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Purpose (complete 1-10)

(This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.)

One

The blue lights reflected off the water as the driving rain pounded against my body. I had been running, running until I’d collapse then gather what strength remained and run again. The sound of his guttural scream as he plunged the object into his neck was hideous. The image of bright red blood spraying against the wall flashed through my mind relentlessly. His eyes locked on me. My chest was on fire but my entire body was shaking. I tried to raise up, I couldn’t.

I saw the tip of his boot before I felt his arms around me lifting me up. He was enormous! He literally slid my limp body up the length of his. He pulled one of my arms over his head and began to drag me toward his car. I couldn’t stop crying.

He opened the door shoved me inside and slammed it, shutting the rain out.

As he climbed in the drivers seat, the lightening cracked touching the ground only a few feet away, the thunder shook the earth and the whole car seemed to rock from the force. He reached for a roll of paper towels between the seats. Wiped off his face then cranked up the heater. He held out the paper towel roll to me, but I just sat there staring at him. He pulled off a wad and wiped at my face. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t talk. The images of the horrors that monster had told me played through my mind over and over. I’d stopped thinking of him by his name, to me he was just monster. For the last month I’d been the spider in his web. Tonight culminated in his telling me things that pushed my mind into an utter state of horrendous pain. It had to be lies. Otherwise…

I couldn’t think about that I’d go completely mad if I wasn’t already. As the throes of death coursed through his body I turned away. The sound of the lock opening drew my focus. That was the way out. I ran, they called after me but the door opened to allow another man through and I hit the street, running for my life because I was certain that the evil behind me was coming for me.

Finally the cop spoke to me. “Are you hurt anywhere?” I looked at him in wide eyed astonishment.

I was wrecked emotionally but I was only physically exhausted, except for my feet. There were blisters on top of blisters. Oxford style men’s shoes were not meant to run in especially with no socks for hours. I managed to nod my head no but words were possible. Between the throbbing pain that seemed to sear through my entire being as every muscle protested the intensity of painful abuse I realized sitting in this car with this cop I felt safer than I had in the last month. I’d been surrounded by prison guards and not felt one ounce of safety, but when he scooped me up and put me in his car somehow just his presence shut out the evil I’d felt. I was a grown man who had been tormented by a monster. Made to live in the horrors he had committed. The very personification of evil. What was it about this cop that created a barrier between me and the evil that was now pursuing me?

“What on earth are you doing running down this highway in the dark in this weather at four thirty in the morning?” He asked. “We almost got struck by that lightening.” He shook his head as he watched me. I was trying to look through the rivulets of rain, convinced that at any moment the evil that monster had freed from his body would arrive and claim me.

“Ok, your coming with me. I have some dry clothes that might fit you.” With that he set the car in motion. Then explained “I was just getting off duty when I saw you, I’ll run in grab some towels and dry clothes. I was gonna have breakfast at the diner down the road. You can come, coffee will do you good.” He didn’t ask if that was okay, he just told me what was going to take place.

In my mind I thought this wasn’t normal, he should be taking me to jail. I could be…a monster too for all he knew, yet here I was a harmless soaking mass who couldn’t even communicate. I was so grateful at the moment, at least a jail cell, wasn’t where I’d end up after this horrible night. All I knew for certain was I wanted him to drive faster…outrun the evil.

He drove to a house, parked out front and left the patrol car running while he went inside. The place was dark so I couldn’t see much through the driving rain. He was in there for probably fifteen minutes, I jumped at every sound, finally he came back carrying a trash bag. Once back behind the wheel he passed the bag to me then put the car in motion. “I grabbed us both a change of clothes, we can change at the diner while they cook our breakfast.” That was the only thing he said for the rest of the ride. No fifth degree, no accusations and no suspicious looks directed at me. I was surprised, but I was safe as long as I was with this cop.

Once we arrived at the diner he took a menu from one of the booths and told me to pick out what I wanted. My stomach grumbled in anticipation, I hadn’t eaten in a few days. I couldn’t eat, nausea rose up at the thought. Now, I felt safer and my reserves were gone. My body needed fuel, but I had one problem, I’d left my wallet at the prison.

I shook my head no but he insisted saying “Son a hot meal will do you good. It’s on me, don’t worry about it. If you hadn’t come along I’d be eating alone. I’d be much dryer, but alone. I get tired of eating alone.” He said and there was a momentary sadness in his tone.

I managed to say my first words to him., “Thank you”, and point to the super breakfast pictured on the front of the menu. He gave the waitress our order plus 2 glasses of orange juice and two coffee’s.

He pointed to the bathroom and said “Let’s get dry.”

Once inside he pulled out a towel for himself and his dry clothes then handed the bag to me. I took it and went in the next stall. I peeled off the wet clothes and dried myself, my fingers and toes were all shriveled. I found clean underwear, a white T-shirt and socks. While sitting down on the toilet to pull on the socks I looked down at my blistered and bloody feet and saw his bare left foot. That man had the biggest, whitest feet I’d ever seen. I looked down at my own dark skin and wondered about this cop. You hear so much about bad cops and racial profiling, but not this guy, he was treating me with respect, kindness and dignity, for now anyway I thought. I used my wet shirt to wipe the blood from my feet.

I exited the stall dressed in jeans that actually fit, the sleeves of the plaid shirt were a bit long but otherwise it fit. The boots were a little loose, thankfully, they were better than my own which were now water logged.

“You done?” He asked, I said “Yes sir.” Surprised at how much steadier my voice was now. “Go on get your first cup of coffee then, I’ll be out in a few, just leave your wet stuff in the trash bag I’ll stuff mine in too.” He instructed and I complied.

I sat down in the booth where he had taken the menu from when we first came in and the waitress produced two coffee cups and poured mine. She sat the carafe down for the cop. He exited the bathroom a moment later dressed in much the same attire as I had on. His holster rolled up around his gun then folded his tall frame into the space between the booth and the table.

He poured himself a cup of coffee then looked at me. In the light of the diner I saw the fine wrinkles beside his eyes, brown eyes that looked tired. His hair was salt and pepper, cut short. He looked to be in his mid fifties.

“Now you want to tell me why you were running down the side of the highway in this storm?” He asked again quietly.

I looked down at the table and as the last month flashed through my mind in a mirage of images. I had no idea how I could explain it without him calling for the guys with the net that could catch the nut sitting at his table. I swallowed convulsively and shivered so hard he gasped. I opened my mouth but no words came out, just a single tear that ran from the corner of my eye, down my face.

He reached out patted my arm with his enormous hand and said, “That’s alright son. Let’s just enjoy our food. You can tell me whenever your ready.” The waitress arrived with our food and we both ate, I attacked the eggs and waffle like I hadn’t eaten in weeks. For the first time in days the nauseated feeling was gone. He opted for small talk.

“Well you know what I do for a living, how about you?” He asked.

“I’m a journalist, a freelance writer.” I said. Feeling stronger as I ate.

“Wow, what kinda stuff do you write?”

“Until lately I’ve written everything from obituaries to human interest stories, travel brochures, that kinda stuff.” I said between bites, realizing that I had stopped shaking.

“I bet that’s kinda interesting. I have issues just writing some accident reports.” He said and chuckled. Once our plates were empty he refilled our coffee cups, then he started asking me more questions aimed at learning more about me.

“So where did you go to college?”

“I went to a private college in Georgia. No Ivy League school, but a good journalism program.”

“You got any family out this way?”

“No sir.” I couldn’t look him in the eye, not after everything…

“How’d you end up here?”

“I got picked to write a ‘tell all’ book.” I drew in a harsh breath and exhaled it as a sigh.

“Picked? How did you get picked?” He appeared genuinely interested.

I realized at that moment I had to tell him something and I wasn’t going to lie to him. The waitress arrived with the bill, he paid her then asked for more coffee.

I didn’t know where to start, this guy was a perfect stranger. He would probably think I was crazy. His next words told me he wanted to know, not from a cops questioning nature and clue gathering perspective. This middle aged white guy genuinely cared about what happened to me. Realizing that nobody had really cared about me in a very long time made me want to hug the guy. I didn’t, but the emotion rifled through me for a few seconds. I cleared my throat. I was a grown man. I needed to keep my masculine stone face in place. I didn’t want him to think I was a complete cry baby.

He held out his hand to me saying, “Let’s start over. My name is Joshua Bailey.”

“Parson Hamilton.” I said and shook his hand.

He picked up his coffee, turned slightly and extended his long leg across the seat of the booth. I decided to ask him a few questions.

“Why didn’t you take me to jail?”

His forehead furrowed slightly, his gaze was unwavering as he asked, “Did you do something that would warrant you going to jail?”

“No sir.” I said honestly.

“Number one the name is Josh, two, I didn’t see you commit a crime, the only thing I saw you doing was hurting yourself.”

“The clothes, the food…why?” I asked, now it was my turn to wrinkle up my forehead and examine his reaction.

He considered the question then shrugged his shoulders slightly before answering “You were wet, I was hungry and wanted the company. Now if you don’t want to talk to me that’s fine. I’m not gonna pry, but if you need somebody you can trust then I’m your man.”

“It’s a long story.” I said and watched his reaction. He didn’t frown, but he didn’t smile either so I couldn’t tell if he thought I was stalling to get my story straight or if he was as patient as he seemed.

“Okay, well l I just finished my last shift. I turn in my patrol car by the end of the day and I’m officially retired from the Texas Highway Patrol. I think I’ll have time to hear it.”

“What about you?” I asked mimicking his question to me earlier. “You got any family around here?” His face became grim, he dropped his head and stared down into his coffee cup. When he lifted his eyes I saw his pain.

“No, son, I don’t have.” He took a deep breath then continued. “My wife, two daughters and my son died in a collision with a log truck five years ago.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” I felt like a heel. The guy had been nice to me and I made him revisit that pain, my Grandpa died five years ago too.

“You didn’t know, I could have gotten a similar answer from you when I asked the same question.” He replied honestly, but didn’t know how right he was.

“Well I’m gonna go home and take a nap before I go turn in this badge. I have till five o’clock so why not?” He said as he got to his feet.

“How tall are you anyway?” I craned my head back to look up at him.

“All of six foot seven…and a half! I get that question a lot” He grinned back at me.

“So what about you? How you gonna get back…to where you were before whatever happened to you happened?” He raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

For the first time I considered my dilemma. I took off running in the driving rain. I ran for hours. I had no idea where I was. I had no wallet and probably had some prison official who wanted to ask me a few questions. Questions I didn’t want to talk about. For the first time I considered the Herald, that rag was probably frantic to get my story, the book publisher had contracted me to write the monsters book. My cell phone…”ugh”…I groaned, was still with my keys. Once news broke of what happened they would blow up my phone. I wiped my eyes then buried my face in my hands.

“Hey tell you what, I have empty bedrooms, my clothes and yours need to be washed and dried. Come on with me, you can catch a nap, then do me a solid. I could get another Trooper to drop me back at home after I’m officially a civilian again, or you could drive my truck, follow me and once that’s done then we can go back to wherever it is…wherever.” He shrugged.

“Stay with you?” I said aloud as my mind considered it. This would keep me from having to return right away to that prison, I just couldn’t do it. My decision was easy, the evil I’d been subjected to seemed to be held back by this, Josh’s, presence. I’d never in my life known such fear.

“If you’re sure it’s okay I’d like to take you up on the offer of a nap, and I’d be happy to help you turn that car in, it’s the least I can do to repay your kindness.” I looked up at him and said, “it could be risky on your part though, I could be a crazed killer that would murder you in your sleep.”

“Nope, my bedroom door locks and if that don’t keep you out I’ll just shoot you.” With that he laughed and pushed open the door.

Purpose

Chapter Two

His house was warm considering it was still raining and the temperature had dropped to just above freezing. He showed me the kitchen, apologized for the lack of food but assured me there was plenty of coffee. Then escorted me down the hall, pointing out the bathroom and retrieving linens from the hall closet. We entered a bedroom, he placed the linens on the bed, looked fondly around the room for a moment before he spoke.

“This was my son’s room, Devin, it’s been dusted regularly. But you will be the first one to sleep in here since he passed. I’m sure this room is as lonely as I’ve been, because it was alive with activity when Devin was here. Get some rest son. You have to be worn out.”

With that he left the room and closed the door softly behind him. For such a big man he seemed so gentle. I made the bed, the sheets smelled so good compared to the hotel room I’d spent the last month in. I just needed some rest my whole body ached. No doubt from pushing it to collapse running from the demons I’d encountered.

I laid down and was on the verge of sleep when I heard him singing softly in a rich base voice…”Amazing Grace how sweet the sound”…as I drifted off to sleep the memory of my grandfather singing the same song took me back to peaceful times. His voice now filling my thoughts.

I woke up to sunlight peeking through the blinds. I glanced at the clock and realized it was almost two o’clock in the afternoon. I listened for any movement in the house, it was quiet. I achingly made my way to the bathroom, every muscle in my body was sore and there were blisters on both heels and the little toes of both feet the socks were stuck to the dried blood. The bag with our wet clothes was sitting in the bathtub. Once I was done I went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. I saw the laundry room off the kitchen and retrieved the wet clothes. I could at least wash them.

I sat down with a cup of coffee and considered my options, problem is I didn’t know what to do. Remembering Josh offering to listen I decided I needed someone to hash this out with. What I thought was my big break, the job that would launch my name turned out to be something I didn’t want anyone to know. The fear that gripped me in the face of pure evil was overwhelming. Once it was out there no one would look at me seriously again, they would be afraid of me…I was afraid of me!

Josh came padding down the hallway as the washer sounded.

“Oh wow, you made coffee and did laundry? You are hired my man.” He said through a yawn, then grinned.

“It’s the wet stuff we had in the trash bag” I told him as I headed to put the clothes in the dryer.

I came back and he was in the living room kicked back in the recliner. He had the television remote in his had. Immediately my gut twisted. Until that moment I hadn’t thought he could find out about last night from the news reports, before I had a chance to explain my side of what happened. The voice of the news anchor filled the room. I listened, my remorse and fear escalating.

“This is a breaking news story, our local news desk has learned that prison officials are seeking the whereabouts of Parson Hamilton, he was the last person to speak with death row inmate, Douglas McNeal. His cause of death has not been released. McNeal was scheduled to be executed in forty-eight hours for the mutilation deaths of four people. McNeal has been suspected of many other crimes but investigators have only recovered four victims.”

Josh clicked off the television. Stood up, walked to his bedroom and shut the door. I swallowed hard and waited. When I heard him open the door to his bedroom I braced myself feeling he would be justified if indeed this was the moment that he chose to just shoot me as he had warned last night. He was fully dressed, his holster with his gun and badge clutched in his left hand when he returned. He retrieved his coffee cup from the table beside his chair then turned after filling his cup again, leaning against the counter his gaze settled on me.

I squirmed and looked away. Stealing another glance at him I tried to swallow, which became a loud gulp. He was the biggest man I’d ever seen and that holstered gun was now on the counter. His voice was exactly the same tone as it was last night. Surprisingly there was no trace of anger, no accusatory manner.

“Parson, you are obviously involved in a mess.” He stood up straight, reached in his pocket pulled his keys out and continued. “I’ve got to turn this car in, you still willing to help?”

“Oh, yes sir, I am.” I said quickly dragging in a deep breath. At his raised eyebrows I clarified, “I’m in a mess for sure, but I want to help.”

“Then get your boots on and let’s go. After we are done then we can grab pizza and sort out how to fix whatever this is you’re involved in.” I shook my head affirmatively, not knowing if I was more relieved he didn’t just shoot me, or because he offered to help me. Even though he knew I was involved in something he didn’t rush to conclusions that the black guy did whatever it was that was done.

I climbed in his truck, scooted the seat up, checked the mirrors and fastened my seat belt. The last thing I wanted was to wreck his truck or get pulled over. I followed him, once we arrived at the Trooper station I sat and waited for about an hour. He finally came out, climbed in the passenger seat and said “Let’s go son.”

I started the truck, backed out of the parking space and stopped. “Go where?” I asked.

“Just drive out of here, pull in anywhere and I’ll take over driving. I just don’t want you to climb out here in this parking lot. There’s about six cameras out here.” He explained. I put the truck in motion without another word.

Once Josh was back behind the wheel he said “I thought about going to the pizza joint down the way, so we could have the pizza buffet and salad, but that’s too crowded. How about we pull in here to the grocery store, I’ll grab salad fixings and some sodas plus stuff for breakfast in the morning. We can have pizza delivered while we cut up the salad. You got a story to tell me and we don’t need prying eyes or distractions.”

“That’s a good idea.” I said and as an after thought said “Ranch, I like Ranch dressing and root beer.” He grinned and said “You got it kid.”

I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve it, but I felt calmer than I had in the last month. Now I didn’t feel like I was in this alone. I’d made a friend, a much older friend, but how could I not trust him?

The salad was made, the root beer was cold and the table was set when the door bell chimed announcing the pizza had arrived. We sat down and ate, he liked ranch dressing and root beer as well. This reminded me of dinners with my grandpa. I missed him.

“Josh, thank you.” I said.

“Think nothing of it son, this is the first meal I’ve eaten at this table since”…his voiced trailed off, he cleared his throat and continued. “Sine my family died.”

“I know, I was just thinking the same thing, this reminded me of meals shared with my grandpa. He’s been gone five years too.”

“Well the dinner table will always be open to you here, especially since I’m a man of leisure now.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even know me…I don’t even know me.” I asked.

He put down his fork and sat there for a few minutes, thinking I supposed, before he explained.

“Well let me tell you what I do know. Three weeks ago I was kneeling beside my bed, I told the good Lord that I was lonely and with retirement coming up that might just get worse. I asked Him to show me or lead me to what He wanted me to do for the rest of my days.” He took a bite and chewed then clarified something else. “I’m not asking Him, nor do I want another woman in my life. My wife, Ivy, she can’t be replaced, she is still alive in my heart.” I thought how strange this conversation was, him being a big burly man and me being scared out of my whits lately. Here we sat discussing his love for his dead wife. Then as he continued I knew this was the one person who just might not think I was crazy with all this stuff about the evil I knew was after me.

“Now about a week before last night I had a dream, this wasn’t one of those nightmares I had after Ivy and the kids died, this one was about being in a driving rain, and a kid face down in the rain. Then in the dream my car radio, the one the dispatcher gave me calls on, well it squelched and a man said help that boy. He needs you and you need him.” He stared back at me, watching my response. The hair on my arms stood up as a shiver ran down my spine. “Crazy thing is we don’t have any male dispatchers in this office, and in my dream I got out of the car held out my hand and he took it, that’s when I saw my pale hand holding a brown skinned boys hand. Now imagine my surprise when I see you running in the rain and then falling face down.” He sat back in his seat and waited.

“So you’re religious?” I asked

“Nope, I just believe in Jesus, I don’t hang my hat on any church doctrine. I trust the word of God and I take everything to Jesus in prayer. If I hadn’t clung to Jesus I’d of ate a bullet more than once in the last five years.” He was dead serious.

I nodded my head and said with all sincerity. “I believe you dreamed it, my grandpa was a preacher, he dreamed stuff all the time.” We had just reached an understanding. I wouldn’t question his spiritual process and he wouldn’t judge me. He was here to help me.

We finished eating and cleared the table. It was time. I asked him if he had a pen and paper, he came back to the table with a yellow note pad and pens. He passed them to me but I pushed them back towards him. At his questioning gaze I told him I was a writer, the notebook was for him.

“I need help, way beyond just physical help. Something is happening to me and since you are a praying man I want you to know all there is to know about me. I’ve had dreams too, the kind where you wake up screaming and the kind that leave you locking yourself in a bathroom sobbing and puking your guts up.” With that said I traveled back in my mind as I told him all about me, as far back as I could remember.

“We didn’t have a tremendous amount of money, but we did okay. I was a boy of four, my grandpa was the preacher at the little country church he had built right next door. The offering plate that was passed paid the light bill. The well we had supplied the water for the plumbing and for the water trough where grandpa baptized folks. Our little community didn’t pay attention to skin color. We had a mixture of ethnicity in our congregation. Grandpa raised our meat and grew our vegetables and what we didn’t store he sold in the market stand on the other side of the parking lot from the church. We always had hay for the livestock because members of the church sat some back each harvest for grandpa.

When we had a particular need grandpa would say ‘let’s pray on it, God will provide’, and He always did.” Josh requested we sit in the recliners in the den, which was what I had thought was the living room initially. I got comfortable and started with what all writers do. Filling in the background of how I came to be.

Purpose

Chapter Three

“My grandpa Alfred Hamilton was born in nineteen thirty-six. He was the youngest of four boys. By the end of the Korean War all three of his brothers had died in battle. By the time he was twenty-one he was a traveling evangelist. He met his bride when he was thirty-one and married twenty-two year old Opal the following year. They traveled the southern circuit preaching for ten years, then in the spring of nineteen seventy-eight they broke down just outside of New Orleans, Louisiana. Opal went into labor. By the time they got into the city Opal was near death. She died just minutes after naming her baby girl Alfreda. Alfred brought his baby girl home, established an area on the small farm as the family cemetery and fenced it off. The first grave was that of my grandmother Opal Jean Hamilton. Hers would not be the last. Grandpa managed to buy land surrounding the small farm with generous donations from the many congregations they had evangelized. He would no longer be traveling the revival circuit. He had a child to raise alone and a congregation to tend to.

Alfreda Jeanette Hamilton was a rebellious girl. She rejected the lifestyle she was raised in and at sixteen she ran away in the middle of the night. Grandpa didn’t see or hear from her again until she was nineteen and came home carrying a tiny baby boy. She gave him the birth certificate that listed the father as unknown. She stayed about two weeks then disappeared again leaving me, Parson Hamilton, with no middle name with his grandfather to raise.” I opened my eyes and glanced at Josh. He was making notes and I continued filling in the background of my life.

I was a happy kid, grandpa was stern at times but I was loved. The first chore I remember him giving me was collecting the eggs and feeding the chickens. I was careful with the eggs, I wanted grandpa to be proud of me, especially after the time I sat the egg basket down to chase a lizard and the dog stole the eggs. She broke all eight of them. I squalled my eyes out all the way into the barn where grandpa was milking the goats. I told him, Daisy, had eaten the eggs. Grandpa gave me my first sermon about taking care of what the Lord provided. Then he told me biscuits and goat cheese for breakfast with a glass of milk was in store since there were no eggs that morning.

I was five years old when grandpa got a visit from the local sheriff. He came in the house told me to get my things together he was going to New Orleans to get my momma and I’d have to stay with one of the church mothers. Grandpa was gone for four days. When he got back his step seemed a little slower, his shoulders a little more sloped. He cried often after that, but sat me down, explained that my momma had died and they were bringing her back home in a hearse in a few days to bury her next to grandma Opal. I didn’t have any memory of her, but grandpa grieved openly for almost a year for his lost child. I was older by the time I questioned how she died. He told me the truth and didn’t shy away from what she became or the fact he believed somebody had killed her, or walked out and left her to die. His only hope was that she called on Jesus before she died. Grandpa didn’t just preach, he lived what he preached.

Alfreda, my momma, had given birth to me in New Orleans, she listed my father as unknown, by the time she died at twenty-four she was a known prostitute and drug addict. She was found dead in a motel you rent by the hour of an apparent drug overdose. He had gathered her belongs and found a picture of a white man. The picture had writing on the back that said “Andy-Parson’s daddy”. He gave me the picture with some words of warning that still haunt me.

He said ‘Parson, you must always remember that no matter how much sugar we add to lemonade the initial juice is bitter. That’s what happens when life gets soured. When we run from God it gets really bitter. Your momma ran from God straight into the arms of the devil. That’s the seed you came from. Bitter fruit. Unless you are careful and stay true to God it will catch up to you too. If you stir the sweet taste of the Holy Ghost inside you up then the bitter fruit from that seed won’t take hold, no matter how bad it tries to.’

I worked hard in school I had excellent grades. I loved reading and chose journalism. I got several academic scholarships and worked my way through college always running from the bad seed I came from. I guess in a way I thought I could out run the evil, now I know I can’t.

Two months after my college graduation my grandpa died peacefully in his sleep. I sold the family farm, bought a car and set out to make a name for myself in the journalism world. My first job was compiling data from local mortuaries and newspapers. I’d fix errors and help write obits based on information submitted to the websites. It paid the bills…barely, then I got a job writing for a large travel agency. They would supply the information and pictures and I’d write the copy to sell the location to would be travelers. I submitted local interest stories to several magazines and newspapers hoping to get noticed.

Finally I applied for an opening at the Herald, a gossip rag. I was desperate. I moved to Houston and realized the job was a disgrace. I’d sit and man a phone. Field reporters, known to us as fabricators, would call in and tell absolute lies I was expected to spin into a story. No fact checking, no truth just spin, never list who reported the information to you just say a source close to…yada-yada. Then one day the editor told us all that Crandall was searching for a writer, compiling lists of names to be submitted to an inmate on death row. He had plead guilty to the mutilation murders of four people. They sentenced him to death. He claimed for six years that there were many more bodies and if they would allow a writer to meet with him before his execution he would tell the writer where all of the bodies were buried and how he killed as long as they met his conditions. Finally the powers that be agreed to his demands. They couldn’t let him die without that information.

He, the murderer, would pick the writer. They had to submit their names and biography and he would pick the winner, and they couldn’t disclose any information until his death and the book was written.

The first round of names had been submitted and subsequently rejected by the inmate. My editor wanted me to write a story about the inmates request and the importance it could mean to families with missing loved ones and to law enforcement by closing cold cases. My name and my biography were submitted on round two of prospective writers.

Crandall called me for a meeting. They informed me my name had been selected. The inmate wanted me to write the story of his life and murders. They offered me a contract to include royalties on first and second prints and a fifty-thousand dollar fee. I would be given ten-thousand upon signing and all expenses paid. There would be certain conditions, I would have to comply with, there were rules the inmate dictated. At the time I thought it was a dream come true. Not only would it pay well, it would, if well written establish my name.

A meeting was set up where the rules and conditions were explained in detail as well as a tour of the site and the necessary steps I would have to comply with. I would live in the nearest available motel which by the way is an aging structure just a step above being a dump. I would be at the prison no later than eight every morning for the next thirty days. When I arrived at the prison I would place my wallet, my keys and my cell phone inside a secure box that would only open with my fingerprint. I would retrieve a box that contained two recorders. Once inside the cell with the inmate no physical contact could be allowed. No paper and no laptops, no cell phone or computers were allowed. I had to plug up the power cord coming from the box and the two recorders would record the entire time I was in the cell. There was a marker to label each days recordings and enough blank tapes to record each session. I would eat lunch provided by the prison inside that cell, with the inmate. At five in the afternoon I would be escorted out to retrieve my cell phone, my keys and wallet from the box then place the recorders box inside and leave the lock up.

It sounded crazy, but I agreed to it. I wouldn’t write a single word until after the thirty days were over with. Then I would be flown to a five star hotel in New York City at which time I would be given the lock box only I could open. An editor would work closely with me as I wrote the biography of a killer. I didn’t consider the fact I’d have to listen to every interview and relive the horror of those thirty days twice! Once the book was complete then all information regarding other victims would be given by me under oath in a deposition. Only after the book was in print and ready for distribution could I surrender the recordings to law enforcement.

By the time I’d met Douglas McNeal it was too late to back out, or that’s what I told myself. He was an outright monster. I was terrified after the first few hours. Most of the time when they brought lunch I was too nauseated to eat. Once I got to the hotel I usually threw up during the night when the nightmares came. I’ve lost at least twenty pounds during this ordeal. He spent the next thirty days describing in horrific detail how he stalked, tortured and mutilated fifteen people. Then on the last night, he told me the first person he killed and why he enjoyed it so much. I want very badly for it to not be true. He laughed as he told me the gruesome details then revealed why I’d been chosen.

His last words sent me over the edge, but what was worse than the thoughts I was having was the sound I heard as he stabbed himself in the jugular vein. His eyes locked on mine, his blood pumping out of his body and through the gurgling he whispered…’It wants you now brother”. I could hear ‘it’ breathing in my ear and it’s hot breath on my neck. The moment I heard the lock click open I ran! I ran from the devil on my heels! The monster chose me because the first person he killed was Andrew Markham, then told me Andy was our father. I screamed no, but he just laughed, he said everything and everyone he had murdered was to hurt me.

The only person he had ever loved was his own mother and because she had murdered my mother Alfreda. Once our father found out he made him watch as he beat Hilda to death. It was because of me he had lost her, but he had found strength inside himself. Someone who liked him, someone who wanted to help him destroy me. Then in the last month as his plans for me were executed he knew that what was inside him would now be after me.”

I buried my face in my hands, the memory was just to much. Hot tears escaped my eyes. I trembled with fear. I was going insane, I had to be. Last night as I ran I could feel it behind me. At times I could smell it! Whatever came out of his dying body was trying to possess mine! I just knew it! I heard the deep timber of Josh’s voice as he called my name.

“Parson”, he cleared his throat when I didn’t look up. “Parson, look at me.” I wiped my face with the sleeve of my shirt and looked at him. He was leaning forward in his chair. “We won’t let that happen. Don’t open the door to ‘it’ with your fear.” He told me.

“I can’t help it. The first encounter I had with McNeal I smelled a sulfurous odor. When I’d wake up from the nightmares I’d smell sulfur! When I ran I could smell ‘it’…sulfur! It pursued me.”

Josh got up went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. He came back with two cups and a box of tissues. He asked me if I had a copy of the contract I’d signed. I told him yes, it was in my things at the hotel. He asked me about my cell phone, keys and the recorders, verifying the notes he had made. I told him again. He asked where my car was and I told him still at the prison. He then asked me one simple question and looked me in the eye.

“Do you trust me Parson?” I couldn’t speak, so I reached out through my tears and he grasped my hand in his. Finally I managed to say “I do, but I am so scared! I don’t want it to be true! What if there’s this corrupt gene inside me from them…like grandpa said ‘bad seed’…and I become a monster like McNeal? If I do, will you shoot me? Stop me before I hurt somebody?” I begged.

Josh stood up, drew me to my feet, placed both hands on my shoulders and said “No I will not shoot you. God has brought us together to fight this thing and no devil in hell is gonna change that. First thing we have to do is pray together, then we call in some back up.” He said, I mumbled “Thank you” again through my tears and then he hugged me to his chest as he bowed his head and prayed. As the sound of his prayer reverberated through his chest he held me against him like a father would hold his own son to let him feel safety in his embrace. That’s exactly how I felt. Like God had given me more than just a father figure. He had actually delivered a father to me. One that had my back and would fight off anything or anybody that tried to do me harm. It helped that he was rock solid and towered above most everyone. I literally felt like a child instead of the twenty-five year old that I was.

Purpose

Chapter Four

“Im with you, but legally we need some advice. I need to call my brother, he will be your legal council…behind the scenes…he is the local District Attorney.” Josh offered as he took out his phone and texted his brother.

His cell phone rang and Josh said “it’s him” then answered. When the conversation ended Josh explained “Jacob, my brother, will be here in the morning for breakfast, we will fill him in and go from there. He said in the meantime keep out of sight so there is no taking you in for questioning, and don’t talk to anyone else”.

I climbed into bed after a hot shower. I was exhausted and my body was painfully aware of each muscle I moved. Josh had given me ointment for my feet and clean socks. I closed my eyes and was finally drifting off as my body relaxed when reality began to fade and the sound of McNeals voice began invaded my sleep.

“I loved the sound of pain…the more they screamed the more I wanted…I was sad really, once they died. Then, I needed to challenge myself so I decided to dismember them in a sequence I always could repeat from memory…make my distinguishing mark so to speak.” McNeal explained, peering at me over the top of a notebook where he no doubt had written his talking points.

“Did you ever kill anything Parson?” I had, I was raised on a farm, we raised our own meat. I wasn’t going to answer that. I was being paid to write his story. I was not obligated to feed his hunger for blood. I sat back in my chair and looked at him. On the surface he appeared so normal. His hair was thick and shoulder length a reddish hint to it with green eyes. A smattering of freckles across his nose. I wondered if anyone could see him and instantly know he was a murderer, or would they simply walk past him not sensing how horrible and inhuman he was? It was at that moment the putrid smell of sulfur wafted through the room. I gagged. I placed my hand over my mouth and nose.

He watched me as I looked around the room trying to locate the source of that awful smell. He laughed, enjoying my discomfort.

“Oh, not going to answer that one?” He frowned then and became almost sulky as he continued. “So, why don’t we hit the details before I share my best remembrances.” He said rubbing his hands together. I sat there in the sulfurous stench that permeated the room in utter shock. There was absolutely no remorse in this monster. I was contractually bound to write this book, but this, for McNeal was more than a trip down memory lane. For Douglas McNeal aka monster, this was his victory lap. I had been commissioned to give him the notoriety he thought he deserved. I swallowed my own bile.

He wanted the adoration of future murderers. He wanted to gauge the outrage of the general public through my responses, he would relive each murder and he wanted to engage me in them. How sick he was, I thought. This monster wanted me to become so engrossed in the horrors that I became hungry for more. Then his next words were not a threat, they were his reality, and he was eager to share it.

“Get used to it, that smell, it’s a part of who I am. Most idiots get excited and sweat, not me, I exude that odor quite often…it, well it has a death smell all it’s own. I’ve grown quite fond of…it, and it’s my hope you will too.”

I thought I now understood his agenda. He wasn’t merely telling his story. He was intending to inspire the next…thing…monster…that would devour the details in this book and become his protege through its pages. I made my decision! I would conduct a thorough interview, delving deep into how he became such an embodiment of evil. The details of each murder wouldn’t make it to print. They would be given to law enforcement for closure but there would be no protege cultivated by my words. If he picked me to write it thinking he could use me to reach the audience he wanted then he was dead wrong. I’d made a mistake submitting my name and biography now I had to finish it, but I’d be in charge of the final product.

I wouldn’t give the devil what he thought he was due! Immediately the odor enveloped me almost choking me with its intensity. My eyes popped open! I peered through the darkness in the bedroom frantically. I coughed and cleared my throat. That choking odor had been as real in my dream as it had been on that first encounter with the death row inmate who’s final murder he committed right in front of me. It was not, however, in this room. I drew in a cleansing breath.

I was safe! I walked over to the window blinds, peered out into the darkness. Everything was peaceful. I turned, released the blinds and a shimmer of gold caught my eye. It was on the small bookcase beside the dresser. I reached out for it and as soon as my hand made contact with the leather bound book I knew what it was. I took it back to the bed, found the switch for the lamp on the night stand and soft light filled the room. It was his son’s Bible. I read the note from Josh to Devin and felt a tinge of guilt like I was invading something private between a grieving father and his only son. My eyes misted with tears as I read the words…

‘Son, you have made me so proud today. Your choice to proclaim Jesus as Lord of your life is completely personal, but knowing you made that choice and you asked to be baptized, publicly declaring your faith is a milestone in this life. I know when you were born here, now I know when your born again eternal life became your destiny. I love you and present this Bible to you with my prayer that Jesus holds you until your last breath on this earth. Love Dad.’

I looked at the date. March eighteenth twenty-twelve. Devin was eleven years old. I brushed the moisture from my eyes and clutched the Bible to my chest briefly. Then I stretched back out, lifted the pillow and put it underneath. I wanted it close. I wanted to shove my hand under that pillow at any given minute and feel it. Much like someone who slept with a revolver under their pillow having the Bible within reach gave me strength. I searched my memory for what my own grandpa had said. “Put on the whole armor of God.” He had told me the last time I visited him before graduating. Problem is I hadn’t opened a Bible in over eight years, I couldn’t remember, but I knew that in the coming days that’s exactly what I would do.

I heard Josh in the kitchen. I took care of my personal hygiene and made the bed. As soon as I exited the bedroom the smell of freshly brewed coffee and biscuits wafted down the hall. I rounded the corner and realized Josh was not alone. His almost twin was at the table. He was a large man as well, he glanced up and examined me with his eyes. I was in more of Devin’s old clothes, my feet bare.

Josh introduced us and Jacob extended his hand. His grip was much softer than Josh’s. That’s when I noticed Jacob was reading through the notes Josh had made last night.

Josh urged me to sit down and pointed to the chair directly across from his brother. He set a plate of biscuits and gravy with hash brown’s a heaping pile of scrambled eggs in front of me the poured me a cup of coffee.

Finally Jacob looked up, he fixed his eyes on me as he asked “How are you sleeping? Any bad dreams?”

“Yes sir.” I said and he nodded. Then tapped the table top sharply. My eyes followed snapped in the direction of his hand and I jumped, startled. Then I looked back up at him.

“Ok, if they question you about why you ran the simple truth is what you give them. The trauma of it all, after all the guy offed himself violently right in front of you. Josh, and now myself, have been a witness to your anxiety. I won’t let them arrest you, count on that. In the mean time I need you to go to prison with Josh. Josh I need you to go to my office pick up your credentials that will be ready by the time you get there. You are now a special investigator for the DA’s office. I’m placing Parson Hamilton in your custody.” At his words I inhaled sharply and looked at Josh alarmed.

“Calm down.” Josh said and placed his hand on my arm. “Explain it Jacob, before he has a panic attack.”

“Ok so at this point we don’t know what happened to the recorders. What was supposed to happen to them after the last interview?”

“I don’t know.” I responded shrugging my shoulders. “I never thought about it, I just assumed the prison would give them to the publisher who would give them to me once I was in New York.”

“See that’s the thing. Those recordings are evidence, there’s a chain of command with all evidence that can be used in court. As of this moment we have no idea who has those recordings. I need an honest answer, just nod your head yes or no, did McNeal ever mention anyone else, anyone who could have been an accomplice in any way?” I nodded quickly yes.

Jacob held up his hand to silence me. “Don’t say anything else. You are officially detained by me, you are in protective custody. Anyone involved with McNeal may want you silenced. Those tapes have to be recovered and remain in your custody at all times until you surrender them to me.”

“Josh, get everything that he left behind, from prison, the hotel, his car.” He looked at Josh then turned to me. “I need to see this contract you signed, I’m issuing warrants to search and seize any and all pertinent information about this case.” I nodded my head as he stood up pulled his suit coat on and stood up. He was a bit shorter than Josh, but not by much I thought.

With that he left the house. We finished breakfast and then headed for the courthouse. In a matter of minutes Josh came out of the Office of the District Attorney with a new badge, and a folder full of papers.

“What’s all that I asked pointing to the folder.” Josh grinned. “Well seems like I was only retired for a day, I now have a new job. New gas card, an expense folder and a judges order placing you in protective custody, me being responsible for your physical whereabouts and safety until such time as the court deems your life is not at risk and all evidence has been recovered.”

“Wow.” I said. “Yeah, me too kid, but hey, I asked God what was next in my life and, well, here you are. Not exactly a bouncing baby boy but you’ll do.” He said and we both laughed.

“So should I call you daddy or officer”? I teased. “I think Josh will do.”

We got back in his truck and I knew the answer before I asked, but I asked anyway. “So where to first?” His response was immediate. “The Prison.” I nodded my heat, fastened the seat belt and wiped the perspiration that popped out on my forehead away. I knew I had to face it, but somehow, I was afraid, that smell…it…was waiting for me.

Purpose

Chapter Five

As soon as I stepped out of the truck several guards approached me. One reached out and took hold of my arm. Josh came around the truck in a hurry.

“Take your hand off of him” he warned. “I’m Joshua Bailey, special investigator with the District Attorneys office. I have a court order placing Mr. Hamilton in my protective custody so once again I’m telling you to take your hand off him.” Josh stepped threateningly toward the guard. He held out his badge and flashed his brand new identification card complete with his photo. The guard stood there briefly with his grip on my arm tightening. Josh swelled to full height, the much shorter guard nodded his head, no doubt contemplating his chances of successfully arguing with him, then decided wisely to relinquish his hold on my arm.

“The warden wants to see him.” The guard responded.

“Ok, and we would like to see the warden as well.”

We were ushered into a room where signs said visitors. There were tables with plexiglass separating each side, to keep visitors and inmates from reaching across to one another I supposed. In a matter of minutes a short balding man I recognized as the Warden entered the room.

“So I’m told you” he said pointing at me “are now in protective custody?” It sounded more like a statement than a question but he looked at Josh and held out his hand palm up. Josh retrieved a document from the file folder in his hand and laid it in the wardens open palm. He examined it then returned it to Josh.

“All this was quite unnecessary, we have cameras in that room, we know McNeal stabbed himself, what we don’t know is why nor why you ran.” At this he raised his eyebrows at me waiting for an answer.

“Well then, you don’t have any question for him that’s pertinent to McNeals obvious suicide. As to why McNeal offed himself, you can read the book when it comes out, that’s not pertinent to your internal investigation. As for Mr. Hamilton he has been traumatized by what took place in that cell. He had never seen, as I’m quite sure most of us have not, a man kill himself so violently. His response was totally normal. Now Warden, it’s my turn to ask a few questions. Where are the recordings?”

“Those recordings are the property of the publisher. They are in the lock box where they are supposed to be” the Warden responded. “Mr. Hamilton will need to open the box so we can retrieve them.”

“Who put them in the box after Parson left?” Josh asked.

“My guard on duty did.” The warden stated.

“Okay I’m going to need a statement from that guard.” Josh informed him and held out an order to search and seize the recordings and personal affects of Parson Hamilton and to establish a chain of command regarding the tapes.

“You can’t be serious, those tapes belong to Crandall Publishing. We are contractually bound to hand them over to their employee.” The warden protested.

“Well this warrant supersede’s your contract. Technically Parson here is their employee so you’ve honored the contract and the warrant by simply giving Parson his personal affects and those tapes.” Josh’s reasoning made perfect sense.

“Sounds reasonable. I’ll have the guard come see you, then he will escort you to the lock box.” The warden capitulated. With that he exited the room. The sound of the doors locking and unlocking made me nervous. I’d be glad to leave this place and never return. The guard entered, spoke briefly with Josh, nodded his head and took a pen Josh held out and filled in the details Josh needed to establish the recordings had remained in the lock box since the prisoners suicide and Parson Hamilton’s departure from the prison without securing the tapes in the box. Chain of command was established.

We were escorted to the box, I put my fingerprint over the reader and the lock opened. Immediately the faint odor of sulfur filled my nostrils. I backed away. Josh looked at me he nodded his head briefly then suggested “let me get them”. I felt like a total coward but I said “please” and Josh scooped the contents of the box up in both hands. He requested a property bag which the guard retrieved and placed everything inside of it, rolled down the top and in moments we were outside. I breathed a sigh of relief. The bag Josh tossed in the backseat and we headed back to the courthouse.

“What about my car? My things at the hotel?” I asked to which Josh explained he wanted those tapes in the evidence locker first.”

“How am I supposed to write the book if you have the tapes locked up?” I wondered aloud.

“Oh we are gonna make a copy, and just so you know I smelled it too. We don’t want to bring that back to the house.”

I relaxed, breathed a sigh of relief and thanked God for Josh and his brother. There was definitely something evil that was pursuing me, but despite my years of not being true to the faith that my grandpa brought me up in no doubt his prayers for me had brought about the protection of God. I was both humbled and ashamed. I bowed my head, and effectively shut out the world around me.

I listened to the rhythm of my heart beat, not realizing I was speaking out loud I followed what my heart wanted…“Thank you Lord, forgive me, redeem me from my sins. I know Jesus is your Son, and I believe He died to save me and He was raised up and is today at your right hand. Restore my faith Lord, I ask this in Jesus name.” In my mind I could see an enormous drop of blood, there was a book and the header was my name, it was the book of my life. Everything I’d ever said and done was in that book. That drop of blood completely saturated that book and instantly there were lines upon lines that had been written which were now covered in thick dried blood. I had been restored. Whether that’s. What actually takes place in the heavens I didn’t know, but in my mind it did and I felt it.

Josh said “Amen, son, Amen.” Then reached over put his massive hand at the back of my neck, squeezed it and said “we are family now.” I smiled, a genuine smile for the first time in days. I was free! I was in Josh’s custody but my heart was free I felt alive again.

A copy of the recordings was burned on DVD and the entire thing was transcribed and put in print. I wouldn’t have to listen to McNeal’s voice except for portions that were time stamped in the margin as unintelligible. The entire process took hours. I would honor my obligations legally. Once complete it would be surrendered to the publisher, during my writing I would take each segment that contained names and information on each victim and generate a file, I would then give that information in a sworn deposition to Jacob. The District Attorney had informed the Attorney General and they were agreeable. The only interest they had was locating the bodies of victims. I was expected to write the book in New York, but the publisher relented especially since I was in protective custody, asking that chapters be forwarded so editing could be fluid during the process. The only problem was I didn’t have a computer. Josh took me shopping and we found one and the programs that I needed to write the book. I used the credit card for my expenses provided by Crandall.

We went to the hotel and collected my things. My clothes stunk, the room smelled too, like sulfur. My clothes we bundled together and dropped at the cleaners. I drove my car and followed Josh back to his house. We had gone the entire day since breakfast without eating. Now that I had my wallet again I offered to buy Josh dinner. He agreed easily and took me to the local steak house. There was still something on my mind and I wanted to talk it over with Josh.

We ordered coffee and pecan pie for dessert. Josh glanced up at me as my pie sat untouched on the table. He knew I was preoccupied with my own thoughts. He tapped the side of his coffee cup bringing my attention to his face as he drank. “Alright, whatever it is, out with it. Don’t sit and stew about it. You’ve got a book to write, I have dibs on each chapter by the way, I can help find your typo’s no guarantee on grammatical errors though. I have a hard enough time with the they’s, those, if, and’s and but’s myself. Not to mention all the words that are spelled the same but mean something different depending on where you use it! The only hope I have is the God who scrambled all the languages back in Babel knows what everybody’s saying, but I bet he gets a good laugh from time to time, not to mention accents.”

I laughed at that thought, I’d never considered accents before and told him so. “Well, think about it. Here in Texas we spell dog, d-o-g. In another part of this country they pronounce it dogh heavy on the H, here we add a whole letter sound…my dawg…d-a-w-g…dog!” We both laughed. “Then there’s friends I have from Louisiana with their own Cajun dialect. We were grilling hot dogs and burgers and my friend Bill says where’s the maness. We were at a complete loss to understand what he was looking for. He went in the kitchen, came back held up the mayonnaise jar and said maness. It was hilarious. We tried to explain it was pronounced mayo-naze here. He would just say that’s what I said maness!”

“Right, I had a friend from New Jersey that would say “I sur it, he meant I saw it.” I said and we enjoyed a good laugh with our pie. It opened up conversation and while it probably wasn’t the best time I told him what was on my mind

“So, okay, here it is…if I do have the same blood line as McNeal, could I have the same darkness lurking inside of me? I’m pretty much a loner. I don’t have one single friend, just acquaintances and most of them are in my college days, nobody recent. I’ve had two girlfriends briefly, but that’s all. Could I be like McNeal in some way?” I asked. “I know I’m black and he was white, but that’s just pigment right? We can be different races and still share genetic similarities. So Inside could I have a monster waiting to be unleashed?”

“Do you think our creator favors one ethnicity over another?” Josh asked. Now his palms were both flat against the table. “You mean race? Right?” I clarified. He shook his head no.

“So basically you consider yourself to be a different race than I am?” His next words made me think. “Jews are not a different race, Hispanics, Italians, Asians, they are the same race as you and I…the human race! Ask yourself this, what particular shade of green do you think God likes best? I mean, of the plants in the world, look at all the different shades of green yet they are still plants. Look at the colors of the sky…same thing. God made every color and loves them all equally. The only one that makes a difference is an ignorant human. Now as far as ethnic differences, just like we talked about earlier, we differ in speech, in things we do from one state to another. I happen to love chocolate cake but I’ve known people up north that take a beautiful piece of that cake and pour red beans with juice on it…gag-a-maggot…totally nasty to me, but they love it!” He lifted his hand and shrugged his shoulders.

“People have different backgrounds, take you for instance, you were raised by a God fearing man. Was violence something you were used to?” Josh questioned. “No, absolutely not. Grandpa was a gentle soul” I confirmed. “Well in your interview did you learn anything about McNeal’s upbringing?” I nodded my head yes and Josh responded. “No doubt something there warped him or opened the door to demons.”

“Do you think…it, that smell, is demonic? Because I do! What’s worse I think it was done with McNeal and it’s after me. If I have a gene inside me that replicates anything like McNeal then I could be the next monster.” I argued.

“All I know is you got a twisted story from a serial killer, who knows what’s true and what’s fantasy on his part. If I were you I would take a road trip, research the area, find out who your dad was. I’d do that before I finished this book. You may get some good answers, some not so good…depends on your perspective, but you owe it to yourself to find out.” Josh suggested…then added. “I’d be open to a mini vacation.”

That was his way of offering to go with me. He was right, I deserved to know. “Okay then, let me get my outline worked up and get the first few chapters done, then before going further I’ll tell Crandall we are going to do research on the background characters in his story. No one else but you and I, as far as I know, is aware of McNeal’s claim that I’m his brother and that’s why he murdered all those people…to get back at me, insinuating his actions were my fault.”

I relaxed, we had a plan. We went home set up the computer in a corner of the bedroom I was staying in. It was time to get to work, put this monster to bed and find out how to slay the demon I thought was stalking me.

I turned on the lamp next to the bed. Reached for the transcription of my first day with a monster. I read past the first time I smelled the sulfur, I’d already relived that in my dream anyway.

Purpose

Chapter Six

McNeal began by telling me about his mother. “I loved my mom, she always told me nobody would ever love me the way she did. Oh she could be hard at times, if I stepped out of line she would whollop me good. But she is really the only person that ever said they loved me and she made sure I ate and had clean clothes and if Dad, Andrew, was ever too mean she would fight him down. She lived with him for a year before I was born. They had gone to high school together, then they moved in together, her folks didn’t like it in the little town they lived in, about two hours north of New Orleans, so they just quit school and moved to New Orleans. I think that town dried up and blew away over the years. Everybody left. I never met any other family…there was only Momma.”

I made notes as I read. “Her name?” He repeated the question I asked. “Her name was Hilda Diane McNeal, my dad’s was Andrew Markham. They fought a lot, she could hold her own with him though, that’s for sure. Yeah my mom was a scrapper. She caught him fooling around a couple of times and she tore into him. They were both bloody by the end of those fights. One time he broke her collar bone and she kicked him in the ribs, broke two of them. My parents were big partiers back then. Dad worked as a bartender and mom was a waitress or his bar back. After the bars closed the party continued most weekends, especially during Mardi Gras celebrations. I was about five when they split up for a while, got back together, but the fighting got worse. By the time I was nine my mom died. Life with my dad was way harder…yeah well, I loved my mom. She taught me how to be tough. I loved my mom, hated my dad.”

Josh was right, his childhood scarred him. During the interview I remember not thinking much about his childhood, it sounded like a story I’d heard thousands of times. That wasn’t what I was commissioned to write about. He started telling me about the first person he killed for sport as he called it. As I read the transcript of the interview my stomach twisted. It was one of the murders he was finally charged and convicted for. He said it’s what tripped him up finally. Then he honed his craft. From there on out each murder he relived in vivid detail. He described himself as a master of his craft, the art of torture that could be savored over days until finally the toy broke and he had to throw that one away and find a new one.

As I read and compiled information I would reach under the pillow feel the smooth cool surface of the leather bound Bible. Comforted by its presence. I knew one thing I couldn’t do, wouldn’t do. I would not write this book from McNeals perspective. I couldn’t allow myself to become him. Even though I’d signed a contract to write the book the only perspective I had was as the horrified writer and that was all they would get from me. To try and place myself inside his feelings was too dangerously close to…it.

The purpose of our existence weighed on my mind. Why were we created? Because certainly the one thing I knew inside my being, unquestioning is my belief in God. What I realized most explicitly was that what I knew inside my soul, my being so to speak, was that I knew God. This knowledge went beyond my feelings. It was this unshakeable knowledge that I was not alone. Atheist, agnostics and people who believed they could become gods too couldn’t understand it because they hadn’t experienced it. They might mimic the sinners prayer mockingly, but I knew where it came from inside me! It came from my deepest desire to meet my creator one on one, to thank him for his sacrifice for me to express the love I knew existed only because of him. I believed! That belief birthed a knowledge that I had knelt at the foot of his cross. I’d felt my soul as he cleansed it. I’d seen his blood cover my sins. Like the song said…I have decided…

No one could dispute my knowledge with mere words when my knowledge was based on my own actual experience. How can a man with no family and only one friend feel loved? Yet I do! I am loved by the original sculptor! This brought a rush of tears and, yes, emotion. How could it not? I had a purpose for being, I just didn’t know exactly what it was yet, but I would. Yes, I would! I was going to discover what my purpose was and I knew that Jesus was the one who would lead me to it.

McNeal had a purpose also, how did he lose the quest to discover it? Did he ever consider God? I honestly believe that every human is faced with deciding if they believe God exists. No one can honestly say they could look at snow capped mountains, pet a kitten, see a sunrise or sunset and not be amazed at its beauty. That amazement must give way to the question of how it came to be. That’s just human nature.

Man has always been trying to figure out the minute details of how things are made, what makes things work. The bumblebee cannot fly according to science, yet it does! Why? Because God’s purpose for it was to fly! Studied long enough they will come up with a hypothesis that lets them ignore the simple truthful answer, much the same way monsters like McNeal appease their own desires no matter how incorrect they are. What is it about people that they justify what they feel or think when the real answer isn’t the one they want? Is validation of self and one’s desire to be right the best choice? As in the case of Douglas McNeal, absolutely not.

Once you truly know God I think the definition of purpose changes. You go from what you purpose for yourself to actually wanting to know your purpose in him. That’s what my heart wants to find my purpose in God. I slipped my hand under the pillow and placed it on the Bible…my purpose was in there and I was going to find it!

I drifted off to sleep, this time I didn’t dream of McNeal or awaken to foul odors. My grandpa’s voice as he stood in the pulpit, hands raised, tears streaming down his face sang…’On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross…I will cherish the old rugged cross…then he’ll call me someday to my home far away’…

I awoke to the sound of the doorbell ringing. I heard Josh greet someone and hurried about getting ready for the day. I traipsed down the hallway expecting to find Jacob having coffee with Josh. Instead Josh was seated in his recliner, doughnuts on a plate. I was about to ask if the doughnuts were delivered when the sound of a female voice said “Well hello.” I spun around and found a young woman standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“You must be Parson, Josh told me you were visiting, I’m Tina, there’s coffee and fresh doughnuts on the counter. Mind if I clean your room first?” She asked. I looked from her to Josh who was devouring another doughnut, he saw my questioning look and stopped chewing long enough to say ‘Tina’s my house keeper, comes twice a week.’

My eyes returned to Tina, she didn’t look like any housekeeper I’d ever seen. Her long dark hair shined, the pony tail bounced as she moved. She wore glasses but that didn’t hide her shining brown eyes flecked with gold. Her smile was perfect, her skin creamy. I stood gaping at her like I’d never seen a beautiful girl before. She returned my examining look and I felt embarrassed and looked away but only briefly. As long as she was in sight I couldn’t stop looking at her, I just tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. Stealing glances every chance I got.

Once she was satisfied with the bedroom, she went into Josh’s. I heard her coming down the hall, leaned back in my chair to steal a look and saw her carrying laundry baskets, one on top of the other. I hurried to help her.

“Here, let me, this is way too much for a girl your size to be carrying.” I said as I lifted them from her. She laughed and followed me to the laundry room.

I helped her sort the clothes then handed her the detergent. We came out of the laundry room to find Josh draped across the kitchen island watching us. She ignored him and went back down the hall. The sound of the vacuum cleaner was my cue to question Josh.

“So tell me about Tina.” I said. Josh stood up folded his arms and said ‘Nope, you want to know about Tina, you ask Tina. Same thing I’ll tell Tina if she ask’s about you. She is mighty cute though ain’t she?” He just stood there grinning at me as he stroked his unshaven chin.

I reached out took another doughnut and said “No, she isn’t cute, she is gorgeous!” I stressed the word isn’t to correct his grammar and bit the doughnut savagely. His lack of dispensing information about the lovely Tina irritated me. He chuckled as I coughed and sputtered on the doughnut.

I went back to the bedroom pretending to write but listened for the sound of her moving about the house. I felt like a teenager who was smitten. I’d heard the dryer chime that the clothes were dry and then heard a tap lightly on the door. I called to her to come in and was disappointed to see Josh enter the room carrying the clothes he’d lent me.

He placed the clothes on the bed then suggested I needed to go buy some clothes. I agreed that I did, especially underwear and asked him where we would go.

“Oh no, I don’t shop where you do. The big and tall shop is not at the mall.” He grinned. “Well I’m not short, by most people’s standards, I’m five-eleven. Average height.” I challenged him to dispute that.

“Well I’m taller than that.” He responded. My only comeback was “Well my tan is better.” As I pointed to his pale skinned bare feet. “Wise acre.” He said as he left the room yelling behind him for me to ‘get ready’.

I came out dressed in the clean clothes he had put on the bed. Tina stood up, grabbed her purse and keys and said “You ready?” My mouth fell open as I nodded my head yes glancing at Josh my mouth still agape. He walked over, clapped me on the back and said “Y’all have fun. I’m gonna clean the grill why don’t y’all grab some steaks, groceries, it’s warm enough to grill.” He threw a question directed at Tina over his shoulder. “You and Benji want to join us for dinner?” She said yes and he told her ‘then don’t forget ice cream’. She giggled and said “Yes sir.”

I didn’t know who Benji was, and looked surreptitiously at her left hand as she pulled open the front door. No ring. Maybe this Benji was a boyfriend? She solved that riddle with her next sentence.

“Benji will be so excited. He loves Josh. Benji’s my six year old son. His dad died when he was two so spending time with Josh and his grandpa is a grand time for him.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss.” I said sincerely. “Yeah, it didn’t come as a surprise my husband Danny was sick when I met him. He was diagnosed with Leukemia when he was fourteen years old. I married him knowing it would be a battle and it was, but we both trusted in the good Lord and accepted whatever happened. At least I had my son and we established my cleaning service so I could set my time around Benji’s needs. We were gifted a small piece of land and built a small home. God provided.”

She took me to the mall and we picked up some clothes. I also scored some slippers, my feet would appreciate them. They were still sporting the remnants of my run from the evil at that prison.

Once at the grocery store we picked out some nice thick steaks, grabbed some potatoes to bake and veggies for a salad. “What about dessert?” I asked. “Josh is big on dessert.” She laughed and said so was her son. She suggested a homemade peach cobbler with the ice cream we couldn’t forget.

“You’re son likes vanilla ice cream? Most kids like flavors.” I questioned the vanilla just for that reason, because traditionally we always had vanilla with cobbler.

“Oh follow me, there’s a solution for that too.” She said crooking her finger at me. I laughed, amazed at the ease of comfort I felt with her. “Lead the way ma’am.” I joked as I pushed the buggy behind her. I knew I was attracted to her, the question was did she have the same attraction regarding me? Or was she content with her life as it was and viewed me as a future friend? I would be glad when this book was written, and I got answers to the questions McNeal had planted in my mind. I wanted a life, a relationship, and yes, children. I wanted to be a dad. I wanted to fall in love with a tiny person and be there like my grandpa had been for me. I wanted to be the dad that stayed as constant positive influence in my child’s, or children’s, life. Maybe, just maybe, that was my purpose?

She grabbed two gallons of vanilla ice cream declaring it to be Texas finest as she placed them in the shopping cart. I told her yeah I was raised in East Texas, but our ice cream came from our goats milk. She loved goat cheese she said.

“One more stop, and right on time.” As she turned off the street into the school parking lot. She was half way up the sidewalk, past the flow of school buses and cars parked waiting on children when a dark haired boy came bounding down the sidewalk. His book bag on his back and arms as open as the smile on his face when he saw his mother. He bounded up to her and she wrapped him in her arms, then waved at the teachers and caught his hand. She was talking to him about her dinner plans as they walked toward the car. He was a handsome little guy, minus two bottom teeth right in the front.

He greeted me through the open window with a wide grin, stuck out his hand and said with confidence, “Hi, I’m Daniel Benjamin Martinez, but you can call me Benji.” I took his hand and he pumped them up and down quite proud of his handshaking abilities. “Well hello, I’m Parson Hamilton, glad to make your acquaintance, and you can call me Parson.” He giggled and climbed in the back seat, buckled his seat belt and said “Mommy says your Uncle Josh’s friend?” I told him indeed I was to which he cupped his hand beside his mouth and bestowed a secret to me for clarification. “He ain’t”…his mother corrected him inserting “isn’t”…”sorry Mommy, isn’t my real uncle, but I call him Uncle Josh anyways.”

I glanced at Tina, we both grinned and I said “Oh, I see.” I glanced back over my shoulder as Benji crossed his arms across his chest a satisfied smile on his face.

Purpose

Chapter Seven

Josh was in the backyard when we arrived back at the house. Benji was so excited to see him. I watched the giant of a man scoop him up and kiss him on the cheek. The small arms winding around his neck. It was a joy to see, and Josh was totally in his element with that boy. I went back into the kitchen and offered my services as Tina whipped up the cobbler and I placed it in the oven. A while later Josh said the grill was ready.

Steaks were cooked to perfection and the evening was so enjoyable. The peace and the laughter was the best time I could remember having in years. Josh exhibited great finesse as he helped Benji design his own ‘special’ bowl of ice cream, complete with three toppings and a cherry on top.

Tina finally said it was time to take him home and said she would see us Friday. I walked her to the car and asked for her number, I tried to keep myself from doing that, but I couldn’t. I was basically a mess. Part of me was lost, my soul was saved by His Grace that was the only thing I knew at this point. I had the pressure of writing this book that I was avoiding. I had so many “why and how” questions running through my mind constantly. Why add more to that by pursuing a relationship with her? The simple answer at that moment was because I couldn’t stop myself. To my surprise she gave it to me saying she hoped I’d call, and I had every intention of doing just that.

Josh was back in his recliner with another bowl of cobbler when I came back inside. I plopped down in the other one and just watched him eat. Finally he glanced up then back to his bowl then it registered I was watching him. He sat the bowl down and said “What?”

“Well” I began, finally looking away before coming to the topic that was weighing on my mind. “What’s my purpose? Why did God create us and especially, why did he create me? Plus if you keep eating all these desserts you gonna get fat. I realize we are new friends but, dude, you are over fifty and you don’t chase bad guys no more. All these sweets, doughnuts, pies, ice cream, cobbler…I can feel your arteries hardening from across the room, and well”… I said as I looked down examining the palm of my hand awkwardly…”I kinda hoped you’d be around for a while.”

He sat the bowl down put both hands to his eyes, leaned his head back and laughed. Then he said, “I’m glad neither one of us wanted to sleep tonight because this”…he took his finger and motioned from me back to himself, meaning this talk between us…”is gonna take a while”. I leaned forward and with my best tough gut impression said “Bring it”.

There was a wisdom in him, a place that he could reach me, where he wasn’t merely speaking words to make sentences. He made me think, he pulled my thoughts into a blend with the emotions I seemed to bury. The truth of things I shied away from, the things I’d never talked about with another human being. Because to do so either made me mad or made me feel inferior to the other person. His wisdom was genuine, it was spiritually enhanced I thought. He gauged everything by what the spirit of God had taught him. He had known intense loss and the pain of that loss still remained, yet he kept his feet firmly pointed in the path he knew he should walk. How did he do it? How did he know? I was a completely confused person. I needed to find my purpose.

“Number one, I was a state trooper, if I gave chase it was in a car! If you ran I had three choices.” He held up three fingers. “Shoot you, taze you, or call for the street cops, the gym jockeys, to back me up and let them run you down. All of this is intimidating in it’s tallness and strong but it’s not real fast. I didn’t chase on foot, that was back in my street cop days. I like dessert, but if you’re worried about it I’ll try to turn over in bed a few more times at night, get a little more exercise.” The sarcasm was thick so I rolled my eyes at him. Then he sobered, sat up straighter, stretched his long legs out in front of him, and I knew the wisdom that emanated from him during these moments I did not want to miss or be flippant about. This was the good stuff!

“I’ll give you my two cents worth as far as my purpose and I’ll give you why I believe God created us, but you have to get with him and resolve those things yourself.”

“Oh I get that, I do, but I’m kinda stuck. I don’t know how, I don’t even know where to start.” I said truthfully. “I know as guys we have this tendency to bury everything, not be emotional. It’s like emasculating yourself if you have emotions you display. The perpetual tough guy act. My grandpa was tough, and he conveyed love, we just didn’t use a lot of words. I’m a writer, words are important. How can I write this book or any book for that matter if I can’t figure out the reason I feel the way I do or if I don’t even understand why I feel that way? What’s the point?” I shrugged my shoulders showing how futile I felt it was to even try to find these answers.

“Okay, let’s go back to the beginning of us.” He said and telling me to ‘Hang on” disappeared down the hallway. I heard doors open and close and Josh returned with two Bibles. I was shocked when he handed me his son’s Bible, the one I’d stashed under the pillow. I looked at him sheepishly. He waved his hand at me and said “You keep it, otherwise I’d have to have a funeral for it and bury it in the backyard. All my family are buried with their Bibles they carried to church. We all had more than one.”

“I’m gonna let you read the first three chapters of Genesis, have that fresh in your mind.” He read thru it as well. Then he closed the book and started talking, the part that intrigued me so much was the fact that Josh thought out loud.

“I think everybody that believes in God at some point searches for their purpose, now I’m not talking about specific ‘callings’. Like some are worship leaders, some are Pastor’s, I’m talking about original purpose for mankind. For me I found it, as simple as it’s gonna sound, in the first three chapters of Genesis. See God made the garden, he made every plant in the garden. He made Adam and he took him then and put him in the garden to be the first official gardener, but wasn’t why God made Adam. Then he made Eve and he establish joining two people together, marriage. They ran around naked, no shame, they belonged to each other. They were told don’t even touch the tree that has in it the knowledge of good and evil. Along comes the grand dummy…satan.”

“The Cherubim who had it made but wanted to be as powerful as God. Well didn’t work out so good for satan so he got cast out. The devil doesn’t have creative abilities, he is not like God, in fact he is the opposite. God is love, the devil hates, God is truth the devil is a liar…etcetera. So all Satan could do was lie and twist what God told them and he convinced Eve they could be like God, satan’s M.O. just rinsed and repeated, so she pulled the fruit off the tree- she touched it- decision time for her, she could have dropped it. Just like you and me, we see evil or sin it depends on our choice. Eve ate it and gave it to Adam and he ate it.”

“Now this opened up a whole new bunch of questions in my mind. Why would God put a tree in the middle of that garden? Was it to tempt them? I mean we know it was pleasing to see and it produced food, so why? Why did he let that old devil even go in his garden? Because he wanted something more than mere obedience. We are made in the image of God, we have an ability and a capacity far greater than any animal on this planet…we have a brain, we have communication abilities, we can learn beyond our childhood years…as adults we can still learn. Yet what I see is our ability to love. God didn’t want some little rule following androids. He wanted living, breathing, thinking human kids, who out of the depths of their soul loved him.”

“I don’t serve him nor do I love him for gifts, I don’t serve him completely and utterly because I’m afraid not to…my original purpose was to decide for myself. To love my Heavenly Father, but I was given the choice! I wasn’t forced. I love Jesus. I’m ashamed when I fail him, not because I’ll be punished it’s because I love him that I do not want to disappoint him. Living life is good, but it can also be hard and it can be painful, but my purpose I know is to trust him, rely on him and love him just as much as I possibly can. Then being the loving father that he is, he speaks to me through his word and he points me back toward safety.”

“Now I do believe that once we attain knowledge of our original purpose then we can find a purpose in our daily lives that makes all of it come together and then we are actually walking in complete purpose…his purpose. You aren’t going to find a purpose for your life that satisfies you until you find fulfillment in your original purpose which is to love God with all your heart. So I love God, I take each step trying to stay solidly on the path”…he pointed to the Bible…”he has laid out for us, when things go off the rails then I go back to the basics of my purpose, just to love my God and I get back up and try again.”

“All these questions you have, the answers can only be found with his help. Spend time with him, get on your knees, spend more than just a brief prayer with him…don’t treat him like he’s a genie in a bottle, don’t walk around with your hand out expecting good junk to fall in your lap. He will give you access to his heart, you’ll see.” Josh said as he stood up, headed for the hall then stopped, turned around and added, “By the way God gave us the ability to love like he does so we would love each other as well. This may sound strange for you to hear, but Parson, son, I love you.”

Josh walked on down the hall and into his bedroom and closed the door. I sat there in silence knowing that there was no other person on this earth besides my grandpa who had ever told me they loved me and I cried. All the feelings that I had, thoughts about wanting a family, a wife and kids to…love. That was my purpose, as Josh said, my original purpose! To do that I had to love my God and learn all I could about him.

I made my way down the hall shutting off the lights as I went. This time I wouldn’t read the transcript, this time I’d read my new Bible and then I’d take a knee and all my thoughts and all my feelings I’d tell my father, my Heavenly Father. I did just that and in my mind I could see myself walking through the garden, Jesus strolling beside me, caring about what I had to say and happy to hear from his

Purpose

Chapter Eight

I woke up before the sunrise, I felt more focused. I knew it was time, time for me to resolve what I was obligated to finish…the book. I went down the hall into the kitchen and started the coffee. First things first. I hopped in the shower and started my day with Bible reading and prayer. I knew I had to immerse myself in the evil that overtook McNeal but something was different I didn’t have to be so afraid of…it, I had choices.

I took my second cup of coffee back to the bedroom and turned on the computer. Until this morning I hadn’t known how to start, now I did. McNeal had succumbed to the evil, an evil that became who he was. That’s where I was going to take this story, and how it affected me who had thought there were just evil people in the world. Some unknown genetic structure I had nothing to do with did not define me or who I would become. I did.

I relaxed, sat the coffee cup down and let myself feel. I allowed my words to convey my deepest fears as I set the stage for my encounter with the force that McNeal surrendered to. The first five chapters flowed. I was descriptive only to the point where the madness he succumbed to was too graphic to endure. I left out the names of the victims and gave descriptions of areas careful omission. Families would probably read this if the could bear it. The heartbreak they had already faced would be compounded as the coroners would detail the agony their loved ones had endured before death.

As the bodies were discovered and their identities confirmed I knew that even though McNeal was dead the evil that possessed him would revel in the torment it fed off of, and I knew it did not die with McNeal. It looked for a new possession. That was also who would read this book, McNeal’s target audience. I was going to change that. I was going to let the reader know the horror of the of that presence. Then show them their original purpose as Josh had shown me.

The tap on my door as I finished chapter five startled me. I said come in as I reached for my cold cup of coffee. Josh pushed open the door and the smell of food followed him into the room. My stomach rumbled. I glanced at the clock and realized I’d spent ten hours writing.

“How’s it going?” Josh asked. “You need eat and supper is ready.”

“It’s going good, I’d like you to read it. I’ll print what I have and in the margin make notes if you find stuff that doesn’t flow. My programs we installed will catch a lot of errors. The editor will also make suggestions, sometimes they will try and steer it they way they want it to flow…that’s when the battle with Crandall will ensue and rewrites are suggested.”

The printer began to hum as it spat out the pages. Josh said he would watch it and I headed for the kitchen ready to eat. I had my cell phone in hand and I texted Tina, testing the waters. She responded quickly and asked I& I’d made progress. I told her I had. She said Benji was at his grandparents and I told her to come by before she picked him up and help Josh edit. She said ‘On my way’ and I was suddenly nervous and excited.

I ate with enthusiasm. Josh had made meatloaf and creamed potato’s. A large glass of sweet tea and before I knew it I was stuffed. I brushed my teeth and then walked back into the bedroom. I hadn’t even made my bed this morning. I straightened it and sat down in the bed as josh read. He was not far behind as the printer needed more paper I loaded it as josh kept reading. The doorbell chimed I told Josh it was Tina, he grinned at me and kept reading. I hurried to answer the door.

She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Her hair was down, it flowed down her back in a mass of silken temptation. I wanted to touch it as she walked past me. I just stood there staring at her, my hand still on the door. She turned around and looked at me. She walked back to me, looked up into my eyes and said “I feel it too…something I didn’t think I would ever feel again, but I have a child. I have to go slow, so no pressure, let’s just take it easy. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to kiss you.” I said honestly. “I know, but I need you to understand I have boundaries…I live out my beliefs and my convictions. I don’t fool around. I don’t…” she tilted her head sideways trying to delicately say she did not have sex outside of marriage. I lifted my hand and touched her hair. Then bent my head, my lips grazed her temple above her glasses. I felt the tingle. As I straightened she looked up a tender smile on her full lips. I said “No pressure, I think slow is good. I’m seeking answers for my life with God’s help. I want so much, but I have to find out what I can do for him. Maybe you and Benji are a part of that?” I ended with a question to which she said “Only God knows”.

“Want some tea? We are working in the bedroom.” I explained. She got a glass of tea and joined us. Josh was on chapter two and handed me back chapter one. Tina sat beside me on the side of the bed. I passed her pages as I scanned them for Josh’s notes, which were few. The pen I gave her she tucked behind her ear as she read.

Tina brushed away tears several times and josh blew his nose loudly. Eventually I glanced at the clock it was almost ten and I hated to but I was worried about Benji being out so late on a school night. So I interrupted her to ask. She mumbled ‘no it’s Thursday’ and continued reading. I looked up at Josh. “Thursday, grandparents night, they keep Benji till Saturday morning so she has him all weekend when she doesn’t work.” Josh explained, Tina nodded her head showing her agreement with Josh’s explanation.

I left them reading, cleaned up the kitchen and started the dishwasher. Josh came out, sat down at the table and said “well, you didn’t lie my boy, you are a writer, a really good one!” I smiled and said “thank you.”

“How you took what he said, put it through the filter of what you felt then wrapped the love of God around it was amazing. Somewhere…it…is not happy. Get ready for a battle with this publisher, but stick to your guns! Oh and by the way, you definitely found your purpose…you need to write about the depth of God’s love.” He suggested.

“Maybe so, maybe so.” I said and I felt happy just contemplating it. There were loads of books from different ministries that wrote about apologetics and theology, but very few books about characters feelings and pain that the love of God heals like nothing else can. Who says you can’t be on the Best Read list as a fiction writer about God’s love? When the hero and the ultimate love interest is actually God himself! Now I knew how very different I was from the guy that signed that contract to write this book. Instead of jumping at the chance for notoriety my first thought was that I would pray about it. I had a new filter, one by which everything would go. The Holy Spirit would guide me, I took a deep breath. Relief flooded through me and inside me I heard my grandpa whisper ‘that’s my boy’.

I sent the first five chapters to the editor. I thought that would buy me some time. I discussed my plans with Tina and Josh and asked him to come with me. We set out for New Orleans on Monday morning in Josh’s truck. Tina and I had dinner together Sunday night after church, uncle Josh babysitting naturally. I’d enjoyed church and realized how much I missed it. After dinner I drove her and Benji home. She put him to bed and she walked me to my car.

I kissed her for the first time, and I knew. I would follow her lead, but I didn’t have any doubt about the fact that I was in love with her. I told her I would miss her and Benji and I’d keep her updated on our findings as we searched for background on McNeals parents. I hadn’t told her that he claimed to be my brother. I wanted to know if it was true first. I was afraid that might spook her, it did me.

Navigating the traffic in Houston we headed East. We decided to spend spend the night on the northwest side of Orleans Parish. I didn’t have a copy with me of my birth certificate so we were going to the courthouse first thing in the morning, see if we could get my birth certificate and a copy of my mothers as well as Alfreda and Andrews. That should be a good start.

We hit pay dirt at the courthouse, we left there with copies of not only my mothers birth certificate but her death certificate. A copy of the coroners report and Andrew Markham’s death records as well as Hilda Diane McNeal’s.

Based on the dates of their deaths we headed to the newspaper office to look at back issues and the Parish central library where most headlines were archived. We both searched independently and paid for anything we thought might be pertinent. I scanned the obituaries and found Andrew’s obituary.

We grabbed burgers and took them back to the room. Once we compiled everything we found then we would map out our search for the next day.

My mother was born at a hospital on the outskirts of New Orleans on the west side. It was a catholic run hospital that had suffered tragic damage during the hurricane in two-thousand-five. The local rectory was now on the northeast side of the city. A crime report for the day after her death reported that a prostitute was found deceased and listed the name of the hotel. The coroners report said a lethal dose of heroin was found in her system along with trace amounts of cocaine about her nostrils. Further dissection revealed damage to the nasal passages indicating long term use. However needle punctures and scarring from injection sites were not present except for the needle puncture on the right forearm. They also noted bruising to both arms and a broken left toe.

Josh went over it and said it looked to him like she wasn’t a normal heroin user, she was coke head and it appeared she fought back. The person that killed her held her down. They ruled it a drug overdose and cleared the books. He was reading through the report and suddenly rifled through the papers on the desk.

“Parson, look at this, in the notes of your mothers autopsy!” Josh looked at me astonished. “What?” I asked, he handed it to me and pointed. I read it but it just confused me. I handed it back to him and asked him what it meant.

“Here, the doctor is noting scars on your mother…here” He said as he pointed. I looked back at him not understanding what the abbreviations were. “Ok, look here, they note scarring to abdomen, note it’s length with matching length noted to the lower abdominal area extending from the right lower quadrant laterally, meaning across, to the right lower quadrant consistent with scarring noted to the uterine wall and surrounding musculature – Probable C-section scar.” He used his hand and indicated a line across the bottom of his stomach from hip to hip. “Ivy had a C-section with our baby Willow, they called it a bikini cut.”

“Ok so she had surgery when she had me?” I suggested.

“No, read this.” He said handing me my birth certificate. “Vaginal Delivery it says!Plus, number of pregnancies it says one, then live births it says one!” My eyes widened. “Dollars to doughnuts you have a sibling somewhere!” Josh uttered loudly. Then lowering his voice he said “Your mother had another baby after you were born!”

“Oh wow, do you think it’s possible?” I looked at him wide-eyed. Josh nodded his head yes. My mind whirled with the possibilities. I couldn’t imagine it, but deep within me I hoped it was true.

Andrew’s autopsy was a different story. He was an open homicide cold-case. Josh made notes and we would check with the local boys find out details. Help them clear the case based on what Doug McNeal had confessed to. We would also talk with them about Hilda. Josh made a few calls and set up an appointment with the Captain of the homicide unit.

It was a long night. I tossed and turned while Josh snored. I refrained from hitting him with my pillow several times afraid of the damage he could do if that big old fist flew at my face. He got up once to go to the bathroom. Told me I needed to sleep, everything would work out. I told him I would sleep if he would stay off his back and stop snoring. He said okay, rolled over on his side and I heard him mumbling in his sleep. I finally understood the words and my heart broke for him all over again. He was dreaming. He called the names of his children. “Gina. Go get Devin and Willow I can’t find them…Ivy? Honey?” A short time later I heard him singing a familiar song then utter the words “saved alone”. Even in his sleep he relived the loss.

Purpose

Chapter Nine

We grabbed breakfast at the restaurant near our appointment at the police department. We did not want to be late. I was nervous and tired. Josh asked me if I got any sleep and I just said I was restless. I wanted to ask him about his dreams but I was afraid to. What if he didn’t remember dreaming? His mood was fine, the usual Josh and I didn’t want to ruin that.

Josh would handle the meeting. He was a cop after all. The Captain told us to have a seat and Josh introduced himself and me. The Captain was probably close to Josh’s age if not older. The Captain listened as Josh explained me being a writer, the job I was contracted to do and the name of the serial killer. When he explained the possibility I had been hired because I might be related to the murderer the Captain winced and looked at me sympathetically. When he said my mother’s name he leaned forward. Josh had his full attention.

“Hang on” he said and picked up the phone on his desk. “Sal, came in here.” A younger officer came through the door. He had a cast on his left arm and a boot on his left leg. He was none too graceful about his entry into the room.

“Here, write all the names down, you said three people, so Sal here doesn’t have to make multiple trips downstairs. He’s on light duty. Fell off his motorcycle.” The Captain grinned when Sal blushed. “Guess we know what division he will never be considered for.”

Josh shook the younger man’s hand and said sympathetically “grass or gravel?” To which the Captain chuckled as Sal said “gravel, fishtailed right down with her.” I had no idea what they were talking about. I wrote all three names on the note pad the Captain handed to us. The Captain excused himself as we waited and took care of a few duties. Sal and the Captain returned about thirty minutes later with three file folders in their possession.

“Ok, Alfreda Hamilton…oh yeah I knew that name sounded familiar. That was one of my first cases as a detective. Yeah, I was new to homicide. I knew she was murdered, my gut just didn’t buy it. She was a hooker, sorry son” he said a looked at me apologetically.

“It’s okay, I already knew that.” I assured him and he continued. “It just didn’t add up, she was a real pretty woman. She got in trouble plenty trading…services for cocaine. I never knew of her doing heroin and there were no track marks on her. She was held down I believed by a couple of people. She died with the needle still in her arm. I think they held her till she was dead. Problem is I had no witnesses. She worked at a strip joint down on the boulevard…I told you, she was a pretty woman she just had a filthy habit. I can give you the name of the old guy that owned the club, I bet he can tell you more about her.” He paused wrote down the man’s name and passed it to Josh.

“When I came up empty the, my former Captain, went with the medical examiners cause of death and closed the case. I hated it, especially for the old Preacher that came to identify his daughter.” I explained that he was the one who raised me and thanked him for his sympathy.

We moved on to Andrew and Hilda and I detailed my interview with McNeal and his claims regarding both of them. They were both cold cases. He opened the folder on her. Hilda had been found beaten to death behind the hotel that Alfreda died in. Andrew had been found with his front teeth pulled, a hack job done on his fingers in an attempt to remove his finger tips. Then strangled to death. I gave the Captain a written statement. He promised to keep the information quite until Josh called him. Then he would clear two cold cases and amend the statement showing my mother was murdered by Hilda Diane McNeal. I also told him there would be a least two more that the Texas Attorney General would contact him about.

Josh spoke with Sal before we left and came out with an address for Dancer Dale Higgins, the man that owned the club where Alfreda worked. We plugged the address into the GPS and within twenty minutes knocked on the door of a small apartment just off the boulevard.

A man walking with a cane came to the door. He was hesitant to open it as he took in the size of Josh. I stepped forward, introduced myself as the son of Alfreda Hamilton. He took a good look at me. Unfastened the door then pushed open the bars the protected the glass and stepped out.

“Alfreda’s been gone a long time boy, what is it you want?” He asked. I took the time to explain what I had found out about her death. His next words made my heart skip a beat.

“Okay, we’ll alright, I thought you might be wanting to know about that little girl she had. I shoulda known that Hilda did that to Alfreda, she was mad as a rooster with no hens when Andy took back up with Alfreda, didn’t last long though, she couldn’t stop using that coke. Andy, he didn’t like the fact she would trade her body for blow. Hilda had a kid with him too so she got him back, but Andy would always come sniffing around Alfreda.”

I listened to him, then Josh started asking questions. We learned that Alfred was the makeup and costume girl and occasionally filled in as the bartender. I was relieved she wasn’t a stripper. She turned up pregnant and a nice couple named Green adopted the baby. Alfreda knew she couldn’t take care of a kid. They owned a flower shop on St. Charles, didn’t last long. They took their little girl and moved away. She was a pretty little thing that Opal. Alfreda made them promise to call her Opal and they did.” Josh asked if he remembered the name of the flower shop, and he did. It was The Green’s Thumb. We thanked him and walked back to the truck. Once we were inside we became exuberant in our praise. Josh started singing every hymn he knew. I joined in on the ones I remembered. God was amazing! He had laid it all in our laps and we knew it!

We searched the internet and traced the ownership of The Green’s Thumb to another location in Lake Charles, Louisiana. I called Tina, told her everything we had found out and that we were leaving New Orleans in the morning.

I was exhausted, but after dinner Josh and I took to our knees in the hotel beside our beds. We prayed and we praised for two hours. I read a few chapters in my Bible. I fell asleep with it open across my chest. If Josh made a sound I didn’t hear a thing.

It took us about six hours, given the fact I was in need of food twice then had to keep stopping to pay the price for all the sodas I’d consumed. We located the florist shop and when we walked in my nerves took over. The woman behind the counter was in her seventies if she was a day. Josh told her that he was trying to locate the Green family. She snorted as said.

“Well your looking at what’s left. You want to explain what it is you want?” She said and placed her hand on her hip. Josh told her we were looking for Opal, that I was her brother. Her mouth fell open. She looked me up and down and then said “Are you sure?, Let me see some identification.” I produced my drivers license. She looked at it and said that didn’t prove nothing. Josh retrieved my birth certificate that had my mother and fathers name on it. That convinced her. She invited us to the back, offered us a cup of coffee, Josh took her up on the coffee. She opened a filing cabinet and pulled out a photo album on the way to the table, coffee pot in the other hand.

“Well, my brother and his wife owned this flower shop. He got the bright idea they could make big money in New Orleans so they branched out. They didn’t make much, the only good thing that came out of it was little Opal. They took in this gal that was pregnant, she told em that she had already left one baby with her preacher daddy and she knew this baby would need a momma. My brother Ben and his wife Becky, adopted her, they loved that child but they stayed as close to the babies momma as they could till they found out she died. That sure broke their hearts so they sold the business there and came home. Opal was the center of their world until Ben took Becky on a vacation, Opal was sixteen, to Mexico. Becky was scared to fly so they decided to drive. Ben fell asleep crossed the center line and hit guard rail, flipped car. Both of them died at the scene. Opal stayed here with me, they left the business to both of us, till she went off to College. Works at a hospital there, part time, she’s a vocational nurse now but when she finishes up, she’ll be a registered nurse. She signed this over to me and don’t plan on coming back.”

I listened and my heart hurt for her. Opal interrupted my thoughts when she pushed the photo album at me. I looked at her questioning what she wanted.

“That’s yours. My brother and sister-in-law thought someday you might come looking for Opal, they kept all that for you. I’d of given up hope, but I’d of been wrong. There’s stuff in there that your momma wrote too when she stayed with them. They convinced her that some day you would want to know. Opal has one, that’s all about her. The lawyer had these albums, one for you and one for Opal, when they died. I was left in charge of yours when they passed. Now it’s time that child knows she’s not alone in this world, she needs to know her brother came looking.”

“I’m a sick old woman, this thing here” she said and pointed around the flower shop “it’s getting too much for me. I’ve got kids and grandkids scattered about it’s time I go visit. Opal will be fine now.” She reached over patted my hand. I closed my fingers around hers, lifted her frail hand and laid my cheek against it. I managed to say “thank you” and she lifted her other hand and patted my other cheek. She took one of the business cards from the counter wrote Opals name on the back and the name of the college and the hospital she worked at.

We left The Green’s Thumb and aunt Doris behind for a new destination that took our breath away. My sister was enrolled in the State College right there in the City where Josh lived and now worked at the same hospital Ivy had been a phlebotomist in. I held the album, but I didn’t open it. Josh was curious too about the contents, but we both agreed the kitchen table was where we would see what God had saved for me. There was no doubt all of this was his doing. Everything had fallen into place.

Josh put the truck in gear, adjusted his seat belt, looked at me and said “Let’s go home.” I said “Oh yeah!” And was amazed at how natural and comforting that sounded.

I called Tina, told her everything that had happened as Josh drove us North. We pulled in the driveway it was two in the morning. He put the coffee on, pulled out the left over meat loaf, we argued briefly when he tried to put mayonnaise on my bread while making my sandwich. I insisted on ketchup! We sat down to eat with a cup of fresh coffee and opened the album.

There were pictures of my mother. She was beautiful. She was pregnant in most of them at the beginning. Then there were pictures of Opal when she was born. In the back was a Manila envelope with my name on it. I opened it an poured out the contents. Photographs, mostly Polaroid, instant pictures fell out, but there were letters and there were five cards, birthday cards. One for each year of my life until she died. I had so many tears I passed the letters to Josh. He opened them gently and began to read.

“Parson, I’m so sorry. I hope some day you read this and know how much I love you. I know it doesn’t feel that way, but I do. Son, I have this addiction and I can’t shake it. It’s like a demon wrapped around my brain. I’m sorry I’m so weak. But what I want you to know is why I left you with grandpa. He loves Jesus, son, I want you to be better than me. You hang on to what my daddy teaches you. I begged God to take care of you. I told him how sorry I was, but he knows how weak I am. You know I named you Parson for a reason! Just like your grandpa follow God. Love Momma”.

I wiped at the tears as Josh read the second letter. “By now Parson if you are reading this then you know you have a baby sister named Opal. I named her after the momma I never got the chance to know. I didn’t bring her to grandpa because I wanted her to have a mother. I never did and a girl needs her momma. If you ever find her, you take care of your baby sister.”

I looked through the pictures, they were all pictures of my mother with Andy. They all said Andy, Opal and Parson’s daddy. There was a ribbon and it was tied around hair that was braided. A note was pinned to the ribbon that said Ecclesiastes four verse twelve…

And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken.

She had taken their hair and braided it…she had loved him and he had loved her. I was born from that love even if they couldn’t withstand the sin that destroyed them…at the time that I and Opal were born there had been no evil monster.

Purpose

Chapter Ten

I finished the book, the Publisher was none too happy with the final result. It was not the gruesome tale of a psychopath that related how he murdered his victims. It was the story of God’s redemptive love. It told of how five lives were brought together and transformed by the love that overcame pure evil. Naturally there were critics, those who spoke of God as non-existent or who argued that he was a harsh God of judgment. My response was simply common sense. God is love, we are made in his image, therefore to be a parent is to set boundaries, to teach, to correct and to establish order in our lives. All done from that love his image and his sacrifice allows and gives to us. To do otherwise is to be lazy, the lazy parent wanted the shiny new toy but when the new wore off and the work started they abandoned the purpose for which God made us. To love as he loves us. They choose to abandon his love. Without love we aren’t even like the animals he gave us we are more like…monsters…those driven by their demons.

In my novel the monster was slain and the promises of God were born in the hearts of two kids the devil couldn’t enslave. It told the story of how our shared DNA from two people who wouldn’t let love hold them together didn’t define who we became. We were overcomer’s because we chose to be. The Novel stayed number one in the country for eighteen weeks.

Opal was in school, working part time and struggling to make ends meet when we first met. Josh generously offered Gina’s old bedroom to her. She moved in and we came to love one another. She graduated, passed her exam and was now a working registered nurse, there was harmony in our lives and joy. Josh still refused to date, even though we encouraged him to.

I bought a ring, invited Tina’s family to come after her dad gave me his blessing and Danny’s parents, who would forever be family, came also. Josh and Jacob, his wife and kids present, fired up the grill and we had a large family get together. Something I never thought would happen in my lifetime. After dinner I surprised Tina and Benji when I knelt in front of them and asked them to marry me. I gave Benji a a baseball cap that said number one son. They both said yes and I was elated. That’s when Josh made the speech that completed out journey.

“Opal, Parson, bear with me, this is going to take me a while to explain. When I met you Parson I had lost my family. God kept me sane, he kept me alive for a reason. There were times when I didn’t know why…other times I knew he had a purpose for me, that he wasn’t done with me just yet. I’m a big man and I have a big heart, but that was a big heart break that almost broke me and I still miss them everyday. I held on to my faith and my love for Jesus brought me through. I truly didn’t think I could love other people again because the people I loved the most had died. A part of me wanted so badly to just curl up and die.”

“It didn’t take me long before I loved you like a son, Parson.” He said, his voice thick with emotion, “then this incredible thing happened and I met the sweetest girl…Opal…you know you have me right here.” He said and held up his little finger, expressing how she had him wrapped around her finger, “just like any man’s precious daughter does.”

“I know I’m not y’all’s biological daddy, but I honestly couldn’t love you any more it I was.” Opal couldn’t contain the emotions she felt and prematurely jumped up and threw her arms around him. He hugged her briefly then had her sit back down next to me. He looked at Jacob who nodded yes, encouraging him then said “Hang on now, I ain’t done”. Tina and Benji both quickly inserted “I’m not done” at the same time correcting his grammar. We all laughed.

Josh turned around and picked up two decorative gift boxes. He handed one to Opal and one to me then continued.

“We’ve lived here together for the last two years. I know you have your own lives to live, but I would like to be a part of your future. More than just a part I’d like to be family…officially.” He gestured to the boxes and told us to open them.

Inside was a petition for adoption. I sat stunned. I looked at Opal she rested her head on my shoulder briefly before dissolving in tears, one glance at Josh’s expectant face brought her to her feet as she dashed again into his arms. She buried her face against his chest and a muffled yes came out. Josh looked at me and swallowed hard. I looked back down at the form and saw the signature line my response was “somebody give me a pen and hurry before my dad changes his mind.”

Everybody laughed and I too gave my dad a bear hug. I’d officially be someone’s son. I was chosen, I was wanted, I was loved…on purpose, this dad was no accident. God had brought us all together with a purpose we couldn’t have foreseen. He had taken our lives and wrapped his love around us. Healed our hearts and overcame our pain. I’d never heard of adult adoption before but I was so happy it was possible. Now I belonged and my children would have a grandpa. Opal and I became Parson Hamilton Bailey and Opal Jo Bailey.

I continued to write both fiction and some non-fiction novels. Tina and I were expecting our second child when Opal married the love of her life. Josh walked her down the aisle and held her close for the father daughter dance. She refused to relinquish our dad’s last name and finally agreed it should be hyphenated with her married name. Josh was the best grandfather in the world, but that wasn’t surprising to myself or Opal because truly God had given us the best father any two siblings could ask for.

I never smelled the sulfur again, that demon had been laid to rest. I gave my deposition and including Andy fifteen victims remains were recovered across three states. Fourteen other families had closure. Every book I would write all end with this scripture.

Ephesians 1:2-3 KJV

[2] Grace be to you, and peace, from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ. [3] Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who hath blessed us with all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ: …

I’m not exactly a preacher, or a Parson, but I am a witness to his faithfulness, love and mercy. I have an imagination that God allowed me to have and with it I will continue to weave stories around characters that find the love of God that heals hurting souls.

(I hope you enjoyed this short story. I hope it inspires you to lean into the love of God. Give yourself fully to his love and find your purpose in him. Read that Bible, it lives and it speaks, find that one scripture that becomes your voice. This is mine…

Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me. Phillipians 3:12

Until next time…Ann)