Dreams From a State of Suspended Sleep

Dreams from a state Of suspended sleep

Steven Thomas

DREAMS FROM A STATE OF SUSPENDED SLEEP

PART: I

Copyright Š2010 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Published by SK Publishing Mobile, AL http://SK-publishing.angelfire.com/home/

Chapter

One

“God, I hate you people!!” screamed Amerie as she stormed out of the front door of her parents’ house. She was a tall, slender girl, and she looked and acted much older than 17. The usually mild-mannered, straight-A student had recently found her own sense of identity and become quite rebellious over the last couple of months, since she started dating an older boy from across town. It had only been a week since she got out of school for the summer, and she and her parents had been arguing non-stop the entire time. Her boyfriend, Brian, had stopped by to pick her up for their weekly dinner, movie, and backseat-fuck-fest, and now sat in his car at the end of the long driveway. Amerie’s mother, Helene chased her out onto the front porch, calling for Amerie to come back into the house. About halfway down the sidewalk, the young girl bent over and picked up a small ceramic flower-pot, turned, and threw it in her mother’s direction, then jumped into the car with her boyfriend. “Let’s go baby, get me the hell outta here!” she ordered.

Her parents watched as the late-model, blue Camaro sped off into the night.

Amerie’s mother, Helene, ran inside yelling frantically at her husband, Mike- “Why the hell didn’t you do anything?!”

Amerie’s step-father gulped down the last of his beer, “You want me to do something?” he mumbled, as he stood and headed over to a small closet. He opened the door, reached to the very back, and pulled out a handful of shotgun shells, before stuffing them in his pocket.

“Oh God,” Helene thought aloud as she raced over to the other side of the room and snatched up the phone, her hands shaking as she dialed 9-1-1 “You really want me to do something?! I’m gonna take care of that little son-of-abitch!” he snapped back at her, then bolted out the back of the house, and climbed up into Page 1 of 37

his beat-up, old Ford pickup truck. He reached behind the seat, pulled out a doublebarreled shotgun, and pushed two shells into place.

He started off, and drove around the side of the house, following the path that Brian and Amerie had left on only moments before. A dense fog began to set in just a few miles down the road. Mike switched on the high beams, and reached underneath his seat to pull out his flashlight and a small pistol, laying them both on the seat beside him. He quickly turned down a narrow street, and continued on his way towards town to find his step-daughter and her boyfriend.

The next morning, Amerie was awakened by a loud knock on the door of Brian’s apartment. She picked herself up from the mattress on the floor, slipped on her panties and one of his t-shirts, and walked to the door. “Who is it?” she asked, stepping up to see through the peep-hole.

“Mobile Police Department, we just need to ask you some questions.”

“Fuck!” Amerie thought aloud, as she ran to the back room to wake up Brian, “Brian- Wake up baby, it’s the cops....” Without a word, he shuffled out of the bed, and frantically put on some clothes, then snatched up a small brown duffel bag from the closet. He opened the window in the room, grabbed his keys from a nearby dresser, and climbed out to the courtyard outside. The police officers were losing their patience, and shouted again for someone to open the door. “What are you doing?!” she yelled after him, “You can’t just freakin’ leave me here,” but he had already darted down the steps nearby to his car in the parking lot.

Hearing Amerie’s shouting, the two police officers kicked in the door and rushed into the small apartment. By the time they made their way in, and found Amerie in the bedroom crying, they could hear tires screeching as Brian sped out of the nearby parking Page 2 of 37

lot. One of the men quickly surveyed the area, then poked his head out the window to see the blue Camaro pulling out onto the busy highway. The other officer holstered his pistol, and turned to Amerie- “Ms. Smith, we’re gonna need you need to come with us.” He then handcuffed and led her out of the building and into the squad car. Both officers climbed in, and they drove across town to where their precinct was located, the awkward silence broken only by Amerie’s sobbing, and the occasional chatter from the police radio.

Once at the police station, Amerie was led to a room where her mother, and another officer were seated outside, waiting on her to arrive. The man stood as she entered, and introduced himself in a gentle, polite tone. “Ms. Smith, I’m Detective Johansson. I’d like to ask you a few questions.” Her mother looked up at the young girl, her eyes full of tears and disgust.

After about an hour of questioning as to the whereabouts of her boyfriend, Amerie was told that there was a warrant out for his arrest, for numerous drug charges, and that he was a suspect in another case. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and Amerie glanced up to see her mother through a window in the small room. “What’s happened…” she began to ask, when she noticed that her mom was still crying.

The detective cocked his head towards the window, then turned back to Amerie and leaned closer from across the table. “There’s been a terrible accident…” He went on to tell her that her stepfather had been in a wreck the night before. “There was a lot of alcohol in his system- we found his truck wrapped around a tree on the other side of Shillingers Road, out past Highway 98. But we’re concerned with what may have actually happened…” Amerie looked on in shock, and glanced up to see her mother sobbing uncontrollably outside. She watched on with tears in her eyes, as a female officer tried to console Helene, who was then escorted out of the room where Amerie could no Page 3 of 37

longer see her.

Later that afternoon, Amerie was taken to another room, with a large screen on the wall. Detective Johansson entered and sat down across from her. “I need to show you something, Amerie,” he said, flipping on a switch to the projector. A bright light illuminated the screen and an image slowly came into focus. The first picture was a snapshot of the crash scene. Amerie instantly recognized the pick-up truck that was nearly folded in half around an old oak tree, and tears again began running down her face.

The detective clicked a button on the projector, and the next image snapped onto the screen. In this one, she could see a man lying on the ground, most of his upper body covered in blood. She buried her face in her hands as her eyes caught a glimpse of the double-barreled shotgun within arm-reach of the body. “From what investigators could tell, he was removed from the vehicle before he actually died, but something else must’ve been going on, because his gun had been fired…” He hesitated briefly before continuing, “There appears to have been some foul play involved, but there were so many cuts and scratches from the wreck, and so much blood that we just couldn’t determine how he had actually been killed.”

Amerie peered up, with a very concerned look on her face and tears still pouring from her eyes. “Is that why you’re looking for Brian?!” she shouted out between sobs.

The detective calmly nodded, “We were advised by your mother that he and your stepfather have had some cross words lately--” “There’s no way Brian could have done that!” she interrupted, then paused and started again in a more controlled voice, almost whispering. “I know he didn’t do it… I was with him the entire night…”

Detective Johansson shrugged, then turned off the screen and the images faded Page 4 of 37

away. “The medical examiner is performing an autopsy at this time; they’re still trying to determine the exact cause of death. We’ll let you and your mother know as soon as something comes up, but until then you’re being released home, into your mother’s custody.” Amerie shook her head, then tried to regain her composure. As she stood up, Johansson started again “If he tries to contact you in any way, you need to call us immediately. Here…” he reached into his shirt pocket, “take one of my cards.” She took the small business card from his hand, and shoved it into her pocket, nodded her understanding, still fighting back the waves of tears. She headed to a desk near the front door, and spoke with an officer who discharged her, and called for another officer to escort her back to her house.

A red haze shifted across the landscape as the sun set on the horizon, and a gentle breeze brushed Amerie's tear-stained face as she stepped out of the police cruiser and made her way up the sidewalk to her house. She nearly broke down again as she stepped onto the porch that she had been so eager to leave behind only 24 hours ago. Walking into the living room, she paused for a moment, taking in everything that happened.

“Mom?” she called out anxiously, glancing down one of the hallways towards the dark bedrooms at the back of the house. Assuming that she was still at the police station, the girl headed to the kitchen to grab something to drink. Walking over to the counter, she grabbed a glass from the cabinet above the sink and quickly filled it with ice and water from the dispenser on their refrigerator. On her way back through the living room, towards her bedroom, she stopped short in the hallway when a slight scratching sound startled her. She turned around, and nervously walked back in the direction of the noise, and paused to listen. After a short moment, she heard the sound again, and realized that it was coming from the den.

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“Tibby-” she said, calling to her cat, “is that you?” She hesitated again for another moment before stepping down into the dark den, where it looked like something was laying in the middle of the floor. She reached up to turn on the light, and shrieked as her glass shattered on the floor. Trembling in fear, her eyes locked on her mother lying on the floor, blood pouring from a deep slash in her throat. When the lights came on Helene slowly looked up at her daughter, gasping for air, and tried to drag herself towards the young girl for help. Horrified, Amerie backed into the corner of the room, crying uncontrollably, before sinking to the floor.

Between sickening gurgling sounds, her mother tried calling out to her, “Angel…” The first word cut like a knife, as Amerie remembered her mother calling her by this nickname from a very early age. Her next thoughts were cut short by more pleas from her mother: “H-help… Helll… m… mee.” But Amerie still could not pull herself together, and watched on in shock as her mother’s last breath escaped from her body, and she fell limp to the floor, her eyes still fixated on her daughter.

Amerie spent the night back at the police station, exhausted from the traumatic events of the last two days. She couldn’t sleep however, because every time she closed her eyes, all she could see were the gruesome images of her mother and stepfather. She thought back to her mother crawling towards her on the floor… calling for her to help.

She had wanted to help her, but was absolutely frozen in fear. She remembered back to the arguments they’d had over the last few weeks, about how Brian was too old for her… how he came from a bad home, and had terrible habits. She wanted to cry even more when she thought of how she’d spoken to her mother, with such hatred in her words.

After several hours of staring into the empty space above her cold cot, reflecting on everything that had happened, her weariness took over and she drifted into a deep sleep.

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Chapter

TWO

The next several days were pretty uneventful. Under the advice of Detective Johansson, Amerie agreed to being placed in a psychiatric facility in Mount Vernon, for some intense therapy. She had been admitted in the hospital for about two weeks, when late one night she had a dream about the night her mom died. She was startled from her sleep by a loud thud, and she quickly sat up in bed, her mother’s wavering voice still ringing in her head, “…angel…”

She waited quietly in her bed for a moment, her eyes adjusting to the darkness and scanning the room cautiously, then nearly jumped out of her bed as she heard the sound again. This time however, she was able to track the source to the heavy, metal door that led out into the hallway. She slowly climbed up off the small bed, and made her way in that direction. Just as she was getting close enough to the door to peek out through the small opening, the door stated shaking violently, as if someone outside was trying to rip it from it’s hinges. Backing away from the doorway, she could now hear heavy breathing just outside. Thinking that one of the other patients may be outside the door, hurt and trying to get help, she yelled out for a guard. She listened for a moment as the breathing slowed to a stop, and she could now faintly hear heavy footsteps on the hard tile floor, and the jingling of a key chain in the distance, signaling to her that one of the guards was coming down the hall.

She tried calming her voice as she spoke, “Someone’s on the way to help…” She was suddenly interrupted as the palm of a large hand slammed over the small window in the door. She jumped back, catching her balance on the foot rail of her bed, and covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a scream. She didn’t take her eyes from the door, and watched as the hand began clawing viciously at the small glass pane. She could no longer Page 7 of 37

hear the guard’s jingling keys, and realized that she had been holding her breath since she nearly tripped. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves, and realized when she opened her eyes that the hand had disappeared from the window.

Trembling, she made her way closer again, unsure of what she would do when she actually reached the door. This time, she slowed to a stop about an arm’s length from the door. She could now see the dark silhouette of a man’s face though the window. She squinted, trying to recognize his face in the dark, unaware that she was unconsciously leaning forward, and now was within inches of the door. She finally heard the guard’s heavy footsteps and keys again. At that moment the face outside slipped away into the darkness, and her heart sank to her stomach, relieved. Only seconds later, someone outside busted through the small window with a large metal rod. Amerie fell back, this time onto the floor, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Hearing the patient’s screams, the guard rushed to her room, and unbolted the lock within a few seconds. As he stepped inside, he reached up and turned on the light, finding the girl curled up on the floor crying. Noticing that the window had been shattered, he stepped back out into the hallway to see if there was anyone else nearby. He radioed for assistance and a short while later, a handful of other guards arrived. They quickly checked Amerie for any injuries, but when they couldn’t find any or comfort the young girl, they hurried her to the infirmary down the hall. Before they were halfway down the hall, she collapsed to the floor, her entire body shaking intensely, her eyes rolling back into her head. The guards immediately hoisted her up, rushed her to a bed in the trauma center and strapped her down in an effort to control the seizures. The medical staff arrived within minutes, and one of the doctors quickly injected her with a sedative, calming her almost immediately.

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A short while later, as the effects of the sedative began to fade, one of the facility’s lead psychiatrists was called to the room, along with another doctor to examine and question the girl. The physician, Doctor Thomas spoke first. “Can you please tell us what happened, Ms. Smith?”

“Well,” she started, “There was someone outside my room… banging and shaking my door like they were trying to get in. At first, I couldn’t see anything, and I thought someone might be hurt.” She hesitated for a moment, then continued, “So when I called for help, I tried to see what was going on, and whoever was out there slammed their hand against the window,” she motioned with her hands, “...blocking my view, and like clawing at the door. But… then I saw a face, like someone was just waiting outside.

Well, not really a face, but a shadow. That’s when the window got busted out. And the next thing I remember, Mr. Reilly came in.”

The psychiatrist intervened, “Could you make out any facial features?”

“No sir… like I said, I could just see, like his outline.”

He turned to the physician, “Doctor, did the guard see anything when he arrived?”

“Not sure,” Thomas replied, as he reached back to the telephone on the desk to page the security guard. After several minutes, the phone beeped, and an older man spoke, advising them that the guard couldn’t be reached. Thomas chuckled, “That’s Bill for ya, he’s had his excitement for the night… probably already back to sleep by now. I’ll run downstairs to see if I can find him.”

The doctor stepped out, and headed down the long hall from the infirmary to the elevator where he noticed a few small scratches on the door. Curious, he leaned down to inspect what appeared to be claw marks, like someone- something, had been trying to pry the doors open. He stood back up and pressed the ‘down’ button, then waited for several Page 9 of 37

minutes. He impatiently pressed the button again, still with no result. He reached for the door, and tried to open it manually and suddenly felt uneasy, as he again noticed the scratch marks. He reached back to the panel and pressed the service call button, to see if any of the servicemen were still on duty.

A burly sounding man answered, “Bruce here, what can I do for ya?” Thomas explained his predicament, and waited eagerly after the man said he’d be there in a couple of minutes. Soon afterward, a husky, middle-aged man came bouncing down the hall from the maintenance room on the north wing. “Let me see if I can get ‘er open for ya.” He pressed the buttons several times, “… these elevators were just serviced about a month ago, shouldn’t be anything wrong with the damn thing.” Doctor Thomas cleared his throat, and Bruce glanced back at him, annoyed. He turned back to his work, mumbling as he reached into his tool bag, then pulled out a small crowbar and wedged it between the two steel doors. He pushed against the bar, and the elevator chimed, as the doors slowly slid open.

Both men gasped as the doors opened, revealing a grisly image. The security guard, Bill Reilly was slumped in a heap against the back wall of the elevator, drenched in blood, his hand clutching the small pistol in the holster on his belt. On the adjacent wall, was a message inscribed with the man’s own blood: ‘CAN'T SAVE HER’.

Meanwhile, Doctor Phillips, the psychiatrist, and Amerie waited and discussed some things about her family and friends. He stood up and walked across the room to the sink to get some water. As Amerie was looking around the room, still lying, strapped to the bed, she thought she heard a scratching noise. It sounded as if it was coming from just outside the infirmary door, and then she began to hear heavy breathing. The same heavy breathing she heard moments before her incident. Doctor Phillips had stepped around the Page 10 of 37

corner, and was speaking to one of the guards, when the lights began to flicker. Amerie started to sweat nervously, and her eyes filled with tears. Just then, the room went black, and she screamed at the top of her lungs. Doctor Phillips and the guard darted back around into the room, and the doctor turned the lights back on with the switch. Amerie was sitting up on the bed, her straps loosened, and was staring at the door as it slowly shut.

The guard pulled out his pistol, and opened the door. Doctor Phillips stepped over to Amerie, and tried to calm her. “I don’t see anything, sir,” said the guard as he holstered his gun.

Doctor Phillips hurried to the girl's bedside to check on her, “Are you okay?

Could you see anything?”

She looked at him, her eyes still wide with fright. “He...” she stammered, “He.... touched my face....”

The doctor turned back to the guard- “You sure there was no one out there?!” The guard shook his head, and Phillips turned his gaze back to the young girl, almost as if he was scanning her face for answers. “You said he, did he say something to you?” She nodded, and began to speak, but was interrupted as Doctor Thomas and the service technician, Bruce ran into the infirmary.

“We need to call the police and get the girl out of here, now!” exclaimed Thomas to the psychiatrist. “We just found Bill in the elevator...” he paused momentarily, and motioned for the other doctor to step away from the girl's bed. “Bill's dead- he was slaughtered in the elevator... like nothing I've ever seen before” He lowered his voice even more, and told him about the message they saw written on the wall.

Doctor Phillips turned back to Amerie. “I agree, we need to get you out of here Page 11 of 37

immediately- can you stand?” She nodded nervously, and slipped down from the large gurney.

“The better question is, can you walk?”, Bruce started, “It's gonna be a long way back downstairs... the elevator's outta the question.”

One of the guards, Jim Peabody, stepped up to the group, “The elevators are out?”

Doctor Thomas turned to him and nodded before continuing, “We'll have to take the stairs at the other end of the east wing.”

“Don't know if that'll work either...” Jim said.

Doctor Phillips turned to him, “What do you mean?”

Jim began to reply, but Bruce spoke up first, “We've been working on the stairway for a couple weeks now. The old metal stairs between the third and fifth floors collapsed.”

A quiet voice finally spoke up, “Fuckin' great...” The group turned to see Amerie shaking her head.

Thomas frowned and spoke up, “How safe is the 'old way', Jim?” The young guard chuckled, “... oh, you're serious... um, well, I mean it should be alright. Only thing though, is that part of the hospital's been closed off for probably the last forty or so years... that includes maintenance. So we may end up with some similar problems with the stairs there too.”

Doctor Phillips turned to Thomas “Are you really sure that’s necessary? Shouldn't we just wait until the police get here or something?” Then turning to Bruce, he continued “You can’t fix the elevator??”

The older man looked at him with a sheepish grin “I’m sorry, Doc, I'm not going anywhere near that elevator... yer welcome to go give it a try yourself though.”

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Thomas turned to the young security guard, “Jim, do you know how to get through those halls?”

“I dunno... I've never even been over there before... But I can probably radio over to Mr. Turner...” he advised. “He started working here right after all of that was closed off. I remember him telling me that they used to have to go down there quite a bit to work on some stuff. He might remember enough to get us through there.” The guard stepped over to the side and radioed his supervisor, “Mr. Turner? Jim here, I need some help.”

After a momentary silence, the radio buzzed, and an older man spoke back. **Rufus here, sorry bout the wait, had another call. What's up, Peabody? ** As Jim explained the situation to the Head of Security, the doctor gathered his things, and the psychiatrist helped Amerie to her feet. Bruce grabbed his crowbar, and opened the door, stepping out into the hall. “Looks like the coast is clear, y'all.” The group gathered around the door, and slowly started out into the hallway. They turned left at the first corner, and continued down the hall, then entered the maintenance closet at the end.

“Mr. Turner said we'd have to go all the way down to the basement from these stairs, then come up on the other side.” said the security guard.

“That’s seven floors down, Ms. Smith. You think you can make it?” asked Doctor Phillips.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she said lightly, as she leaned on the handrail, and started down the stairs. They had ventured down several flights of stairs, and were about halfway down when they heard a loud popping sound, that echoed through the metal stairwell.

“What was that?” Amerie wondered out loud.

Bruce paused for a second, listening again to see if he could hear anything else, Page 13 of 37

“Sounded like a...” Before he could finish, a loud whining sound erupted from above them, followed by a deafening screech. “Oh shit!” Bruce shouted, “Elevator's comin' down- grab hold of somethin'!” Everyone quickly reached for the stair rail, as they heard a crash in the distance, and felt the rumbling that reverberated throughout the entire facility. The already dim lighting in the stairway flickered for a few seconds before fading out completely.

A beam of bright light cut through the darkness that had surrounded them, as Jim turned on the flashlight that he pulled from his belt, “backup generator should come online shortly... we should at least get the emergency floodlights then,” he advised.

The party finally arrived at a locked door, covered in years of rust and grime. Jim peered through the small glass window with his flashlight, but wasn't able to see much of anything through the heavy dust on the glass. “Bruce, you still got that pry bar I saw you with earlier?” The older man moved to the front and handed the crowbar to the security guard who promptly turned his attention to the lock on the door. Wedging the bar into a small gap between the door and dead-bolt casing, he pulled down hard until he heard a cracking sound, and the lock case fell to the floor with a thud. He slowly shoved the heavy door open and aimed his light again into the dark room before stepping inside.

He and Bruce led the group through to the other end of the huge room, until they reached a large gateway. “Here we go,” said Jim, “Mr. Turner said the old tunnels are right through here.”

Doctor Thomas walked up as Jim and Bruce unchained the gate, and it swung open. “Guys, we’re going to have to take it kind of easy, the girl can’t keep up.”

Amerie stammered forward into the massive, concrete lair. “What is this place?”, she asked.

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Jim began to explain, “When they first started building the hospital in the early 1800's, they built these tunnels to connect the hospital to the old army barracks nearby so they could get all of the materials into the construction site easily.” Amerie looked into the darkness and felt a cool breeze blow over her.

They continued to venture into the tunnels, stopping every so often to radio back to Jim's supervisor for directions. They walked a bit further down one of the long corridors, when they received a call on the radio. **How y'all doin’ down there??**, buzzed in Rufus.

The noise startled the group, and Jim called back to him, “Everything's going all right so far, sir...” He paused briefly as they stepped out into an opening where the tunnel split into several different corridors. “Looks like we just made it to the courtyard, Mr. Turner. Where to now?”

The security supervisor continued to guide the party up and down the cryptic passages, when just as they were arriving at the next intersection, the voice coming from Jim's radio was replaced by static, and he stopped abruptly. “Shit... I lost my signal” He flipped his light to the left, then back to his right searching for any indication of a way out. The light slid across the room to their right, and reflected off of something in the far corner. As Jim directed the small group into the room, he scanned the floor with the beam from his flashlight, until he finally found what had reflected the light. The entire group noticed at the same time that there was an old, rusting ladder that led up, disappearing into the high ceiling above.

“That's gotta be it,” Jim thought out loud before turning back to the group, “Turner said that there we'd have to climb up from the basement to get to a maintenance room in one of the old wings of the hospital.”

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Bruce stepped forward, “Hell yeah! Looks like we found the way outta here!”

Jim proceeded to the ladder first, stepping on the first rung to see if it would withstand their weight. Glancing back at the group, he handed his flashlight to Amerie.

“See if you can keep it aimed towards the top of the ladder,” he said with a smile before hoisting himself up slowly. He continued climbing up further, towards the ceiling of the enormous room, with Amerie shining the light up to guide him. Jim climbed higher and higher, probably thirty feet or more, and just as the light from the flashlight started to grow dim, he banged his head against an old steel grate. “Son of a...” he groaned, then shouted down to the group below, “Found it!” Bracing himself on the ladder, he pushed with all of his might, and finally the heavy grate budged. Jim shoved it up and over into the room above.

Poking his head up, he quickly scanned the room, then pulled up and through the small shaft, onto the dusty floor inside. He leaned back over the ladder to call for the others to follow, but by now, Amerie had climbed up and was just behind him. She tossed him the flashlight as he helped pull her up into the room. “So much for you not being able to keep up- feelin' better?” he asked as she climbed up off the floor.

“Yeah... think the meds finally wore off,” she replied.

Jim flipped the flashlight around, and again checked out their surroundings, “Looks like we might be alright here... go ahead and tell the rest of 'em to come on up.”

Amerie turned back, and called down to everyone else to follow them, and glancing back up, she noticed that Jim had found a small wooden door to their left, and was now fiddling with the knob to get it open. Just as the rest of the group was piling into the room, he leaned his shoulder, and slammed against the door, to no avail. Frustrated, he stepped back and kicked the knob, jarring the door free. He stepped through the doorway, Page 16 of 37

and found himself inside the original sanatorium.

As the group reassembled in the room, Jim stepped back inside and snatched the radio from his belt. He called to his superior again, praying for reception “Mr. Turner, can you hear me? We made it up to the old wing from the sub-level.” He stared at the radio, as the rest of the party gathered around.

After several seconds, the radio beeped, and the older man's voice boomed through the speaker **Wow, Y'all are movin’ pretty fast down there... If you can make it to the elevator on the second floor of the south hall, I’ll...** The transmission was cut short, and Jim paged back for the supervisor several times, with no response.

“God dammit,” belted Bruce from behind him, as Doctor Thomas stepped up.

“He said there's an elevator on the second floor, right? Let's just head there.”

Amerie nodded in agreement, and Jim started back out into the hall, leading them anxiously towards their destination.

They continued down another series of long halls before coming to a stairwell in the back corner, leading up to the second floor. Jim took one step onto the old wooden board, which creaked loudly under his weight. He slowly stepped up, and when the boards started crumbling beneath his feet. He jumped back to the main floor, just as the first several steps crashed down to the floor below.

Amerie frowned, and rolled her eyes, “Why am I not surprised?!”

Jim looked back at the young girl, and for the first time, she could see doubt in his eyes, “Don't worry...” he said nervously, “We'll find another way.”

Doctor Thomas had stepped over to the other side of the hallway, and was now studying a locked door nearby. Thinking out loud, he turned to Jim and spoke, “Do you know if this building has the same layout as the new one?”

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The security guard shrugged, “No clue... why?”

“Well... if so, then that would mean we should be able to cut through here to get to the south hall.”

“Think yer right, doc,” said Bruce as he walked over and checked the door knob.

He reached back and pulled out his ever-trusty crowbar, and used it to bust through the lower-right window pane. As the glass shattered, Bruce reached through to unlock the door, and pushed the door open, releasing a foul odor.

“Holy shit! What is that??” Jim blurted.

Bruce turned back to him, “Smells like something died in there...”

They slowly proceeded into the room, an old medical records office. Thomas took the lead now, snatching the flashlight from Amerie, but stopped abruptly as they turned a corner, around a shelf of old documents. On the floor in front of them, they discovered the source of the stench, and the grisly reason why this area had been closed off so many years ago. In the office where they now stood, a doctor had confronted his wife, who was a nurse at the hospital, about cheating on him with a co-worker. As the argument heated up, he pulled out a small revolver and shot her in the head several times, before turning the gun on himself. However, this horrific scene had never been removed, only closed off, sealed from the rest of the world. In their place, two skeletons now lay on the linoleum floor, which had been stained with their blood. Everyone in the group tried to quickly regain their composure, and Amerie covered her mouth, as the group continued past them, and through another small office, out into the adjacent hall.

“This way,” pointed the doctor, and they headed down towards the end of the hallway to another set of stairs leading up. “Hope these are in better shape than the last ones...” Thomas stated as he cautiously walked up onto the first step. He took another Page 18 of 37

step up, then another, shifting his weight a couple times to test the structural integrity, before continuing to the top. “Think we may be good here,” he said, turning back to the group, “One person at a time though, please.” Jim and Amerie looked at each other, and she nodded before slowly making her way to the top of the staircase, and the rest of the group followed along behind her.

They headed down this hallway, following signs that directed them towards the elevator. As they neared the end of this hall, the light reflected off of something straight ahead, and they knew they had made it. They anxiously gathered around the doors, as the elevator slowly moved down to their floor.

Jim's voice broke the silence, “I'm surprised these are still even working down here... You sure we should be using this old thing, especially considering there was another elevator that fell earlier” Bruce advised, “It should be okay, I think they're tied into the maintenance elevators up in the main part of the hospital.”

Just then, the bell sounded, and the doors slid open. “I kinda thought your boss was going to meet us here,” Thomas stated, remembering the conversation earlier.

“Yeah, me too,” Jim replied, “Maybe he's waiting upstairs.” Everyone piled into the small elevator, and the doors closed behind them. Jim reached down and tapped the button for the lobby, to take them back up to the main floor in the hospital.

The old elevator moved very slowly, and it took several minutes just to move up the three floors to the main lobby. Before the doors even opened, they could all tell a difference in the quality of air, compared to the stale, must that they'd been breathing in for the last couple of hours. The elevator shifted hard to a stop, and there was a light chime, however the doors did not open right away.

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Doctor Phillips spoke up first in a very sarcastic tone, “So we make it all this way to get trapped in the elevator...”

Thomas cut him off “We don't need your damn negativity.” All of a sudden, the doors chimed again, and slid open, and Rufus Turner's body fell forward into the elevator and onto the floor, startling them all. He was completely drenched in the blood that was still bubbling up from the slash in his throat. Jim looked down at the old man, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head, and the color faded from his face. Panicking, Amerie quickly jumped forward, out of the elevator into the lobby, where she noticed a message that had been carved into the floor: ‘WELCOME 2 HELL!’ Thomas reached down and un-holstered the 9mm. pistol from the belt of the lifeless man on the floor, as the rest of the group nervously stepped out into the room.

Jim quickly reached for his own gun, and scanned the area, before moving over to the main waiting area near the front desk. The others followed him into the opening, and Bruce and the psychiatrist slouched tiredly onto the hard, plastic chairs.

Amerie heard a faint rattling in the distance, and stood there staring into the darkness, down one of the halls nearby. A constant shuffling sound drew closer and she froze. A small, wiry old man emerged from the shadows about halfway down the hall, and slowly moved closer to the frightened girl. Staggering forward with his arms outstretched, he reached out to her. Paralyzed with fear, she shrieked loudly as the old man wrapped his arms around her, and at that moment Jim darted around the corner.

Seeing her attacker, he raised his pistol, aimed directly at the man, and quickly fired off three shots, without any hesitation.

“Wait!!” Thomas yelled, but it was too late- the old man released his grip, slumping to the floor, and Amerie dropped down beside him in tears.

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Phillips had just walked around the front desk as the shots were fired, and now walked over to Jim, looking him sternly in the eyes, “That man was a patient of mine! He wasn’t...”

His voice trailed off as Amerie spoke softly through her sobs. “Help me...” The three men turned their attention to the girl, in tears on the floor, “...he said help me...”

The words were choked off by her sobbing, and Thomas helped her to her feet, trying to comfort her.

Meanwhile, Bruce had wandered over to the front desk. “Hey fellas, phone line’s been cut...”

Jim turned back to him and answered, “It’s all right, we should still be able to contact the cops with the radio in the security office.” He walked across the wide room, towards an unmarked door near the hospital entrance. Opening the door, he stepped over to a small desk in the corner, and flipped a switch to power on the main radio. He quickly scanned the channels, then leaned down and spoke into the microphone, “This is Jim Peabody, security guard at Searcy Hospital. I need the police immediately!”

The rest of the group had joined him, crowding into the small room, and anxiously awaited a response in silence. **Mobile County nine-one-one here, what's your situation?** Jim didn't even know where to begin, but cleared his throat, then spoke slowly, “There's been a couple of murders... and whoever is responsible is still in the facility somewhere.” **Sheriff deputies are being dispatched, and should be there within ten minutes** After just a few minutes, they could hear the sirens growing louder as the police made their way to the hospital. The group stepped outside the main entrance as the first Page 21 of 37

officers pulled up to the door, and were quickly taken to the police station for additional questioning after they described what had happened. That next morning, the hospital was closed temporarily, and the remaining patients were transferred to another psychiatric facility in Birmingham.

Fearing for her safety, detectives questioned Amerie very intently, trying to find anything that might lead to the identity of the killer, or their possible motives. After several hours of tedious interrogating, a homicide detective from the precinct in Mobile that had worked her parents' cases was called in. It was after lunch before he finally arrived at the local sheriff's office, and one of the deputies led him to the room where Amerie was being held.

“Ms. Smith,” he started in a calming voice, “my name's Joe Rodriguez, I'm with the Mobile Police Department... I was one of the investigators in the murders of your mother and step-father a few weeks back.”

She spoke up, “Yeah, I think I remember seeing you one night, with Mr. Johansson.”

He nodded, then continued, “Ms. Smith, we need to talk about your boyfriend, Brian Wilson...”

Amerie looked up at her, and tears began streaming down his face before he could even say another word, “You don’t think...?” she stammered out.

“I’m sorry,” Rodriguez said, “but at this time, we just don't have any other leads...

And to be honest with you, he’s been our prime suspect from day one, when he ran from the officer's the morning after your step-father was killed. You'd even said yourself that he was the only one you could think of that had any kind of motive” He paused for a moment, letting the information sink in, as she took a deep breath.

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“What if it's someone else... maybe someone I don't know?”

“There's already been a warrant issued for his arrest... there's actually been another altercation.” he advised.

She looked up at him, “What do you mean?”

Rodriguez started again, “His car was pulled over about a week ago out on Highway 90 in Theodore. He... he got in a fight with the arresting officer that night... ended up stabbing him. We've not been able to locate him since then.”

Fighting back more tears, she spoke again, “This just doesn't make sense... it's not like him.”

Rodriguez frowned, “Again, I'm terribly sorry, Ms. Smith... but even if he isn't the one who murdered your parents, we need to get to him before anything else happens.”

She finally acknowledged that he was right, and provided him with several addresses for Brian's cousins and other close friends. The detective then advised Amerie that she would be placed into one of their safe-houses near the airport in West Mobile, until they were able to apprehend the young man. She nodded her understanding, and watched as he headed to a nearby office to start making some calls. “Why does this shit have to happen to me?” she thought out loud, burying her face into her hands.

Rodriguez escorted her back to his precinct in Mobile and very soon afterward, had already tracked Brian to one of his friend's addresses that Amerie provided. Over the next two hours, he organized a small task force, including himself, Detective Johansson, several officers from their precinct, and a half-dozen sheriff deputies. Later that evening, after being briefed on their orders, the two detectives took Amerie to the safe-house, a small ranch-style house in a quiet neighborhood near Snow Road.

Pulling into the narrow driveway, Johansson turned back to her and spoke first.

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“Amerie, Detective Rodriguez has orchestrated one hell of a man-hunt for your former boyfriend... things could possibly get very bad, very quickly, and it's our job to keep you safe. So, until further notice, you’re not to leave this house, or have any other contact with anyone except Detective Rodriguez and myself, understood?”

Rodriguez had turned back to her as well and handed her a pre-paid cell-phone, “Here, both our numbers are on speed-dial, feel free to call if you need anything. And we’ll have a patrol car swing by periodically. One of us will give you a call to let you know when it’ll be coming around.”

The two detectives walked Amerie inside her new home, and showed her around the cozy three-bedroom house, before getting ready to head back to work.

Before stepping back outside, Johansson stopped at the front door, and turned to Amerie, “At eleven o’clock tonight, we’re moving on the Carlson residence. Once Brian's in custody, one of us will contact you, okay?”

She nodded and thanked them, then watched as the two men walked from the house to their car, and backed out of the driveway, making their way back down the street. She quickly locked the door, and stepped over into the open living room, then plopped down on the couch to watch some television, hoping to steady her nerves.

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Chapter

Three

Just before ten-thirty that night, the search party departed from the police station.

The detectives, and officers met at their rendezvous point, a gas station a few short blocks from the home where Brian was staying. The orders were given by Rodriguez and Johansson, and a few moments later, they pulled out onto University Boulevard, and headed towards a nearby neighborhood. Several of the officers were placed strategically around the building, cutting off any possible escape routes.

The two detectives, escorted by a few other officers, walked up the sidewalk to the front door, and Rodriguez knocked lightly. After several minutes, he reached up to knock again, and an elderly woman answered the door. “Excuse me ma’am. I know it's late, but my name is Detective Joe Rodriguez, this is my partner Detective Johansson, we're with the Mobile Police Department... We're looking for a Brian Wilson.”

The woman looked at them for a moment, before turning and pointing to the stairs in the room behind her, “... second door on the left.”

Rodriguez nodded kindly, “Thank you for your cooperation,” then quickly radioed to the squads to be prepared, before he and Johansson proceeded up to the second floor.

Their escorting officers raised their guns as Johansson banged on the door.

“Mobile Police, Open up!” They waited impatiently for a moment, then hearing a loud shuffling sound from within, Rodriguez pulled out his pistol, and kicked the door in. The men stood in shock, as the door flew open, exposing Brian’s now-lifeless body, swinging from the rafters by a noose, his legs still twitching.

Amerie rolled over in bed, and glanced at the glowing red numbers on the alarmclock by the bed. Her mind had been through every possible scenario she could imagine, Page 25 of 37

trying to comprehend what would happen to Brian. And now, several hours later, she still could not shut off the thoughts, and allow herself to fall asleep. She had finally been able to relax a bit, staring at the ceiling fan spinning above her, when the cell phone laying on the nightstand began to vibrate. She jumped out of bed, snatched the phone up from the small table, and flipped it open. The bright display was blinding in the darkness, but she was able to make out the name from the caller-id. “Johansson,” she read aloud, before pressing the button to answer, “Hello?”

He greeted her with his soothing voice “Amerie, we’ve found Brian...” She took a deep breath, and shaking nervously, she sat down on the edge of the bed, eagerly listening as he described the gruesome details of what they had found.

“Thank you...” she finally said after several minutes. As she hung up the phone and dropped it back onto the nightstand, she fell back onto the bed, crying. But somehow, she felt relieved, as if a huge weight had been lifted from her, and before long, she was fast asleep.

After a few days, everything seemed to calm down for the young girl. She was already growing bored of being in the house by herself; watching TV, reading, and working out were quickly becoming repetitive. A week went by quietly, then two weeks.

Then on the afternoon of her eighteenth birthday, Amerie received another call from Detective Johansson, “Hey there birthday girl!” The cheerfulness in his voice made her smile for the first time in weeks, and they talked for several minutes, before she was abruptly brought back to reality, when he advised that there would be a patrol car coming by later that evening. She hung up the phone with him, grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl on the dining room table, then stretched out on the couch to relax, listening to music on her iPod. Page 26 of 37

A couple of hours later, she heard a car pull into the drive, and she peeked out the window, to make sure it was a police officer. She walked over and opened the door as the officer knocked. She looked out at him, standing on the small porch, reading a worn piece of paper.

His eyes opened wide, as he spoke quietly, “Ms. Amerie, uh...”

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He stepped back, looking nervously to the neighbors' yards, then up and down the long street, before looking back at her. “Come with me,” he said grabbing her by the arm, and leading her to the car. They climbed inside, and he flipped on his sirens as they floored it to the police station.

When they arrived, the officer escorted Amerie inside, and then ran to Detective Johansson’s desk.

“Nicholson, what the hell..?” the detective started, before being cut off by the frightened officer.

“I found this at the house, sir,” he said, pulling the scrap of paper from his shirt pocket, and handing it to the detective.

Johansson settled the glasses on his face, and read it aloud: ‘Hide and seek is only fun when everyone plays...’ Puzzled, he looked up at the young officer, “Said you got this from the house?”

The man nodded, “Yessir, it was stuck on the door when I arrived.” Johansson reclined back in his chair, studying the piece of paper.

At that moment, Joe Rodriguez yelled over a row of desks to his partner, “Marc, dispatch just called for one of us... I'm swamped over here, man- can you take it?”

Johansson slipped the paper into his desk drawer, removing his pistol, and Page 27 of 37

shoving it into the holster on his waist. “Appreciate it... Just let the girl hang out 'til I get back” he said to the officer, before turning back to Rodriguez, “I'm on it, Joe.” According to the report from dispatch, a middle-aged man had been out hunting in a small town, north of Mobile, and never came home. His wife, worrying when he hadn't shown up by dinner, called the police, who found his body several days later in the woods behind an elementary school off the side of the highway. As Detective Johansson neared the scene of the crime, he pulled over onto the side of the road, and climbed out of his car. In the distance, he could hear a pack of dogs howling as they lead police around the area. Johansson jogged down the short, unpaved dirt road into the woods, following the sound of the dogs barking. He slowed to a walk as he made his way out into an opening where several police officers and K-9’s had gathered around an old beat-up pickup truck.

One of the officers greeted Johansson, and handed him the dead man’s wallet, “Already called in the name to verify this is our guy...”

Johansson flipped it open and checked the license, “Bruce Jackson...” then looked up into the bed of the truck where the victim now lay. “Who would have done something like this?” he thought, trying to tear his eyes away from the scene.

Overhearing part of a conversation behind him, his attention quickly turned to one of the other officers nearby, “What'd you say?”

The cop replied, “They said he was a janitor at that mental hospital in Mount Vernon... why?”

Thinking back to the note that was left on the door of Amerie's safe-house, he quickly turned, cell-phone in hand, already dialing his partner back at the precinct.

“C'mon Joe, answer the damn phone...” he said, just as the voice-mail recording kicked in, followed by a loud beep. “Joe, it's Marcus... you ain’t gonna believe this...”

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Amerie was sitting on a bench in the back of the office of the precinct, waiting for Detective Johansson to return, when an officer stepped over to her. “Ms. Smith? I have a telephone call for you... line one” She stood and followed him to a desk near the front corner of the room, then sat down in the stiff wooden chair, and picked up the receiver. “Hello?” she said quietly. For a moment all she could hear was heavy breathing, and she repeated herself.

This time, a deep voice answered back, “You can’t hide from me.” She shrieked loudly, as chills coursed through her entire body. Slamming the phone down, she jumped up and ran across the office to where Rodriguez was seated, listening to the voice-mail from Johansson. “He...He knows I’m here”, she cried out. Without hesitation, he pressed the speed dial button to Johansson's cell phone.

Johansson flipped on his lights and sirens as he floored the accelerator, and sped through town. The black Crown Victoria raced through the busy streets, swerving in and out of traffic, narrowly avoiding a collision with large delivery truck. As he pulled into the precinct parking lot, Amerie came running out to him, crying. “You gotta help me...

He’s gonna kill me!!”

Johansson put his arm around Amerie and cautiously led her back into the building. Seating her at his desk, he squatted down beside her and leaned in close. “Calm down sweetheart, we're gonna get him- I promise.” He stood and walked over to Detective Rodriguez's desk near the back of the room.

His partner looked up from his computer screen as he approached, “Marcus, man, this is getting bad.”

Johansson leaned against the desk, “Tell me about it- you get my message?”

Rodriguez nodded, “Yup, and that ain't the worst of it...Looks like he's already Page 29 of 37

gotten to everyone that was involved with the case up at Searcy.”

Johansson wheeled over a chair from the desk behind Rodriguez, then sat down and leaned in close to his partner, “You tellin' me he killed everyone that was there, too?”

“Looks that way,” the other detective started, “everyone... the two doctors, that security guard, and now the janitor- they've all either gone missing, or turned up dead.

I've been working with the Sheriff's department and local cops up in Mount Vernon since earlier this week.”

Johansson turned to look over at the frightened young girl seated at his desk, then back to his partner, “How in the hell does he keep managing to get away with all of this?!

Joe, we gotta get this bastard... and soon.”

Amerie watched as Johansson walked over to a small group of officers, standing around one of the desks to her left. “Milton, Agee, can I talk to you guys for a sec?” They stepped back from the group, as the detective instructed them, “I need y'all to take her to that hotel that's back behind Providence Hospital... the uh, Home... something. Hell, I can't think of the name of it now.”

One of the officers spoke up, “I gotcha, I know which one you're talking about” “Right,” Johansson continued, “You are not to leave her, understood?” The two nodded and walked over with the detective as he introduced them to Amerie. “Sweetie, this is Sergeant George Milton, and Officer Roy Agee. They’re gonna take you to a hotel close-by, and stay with you there for the time being. You need anything, just let one of 'em know, alright?” Amerie nodded thankfully, tears steadily streaming down her face.

The two officers walked Amerie outside, and they climbed into one of the squad cars, then rode just a few short miles to the hotel. Pulling into the drive in front of the main entrance, Sergeant Milton stepped out and walked into the front desk to make the Page 30 of 37

necessary arrangements. Officer Agee stayed with Amerie, as he parked the car on the side of the building and escorted the girl inside. Upstairs, they stepped from the elevator and headed down the hall into a large room at the end. As they entered the room, Amerie quickly dropped onto the first bed, and before the other two could get comfortable, the phone rang.

The policemen glanced at each other, then the sergeant nodded for Agee to walk over and answer, “...Hello?” There was a long silence, and the line went dead. Hanging the phone back up, he turned back to Milton, “Must have been the wrong number.” The older sergeant picked up the TV remote, and started searching through the channels as the group settled in for the night.

Later that evening, back at the precinct, Detective Johansson was wrapping up some paperwork when he came across a small, brown envelope that had been buried on his desk. Curious, he picked it up, scanning the front of the envelope for a return address.

He soon realized that the envelope had been hand-delivered, as there was no address or postmark on the front- only his name in a scribbled handwriting. Tearing open the envelope, he found a creased piece of paper, which he pulled out and unfolded. He read the note out loud, as chills ran up his spine: “Detective- the cat and mouse games are getting old. You should really just give her up before anyone else has to die. She will be mine, one way or another.”

He sat there for a moment, thinking to himself, “Sick son-of-a-bitch...” as he remembered the other note, that had been left on the door of the safe house. Reaching inside the desk drawer, he quickly snatched up the first note, laying the two side by side as he examined them both. “What the hell does he want with her?”

It was after midnight, and Amerie lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling in the Page 31 of 37

pitch black, unable to sleep. She thought back to the phone call she'd received at the police station... the man's deep, raspy voice... and tried to recall where, or if she'd heard that voice before. She sat up on the edge of her bed, then walked over to the large window, and stared out into the dark night sky. She stood there for several minutes before moving across the room, and climbing back into her bed.

Just as she was getting comfortable enough to fall asleep, the phone rang on the nightstand behind her. Instinctively, she rolled over to answer it, and screamed out as her eyes met the silhouetted face that she saw outside her room at the hospital. Now, lying on the bed beside her, close enough for her to finally make out his facial features, he grinned, then slowly moved his hand up, placing a finger to her lips, “Shh.” Officer Agee grabbed the girl by her shoulders, shaking her awake from the horrifying nightmare. She screamed for a few brief moments until she realized that it was the young officer who was now holding her, and as her terrified eyes met his, she rose up in the bed, glancing around the room.

She could barely hear the officer's words over the sound of her heart pounding through her chest, “Holy shit!... a dream, it was a dream.”

The officer sat on the bed with her for several minutes, trying to help calm her, and Sergeant Milton, who had walked to the bathroom to get her some water, now watched on. Finally, after her breathing and heart rate began to slow back down, she told them both of the nightmare that she had, still trembling with fear the entire time.

The next morning, as she stirred awake, she could overhear the sergeant on the phone with someone back at the police station, “Right... yes sir... we'll make sure that nothin' happens.” Milton turned to see the girl looking at him, then hurried off the phone, “Detective Johansson... said he had some more news about the killer...”

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Before she could ask, Officer Agee walked into her room with a cup of coffee, “G’morning sunshine, how ya doin?”

She finally sat up in the bed, “I’m okay...”

The sergeant was about continue with what he'd been advised by Johansson, when he noticed the coffee, “Hey Roy, where’d ya get that?”

Pointing back out towards the hall, he stated “There’s a pot on the table down by the front desk...”

“Two cups too much for you to handle?” he replied sarcastically, “Be right back, darlin'.”

Milton stepped out of the room, and headed towards the elevator down to the main floor. Arriving at the front desk, he noticed a small envelope on the table beside the coffee pot. Assuming it was for the innkeeper, he reached over to the front desk and rang the bell, as he proceeded to pour a cup of coffee. When no one answered after ringing the bell a second time, he peeked around the corner into the office, and dropped the cup onto the floor. The young female hostess was laying across her desk, ravaged and bloody.

Milton immediately radioed the precinct, and turned to make a mad dash for the elevator, as he noticed the envelope by the coffee pot again. Remembering his earlier conversation with Johansson, he snatched the envelope from the table, then ripped it open, and an index card fell out onto the floor. Kneeling down, he scooped up the card, and read the cryptic message, written in what appeared to be the young woman's blood: ‘Can't keep hiding her from me forever’ Johansson was on his cell-phone, talking with Sergeant Milton, as he drove towards the hotel, “George, I’m comin’ to take her back to the precinct... She’s not safe there.”

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The sergeant replied, “Pardon me detective, but I don't know how safe the girl would be, anywhere!”

Moments later, after pushing his way through several nosy bystanders, and the gathering media, Johansson entered the main building at the hotel. Stepping out of the elevator, he stormed to the room at the end of the hall, and upon entering, grabbed Amerie by the shoulder, “Come on sweetie, we gotta get you outta here.”

He led the girl through another door in the hallway, then down the three flights of stairs, avoiding the crowd that had been gathering near the elevators when he made his way in. He hurried her out to his car, and had just closed the passenger door when his cell-phone rang. Flipping open his phone, he stared for a moment, trying to identify the unknown number, then finally answered.

A raspy voice spoke to him, “Look down detective...”, and then the line went dead.

Johansson’s view shifted to the sandy ground, where he noticed a few lines, scratched into the dirt beneath his feet. As he stepped back, the lines began to form words, and yet another message from the killer: “SHE’S MINE” He darted to the other side of the car, reached in and grabbed the radio from the dash, calling to dispatch for assistance, “This is Detective Johansson, I need all available units to....” His voice trailed off as he noticed an arrow that had been drawn in the dirt just ahead of his car.

He turned to Amerie, still seated in the cruiser, “Lock the doors...” then yelled over to Sergeant Milton and a couple other officers who were with him. As they raced over to the detective, he reached under his coat, pulling out his pistol, “He's still in the area, this may be the only chance we get...”

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He directed one of the men to stay by his car, and then headed around to the side of the hotel, followed closely by the other officers. As they approached the back of the building, he noticed several footprints, leading into the wooded area behind the hotel. He followed the path into the heavy brush, and within minutes, could hear the sirens from the other officers that were arriving from dispatch. As the detective neared a clearing, he heard a clicking sound echo through the trees.

“Shit!” he thought, dropping down behind a felled tree just as a shot was fired.

One of the officers screamed from behind the detective, as the bullet tore through the upper part of his arm, and the others quickly dove behind the tree, joining Johansson.

A few more shots were fired, two of them striking the dead tree. Just then, the other officers ran into the clearing, and fired back, giving the detective ample cover.

Carefully climbing over the old oak tree, he charged into the woods after the assailant, who had panicked and dropped his gun when the other police arrived, and was now in a full sprint into the woods. A handful of the officers held at the clearing, securing the area, and tending to the wounded man, as the others followed the detective deeper into the brush.

The chase soon ended as the killer came to a stop at a deep ravine. He turned around, to see the pursuing police, still giving chase. Detective Johansson was the first to reach him, and spoke between deep breaths, “Get on your knees asshole, with your hands behind your head...”

The man glared at the detective, taking a step back, then looking back over his shoulder at the large chasm. “Don't do anything stupid!” shouted Johansson. The man hesitated for a second, still staring at Johansson, then smiled as he started to take another step back.

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Before his foot hit the ground, Johansson had fired three shots directly at him, the bullets hammering the man's torso, as his entire body twisted, and he slipped over the edge. Several of the officers ran to the bank of the ravine, as the body landed with a sickening thud at the bottom of the rocky gorge. Johansson fell to his knees, breathing heavily, with the barrel of his gun still smoking. He looked back up, as the other officers moved over in his direction, and he thought aloud “... I got him.”

About a week later, another body turned up, decomposing out behind an old shack in a trailer park near the airport. Searching the area, and inside the shack house, they came across dozens of photos of Amerie, taken near her house, school, and several other locations.

Amerie who had been staying with Detective Johansson and his wife, was still asleep early one morning as the detective’s car pulled up into the driveway. Johansson jogged up the sidewalk to his front door, then quietly made his way through the house.

He tapped on the bedroom door where Amerie was sleeping, “Amerie- honey, wake up, I've got some news for you...”

Hearing his voice, she rolled over in bed, and called for him to come in. He slowly opened the door, stepped over to the small desk by her bed, and pulled up a chair.

Leaning forward to her, and looking into her deep green eyes, he spoke softly, detailing the shack that had been found, and about all of the pictures, “It’s all over. He's gone now...”

Amerie knew deep down inside, that he was right this time. Smiling from ear to ear, with tears of joy running down her cheeks, she threw her arms around him, and squeezed tight. “Thank you... thank you so much!” she exclaimed, holding onto him, “I'll never be able to tell you how thankful I am...”

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Over the next several months, Amerie was placed into foster care in a community close to the detective and his wife. Everything settled down, and with the help of some additional therapy sessions, she began to get her life back on track. As time passed, she always kept in touch with Johansson, up until the day that he was killed in the line of duty. He had saved her life, and helped her out so much since that time, and for this she would forever be grateful.

Several years had passed, and Amerie was now twenty-three. She graduated from the university in Mobile just over a month ago. In her freshman year there, she met a young man by the name of Steven Morgan, and they had just recently become engaged.

They lived in a small two-bedroom house in the Midtown area, and everything seemed to be going just fine.

It had been a long day at work, and just as she was walking out to her car, her cell-phone rang. Just as she answered, the line went dead. She glanced at the display on her phone, checking her signal, as her service often dropped in her company's covered parking garage, but she still had several bars. “Ugh, I hate when people call and hang up without saying anything...” Finding her car, she climbed inside, and made her way home.

Her fiancé, Steve was in the yard cutting the grass when she arrived. She smiled and waved at him, then headed inside, and closed the door behind her. Dropping her purse onto a small table by the door, she picked up their mail. Sorting through the various bills and letters, she came across an envelope with illegible writing scribbled onto it. “...What's this?” she thought, as she opened it, and pulled out the creased paper inside.

Unfolding the small note, her eyes scanned the carefully printed letters on the page, spelling out an eerie message: “The detective killed the wrong man that day.”

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DREAMS FROM A STATE OF SUSPENDED SLEEP

PART: II

Page 1 of 38

Chapter

FOUR

The young boy glanced back, terrified, as he darted through the woods, weaving in and out of the trees. He could see the light from the porch of McAllister’s General Store, and knew he was almost safe, but just as he was emerging from the bushes, he tripped and fell over a thick root on the ground. As he tried to scamper away, he looked back again, and was frozen in fear, too scared to even stand up. He could see the man who had been following him, still sprinting through the woods in his direction, and was now just a few yards behind him. Then, lying on the ground, with his arms covering his head, a shadow fell over the boy, as Hank McAllister stood over him, shotgun in hand, and fired a shot into the woods towards the vagrant. The shot caused the young boy to look up, and he saw the buckshot tear through the man’s right arm, dropping him immediately.

The middle aged store-owner reached down and grabbed the boy's shoulder, helping him back to his feet, as the injured homeless man slowly climbed up from the ground, then turned and fled back through the trees. “Winged him...” McAllister thought aloud, then turned to head back up to his store as he looked down into the young boy's face, “...Boy, what have we told you about playin’ around them train tracks?”

The boy stumbled along with the man, “I’m sorry Misser Hank... Please don’t tell my daddy!” the young boy pleaded.

McAllister sighed loudly, then replied “Don’t worry Spence, I’ll cover for ya this time. Besides, you know as well as I do... my ol' lady would skin me alive if I got you in any trouble.” The boy looked up at the older man, and smiled.

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A few minutes later, the two of them stepped up onto the porch, into the old store, and McAllister headed to the beverage machine at the back of the store. The small boy, Spencer Williams, was only 6 years old; and in those six years, had already been in more than his fair share of trouble. But being as small of a town as Bayou La Batre, Alabama was, where everyone knows everyone else, and their business, he managed to keep in the clear most of the time. “Here ya go youngin', now get on outta here... I gotta close up the shop soon.” said McAllister as he tossed the boy a cold drink.

“Thank ya, Misser Hank! I’ll see ya later!”, Spencer replied as he turned and bounced out the door, heading down the dirt road out front.

It was dusk when he finally stepped inside his parents’ small trailer home. “I’m home momma...” he announced as he wandered into the living room. He could hear his mother sobbing in the other room. “Momma...?” he called out quietly, as he approached the bedroom door and pushed it open.

Seeing the boy enter, the woman, who had been balled up on the bed crying, sat up and tried to dry her face with the sleeve of her blouse, “Yes baby?”

He walked over to the bed, climbed up onto it, then laid down beside her, “What’s the matter momma?”

She looked down into his eyes, with tears streaming down her battered and bruised cheeks. “Nothin' baby,” she started, grabbing him in her arms, and holding him close, still trying to fight back her sobs and control her wavering voice, “...nothin' at all.”

Meanwhile, Spencer’s dad, Christopher was seated on a stool at the Watering Hole, a shady bar at the end of the street, gulping down his yet another beer. “If ya don’t mind me askin’ Chris...” the bartender said, leaning across the bar to the drunken man,

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“what the heck did you do to your hand?”

Looking down at his fist, which was wrapped in a blood-soaked rag, then back up at to the bartender, he replied, “Eh, that damn Marianne... I tell ya man, she just don't listen worth a shit.”

The bartender quickly interrupted, leaning in close “You better watch yourself, Chris- you know what Brady said last time...”

Chris laughed, then continued as he ordered another drink, “You ain't gotta worry 'bout me, Burt. Besides, if that dumb bitch tries to press charges on me again, the sheriff will really have a reason to lock me up. And then... well, you’ll just have to start delivering.” The bartender slid another mug across the bar to the man, who was now laughing hysterically.

The next morning, Spencer and his older brother, Terry, awoke to their mother and father yelling in the living room. Spencer jumped to his feet and ran to the doorway, peeking through as the shouting continued, and watched his father reach back, and smack his wife hard across the face, “You think you can tell me what to do, Marianne? ...I'm so sick of yer bullshit!” The little boy watched on with tears swelling in his eyes, as his father shoved her back into the wall, his fingers tightening around her throat, then watched as she collapsed to the floor with a loud thud.

Terry grabbed Spencer by his shoulder and pulled him back into the room, away from the door, whispering in the boy's ear, “Spence, don't be stupid! You know he'll get to you when he's done, if he sees you!”

“But momma...” he started.

“I know...” Terry replied as they heard a crashing sound outside their door,

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followed by more of their father's shouting, “...c'mon, we gotta get outta here.” The two boys climbed out though the small window in back of their bedroom, and Terry swiftly walked his younger brother down the narrow, gravel driveway behind their trailer.

“What’re we gonna do, Terry?” the young boy asked, fighting the urge to look back as he heard a loud shriek from their trailer.

“I dunno, man... lemme think for a minute...” he replied as they continued to the dirt road at the end of their driveway, “I guess we could see about staying with Aunt Kat for a little while.” They walked on down the dirt road for several minutes, eventually crossing over the train tracks.

“Hey, can we stop by Misser Hank’s store?” Spencer asked.

The older brother looked down, “Good idea, we can call Sheriff Brady from there!” Terry took off running towards the small convenience store, with his little brother straggling behind. As they jumped up onto the porch, and stepped inside the store, Terry immediately headed to the front counter as his brother wandered around the store.

“Mister McAllister? Can I please use the phone?” asked Terry as the older man was finishing up with another customer.

“Sure thing bud...” Hank answered, reaching behind the counter and placing the telephone on top, where the boy could reach it. “Everything alright?” The young boy looked at him nervously, as he tried to quickly dial the old rotary phone.

Meanwhile, Spencer was gazing over a few choice selections on the snack aisle, and accidentally bumped into an older lady who was shopping nearby. “... I'm sorry...” he started, as he looked up, then shouted, “Hiya Aunt Kat!” The woman bent over, wrapping her arms around Spencer, and scooped him up in

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a bear hug, “Hey baby boy!” she exclaimed.

“Can me an’ Terry come over to your house?” he asked politely.

“Well sure, you know y'all are always welcome...”, she said, then glanced up as Terry was making his way down the aisle from the front counter, “What’d your momma say?”

“She don’t know...” the young boy answered, as his older brother stepped over to them.

Terry finally spoke up, “Hey Aunt Kat... Sheriff Brady's on his way to our house...”

The woman began to tear up, as she looked down at the boys, “Oh my... is it your daddy again?” Terry nodded, and then she quickly led the two boys from the store to her car parked near the side of the building.

A few moments later, the woman’s old Cadillac pulled up to the small trailer, and she jumped out, running towards the front door. Bursting into the living room, she could see her sister lying unconscious on the kitchen floor, as Chris- still standing over herslowly turned towards the door, his thick leather belt hanging from his hand, the buckle dripping blood onto the linoleum. “Stop it Chris, you son-of-a-bitch!” she shouted, as she raced into the small kitchen.

He laughed out loud, then stepped over Marianne's body towards his sister-in-law, “You gonna stop me?” She ran past him, and dropped down onto the floor beside her baby sister, lifting her limp body into her arms.

The boys were still waiting inside their aunt's car when the sheriff sped up the driveway, and Terry jumped out of the car. Sheriff Brady held up his hand as he climbed

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out of his car, motioning for the boy to stay back as he ran up to the porch steps, “Just wait in the car, son...”

Back inside, their aunt and father were still yelling back and forth- “What the hell is your problem, Chris?!... This make you feel like a man?”

He smirked, looking down at the two women on the floor, then stepped forward, and kicked Katherine in the face with his heavy steel-toed boot, just before being tackled from behind by the sheriff, and slammed against the cabinets and kitchen counter.

Brady wrestled the belt from his hand, then latched his handcuffs onto the man's large wrists. “You have the right to remain silent...” he said holding Chris against the counter, “and I swear to God... you say one word, I'll fuckin' shoot you where you stand, you bastard.” Katherine climbed up from the floor, sobbing, as she rubbed the side of her face, and moved back over to her sister's side. The two boys stepped out of the car as they heard the sirens of the approaching ambulance, then watched on as Sheriff Brady hauled their father from the trailer, and shoved him into the back of his car. He looked back over his shoulder to the two young boys then climbed into his car, and made his way out of the trailer park. Katherine followed the paramedics, and walked over to the boys as they loaded the gurney into the back of the ambulance.

One week later, Spencer stood beside his brother under a small canopy in the pouring rain, as their preacher was ending his sermon. Tears flowed from the young boy’s eyes, as he watched his mother’s casket being lowered into the ground. His aunt, who stood behind him, placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed tight, “It’s all right, baby... She won't hurt anymore.”

Later that evening, after the rest of their family and friends had left Katherine’s

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house, Terry found his brother sitting on the floor in the corner of their aunt's guest room, looking out the window. He walked in, and sat on the side of the bed, closest to his brother, “You okay little man?” Spencer sat in silence, without removing his gaze from the window. Terry slid down from the bed, and squatted down in front of his younger brother, “Hey, what’s wrong buddy?”

After another long silence, the little boy looked up at his brother, and spoke in a very somber tone, “Daddy did that to momma, didn’t he?” Terry nodded. “Where’d Sheriff Brady take him?” the boy asked.

“He's in jail, probably for a long time...” Terry began, as he was interrupted by his brother.

“Good,” he said with a look of hatred in his young eyes, “I hope somebody there beats him up like he did momma...”

The next few years didn't get any easier for Spencer. At the age of twelve, he was riding with his brother, Terry, in his new car. They'd been drag racing on a long, dark stretch of highway with several friends that evening. After pleading with his older brother to make just one more pass, they settled back into the cold leather seats. A friend standing near the side of the road gave them a signal to go, and Terry launched the car perfectly off the starting line. Spencer glanced over at the speedometer, and watched the needle glide past 100, then heard what sounded like a shotgun blast from just behind him. The rear passenger tire had blown out, causing Terry to lose control of the 1968 Nova, which now veered dangerously towards a steel guardrail on the right side of the road. Terry held a tight grip on the steering wheel, but the car had too much momentum, and upon colliding with the guardrail, it flipped up into the air, and landed on it's roof several feet from the

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road. With the cabin crushed in, Spencer was just small enough to be able to squeeze out through the shattered side window, and stood near the road, watching several of their friends try to help pull Terry from the car, as it erupted into flames. Still trapped inside the burning wreckage, his brother's screams echoed in Spencer's ears long after the sirens of the ambulance and firetruck that soon arrived.

Then, on his sixteenth birthday, his aunt Katherine finally passed away, after a long bout with cancer, leaving him all alone. Mr. and Mrs. McAllister took the boy in, and after dropping out of high school during his junior year, Hank was eventually able to help him get a job at the shipyard in Pascagoula, Mississippi.

However, at nineteen, he was asked to leave the McAllister's home, due to several incidents, mostly drunken brawls, which usually ended with police involvement. Luckily, he had saved up enough over the years to be able to make a down payment on a small house in one of the cookie-cutter neighborhoods that were springing up in Grand Bay. Spencer, now twenty-three, lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling fan above his head, after being awakened hours ago by the train clanking down the tracks nearby. He sat up, yawning as he stretched his tight muscles. He then turned and looked down at his fiancÊe, Helene, a young woman he’d met a couple years ago, who was still sound asleep beside him. She meant the world to him- she was the first person he'd allowed himself to get close to following the deaths of his closest family, but the last year had been extremely rough on both of them.

Spencer, now unable to roll over and fall back asleep, climbed up out of bed and threw on some clothes, then walked through the house and out the front door onto his small porch. Taking in a deep breath, he stood for a moment, admiring the sunrise. He

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stooped over and picked up the day's newspaper, then headed back into the living room and slumped into his over-sized recliner. After a few minutes, he glanced up from his reading to the clock on the mantle, as he thought aloud, “Five-forty-five... As long as I’ve lived here, you’d think I’d be able to sleep through those damn trains by now.”

He skimmed through the remaining headlines, then tossed the paper onto the coffee table, stood up, and crept quietly down the hall to his daughter's room. He cracked the door open, and eased into the dark room, then leaned over the rail of the crib and kissed the baby girl on her forehead, “Sleep tight my little Amerie... Daddy loves you.”

Slipping back out into the hallway, he again made his way towards the front door, snatching up his keys from a small table, and stepped out onto the porch. He walked down the short sidewalk, then hopped inside his jeep, before driving off into town.

Several hours later, as Spencer headed home from work, he quickly turned off the highway into a small, overcrowded parking lot, just outside the Watering Hole bar.

Stepping down from his jeep, he made his way towards the entrance, and noticed the sheriff’s car parked in his usual spot out front. As he entered, the music blaring from the jukebox to his left made his head throb, as he'd been fighting a headache since earlier in the afternoon. He stepped through the crowded floor, eventually making his way to the bar. “Whiskey sour, Mr. Ward,” Spencer ordered, as he sat down on the stool beside Sheriff Brady and spoke, “Howdy...”

The old man behind the bar slid a small glass across the smooth tile bar, then leaned over to him, “Son... you've been coming here since before you was old enough to drink. How many times do I gotta tell you to quit callin' me mister? It's Burt.” Spencer nodded. Then, after pounding down several more drinks, he noticed a familiar looking

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man wander in and take a seat at the end of the bar. He watched as the bartender walked to the far end of the bar, then leaned over speaking quietly so no one else could hear.

About that time, one of the bar's belligerent patrons shouted at the man from behind Spencer, as he stumbled closer to the bar, “I'll be damned... If it ain't ol' Chris Williams, how ya doin' you son of a bitch?” Spencer took another sip of his beer as several thoughts ran through his head. He glared at the two men near the end of the bar, his eyes focusing on the man he knew he'd recognized.

“Oh is he?” he could hear the old man say, “Where's he at?” Spencer quickly looked away, turning his gaze to the tile bar, as the bartender nodded in his direction. The man, who had to be pushing sixty years old, stood up, and walked slowly across the bar.

His heart nearly exploded from his chest, as the man took a seat on a stool just an arm's length away. Spencer stared around the room before fixating his eyes on the TV hanging from the ceiling in the far corner, trying to act like he hadn't noticed the man. “Burt,” Chris belted out, “this handsome young man's drinks are on me.”

The bartender nervously looked over to Spencer, who had turned a bright shade of red, as Sheriff Brady interceded, “Chris, you know how I feel about you- this ain't the time, nor the place for...”

Chris stood up from the stool, puffing out his chest, “Well excuse me, motherfucker... I'm pretty sure I wasn't talkin' to you, now was I?” Brady stared him down, “You just got out... You really wanna do this? 'Cause, I'll be more than happy to throw yer ass back behind bars for another twenty years before I retire...”

Chris cut him off, laughing, “I'll just get off early again... good behavior an' all,”

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he said with a wink, “Ain't that right, Spence?”

“You're nothin' but a piece of sh... ” Brady started, as Spencer jumped up from his stool and reached over, snatching the sheriff’s pistol from his holster, then aimed directly between his father's eyes and squeezed the trigger, all within just a few seconds. The blast erupted throughout the bar, and blood splattered everywhere, as Chris dropped lifelessly to the floor, sending everyone running for the doors, as the sheriff and several other men nearby tackled Spencer to the floor, and wrestled away the gun Spencer spent the rest of the night in a cell in Mobile County Jail. Afraid of what Helene would think of him, he used his one phone call to contact his employer, to let him know that he wouldn't be in the following day, and asked him to call his young fiancée on his behalf. Meanwhile, Sheriff Brady was making phone calls left and right, pulling all the strings he could, and shortly after waking up the next morning, Spencer was released.

Helene pulled up in his jeep, just as a handful of officers were escorting him out.

He looked the young woman in her eyes, and his heart sank as he glanced over into the backseat, where their nine-month old girl, Amerie was strapped into her car seat.

Climbing up into the cab, he sat silently for several minutes as Helene maneuvered through the busy streets of Downtown Mobile. After a few minutes, as they were pulling onto the ramp, heading west on Interstate 10, he finally spoke. “Baby, I'm so sorry... I don't even know what else to tell you.”

She replied, very sharply, “You know Spence... I would probably have dealt with it a lot better if you woulda just called me yourself... But no... I have to find out from your boss!”

He looked down into the floorboard, “... I know.”

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She began again, “I mean... dammit Spencer, it's not like I don't know what happened when you were little.”

He suddenly felt a wave of anger sweep over him, and snapped back at her, “I'm fuckin' sorry, Helene- What else do you want me to say? I just shot and killed a man, in cold blood... I apologize if I wasn't thinking right at the time.” There was another long, awkward silence, then Spencer spoke again, “But I tell ya what... pulling that trigger was the best thing I ever did.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “...and I'd do it again in a heartbeat...”

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Chapter

FIVE

Several days later, after Spencer had returned to work, he heard his name called out over the loudspeaker. He quickly gathered up his things, then jogged across the wide shipyard to the main office. Taking off his hardhat as he entered, he stepped over to the small desk where the secretary worked, “Morning Tiff- Mister Hardy wanted to see me?”

The thin young girl looked up at him, “Oh, no... you have a phone call. Line three.”

He stepped over to the side of her desk, and spun the telephone around, as he pressed the flashing red button, and pulling the receiver up to his ear. He began to speak, but was quickly cut off by Helene, “Spencer, Just thought I should call to let you know that I won't be here when you come home today... I'm moving back to mom's in Mobile.

Amerie's coming with me.” His jaw dropped, and he was unable to even fathom a response... he knew they'd been having their share of problems, but never realized that it had gone this far.

“Hello? Are you still there?” Helene asked sarcastically.

“Um... yeah.” he stammered before asking the first thing that came to mind, “Can I at least see my baby girl before you go?”

There was a long pause before Helene finally replied, “I'd rather you not,” as she hung up on him.

Spencer stood there in complete shock, with the receiver still held to his ear, as his boss, Thomas Hardy, stepped through the door, “You okay, Spence? You look sick or somethin'.”

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“Yeah, uh, actually...” he quickly answered, “Would you mind if I took the rest of the afternoon off?”

His boss shook his head, “Nah, go get yourself some rest, son...”

Not long afterward, he pulled into his drive behind a small black, pickup truck, which was already loaded down with his fiancées belongings. He stepped down from his jeep and stormed up the sidewalk, through the open doorway into his living room. He could hear her talking in one of the back rooms, and slowly made his way through the house. As he rounded the corner into the hallway leading to the bedrooms, he bumped into a younger man, who was carrying a large cardboard box. Spencer politely stepped aside, and let him through, then continued on his way to his daughter's room, following the sound of Helene's voice. Stepping into the room, he quietly watched on as Helene, with her back to him, playfully tossed the young girl into the air, as young Amerie giggled and cooed. The girl's eyes met her father's, and a wide smile grew across her face, and Helene turned to see what the girl was looking at.

“Oh shit- Spencer, you scared the hell out of me!” she said, now holding their baby close to her chest.

He looked at her longingly, his eyes tearing up, “Why... why are you doing this to me?” he asked.

Just then, Charles, Helene's friend stepped back into the room, and Spencer immediately turned his attention to him. “Should I come back in a few minutes?” the young man asked.

Helene looked over at him, “No, you're fine Charlie...” but before she could finish, Spencer grabbed the friend by the collar of his shirt, and shoved him against the

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wall.

“What the hell, man?! What's your fuckin' problem?” Charles yelped as the back of his head bounced off the wall.

“Chill out Spence, he's just here helping me!” Helene shouted out, as Spencer held her friend pinned to the wall, and leered back at her with a look in his eyes she'd never seen before. Charles tried to wrestle free of Spencer's grasp, but only succeeded in enraging him even more, as Spencer slammed him against the wall, harder this time.

He looked back at Helene again, pleading, “Why can't we talk about this?”

Staring at the two men, she responded with a very sarcastic tone, “Is this how you talk about things?!”

Spencer lost it as Charles began struggling again, and yelled “Get the hell off me asshole!” Reaching up, Spencer placed his hand on Charles forehead, and shoved his head back hard against the wall, busting a hole into the sheet rock.

“Spencer!” Helene shrieked, as he turned to look at her. Finally pulling the young man from the wall, he grabbed him by his shoulder and shoved him to the floor at Helene's feet, nearly knocking her and the baby to the floor. “That's it!” she cried, as she started past Spencer to the doorway leading into the hall, before he blocked her. “You gonna hit me know?” she snapped, as he looked over her shoulder at Charles, who had picked himself up from the floor and was now moving towards them. Spencer shoved his fiancée to the floor- their baby girl falling from her arms, crying as she dropped onto the soft carpet of the nursery- and Charles dove for Spencer, to tackle him to the floor.

Spencer stepped to the side just in time, sending the young man sprawling out again onto the floor. This time however, Spencer pounced on him, punching and clawing

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at him like a wild animal. Helene dropped to her knees, sobbing as she scooped up Amerie. She heard her friend moaning in pain as Spencer continued his attack, and she was sure she’d heard at least a few bones cracking as he pummeled Charles. “Please Spencer!!” she yelled, begging for him to stop.

He finally glanced towards the young woman, standing slowly as he caught his breath, “This is your fault, Helene.” The other man on the floor, now bloody and bruised, groaned again. Spencer turned back to him and kicked him again in the ribs.

“Stop it!” she screamed again. This only continued to infuriate him, and he hoisted Charles up from the floor, dragging him over to the large bay window. Helene watched as he leaned down and whispered something to her friend, then smashed his head through the glass, before pulling him back again, and throwing him completely through the window, out into the yard. Then, as Helene climbed to her feet, she listened as Spencer stormed out of the nursery, and down the hall to their bedroom, where he reached into the closet and grabbed his hunting rifle.

“Oh my God,” she thought as she jumped up, with the baby still in her arms, and ran down the hall to meet him coming out of their bedroom. He glanced at her, then turned and cut through the living room out into the yard, where Charles lay on his back, now covered in blood. Spencer slowly raised his gun to meet the young man's face, as Helene came running out of the house.

“Please, No!” she cried out, sobbing uncontrollably now. As Spencer turned his attention to her, the man tried to pull himself up off the ground, but Spencer quickly turned back to him, cracking him across the face with the butt of the gun. As Charles fell back to the ground, his eyes now rolling back into his head, Spencer again raised the rifle,

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and blasted a hole in his chest the size of a baseball. He tossed the rifle onto the ground beside Charles' body, and casually walked back to his jeep. Helene dropped to her knees, crying as she watched her fiancé backed out of the driveway, and headed off down the road.

Spencer headed east on Interstate 10, crossing over the bay towards Florida, and finally stopped at a truck-stop just off the highway in a small town called Loxley. He pulled his jeep towards a secluded area near the back of the parking lot, then climbed out and looked around before walking inside.

“Hey there, be with ya in a second” said a young waitress as he entered the small dining area, and seated himself in a booth near the entrance, “Anything I can help ya with?”

He glanced at the waitress, a beautiful young girl, and cracked a smile. “How old are ya darlin?”, he asked, noticing the handful of dollar bills pinned to her blouse.

“Well,” she started as she sat down across from him, smiling, “I just turned seventeen!”

He sat there momentarily, then reached into his back pocket, and handed her a fifty-dollar bill. He watched on as her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Happy Birthday,” he said quietly.

The girl, still sitting across from him, with a cunning smile on her face leaned forward and spoke softly, “I don't usually take such large tips without something in exchange,” she said with a wink.

Spencer glanced up at her, uninterested, “Not tonight, darling...”

Not to be defeated, she replied, “Well, what night works best for you?”

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“Look,” he started, “I’ll give you another fifty if you’ll just leave me alone...”

She looked at him and frowned, “I get it... it's 'cause of my age, right? Don't worry, I won't tell anyone!”

Spencer sighed heavily, “Don't you have some other customers to tend to?”

She chuckled, “Look around- we're not exactly what you'd call busy,” then reached across the table and tugged on the collar of his shirt, “C’mon hot stuff, I promise you won’t regret it...”

He glanced around, scoping out the rest of the dining room, then turned his attention to the door when he heard the chime. He watched from his booth as two Alabama state troopers entered from the other side of the truck stop. Spencer quickly grabbed her hand, and stood up, motioning to the door nearby, “Alright, lets go then.”

She smiled up at him, then stood and quickly followed out into the parking lot. He glanced towards the back of the lot where his jeep was parked, then back to the police cruiser parked near the entrance of the truck stop. He hurried the young woman across the pavement, and the two jumped up into the jeep.

As he was pulling away from the building, she spoke again, “So, where ya from babe?”

He glared over at her as he turned out onto the highway, “Bayou la Batre... born an' raised.” He sped off down Highway 59, and upon coming into the main part of town, looked over at the girl, “You got the time?”

Glancing at her watch, “It's 'bout a quarter after six...”

“Everything in this town should be closed, or will be soon”, he thought to himself as he scanned the parking lots of the businesses they passed, until they reached a small

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bank.

She looked over and smiled, as he circled the building, and parked near a dumpster in the back corner. “Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?” she asked, playfully. He stared out the windshield into the cloudless night sky, almost in a daze as he thought back to that morning. When he didn't answer, she reached over, placing her hand on his lap, but was startled as he snapped his head back at her, his eyes wild. “...What’s wrong?”, she asked, jerking back in her seat.

Glaring at her, his left hand shot up to her throat, as he leaned over, kissing her forcefully. After a moment, she wrapped her arms around him, but as his fingers tightened around her small neck, she began struggling. Choking for air, she tried desperately to push him away, but to no avail. She squeezed her eyes shut, and finally felt him pull away, his hand still tightly gripping her neck. Just before blacking out, she opened her eyes as he leaned forward to her once more, this time stopping just inches from her face, and heard him whisper, “... I promise you won't regret it.”

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Chapter

SIX

“Had been raped... beaten nearly to death... left to die in a dumpster.” Spencer was doubled over, underneath the hood of his jeep, when he heard the radio broadcast. He stood up straight, then walked around to the driver's side of the vehicle, and leaned in through the open window. “...The only lead at this time, a witness at the truck stop where she worked, who saw her leaving with a, quote: “tall, handsome young man”...”. “...Whore got what she deserved,” Spencer thought aloud, as he went back to his work. He had made his home in an old trailer, in a secluded area of Summerdale, just a few miles down Highway 59 from the truck stop. For several weeks after the killing, he stayed to himself, living as a hermit. The three people that he had recently murdered in cold blood was beginning to take a great toll on his psyche. But even more disturbing he thought, was the pleasure that he had taken from it... the absolute thrill, and adrenaline rush that overcame him at that moment.

He lay in bed many lonely, sleepless nights, remembering back to his childhoodto the memories of his abusive father, and his mother's death at his hands. He also remembered the guilt that he felt after the accident that took the life of his older brother.

He would replay that fateful night at the Watering Hole in his head, and think about how he hadn't even known who his father was when he first stepped into the bar. The majority of that memory was a blur to him, up until the last 7 seconds- where he slipped the sheriff's gun from his holster, and pulled the trigger. These last few details were so incredibly vivid in his memory, they seemed almost in slow-motion.

Late one stormy night, Spencer awoke and rolled over to, and glanced at the small clock beside his bed, it's bright red display nearly lighting the entire bedroom. He

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climbed up from his makeshift bed- a futon mattress sprawled on top of an old cot.

Throwing on a pair of jeans, he walked out onto the small covered porch, unable to shake the dreams from his head, as if in a state of suspended sleep. He was finally able to distract himself, as his thoughts shifted from his father, to former fiancée, and the beautiful daughter they had... they daughter that he would probably never be able to see again. Thinking back, that was the one thing he decided that he regretted. He thought about Helene's friend, Charles, who just happened to be the wrong person, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then thought aloud, “But the girl from the truck stop... well, she just got what she had comin' to her.”

He was interrupted by a bright flash of lightning, then laughed out loud, and replied sarcastically “I hear ya Lord, but someone's gotta take care of business. You don't seem to be gettin' the job done these days!” He walked out into the pouring rain, and climbed up into his jeep, then pulled around the small trailer to the gravel driveway leading out from the trailer park.

As he made his way down the nearly empty highway towards town, he reached over and pulled a small flask out of his glove box, and gulped down the last shot of whiskey. He pulled into the parking lot at the TA truck stop, then walked right in through the front door. One of the waitresses noticed him as he took a seat near the end of the bar, recognizing him almost immediately. She stepped over to a large man near the counter, tapped him on his shoulder, and whispered into his ear.

After several minutes, Spencer stood up, and casually walked to the bathroom in the back of the building. The trucker from the counter glanced back at the waitress, who nodded in response. The large man jumped down from his bar stool, and quickly made

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his way to the back of the building.

Stepping into the small, dimly lit restroom, he quietly locked the door behind him, then shouted out to Spencer, who was relieving himself at one of the urinals.“What do ya think yer doin’ here?” Spencer didn’t answer back, just continued about his business, and stared at the wall before him. “Look faggot, I’m talkin’ to you!” the man shouted, as he made his way over behind Spencer, and grabbed the back of his shirt, shoving him against the cold, tile wall. “We all know it was you that killed that girl... You ain’t got much sense comin' back around here.” He slammed Spencer’s face hard against the wall, then punched him several times in his lower back. The trucker let go of his shirt, and Spencer slumped to the wet floor, before being met by the trucker’s heavy boot. “You ain't so bad now, fucker!” the man shouted, as he watched on in disgust as Spencer writhed in pain on the floor. Leaning over Spencer, he spit on his face, then turned and walked back out into the diner, very much pleased with himself.

As Spencer tried to pull himself up from the floor, he could hear the man out in the dining area, glorifying his actions to the waitress and anyone else who would listen.

Just as he reached for the bathroom door, he heard someone call the man by name: Ted. Cracking the door open a bit, he could see that everyone had crowded around the trucker by the bar, and he quickly slipped out of the bathroom, and hurried to the front door.

It was a little past eleven the next morning. Spencer now sat quietly on the edge of his bed, imagining the thrill, and sheer ecstasy of bringing his assailant to justice. He walked out onto his porch and lit a cigarette, as he looked up to the cloudless sky and spoke, “...Better hope he drops dead before I get to him.” Stepping down from the porch, he began to walk slowly down the gravel drive leading out to the busy road. It took him

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nearly half an hour walking along the highway, but he finally made it back into the main part of town. As he marched down the narrow downtown sidewalks, he watched on as everyone around him hustled about, completely unaware of the man in their presence. He sat on a bench inside a bus-stop, in front of a gas station and watched the people passing by, sorting out those he believed were worthy to be ‘allowed to live.’ Before long, he heard a loud diesel truck, rumbling down the street in his direction. He peered over from the corner of his eye as a large, red semi pulled to the pump at the station. Spencer kept his head lowered, and continued watching out of the corner of his eye as a large man jumped down from the truck, and walked around to the front door.

“Well,” Spencer thought aloud as he recognized the heavy man, “ain't that just damn convenient...” The diesel pumps were located back behind the main station, an area which Spencer noticed was relatively secluded. Watching intently as the man walked back out and towards his truck, he quickly stood up, and exited the small booth, then moved quickly across the parking lot, following the man. Passing by a car, Spencer could read the name on his shirt reflected in the mirror. “...Ted...” he muttered under his breath, with a small chuckle. As the trucker neared the pump, and reached out for the nozzle, he finally caught a glimpse of Spencer right behind him. Before Ted could turn around to face him, Spencer drew a switchblade knife, and thrust it into the man’s tough skin at his gut, slicing him up to his throat.

He held up the front page of the newspaper, and admired his work. The title story described a middle-aged trucker that had been brutally slain, and was found dead on the hood of his truck, his abdomen ripped open. Spencer read the last line out loud, “...Gutted like a fish”. Folding the newspaper in half, he tucked it underneath his seat, then looked

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up across the parking lot at a small group gathering around several picnic tables. He watched one of the women setting up for the party, and smiled as another walked up with a small girl. “There's the birthday girl,” he said quietly, fighting back tears. He remained in the jeep, and watched as the children played for a few more minutes, before being called over to the table for cake and ice cream.

He slowly climbed down from his jeep, and walked across the crowded parking lot, then followed the sidewalk over towards the party. As he neared the tables, coming up from behind a nearby building, he joined the others in singing, “...Happy birthday, dear Amerie...” He stopped for a moment, as everyone was clapping and cheering for the girl, and watched his former fiancée cut the cake. His eyes quickly shifted to one of the other women nearby, as she called for Helene, pointing in Spencer's direction.

She turned around slowly, and when her eyes met Spencer's, the knife slipped from her hand to the soft ground, and her jaw dropped, “Oh my God...”, then turning back to one of her friends, shouted “Call the police now!”

Spencer glanced over to his little girl, then back up to Helene, “I just wanted to see my baby girl, on her first birthday...” he started, as she dropped to the ground to pick up the knife, and held it out in front of her.

“Stay the fuck away from her, Spencer. I don't know what the hell happened to you... but if you ever come around me or my baby again, I swear to God, I'll kill you.”

Spencer's eyes cautiously followed the knife as he started to speak again, “I'm...

I'm sorry, Helene...”

She cut him off again, “I've seen the police sketches Spencer... I know it was you.”

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One of the other women called over to her, “The cops are on their way...”

He glared at the woman, then back to Helene, “Don't keep her from me Helene... that'll be the worst mistake you ever make.”

“You are not gonna threaten me or my child,” she shouted, as she lunged forward with the small knife in her hand, slicing through the air in front of him.

“Please... calm down baby...” he replied, as he slowly reached out for the knife.

Panicking, she sliced again, this time, cutting right across the back of his hand. Then just as she began to hear the police sirens in the distance, he took off in a full sprint back across the park to his jeep. Jumping up into the vehicle, he shifted into gear, and sped out of the parking lot, just as the police cruisers came flying in from the other direction. He headed out onto Spring Hill Avenue, then weaving in and out of traffic, made his way to the interstate.

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Chapter

seven

Four years laterThe rays from the rising sun peeked over the roll-bars of the jeep, glaring right into his face. Spencer reached down and pulled the lever on the side of his seat, springing him back into an up-right position. Not long after the incident at the park, police raided his small trailer in Summerdale, and he decided it would be best if he disappeared for a while. Bouncing back and forth from sleazy hotels to run-down trailer parks, trying to find somewhere cheap and some place where no questions would be asked. Eventually though, his funds ran dry, and when he had no one to turn to for shelter or money, he began sleeping in his jeep in several different locations around town.

A couple nights ago, he had made the drive into Mobile, and followed his daughter to a friend's house the next day- the first time in the girl's young life where her mother had actually allowed her to be away for any length of time. The girls had a sleepover planned with several of their friends for that Friday night, and when Helene picked them up from daycare that afternoon, she didn't even notice the green jeep parked across the street. He followed a few cars behind them, and pulled into a driveway as he saw their car slowing to a stop in an older neighborhood off of Moffett Road. Watching patiently as the girls jumped out of Helene's mini-van, a wicked smile crossed his face as he recognized his young daughter.

After several minutes, the van pulled off, and circled around, heading back out to the main road. Spencer ducked down in the driver's seat to avoid being seen, then pulled out of the driveway and slowly rode by the house where the girls were staying. A few doors down, he spotted a for-sale sign, and whipped into the narrow driveway, pulling

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around to the side of the house, where he spent the night.

Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stretched his long arms, and glanced over, hearing the laughter of several small girls. He watched as they raced out into the yard, and piled into a large SUV, followed closely by one of the girl's mothers. He waited for a moment or two, as the woman climbed up into the large vehicle, and backed out of the driveway, then made her way back towards the main highway. Spencer turned the key in his jeep, and watched as the needle on the gas gauge barely moved. Sighing heavily, he backed out of the drive where he'd parked, and quickly moved out onto Moffett Road. He followed them for several miles, and turning onto Cody Road, a billboard caught his attention, and he immediately knew where they were headed: For 2 Weeks Only- The Greater Gulf State Fair!

He quickly cut through traffic and sped towards the fairgrounds, but his jeep started sputtering and he pulled over to the side of the road, where it finally died on him, just a few blocks short. He quickly jumped down, and started towards his destination on foot, as a man in a pick-up truck called out from behind him, “Need some help, buddy?�

Spencer glared back at the man, then continued on his way without saying a word. As he neared the back of the fairgrounds, he climbed over the yellow rail that surrounded the property, and cautiously made his way towards the midway. He stood just behind a small ticket machine, and cut his eyes back and forth, trying to scan the crowd for the young girl.

After a few minutes, he decided to move to another part of the grounds, when he heard the familiar laugh. Turning back, and looking over his shoulder, his eyes fell upon the small group of girls joining the line for a nearby carousel. He slowly moved in their

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direction, determined to see his baby girl, to look into her eyes, and hold her in his arms.

Working his way through the crowd of people, he stepped up to the side of the carousel, and watched the young girl spinning round and round on a small pink dragon.

As the ride finally slowed to a stop, and the young girl climbed down from the seat, just a few feet to before him, he called out to her. “Amerie!” he shouted over the other noisy children, waving, “... it's me, your papa!”

The young girl, confused, stepped over to the rail, looking down at him with her deep green eyes, “Daddy?”

Nodding, he carefully reached up to the railing, “Yes baby...”

Before he could finish the thought, she replied, “Momma says I can't talk to you.”

The words cut Spencer like a blade, and the happiness he'd had only moments earlier, instantly turned to a bitter hatred, as he snapped back, “Bitch doesn't know what she's talking about!”

The woman that had been chaperoning the girls finally noticed Amerie leaning over the rail, and recognized the man who was now within inches from her. “Oh God...

AMERIE!” she shouted. The young girl's head snapped up, and the woman broke out in a sprint towards her. Spencer turned his attention to the woman, and growled under his breath, then darted around behind the carousel, and disappeared into the busy midway.

“Are you alright?!” the woman asked Amerie as she helped her down stairs on the side of the small platform.

She nodded and looked up to her mother's friend, “Miss Emma... that man said he was my daddy.”

The woman quickly gathered up the small group of girls, and made their way to

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the main entrance of the fairgrounds, where several Mobile police officers had been stationed. She pulled one of the officers over to the side, so the girls couldn't hear, and explained what had happened. After a minute or two, most of the officers were pulled into the fairgrounds to search for the man, and Emma made her way out to the parking lot with the small girls, who were now crying and fussing about leaving so soon.

Emma found her SUV, and hurried the girls inside, “Everyone make sure you buckle up...” As she slammed the rear passenger door closed, she felt someone press against her from behind, quickly reaching around, and covering her mouth with his hand.

Her face turned bright red, and tears started pouring down her cheeks as her desperate screams were muffled by the man's rough hand.

Turning her around to face him, Spencer leaned in close, and spoke, almost whispering, “Don't you ever try to take my baby girl from me...” He proceeded to smash the back of her head through the window of her car, and could hear the girls inside screaming. He reached down and picked up a large piece of the broken glass, then stood back up, holding the glass shard to her throat. Just as the tip of the glass pierced the woman's skin, a bullet tore through his leg, dropping him to the ground almost immediately, before quickly being surrounded by several of Mobile's finest.

“Yes sir,” the young woman spoke, as she slowly stood up from her seat, “We the jury, find the defendant, Spencer Calvin Williams, guilty.” The young assistant D.A. flashed a quick smile as he looked up at the judge, and Spencer's state-appointed attorney placed his hand on the defendant's shoulder.

“Very well,” the judge started turning back to Spencer, “Mr. Williams, sentencing is set for March nineteenth at ten-thirty A.M.” Rising from his small wooden chair,

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Spencer was led out of the courtroom, in shackles.

A few days later, Spencer leaned up from his hard cot, as an elderly man stepped up to the cell door. “Mister Williams?” Spencer slowly rose from his bed, his eyes fixed on his defense attorney, who continued, “Just thought I should let you know that I've received your sentencing...”

Spencer grunted, and stood up, then walked over to the doorway, wrapping his fingers around the cold steel bars. “What am I in for?”

The older man lowered his head, and cleared his throat as he spoke, “It's not nearly as bad as it could have been... they wanted two life sentences, and if the judge had his way, it would've been the death sentence...”

“Just tell me what I got, dammit...” Spencer interrupted, rudely.

The attorney looked up again, into Spencer's shameless eyes, “Twenty five years, no chance of parole.”

Spencer's shoulders dropped, and he slowly turned, shuffling back to his cot. He looked back at the attorney, as he slumped down onto the mattress, “She'll be thirty years old by then...”

The older man, leaned closer to the bars, “Excuse me?”

Spencer repeated himself, “My baby girl... she'll be thirty by the time I get outta here.”

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Chapter

eight

His hand shaking, he touched the tip of the pencil to the blank page, as he tried to think of something new to say. He finally began to scribble across the paper: “I'm sorry I missed her birthday again. But, it's all your fault... I hope she knows that. You're the one that sent her daddy away.” He slowly raised his gaze from the small notepad, and his eyes adjusted to the bright lights overhead. He thought back for a moment, and remembered the numerous letters that he had sent to his young daughter, before her mother finally replied back to him. About a year after he had started writing to her, Helene sent an envelope that contained a single Polaroid picture- a picture that showed a small shoe box full of the letters that he had written, and Helene holding a match above the box. On the bottom of the picture, she had written a note to him, “Leave MY daughter alone.”

Since then, he had only sent a dozen or so more letters to Helene, usually on or around Amerie's birthday, as an annual reminder that he was still alive, and that he still despised the girl's mother for testifying against him in court. A few of the letters had been returned as undeliverable, but he somehow managed to always track them down when they moved. A cold chill ran down his spine, and he continued work on the letter he had started, “It's been twelve fucking years, why won't you let it go already? Everything I did was just means to an end. And, I'm not the least bit sorry. I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant I could see my baby girl again. You're the one who should be sorry.”

He slammed the pencil down on the wooden desktop, holding it tightly with his hand to control the violent shakes. As he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he heard a high-pitched squeal moving toward him.

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A young correctional officer stopped just outside his cell with a silver, metal cart, “Inmate number... 1707?”

Spencer grunted as stood, and made his way over to the cell door, “Right here...”

The officer shoved a small envelope through the bars, “Got some mail for ya.”

Spencer immediately perked up, as he had not received the first thing since Helene's picture and note. He quickly peeled the envelope open, as he plopped down onto his stiff cot, and pulled out the small piece of stationary. Thinking as he read, that Helene had finally taken the time to write him back, he read the first couple of lines aloud with a smirk on his face. “... Stumbled across some your letters today, and I'd really appreciate it if you would quit writing... You're a sick piece of shit, and you got everything you deserved. I hope you die in there.” But then, as his eyes neared the bottom of the page, his jaw dropped as he came across the signature at the end, “Amerie.”

Spencer was crushed- Ever since the birth of his daughter, and especially since his separation from Helene, she was the only person he'd cared about. All he wanted was to hold her, and play with her, and take care of her. But now, Spencer decided, after years of listening to her mother gripe about how terrible he was, his young daughter had turned her back on him as well. He re-read the last line again, and his heart sank to his stomach, “I hope you die in there...”.

His sorrow quickly turned to rage, as he balled up the letter and threw it across the small cell, “NO!” Sitting on the edge of his cot, thinking out loud, “...Not gonna let them hurt me again...” Suddenly, he felt the tremors returning to his right hand, and stood up to face the rear wall of his cell. Squeezing his hand into a tight fist, he began punching the wall, shouting in unison as his fist pounded the hard concrete, “No, No, NO!” After just a

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few jabs, his knuckles were already gushing blood, and with one final thrust, he heard a cracking sound, as he dropped to his knees on the floor. He covered his face with his hands to hide the tears pouring from his swelling eyes.

Hearing the commotion, a nearby guard stepped over to his cell door, “You alright in there?” Spencer slowly turned, looking over his shoulder towards the officer, without saying a word. “Shit...” the officer said with a gasp, as he saw the blood from the inmate's hand, now completely covering the side of his face, and shouted into his radio for the cell door to be unlocked, “Inmate 200900031707... hurry!”

After a moment, both men heard a buzzing sound, then a click from the lock on the door, and just as the guard swung the door open, Spencer rose to his feet. “What the hell happened?” the guard asked as he moved towards the man in the cell, his eyes locked on the right side of Spencer's face. He stepped closer, and Spencer's eyes dropped slowly to the holstered pistol on his waist. The guard stood for a moment, his mouth wide open, trying to pull his eyes away from the blood that was now dripping to the floor.

“You new here?” Spencer asked in a quiet, controlled voice. But before the man had a chance to nod his head, Spencer's left hand shot out, and grabbed the handle of his pistol, and jerked the guard towards him, “You know I can kill you anytime I want, right?” The young officer, who was now visibly trembling, shook his head in agreement.

“Good... go ahead and call off the others that are on their way.”

The officer slowly reached for the radio pinned to the shoulder of his uniform, and took a deep breath to steady his nerves as he pressed the call button, “This is Officer Perot... situation with inmate 1707 is uh, under control. I'm... I'm returning to my post.”

A woman's voice quickly replied, “Ten-four, officer.”

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Spencer popped the snap on the holster, and slid the gun out, holding it up to the guards chest.

“P... p... please don't kill me...” the young man pleaded.

Spencer smirked, as he ordered the guard to step over and close the cell door, then replied, “...Just do what I say, and you'll be fine.” As Perot pushed the steel door, Spencer quickly began to pull off his orange jumpsuit, still aiming the gun at the guard's back.

“What now?” he asked, turning back to see the inmate, now standing in his underwear.

“Now...” Spencer started, as he tossed the jumpsuit to the officer, “Put this on- I need your uniform.”

Perot sighed as he reached up to unbutton his shirt, “They're not gonna just let you walk out the door...”

The prisoner let out a small chuckle, “That's not for you to worry about... Now, hurry the fuck up!” While the officer undressed, Spencer snatched up the sheet from the bed, and wiped off his face, then tore off a strip to wrap around his hand. Perot handed his belt, then his shirt and pants to the inmate, before pulling on the bright orange coveralls.

Spencer threw on the guard's pants, and tucked in the dark blue shirt, then said with another chuckle, “I look good in uniform,” then snapped at the guard, “You- get on the bed... now!” Spencer watched as the guard climbed onto the bed, then leaned over him speaking quietly, “...What's the quickest way outta here?”

Perot, who was lying on his side, turned his head when he heard a click from the small 9mm pistol. “...Down the stairs at the end of the hall... hang a left and double back

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underneath the cat-walk. There's a door there where some of us pop outside to smoke...”

“Much appreciated,” he replied as he drew his arm back, and cracked Perot with the handle of the gun, splitting the man's forehead open. Spencer pulled the pillow over the guard's head, then holstered the pistol into the belt around his waist, and casually stepped out into the hallway, as the cell door locked behind him.

Stepping through the door, Spencer's eyes took a moment to adjust to the bright sun-light, and his heart started pounding as his eyes fell upon the three officers in front of him.

One of the men spoke, “Damn... how many of y'all are they crankin' out at the academy?”

The two other guards laughed, and chimed in, “I know, right? Gotta be like the tenth rookie I've seen this week...” Spencer smirked, then hesitated for a moment, trying to determine his next move.

The third guard stepped over to him, eying him closely, “Smoke?” Without saying a word, he shook his head, then turned away from the men, and started making his way around the side of the building, towards the parking lot.

“Some of these new guys are fuckin' weird...” one of the guards stated, as they headed back inside the building.

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Chapter

Nine

Spencer sat on the dilapidated porch of his small one bedroom, shotgun house, watching the traffic pass by on Airport Boulevard. Before his stint in prison, he'd been acquainted with the woman that operated the small trailer park out past the airport, and she had agreed to let him stay in one of her more unpleasant rental properties, as long as he “stayed out of trouble.”

It had been a couple of weeks since his escape, and all he had been able to think about were the words that his daughter had written. “I hope you die in there...” Every time he replayed that sentence in his head, his heart ached a little more, and his anger grew exponentially. He'd been running through several scenarios in his head, thinking about what would have happened if he had just left the bar that night. But with each day that went by, the desire to find his former fiancée, and their daughter ate away at him.

Even more so, he thought, he wanted to hurt them. If he could inflict even a fraction of the pain and suffering that they'd put him though, they would feel sorry for what they had done, and how they had treated him.

As the sun began to set that warm May evening, he climbed down from the porch, and slowly marched back into the trailer park. A few lots behind the house where he was staying, he came across a small Ford pickup truck. Walking over to the truck, parked outside a young couple's trailer, he pulled on the handle, and the door popped open.

Quickly glancing around to see if anyone had seen him, he reached inside and flipped down the sun visor, sending a spare key tumbling down onto the bench seat. He snatched up the key, and climbed inside, then scanned the area again, to make sure there was still no one around, as he slid the key into the ignition.

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A few minutes later, he pulled out slowly onto Airport Boulevard, and headed towards town. He continued on down the road, making his way to University Boulevard, and turned into a small neighborhood. Cruising slowly along the dimly lit street, and bouncing over a speed bump, he pulled the truck over to the side of the road as he spotted a blue Chevy Camaro parked in the street ahead.

Almost as soon as he had shifted into park, he heard shouting, and his eyes were drawn to the house where the Camaro was parked. A teenage girl burst through the front door, “God, I hate you people!!�

Spencer cocked his head to the side, then caught a glimpse of the girl's mother as she raced out onto the porch, calling after her. The young girl jumped into the car, and Spencer watched as it sped away, with a crooked grin stretching across his face.

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