hoping he wouldn’t become a spectacle trying to get past security. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window and he barely recognized himself. Usually his view was limited to the compact mirror he used to trim his beard each morning with scissors. He was thinner than he had been even as a teenager and bits of his dark hair were poking out the edges of his beanie. The belt he was wearing was synched to the tightest notch and his dirty shirt and pants were at least two sizes too big, further demonstrating his emaciation. He was just close enough to see the hollow darkness around his eyes. He couldn’t look any longer, so he moved on.

Security was no issue as there was no one and he opened the door and walked right in. The lobby was magnificent. It took up the first three floors and despite the fact that the room was completely empty aside from the elevator and stair entrance it was beautiful. Everything was glass including the elevator that he stepped on and pressed the glass button with a 40 engraved on to it.

As the elevator lifted, Malcolm turned slowly full circle absorbing the amazing views of glass within glass. Even the staircase which ran right next to the elevator appeared to be glass or at least acrylic. Amazing. Everything halted and the doors opened which sent Malcolm’s heart racing. Now what? He stepped into the landing and realized his direction was obvious as there was only one door. This lobby was not transparent; instead it was the opposite. The large opaque door had no numbers and no writing. He decided not to knock and confidently stepped inside the large black room with no windows. The carpet and a few items within the room had a red velvet look, but almost everything was black and expensive. The man behind the desk looked like he could be the father of the young messenger that sat in the chair before him. The same man that Malcolm had faced the day before on his alley stoop.

“Ah. Mr. Morgan. You’re early.” He said this as the younger version of himself stood and walked past Malcolm exiting and shutting the door behind him. “Please. Have a seat over at my table. I have prepared a meal in case you could use it. One should never make decisions on an empty stomach.”

Malcolm headed toward the table and for the first time inhaled a scent he immediately recognized; chicken fried steak. This was his favorite meal and he had not eaten it in 2 years. He remembered the last time clearly as it took him a week to collect enough change to justify stepping into a restaurant and ordering it. He took an entire hour eating and enjoyed it more than any meal in his life. Often when food was scarce, Malcolm thought of that meal. There were plenty of additional treats on the table including a cheesecake, another luxury that he missed. Malcolm had not eaten since the night before and any thoughts he might have about refusing the meal immediately left his mind and he sat to eat without a word. If nothing else comes of this bizarre day, he would have this feast.

He moved the plate to the other side of the table to avoid having his back to the room and then sat and began eating. Malcolm had learned to cope in uncomfortable circumstances over the years and it was easy to enjoy this meal in such a strange situation. After a few moments, his host moved to the table and cut himself a slice of cheesecake. Only eyeing Malcolm enough to show he was not ignoring him, yet never interrupting the meal. He was in no way familiar to Malcolm. He was dressed richly in a fine suit and polished shoes and the same short black hairstyle as his messenger. “Please. Have some dessert.” He motioned to the selection and Malcolm didn’t have to be asked twice. When he had served himself a piece the stranger stepped to the side and filled a coffee cup then methodically measured out one and a half teaspoons of sugar and a small drop of creamer. Strange. That’s how I used to make my coffee. He thought as the gentleman turned and handed it to Malcolm. “Enjoy.”

“Who are you? Why did you send for me and how did you know where I was?”

“No rush, enjoy your meal.”

“I am. I’m enjoying it and I appreciate it. Really. Thank you. It’s been a long time since I have eaten this much good food or even warm food. But, I think the time has come to explain this to me. It’s messed up and I’m confused. Confused by this whole thing.” Malcolm scooped another bite of cheesecake and waited for an answer.

“I need your help and you need mine. What I need from you is pretty simple. I want to hire you to help me help the homeless people of Chicago. I want you to remain homeless for one year, helping me to gather . . . or really convince others to come to me. They seem to trust you and respect you. I can help these people, but they won’t come to me.” He waited for Malcolm to absorb the information.

“What are you going to do? Set up a shelter? Who are you? Some rich do-gooder?”

“There is no need for games, M&M. I want their souls and I want you to collect them for me. You know that you have nothing to lose, but if you sign a contract with me you will have everything to gain. After you fulfill one year, I’ll give you more money than you could ever dream of and you can live your remaining days in peace.”

Malcolm jumped from the table and walked toward the stranger, “I knew this was fucked up. I knew I was dealing with a crazy. How do you know about me? Who are you? Answer me.”

“You know who I am Malcolm. You have begged me to come and take you many nights. You know you belong with me, you told me yourself. Just sign this contract and begin your job. It will be easy for you – you don’t even like these people – you despise them.” He was motioning to his desk where a formal looking document lay with a golden fountain pen on top of it.

The situation had passed so far beyond bizarre that Malcolm didn’t care about anything except getting out of this room, and this crazy man with his contract was standing between him and the door. “Fine, whatever, I’ll sign. Then I gotta go. OK? We can, um, meet up on the details later.”

“Fine, I understand. This is a lot to digest. Here you go, sign at the bottom.” He had marched to the desk and was pushing the pen toward Malcolm.

He glanced at the document and was surprised to see that his name was actually on it. He didn’t read it, but scanned through it noticing things like ‘soul collection’ and a dollar amount of 1.2 million dollars. This was insane. Placating this man and getting out of there as calmly as possible was his only option before he ended up locked in a loony bin again. He signed the bottom and headed for the door.

“Your life will be quite wonderful after this, M&M, and then you will join me as well.” These words followed him out to the corridor where he ran straight for the staircase in order to avoid waiting for the elevator. After blasting down a couple flights, he sat on the see-through stoop to catch his breath. Malcolm rubbed his hands through his hair and stared through the elevator shaft at the sunset in the distance pondering what had happened. He had in fact wished for death many times; people who killed their family belonged in hell. Then he realized this was real. He turned and raced back up the stairs to the 40th floor, but when he walked through the door everything had changed. There was a lobby full of busy suits racing around the room of a typical office-building floor. A couple of which were glancing at him, noticing that he was out of place. Turning back to the stairwell, he noticed this too was different: concrete steps and a piss stain smell. He entered the stairwell and noticed the number on the wall had changed from the engraved 40 to a grimy 4 painted on a dirty white wall.

He walked the four levels in a trance and pushed through the exit door to a street full of people rushing in downtown Chicago. The building was familiar to him now, as he had worked here when he first started drinking, before things got bad. Before the alcohol was necessary. He wandered to a concrete edging of a flowerbed and sat down to dig through his bag. There it was. The invitation. He ran his fingers over the print and read it again then gripped it in his fist. What have I done? What have I agreed to? I can’t send people to hell just because I’m going. Malcolm wondered if there was a way to get out of the contract. If he didn’t fulfill his obligation bad things might happen and he would be tempted to drink again.

The street was busy in both directions, but Malcolm noticed that standing on the concrete median was the young messenger who had first gotten him into this mess. The young man was standing and staring directly at Malcolm. He did this to me. He created this problem. Malcolm wasn’t sure if he was going to kick the kid’s ass or convince him to tear up the contract, but he got up and charged in his direction running directly into the furious action of five o’clock downtown traffic. The first car missed him and swerved a little while honking and smacking into the SUV in the next lane, which in an attempt to also swerve flipped over and landed directly on top of Malcolm. For a few moments, downtown Chicago was silent. Then the cries of a baby erupted from inside the SUV and the crowd immediately worked to getting the passengers out.

Once they had been checked over a crowd began to form around the half of Malcolm’s lifeless body that was protruding from underneath.

A man in a brown suit with newspaper and a brown satchel spoke up, “I think I know that guy. I think he used to work in my building until he got sick.”

“Let me through please, I’m a nurse.” A pale-faced young man wearing black scrubs that matched his black hair weaved his way between the people and kneeled down by Malcolm. “Oh no. It’s Mr. Morgan. I thought I recognized him.” He reached down to check Malcolm’s pulse but there was none and while holding his wrist he noticed a piece of paper clutched in his hand. Slowly the nurse pulled it out and recognized it immediately and a look of defeat took over the young man’s face. “I brought this to him yesterday! Pointless!”

He let go of the prescription and it fell to the ground next to Malcolm’s body, sticking to the ground as it soaked up blood from the street.

“Yes? May I help you?” asked a voice with a hint of a German accent and a giant helping of pretentious attitude.

“Detective Raven. I have an appointment to speak with Mrs. Sutton.”

“One moment” the voice finally sighed after waiting almost a full minute.

He stared beyond the gates at the mansion he was to enter and was amazed that this lady came from his town, White Deer, Texas. Back then she was Rosetta Marsh the waitress and one of the two daughters of local floozy Dixie Marsh. John didn’t know this first hand since he was only 6 years old when Rosetta ditched their poor town back in the early 70s, but he heard about it plenty over the years. Now she was Etta Sutton the famous movie star.

Of course she lived in this magnificent home before she was ever in the movies. In fact she was initially famous for just that: living in this mansion. Although she had never spoken publicly about her origins, the story John had heard was that when Rosetta was twenty years old she split town with her younger sister, Elaine, and a few boys from town. It was told that she always had men around her from a very young age. Rosetta was the most beautiful thing anyone in White Deer, Texas had ever seen. John had seen pictures of her that locals hung in their restaurants and stores, claiming they had known her, but he would have seen her pictures either way since her face was well known across the world. Those pictures were mostly from the 70s when she was one of the most photographed faces of the decade. Her long hair was a striking strawberry blonde and was mostly straight except for one soft wave that pushed her hair over the left side of her face.  She had porcelain skin with the perfect amount of make-up to accentuate her smoky brooding eyes and pouty lips.

After a few days, Dixie reported her daughters missing. Some of her daughter’s things were missing and most people assumed they had run away. After asking around a little it was discovered that the girls and had been seen hanging out at the restaurant where Rosetta worked with the three boys. There was no investigation even though Dixie and the parents of one of the boys were convinced something was wrong. Only 6 months later Rosetta’s face was in the national news and everyone knew they really had run away.

The news reports were about 87-year-old oil billionaire Stanley Sutton and his new 21-year-old wife, Etta Sutton. He apparently met her in a strip club a few months earlier and went back every day to see her until she agreed to marry him. She lavished in the attention of the media. Instead of shying away she posed for pictures on her husbands lap and stood outside the gates of their home to talk to reporters. Sutton’s children were furious. All three of them were old enough to be Etta’s grandparents, but Stanley did not care. He loved Etta and she told everyone she loved him right back and she continued to love him until the day he died, which was a little over a year later. He left more than half of his estate to Etta, including the house that his children had been raised in. They battled it out for a bigger share tying things up in court for a few years, but Etta remained in the house. In the end she was a 24-year-old multi-millionaire and that is what Etta considered her beginning. All the interviews she did were missing mention of her past. She never discussed her battles with her sexagenarian stepchildren, her brief stripping career or her hometown of White Deer, Texas. But people from town did, so most of the world knew even if Etta never confirmed. Dixie was interviewed once right in font of the Addison grain elevator, where she worked. She told the reporter that her daughter left town without a word and had never called or come to visit. Apparently, a few years after that interview, Etta came to see her mother once. She paid off the land that Dixie was struggling to keep and made some minor improvements on the property. Dixie had inherited 30 acres when her parent’s died. She didn’t work the land; in fact she probably could have sold it at any time. Apparently the taxes on the property were piling up and Dixie was in-between boyfriends to help pay the bills. That is when Etta showed up.   . The land was owned by Etta and sat empty even though the taxes always stayed current. People around town were randomly interviewed over the years, but it didn’t exactly put White Deer on the map.

Through the 70s and 80s Etta appeared in dozens of movies including some leading roles in hit movies. She was never a shining star when it came to acting, but she was gorgeous and knew how to land a role and work a crowd. The media loved her and Hollywood men loved her as well. Her reputation for dating her leading men co-stars started with Jack Nicholson and ended only when she quit acting in the early 90s. John Raven was a teenager in the late 70s and early 80s and he was quite familiar with her acting career and her famous posters that every teenage boy in America had hanging in his room.

And now here he was in Los Angeles, California, parked at her gates waiting to ask her about three dead bodies that he was sure she knew nothing about. This is ridiculous. What the hell am I doing here? He initially thought she would refuse to see him, but he was sure she was going to throw him out as soon as he brought it up.

“Drive on through the gates, Mrs. Sutton will see you now.” Finally. It had been at least 10 minutes. He hated these people; even the servants thought they were better than you. In reality they probably did make more money at this than his measly 20K a year as the only police detective in a podunk Texas town. Technically this was a Carson County case; all the big problems were theirs. But no one cared about the remains that were found, because they were easily more than 30 years old. There were no missing persons or open cases that could have possibly matched up. John had nothing better to do, so he was trying to unravel the mystery. He had exhausted any leads he could back home and was close to shutting this whole thing down.

John drove through the colossal entrance and was surprised that the fortress was much further away than it appeared and as he got closer it grew. By the time he pulled his car where the gentleman was pointing John was positive this was a mistake and again resisted the temptation to turn around and leave. As he got out and followed his guide he noticed that every part of the mansion’s exterior was white – a monstrous white home on a plush green perfectly trimmed grass lawn. There were statues throughout the grounds that were all white. About the same height as Jon’s shoulders was a detailed garland carved into the wall that carried throughout the entire perimeter of the building and it was also white. It was probably because everything was so white that John’s attention was immediately drawn to a small round window on the right side of the house in the middle of a balcony that had a pink flowering vine growing along the side. The window seemed out of place because it was the only circle window on the otherwise perfectly balanced house full of right angles. Squares and rectangles dominated except this one round window. Even the style and color did not match the home as it was a stained glass window in bright vivid colors that detailed a parrot grabbing onto a branch with wings spread for a landing.

He was led into the home and down a long cold hallway with white marble floors. Everything hanging on the walls or on display oozed with wealth. Painting frames dripped with gold leaves and other embellishments. There were enormous vases and aged rugs that he was sure came from old money, but meant nothing to him. It did make him question his choice in clothes though. His idea of dressing up without his uniform was his cleanest pair of jeans, ostrich boots that his wife bought him last year and a button up short sleeve shirt. These were his nicest clothes and in this house he felt like a hillbilly. Luckily he had remembered to shave and he had a hair cut last week.

When he entered the room at the end of the hall everything changed. The room was warm and the floor was hardwood with colorful Indian rugs covering most of the room. The walls screamed with red and yellow stripes and the couches where covered in zebra stripes that hollered back at the walls. Everything in this room was loud and warm. It reminded John of what he imagined the inside of a tent on a luxurious safari would look like. Tapestries hung in random patterns that divided the room between a sitting area and a reading area. And right in the middle of the room stood Etta Sutton.

She held her hands together at her waistline and had a sweet smile on her face. Even though she was about 15 years older than John, from this distance she looked the same age as him and his friends. Even at 62, she was a striking beauty. She wore her hair shorter than the last photos he had seen, but it was still bright strawberry blonde. Her figure was the same as the poster he used to own. She wasn’t a tiny woman, but more curvy and sexy. “Welcome, Detective, join me if you will, over here.” Even her voice was sexy.

The tour guide made his exit and John walked over to introduce himself. “Thank you for seeing me Mrs. Sutton. My name is John Raven, I promise not to take up too much of your time, but I wanted to ask you a few questions if I could.” He didn’t understand why he was breathing so hard and sweating – this lady was much nicer than any of her staff. He shook her hand and took a seat where she directed him. She offered him a drink; he declined.

“So what’s going on in the small town of White Deer that brings you all the way to LA?” Etta was direct, but still nice.

“Well, about six weeks ago some hunters wandered onto Dixie’s, I mean, your property. They didn’t realize it was private property. They discovered an area that looked like it had been disturbed a long time ago and found a human skull and some other bones. When we got out there and poked around, it turned out there were actually 3 human bodies in the same little section of land.”

“Yes, I know all this, I received or signed something through my lawyer that informed me of the digging.” Etta interjected.

“But, we have no idea who these bodies belong to. Your Mom is gone . . . as you know . . . and I wanted to check and see if you had any information. These bodies are not recently deceased, Ma’am, they’ve been dead over 30 years. It could’ve been from when you lived there and I was hoping. Well, can you think of anything that could help us?”

She seemed to be processing the information, but she didn’t seem to be trying to think back for any clues. John knew that people made a certain facial expression when they were trying to remember something and this wasn’t the expression she had. “I don’t know how much help I can be detective, that was quite some time ago. I have lived a whole life since then.” He knew she was lying and he was shocked. Reading people was John’s specialty. It helped with his job and it definitely helped with his kids, but he didn’t expect it to help him today and he was caught off guard.

John paused for some time waiting to see if she had anything to add, but she simply looked down at her hands. The age lines around her eyes and mouth were much more apparent now that he sat close to her. They didn’t make her unattractive; they seemed to belong there and were all perfectly placed unlike some women who denied the aging process with chemicals and injections. “Mrs. Sutton, can you tell me about why you left White Deer?” He thought if he got her to speak about herself he could get a better gauge on when she was being honest. “Do you mind telling me?”

Her lips pursed up for a brief moment. It was a flash of an instant, but he caught it. “I don’t really like to discuss my background, Mr. Raven. It’s no one’s business but my own.” But she seemed to reconsider right away. “There really isn’t much to tell, I hated that town and I always planned to leave. So I did it the first chance I got.”

“Didn’t you leave with your sister?” he asked. “I thought it was you and your sister and some friends that left town.”

Her face tightened further. He could tell she was telling the truth in that she hated that town and she obviously was angry to have to discuss it. He waited. Usually if he waited someone out long enough they would speak if only to fill the silence. John didn’t mind being silent. He never thought of silence as awkward, sometimes it was necessary. His eyes scanned the room amazed at how different it was from the rest of the house. In the far corner of the room, he saw the round window that he had noticed before. It helped him get his bearings as to where in this giant house he was located.

“She made that window, you know, my sister. She used to love to create stained glass projects. I found it in my mother’s shed years ago when I visited. It’s the only real change I’ve made to this damn house. This is my room and that’s Lanie’s window.” She rubbed her thin hands together as though she were freezing and stared at the window entranced in the memories. He was shocked when she reached up and put her hand behind her ear to straighten what he was now sure was a wig. Her whole head of hair moved at once to the center and she seemed unaware she had even done it. His eyes turned to the floor quickly, so that he would not be caught staring in disbelief. Beauty fades.

“Could I speak to your sister? Is she here in LA? Is it possible that should could have some information on this?”

A sinister laugh came from Etta and she seemed to be transforming before his eyes. Each time he looked at her she darkened. Her eyes were deeper in her head, her wrinkles were more apparent and now that he was aware of the wig he noticed it perched on her head with a small telling gap over her ears where she had tugged moments before.

“She’s long gone, sir. Long gone.”

Again he waited to see if she would continue and once more she surprised him.

“What the hell? What can you really do anyways? I’ll tell you what happened to those stupid sonsabitches.” Her accent had changed from sophisticated princess to a Texas grandmother. “There isn’t a day that I don’t think about it, not a day. They got what they deserved. I’ve never told nobody and I guarantee you I won’t tell it again. I killed all three of those shits. They followed me and Lanie home one night and drug us kicking and screaming into the woods on our land. That asshole, Jeremy somethingoranother, said I was a prick tease and he wanted to make sure my sister knew better. They beat us and had their way with us for hours and we fought them every minute.” She paused and tears began to drip from the outside corners of her eyes. She squeezed her hands together and continued as John sat frozen, afraid that speaking would break the spell and remind her of his presence. Upon closer inspection her hands revealed more age. In fact they appeared to belong to another woman, someone decades older than Etta Sutton.

“Eventually they were done with us and started talking like they were scared of us telling the police.” She glanced up at him briefly as if to remind him that she knew he was a lawman and she didn’t care.  “Before I could even realize what was going on the tall one smashed my sweet Lanie with a rock so big that her whole body twitched once and went still forever. They all looked so shocked and surprised like they didn’t believe it had happened and I took that moment to run. I ran as fast and hard as I could -it felt like it took me years to get to that barn and they were only seconds behind me, but it was enough time to grab the gun and force them all into the barn with me. I made them tie each other up and lie face down while I tied the third bastard up. I think they were talking to me and begging me, but I didn’t care and I shot the first two in the back of the head. The third one saw it coming and tried to struggle so I missed him at first, grazing his ear. The blood went everywhere and he began to thrash about. For a moment I think he thought there was a chance for escape, but I walked over to that dirty sonofabitch and shoved him onto his back with my foot on his chest. Then I looked him right in the eye and shot him in the face. It was the longest night of my life. It took all of my power to push those bodies one at a time in a wheelbarrow far enough into the woods to bury them, but I don’t even remember much of that. It was Lanie that broke my heart. Once I found her again, I could barely recognize her – there was not much left of her face, but I covered her with a blanket and carried her. I carried her with my own dirty, filthy hands to the other side of the property as close to the house as I could get without Momma finding her. Not that she would give a shit either way. I buried my sister. I cleaned up as much as I could and packed some things to leave. Momma wasn’t even home, she was out whoring herself to some married guy.”

After he was sure she was finished, John started the questions. “Why didn’t you go to the police? Why did you leave? Why . . . “ Before he could finish she cut him off.

“I told you I hated that town and I always wanted to leave. Aren’t you listening to me? I knew I was going to be famous and I didn’t want it to be for going to jail in White Deer, Texas. Let me tell you something else. You aren’t going to do a thing about this. It has been 40 years since I buried those assholes in the ground and they deserved what they got. I have more money than the damn panhandle and I won’t speak of this ever again. So do what you want, but my lawyers will make sure this story never sees the light of day. What? You didn’t expect this, did you? Grandma Etta tells you a sad story and then threatens you.” She laughed so hard she started coughing, “It’s over Mr. Raven. Go home and bury this story and bury those bones. You aren’t getting nothing from me. I don’t leave this room anymore let alone this house and you aren’t going to change a thing.” She stood up as she finished her lecture and this was his cue to leave.

It was a long drive back to the gate, even longer than when he arrived. This was different from in the movies – a big court battle with Etta Sutton with no proof beyond her off the record confession wasn’t likely to happen. He was probably going to have to bury this like she said. But that didn’t seem like something John Raven could do.

It was amazing how normal the morning had started out. She had cooked breakfast and then said goodbye as Daniel headed out to drop Olivia at school on his way to work. “I love you,” he said as he always did. She kissed him back and tried not to cringe at his words. He had no idea that she knew. She stared at him from behind as he disappeared down the driveway poking and teasing their daughter. His crew cut was still as blond as the day she met him 18 years ago. Daniel had also been able to retain his ultra thin build by running every lunch break on the treadmill at work.  Once they pulled away she started through the motions of her daily routine, staying un-bathed and in sweatpants as she cleaned house. It had become a way of life for her to avoid thinking about Daniel’s extra curricular activities and what she should do about it.

As she opened Olivia’s bedroom door, she let out a deep sigh. Scanning the disaster of a room, she noted there was barely an inch of floor visible. Is this how all 12 year old girls keep their bedroom? Jessica figured it probably was, but what made it different from most other pre-teen rooms was the life. Life everywhere. The far wall was lined with 4 different tanks. The frog tank always had the most action with colorful creatures swimming back and forth and others diving off the tiny floating rock straight to the bottom. In between each tank were different plants; the one next to the frog tank had vines climbing around a thin wire that Olivia had positioned around the lip of the tank and along the wall. Jessica could barely keep ivy alive, so she didn’t know where her daughter picked this up, but she was obviously talented.  Every birthday or Christmas list was riddled with items needed for some new project Olivia wanted to start.

In the dark room a neon blue glow caught her eye. Jessica made her way across the room picking up stray socks and shoes on her way. This was Olivia’s newest addition, the ant farm. It was different from the traditional soil based habitats of Jessica’s youth. The container was filled with a special blue gel that doubled as food and the walls of the tank magnified the contents that were lit up from below. Watching the action in this glowing vessel was addicting. The mindless movements of these tiny beings were similar to how Jessica had been living for the past 18 months. The little workers climbed over one another concerned only with the task at hand. Along the bottom in the longest tunnel there appeared to be a mass of ants, but on closer inspection it became apparent they were dead. This is what set her off.

All the news reports, printed stories and even local gossip had been glossed over by Jessica but these insignificant dead ants sent her over the edge. She immediately ran to the trashcan by the iguana tank, barely reaching it in time as she regurgitated her entire breakfast. The heaves continued well after the food was gone. Stands of her long brown hair, soaked in a mixture of vomit and tears, stuck to her face and she didn’t attempt to move them. This was the moment she realized she had to do something even if it meant her entire life would be ruined. And Olivia’s too.

She truly believed the deaths were in part her fault. If she had given him what he wanted, he wouldn’t have gone elsewhere. He wouldn’t have gone after someone’s daughter or sister. The turning point had been two years ago when she told her otherwise perfect husband that she didn’t want to go any further in his sexual experiments. Jessica was a little embarrassed by some of the things he had her do, but she was also turned on by the fact that she knew she was getting him off. He tied her up and ripped her clothes off, she was into it too and the sex that followed made her burn for a repeat performance. The time he tried to choke her was a different story. Daniel tied her up and quit responding to her completely. Then he took the silky belt from her robe and wrapped it around her neck twice while he entered her. He was close to climax within seconds and he tightened the binding hard and fast as he finished. The whole thing was over in moments and she was shocked. The moment her hands were free she jerked both hands to her neck and started crying. He said all the right things as they discussed it. Even though he was saying that he understood it made her uncomfortable and he wouldn’t bring it up again, his eyes were darker than usual and his voice was flat and without feeling. After that they went back to missionary position twice a week as it had been for years before. She felt guilt for letting him down, but she never guessed that he would search elsewhere for these urges.

Going to the police seemed like the only option, but how would she tell them that she knew? Will they understand that I knew for over a year and did nothing? Will they even believe me? They probably would, but she would have to tell them the whole story back from the very first time. The first clue.

 Daniel never stayed up past 10:30. His head was on that pillow the same time every night, so the first time Jessica woke up at 2am to find his side of the bed deserted she assumed he must have gotten up to get an Alka-seltzer. Ordering pizza usually did this to him, so she felt guilty for not cooking a healthier dinner. As she began to drift back to sleep she was awakened by the silence. The lack of noise in the house worried her, as she should have heard him shifting around if he was up.  Jessica forced herself upright and piloted her feet along the edge of the bed until they made landing in her slippers. She shuffled her way through the house until she realized he was gone and then she became instantly awake. A glance out the front window confirmed that his car was also AWOL. Her husband was gone in the middle of the night. An attempt at calling his cell phone proved pointless when she heard the muted sound of the doorbell ringtone that Daniel had set for calls from home. She followed the sound to the front door where his jacket was vibrating and the doorbell continued to bing-bong from his pocket. This meant he probably left in a hurry, but why didn’t he wake her? She quickly ran upstairs to Olivia’s room to find her fast asleep to the buzz of fish tank filters and humming heaters. Her daughter said they helped her sleep, an added bonus to allowing this all in her room instead of the back porch room that Jessica initially suggested.

Realizing that pacing was useless she returned to bed and attempted sleep. She could think of no logical reason for Daniel to leave without telling her, but she couldn’t overreact or it would create more problems. Sleep never did come and by 6am when she was past worrying about another woman and had moved on to considering her plan on calling local hospitals she saw the car lights throw shadows across the room as his car pulled into it’s usual spot. She wanted to rush to the door and drill him on his whereabouts, but she didn’t move a muscle as she listened to him creak open the door and move slowly through the house. She was sure she heard the laundry room door then the garage door. There was quiet rustling and then the doors again. She was shocked when she saw him slink through the door in only his boxer shorts straight to disarm his alarm clock which usually sounded at 6:30 before he headed straight for the bathroom. Where were his clothes? In the laundry? In the garage? He took a fast shower and began his morning ritual as Jessica lay in bed fuming over his oblivious nature and lack of explanation. Finally when he sat on the crossover to put on his shoes she sat up and began her interrogation. “Daniel, where have you been?”

He jumped a little when she spoke. “Oh sorry, Honey, I didn’t realize you were awake. I, um, could . . .not . . . sleep at all. Thinking about this database I’m working on right now. Eh . . .I was afraid I was making too much racket wondering the house, so I got up and drove around a bit, grabbed some coffee at a quick shop with a booth and wrapped my head around my database sketches a little bit. I made some good progress on them, so my day should be much easier now.”

So deeply she wanted to believe this, but she still wasn’t sure. “What time did you leave?”

“It wasn’t too long, I probably left at about 4am or so. I’m sorry I woke you up earlier than usual.” Now she knew he was lying. There was surely another woman. Daniel must be cheating.

She continued through the rest of her morning avoiding conversation as much as possible. And as soon as her family had left for the morning she searched for Daniel’s clothes and evidence of this other woman. She dug through the laundry basket and was confused to find only towels as usual. She moved on into the garage and scanned the area for a pile of clothes, but found nothing. As she turned to head back in she noticed the box of trash bags had been knocked over and one was half pulled out. She hated when Olivia left this kind of mess and she couldn’t stand to leave it that way. Cleaning up Daniel and Olivia’s mess was her job, she thought as she walked over to straighten it. As she leaned down by the trashcan she was struck by an unfamiliar smell. It was reminiscent of turpentine or gasoline; she wasn’t sure what it was. Her sense of smell was uncanny and it drove Olivia crazy, because she constantly complained of the odors that all the little creatures presented in the house.

This smell was new to her senses; it seemed like iron and acetone or some strong cleaning solution. Maybe Olivia was trying to clean some rust off something. She lifted the trashcan lid and saw nothing unusual at first, but curiosity made her lift a bag or two and then she saw it. A small bag that had multiple red tie cords coming out of the mouth indicating that whatever was in there was double or even triple bagged. On no, what did Olivia get into now? She thought as she grabbed for it. Opening it she expected the scent to be much stronger, but instead it changed to more of a smoke and gasoline smell. At first it appeared to be some rags or towels, but as she peered deeper she recognized Daniel’s black sweat pants and then one of his many Baltimore Orioles t-shirts. She constantly teased him about having so many shirts that looked exactly the same, but he added to his fan boy collection every few months. Everything changed when she realized these were the clothes Daniel had worn around the house last night and must have been what he put back on when he left to meet his whore. She grabbed at the box of trash bags and pulled one out to lie on the floor before she dumped the contents of the bag. There was definitely rust on the orange t-shirt and upon further inspection even on the black pants. She rubbed a part of it on her thumb and the consistency of it was gooey and the color was more red than orange. Oh my god, this is blood! What the hell happened last night? Maybe he got in a fight and didn’t want to tell her? That didn’t seem like him, but maybe he was embarrassed. He might have actually been out writing his stupid database design after all. She bagged it all back up and put it back in the trash feeling like a bitch for not even noticing if he was hurt or embarrassed, but only assuming he was cheating. It was confusing though. Many questions popped into her mind throughout the day, like why his socks were in there and why it smelled like a campfire.

Daniel was home promptly at 6pm and asking what was for dinner with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step. It was hard to avoid inspecting him for wounds and even harder when she realized there were none.  As usual Jessica had the evening news on as background noise while cooking dinner. WGAL was the Lancaster station and was the closest news for them in Mt. Joy. Usually the news droned on in the background unless something caught her attention as it did tonight. Apparently early that morning the body of a twenty something female was found on the side of the road in Mt. Joy. This was a shock since there was rarely mention of Mt. Joy on the news, let alone death. The body was found on fire just after six in the morning on the side of a county road as a local man was heading out for his commute.  He extinguished the fire, but the girl was already dead.

Jessica’s attention was fully on the TV until she noticed Daniel had stepped in from the hallway and was watching the news story as well. Her attention turned to him and she noticed how he was nervously grinding his hand on his hip and rocking on his right foot. She connected the dots. The blood, the gasoline, the smoke and the lies all made sense. As the story progressed over the next few days it turned out that the young lady had been last seen leaving a local bar at 2am and her cause of death had been strangulation. According to the news she had been raped and stabbed as well. It was horrific news for their community and even more so for Jessica.

There was no correct way to handle this situation. She couldn’t confront Daniel because she could still be wrong and if she was right she didn’t want to know. What would happen to Olivia? It didn’t make sense to her as Daniel had never been violent. He didn’t even like to give Olivia a spanking when she was acting up as a child. She held a great debate in her head for days and then decided she couldn’t bring herself to ruin her daughter’s life or her own over something she wasn’t sure about.

 Sleeping was no longer an option for Jessica. She would lie in bed next to this stranger that she once loved and doze in and out. Since that first night there had been at least four more murders in the surrounding area on nights when Daniel had gone out for a drive in the middle of the night. Murders in which young women were brutalized and strangled to death. After the second one, Jessica completely shut down to the world around her. She began to hope for her husband’s death. For him to be hit by a car or even stabbed to death by some young woman that he didn’t expect to fight back. She had no idea how she was going to support Olivia when Daniel was finally caught. There is no insurance for a family whose breadwinner raped and murdered women.

But here she was and this was her reality. She was disgusted with her lack of courage. How many more women could she allow to die while she said nothing? The movement of the trashcan contents sloshing around as she made her way a few feet to Olivia’s bathroom brought on another wave of nausea. When she reached the toilet nothing came out with her heaves, so she emptied the trash can and began cleaning it out in the bathtub. As it filled with water she snatched the washcloth and stuck it in the stream of water then turned to the mirror as she washed her face. The reflection was so different than 2 years earlier. All the weight loss had produced gaunt features that she would have begged for as a teenager. Her skin had a gray tinge to it she assumed was from a lack of sleep and sunshine. Leaning in for a closer inspection she noticed that even her eyes seemed different and darker.

She and Olivia would have to move and start a new life and this is how it would have to be. She guessed they would have to stick around for a while answering questions for police while dodging camera crews and news reporters and waiting for the house to sell. Would the house of a serial killer bring in more money? Obviously her daughter would have to start counseling after finding out that the father she loved so much was really a monster. Jessica would have to explain to all of her closest friends and family how she could have been married to David Henry Ford the serial killer and not know what he was. And she would have to find an answer, because they could never know the truth.

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“We’ll page you when we get another table going,” said the kid working the poker room desk, without even glancing up. This meant it was going to be an even longer night for Charlie. He hated waiting for a table; it could be 10 minutes or 2 hours. He couldn’t risk lingering since the goal was to go unnoticed and it was hard to be inconspicuous sitting by himself in a poker room. He also didn’t want to waste any money at the table games. Wandering around the casino to stall for time and dropping a little money into some slots was pretty much his only option.

Once he was situated in front of a mindless penny slot machine, he pulled out a ten and took his time. He ordered vodka and seven and let his thoughts wander in between pulls trying to avoid blowing through the money too quick. Right now, blending in was all he wanted. It was easy money for Charlie once he got to the tables. He made a steady living by taking a small pile of money from a different casino every week. Not too much, enough to pay his bills and keep him out of a nine to five job that would suck the little bit of life he had left away. As long as he didn’t visit the same place too often, no one seemed to notice. Which is why he had to spread it across as many different locations as he could. If it wasn’t for that, Charlie would never come to this particular casino again.

He passed some time by nervously picking at a spot on his right knuckle. Jenny, his wife, called that his worry spot. If she were here now, she would gently cover this spot with her hand to stop him from messing with it, but he had not allowed her to come. This was his responsibility. This was his family. Luther turned his hands over and looked at the palms, comparing how much lighter and tan they were to the dark sable skin on the other side. He looked beyond his hands out into Granny Byrd’s small yard. This little patch of earth was her favorite spot to be. Now the grass was so overgrown that it didn’t look like a yard, it looked like a tiny wheat field. It bothered him that no one had mowed it for her and that her last days were probably spent wishing she had her lawn mowed. It was hard for him to criticize anyone since he had not been to this porch in seven years and hadn’t mowed this yard himself in nine years.

Seven years ago he sat in this same spot and visited with Byrdie. At that time she was 84 years old and Luther was in a hurry. He was always in a hurry and Byrdie never was. He sat and visited with her and he now wished he would have given her his full attention instead of thinking about how much work he had to do and about the plans he and Jenny had for that evening. They seemed so important that day, but he couldn’t even remember what they were now. Byrdie spent all of her time on this porch. As soon as there was daylight, she would rush outside to sit and soak up the sunshine. She had a few tin bowls out on the porch that she scooped cat food into for all the cats she visited with as they stopped by to grab a bite throughout the day. The neighbors complained that she was attracting strays to the area that were multiplying and infesting the place with dirty cats, but she never stopped. Luther assumed this cat food out in the sunshine all day with dried little bits from the day before was the reason it smelled so bad on her porch. Even though he loved Granny Bryd, he hated to sit out on this porch. All he could think about while he was there was everywhere else he was supposed to be.

Now that she was gone this all seemed different. He was here now to watch her be placed in the ground and Luther wished he could have one more conversation with her. He wished he had been a better grandson. It was probably hard for anyone else to understand, but he really did love the woman. She was a light to him. Someone that loved him regardless of the stupid choices he made or how little he showed that he loved her back. Even if he only saw her for a moment, she always told him how proud she was of him. Byrdie had great stories to tell that would capture his attention away from his rushed life even if it were only for a moment. Once she started into a tale of days past, he was hooked. He really loved it when she told stories of her life with his Grandpa Earl. She met Earl Ramsey in the factory that they both worked at in when she was 24 and they both continued to work at the same place for almost 40 years. He couldn’t imagine having Byrdie’s life. The same job, the same town and even the same house for almost 70 years. Grandpa Earl died when Luther was only 10 years old. Byrdie seemed like an old woman to him even then, but she still lived another 25 years without him. There was no chance Byrdie was going to love another man. Grandpa Earl was the only man for her.

She had lived through a time of great intolerance and she barely seemed to notice. She simply sat on her porch feeding cats and chatting with people who walked down the street. It was hard to picture her as the young mother of three kids. In the pictures she looked like a very plain woman with an intense sparkle in her eye. She always wore her hair smoothed down and squeezed into a little ponytail that barely fit into the black rubber band that held it in place. Little jagged spikes of hair shot out of it with varying lengths that never were longer than an inch. He imagined that if she were to wear it loose, she would have hundred of tiny curls, but they were glued down causing little waves along her head. He had never seen her or even a picture of her with her hair another way. Luther was only 35 and he now had such short hair that he might as well shave it off, but he had many hairstyles in his life. Thinking about the giant afro he sported when he was in his early twenties made him smile. His girlfriend talked him into dreading it up after a few weeks, but it was a fun while it lasted. At one time he thought he could never be that unchanged, he could never commit to the same thing everyday for the rest of his life. Jenny was the most consistent thing in his life and they had been together for nine years now. She had moved around with him for the first few years, but now they had lived in the same house for 6 years and she was going to have his baby in only a few weeks.

He had meant to call and tell Byrdie about the baby coming, but he never had time. It was going to be her first great grand baby and he knew she would have been thrilled. Now that he was here and taking his time about going inside he realized there were plenty of chances he could have called and talked to her, but it was too late. She was gone.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, “Luther Ramsey, how long you been here, Baby? Come inside, we’ve got all kinds of good food cookin’ and your mama is here too.” His aunt Carmen had discovered him, so his hope for escape was gone. Now Luther would have to go in and face these people he had not made time for in seven years.