Brownstonelit's Blog

10/12/10

And so night falls and while I have enough to keep me occupied with work and homework, it seems as though that may not be enough, because someone posed the question to me this evening:
How many other young girls went missing around the time of Charley’s death?
Are there more?
Is this why they keep showing the name Jessica?
Another victim?

Dear God, have you no soul Grim?
Eyes vacant…
Absent of heart…
Lack of conscience…
You seek only to destroy…

Is this how you earned your name- preying on young girls and plotting their deaths for your boy’s club? Where is your coin tonight Grim? Shall we flip it and see what will it show… heads or tails?

10/11/10
Ok… back to being me. Now, other than the personal epiphany which came to me in the silence of my thoughts yesterday- I came away from the trip with some very interesting information. Because I am exhausted from work and school, but felt the need not to abandon you too long, I will share some things with you.

I spent some time while there researching a few things that have bothered me of late. Things like shovels and compasses…death certificates and special fences that have things carved in them. I thought about faces and motives… heard things, saw things… felt things. I went to the old shack- just to enjoy the view from the deck. I heard it might be an old favorite of a few folks- maybe even Rox’s. Though, come to think of it…I bet that’s one place she and Jessica would love to forget. Then I went one lake up to where her body might have been found. Now, we all know what really happened to her, but suppose you wanted folks to think she’d drown. Wouldn’t you want to make certain you could prove she had water in her lungs? See… that’s the bad thing about working with dead people. They just won’t freaking follow orders. I mean, if you told everyone she’d drown- the very least she could have done was not just lay there all bruised and battered without water in her lungs- pretending to be strangled. If you drown- you have to have some water in your lungs. It’s just that simple, right? Gosh… at the very least, you should have a death certificate and an obituary written about you to back you up…
But that silly little girl, she didn’t bother to get any of it right. No water in the lungs, no death certificate or obit… That’s why the four in flannel just couldn’t work with her anymore! She just wouldn’t cooperate.

So they hauled her off and drove to….

Well… course you didn’t really think I was gonna tell you now- did you? I try to leave all the really important stuff up to Grim to tell. Like, if he had wanted anyone to know where and when and how she died- he’d have told you, right? And how about silly other little details like…where he bothered to bury her. And who helped him? But you know old Grim…

Always a suspense freak! He just hates spoiling a surprise ending. So, since he didn’t tell you, I bet your thinking your guess is about as good as mine…right?

Wrong!
Until later then…sweet dreams, Grim.

10/10/10
The numerical power of this day is enormous- remember it as all things begin to change from this moment forward. This morning I drove away from Valdosta, a bit confused as to why I thought Charley needed me to be there so badly this weekend. Clearly it had been my decision to go and I understood J wanted me there to share the anniversary of his death and I did get information. Which of course is always a plus. Yet, I could not get out of my mind the feeling that somehow I had missed something while I was there. When I ran a mental checklist, it all added up- but felt incomplete. I had met with most of the folks I needed to- learned a great deal of the periphery information I had wanted to and even found a new lead or two. Still, there was a void. Some part of me felt empty and so with sunshine and the blush of color amongst the tree line, I sallied forth into the last day of the weekend thinking about homework and deadlines and what I might have missed. With tank full, coffee hot and cautious heart, I left J to the McDonald’s parking lot to find her way home alone.

Somewhere after Tifton I began to parse the merits of the trip in my head. As radio station after radio station faded in and out, I began to grow weary of the static in both the airwaves and my life – all the while keeping a keen eye on the time. I went over the clues left unvetted and noted Charley has never left me before to wander aimlessly without segue. For that I have always been grateful and yet it is that precedent that told me I had left some stone unturned- some clue unheeded. As I drove further, I asked each of the three I have come to have a personal connection with as to why it had been so important for me to be there; aside from the obvious sentiment of the occasion. I cleard my mind and they began the shorthand of the spiritual. But it was not until the clock approached the bewitching hour of 10:10 on 10/10/10 that I consciously surrendered to listen.

This may come as a shock to you all. After all, blog after blog has been relentless, borderline obsessive and bloodthirsty for the why’s and the wherefores of Charley’s murder… and in truth, I have not lost the passion to bring the story full circle. But suddenly I realized that as important as that is, that was not what this trip was supposed to be about and if I had been more open and less tunnel visioned… I would have understood in the dark last night what Charley was saying from the light.

For those of you who like movies, I often quote from them as gifted writers abound everywhere and when their words ring true- the music is so sweet to the soul that one never grows somnolent at their mention.

One of my all time favorites is, the Field of Dreams. So much so, that I have dirt in a canister from the field in Dyersville, Iowa where it was filmed. I have a T-shirt somewhere, a dehydrated corn husk and an article sealed in plastic about the filming on location… all this to say, that the premise of the film is the premise of what I learned today.

“If you build it, he will come. Ease his pain. Go the distance.”

Now, I have not constructed a baseball field outside my brownstone- nor plowed under a ridiculous amount of acreage in order to right some childhood wrong… I do not expect Charley to bargain with other deceased friends for some unsanctioned baseball team to clutter my lawn. But what I did do almost two years ago when he was first brought to my attention, was ask for guidance. My own father had passed and lost, I found no internal compass able to guide me anymore. My parents had always been my true North, without them I could no longer find the rising star of my being.

Ok… I can hear you now. What the devil is this crap? What happened to Rox, the MOT and Charley? What about the murders and the porn… and the- this, and the- that????? It’s all still there, my friend and I am in no way finished with what it is I need to right… and to write. But what I wish to share with you right now is the epiphany of what it was I learned today.

“I built it. He came and together, we have gone the distance.”

Why? Because it wasn’t his pain, or J’s, Rox’s or even the MOT’s he was trying to alieve. It was mine. He came to me, to ease my pain and keep me from making a similar mistake. The mistake of half -life.

Charley died in half-life, but more importantly– Charley was living in a half-life the night he died. One foot in and one foot out. His whole world was in a state of flux, but most importantly his relationships. His job was secure, but his personal alliances were not.

R reminds me constantly that it isn’t always about the information those who have passed are giving to us, it’s about the journey they provide us to find it. But I have been so concentrated on the chaos of his death for the last 10 months, that I lost sight of the beauty of his life. The message he was trying to send me was so simple, but because I was looking for things more complicated- I refused to listen to the message he wanted me to hear.

Today at 10:10 A.M., I finally heard and even more,  I finally understood what this journey was meant  to teach me.  I suddenly saw in my mind all the people I have become connected to; both dead and alive and the role they have all  shared in bringing me to this point.

The message was so clear. As the numbers on the clock rolled over to the 10:10 on 10/10/10, I threw my arms in the air and in a somewhat reckless act of trust– I took my hands from the steering wheel, both literally and metaphorically. Closed my eyes for a second and pardon the pun… gave up the ghost. Transparent in my sincerity, I asked for guidance once again- only this time I meant it- for everything. And the message came through-no more half life. No more half hearted living. If I can’t be all in, then I must learn how to navigate my world from all out, until I can find my way back in again. I cannot play at life and think that I can always make-up for things tomorrow and accept that some times in the dark, we take a step and we never return.

Now… don’t worry. Tomorrow I will be back at pounding the metaphorical pavement to bring his murderers and Rox’s to justice. But for today- on this special day of 10’s, I urge you all to walk out into the brisk night air at 10:10 P.M.- throw your arms to sky and promise yourselves not to live a half -life anymore. Whatever half-truths you tell others or yourselves to get by, let them fall behind you now. Be honest with yourself. Be present in your world- all in or all out- but be decisive and for sixty seconds before the clock rolls over to 10:11 P.M. and the universe begins a new course…set yours too and commit to living a full life with a full heart and follow your dreams.

Until later then…

10/9/10
Just like my dream… the road bent and bowed with little illumination once we made it out of town. The stars were thin and the crickets thick as they played back-up to the whispers from the trees as we sped along the Clyatteville –Nankin Road. There we were, counting the miles and adjusting the minutes retracing his steps from that night each mile at a time. Only this time Charley wasn’t at the wheel- I was. It was a pilgrimage necessary for us both. She the daughter… I the writer- both needing to be there at the hour appointed to know and see for ourselves how black the night- how still the heart and how deafening the silence. All day long we had made distractions of our own; research at the Historical Society, interview after interview- conversations upon conversations all to fill the anxious hours before tonight.

J read from Hazel’s journal before we headed out as reminder that there was more at stake than just the rumor of a girl and a cup of coffee. It was 8:58 P.M. when we got on the road for the second time to where Charley spent his final moments. Mustang revved- top down and nothing but the wind to keep us company we drove quiet for the better half of the drive, passing a fence that now appears to be of special interest as it has been mentioned twice in R’s readings. As we reached the spot we slowed to a crawl and turned off the lights. The deep velvet of the night folded in around us and I could not imagine a more hopeless setting. Even with the stars above, the earth swallowed itself whole and you could not see two feet in front of your face. Fearful as we approached the second bridge, we cut the lights back on and inched our way forward to a stop. J got out of the car and walked in front of me down the side of the road, navigating the slim shoulder and then asked that I turn the lights out once more to embrace what her father must have experienced.

Checking both side and rear mirrors for other vehicles, finding none, I complied. Again- even once your eyes adjusted there was nothing but the unrelenting pitch. In silent vigil we each cast our prayers into the void and bid her father freedom from pain. “He would have been dead by now, I think”, she said. Neither star nor human blinked a tear at the statement. No ghost exercised…or demon fought… just the night, the two of us and the endless silence.

I do not know what I expected of such a trial- or that I expected anything at all. But there we were- the three of us, caught somewhere between 2010 and 1966 and there was nothing but the night to act as segue… and nothing but the dawn to look forward to.

It has been a long day filled with introductions and unexpected blessings and information. We spent many hours talking and listening… trying to engage others to our cause. I thought about Charley throughout it and Rox too, not trying to forget that Hazel too shared these last hours with him- not knowing if the marriage would last or fail… not knowing if the coffee would still be warm when he returned. And the children… how they slept in their beds unaware that the world would come crashing in all around them before the last rain drop fell.

It is now 11:53 P.M. and approximately the same time of night that the second set of witnesses (boys from Florida who had passed the crime scene, made the infamous phone call to the Lowndes County Sheriff’s Department) now might stand at Sam Daily’s store waiting for the call back to rejoin the Deputy Sheriff at the scene. It is also not long since J and I have returned from 44 years ago. The minutes will continue to click by as we recount the hours and the events that carried the beginning of lies through the night and decades beyond. We could have easily stayed away- returned to the hotel and dug in for the night and let the moment pass from where we were… but that would not have made either of us happy. W each had made a promise, for better or worse to be there for that hour when Charley’s world had come to an end and taken with it the infrastructure of a family.

May this trip, and his death not have been in vain. I read something on a church sign as we drove back from the spot earlier in the day I wanted to share with you. I thought it poignant.

“Nothing ruins the truth like stretching it.” I will bear that in mind as I strive to tell his story without interjecting my own.

Goodnight Charley…

10/9/10
I will begin today much like I believe Charley did forty four years ago… with a cup of coffee and concerns about the quality of a marriage. This is the beginning of the last day he spent on earth forty four years ago. The last day as a son, brother, father or as a husband. Today is a Saturday… forty four years ago it was a Sunday. This day holds great potential and insight for me and I will not allow myself not to be present for what can be perceived. I have placed myself in his shadow and will walk this day with him. I will reread the accounts of the hours just prior; knowing that mother’s love has carefully altered and omitted what is real- what is true and what has become the threads for me to follow. I ask only that Rox and Charley afford me the continued information necessary for me to bring this to the powers that be with plausible theory, credible witness and irrefutable evidence.
For you Grim…
No matter how far you run or how hard you try to scrape the dirt from under your fingernails… I will find you. You, the shovel, the brotherhood, the compass and the girl. I’m watching… we are all watching now. You cannot escape from those who have moved on. They follow your footsteps everyday… watching… waiting for that one lie, that one misstep that will bring you to justice.

Your scar, Grim… is it still there? Just under your left eye? The one where she scratched at your eyes as she begged for her life? Three sets of hands on her throat, while one with the soft voice who really liked her watched. Did you watch, Grim? Was it you who stood back and gazed with affection on the woman-child who was being beaten and strangled before you?

One more lie… one more misstep that will bring you to justice. And you thought I would swallow the line that it was really all about the moonshine. That Charley would kill himself over the likes of G. That everybody would simply let this thing go- that Rox would let this go. Silly mortal, you underestimated us both.

10/8/10

She stood at the Emerald Gates and knocked to come in.

She may have been kicked out of the house by her mother and father right after high school. She may have lived with an Aunt. She may have done a lot of things, but none of them worth being murdered for.
I will come back to these things again and again…
The four in flannel.
The white dog that followed her everywhere.
The muddy boots.
Protecting the brotherhood.
The three that strangled- the one that watched.
The blood on the shovel.
The compass that pointed.
The number 7 that marked the spot!

I am here at the gates of Oz… knock, knock, knock.
The lake, the grave… the night it all went down.

10/6/10

I watch the calendar and note that in just a few days the date will read 10-10-10. This is a very significant line-up of numbers. The day before that however will be the anniversary day of Charley’s death, 10-9-10.
It will be exactly 44 years since Charley died.
Charley died at the age of 44.

I know I have spent a good bit of my time and energy on Rox of late, but you must understand that she is why Charley was murdered. I have not forgotten about G. G plays into this and I am trying to figure you out what the real tie was between G and the others. Was G’s boy-toy the shooter or someone else? Was G’s boy-toy one of the four in flannel? Charley? I need help to draw the lines clearly from Rox to G- or to the shooter. I need for you to do a little ground work for me and bring me some more answers. And what of the fence that has the carving in it? The property that is red hot? Does this have anything to do with the shovel and the #7? Is this where Rox is buried?

I will find out. If Charley doesn’t step forward- Rox will. She is confused- cannot move forward until we can help her release. She may be trapped and not realize that she has passed. She just keeps reliving that night over and over.
The men…
The hands on her throat…
The water…
The shovel…

The hell.

10/5/10

Interesting things are in the works. I cannot tell you about them now, but things are happening behind the scenes and I hope to be able to share some of what has transpired soon. I am waiting patiently for a few more things to fall into place. Information is still being submitted that I might verify specific theories and I can honestly say that I feel Charley is moving this thing forward in different directions for reasons I have still yet to understand. But I know his intentions are always good and so I must continue to trust that he is placing me where I am meant to be in order to receive the information I need.

Counting the days till…

10/2/10

And then there were 4…

The 4 that wear flannel. They present three sets of hands on her throat, while the fourth one watched. They present a shovel, a compass and the #7 floating above it. Where are you, Rox? Show me where they put you. Talk to me… talk to me…

You could say I had an interesting day today. I received some feedback on who keeps re-arranging the large books on my coffee table and while I recognized the name and the relationship to me- the message may not have been for me. Today I had the first pumpkin-spice cappuccino of the season and had a lovely, but brief exchange with my mother and later on in the morning a more compelling one with my father. And while the fruits of what transpired in a meeting earlier today may take a few weeks to re-emerge, I was able to bring a moment of peace to one of my siblings who desperately needed some reassurance from my parents.

It has been a good day so far, filled with numbers, letters and butterflies. I also had a visit with R today and told her about a dream I’d had recently. The 29th had not only brought me some much needed information, but a very odd dream after I had fallen asleep. In the dream I was riding inside an older model type car. By older I mean 1960’-1970’s era. The interior was a soft green or blue pastel leather and the dashboard was filled with chrome knobs and large dials that glowed in the dark. The car itself was a big 4-door sedan with a long boxy front end. I was driving, but sensed there was someone in the passenger seat next to me. I never saw their face, but I know I knew them. The area surrounding us was relatively flat, with only slight variations and the road seemed to stretch out for miles. The immediate sides of the road were overshadowed by huge pines, but not far ahead I could see they opened up for a brief period, before they became closed off again by woods. It was a beautiful night- crystal clear and we had the windows down and the radio softly playing in the background. You could feel the rush of the wind and hear the cricket orchestra outside the windows as they serenaded us into the night. My left hand was dangling outside the driver’s window, catching the air every now and then as we drove. It is a habit I have done since I was a child and do even now when driving my convertible. My right held casually onto the steering wheel- one of those big old ones that has the ribbed grooves notched out for your fingers. I was chatting away and laughing, very comfortably about something with my passenger and then suddenly had the feeling I was being flagged down and pulled over by a cop. But when I looked in the rear view mirror- there was no car behind me. Still feeling I had been asked to pull over, I slowed the car and hit my blinker. Confused, but wishing to comply with who or whatever kept insisting I pull over, I sidled the car off onto the right shoulder of the road and slowed to a stop just 20 feet or so in front of another car which had already been pulled off the road on the same shoulder.

It struck me as odd, but I sensed the passenger to my right felt no alarm in doing so, so I complied. I turned off the car and waited. The person in the other car acknowledged my arrival with a flashlight and got out of the car. It seemed odd to me at the time that a car would have been on the same side of the road, facing the opposite direction but I felt no fear at the time.
The moon was now hidden from view behind the blanket of thick Georgia pines to my right. I tried to look closer to see. The outline of the car echoed that of the one I was in. Large and boxy- it was similar in every way with the exception that the other car was a marked police type vehicle. I thought I recognized the face coming out from behind the steering wheel of the opposite car, though to be honest- I sensed more who it was, than saw who it was.

Realizing it was the Grim Reaper, I thought to myself- “Ah, sh….- not him again! I really don’t want to talk to him right now.”

He began walking towards me with a flashlight. I remembered how the light bobbed and bounced on the asphalt and the pines as he sauntered towards us. My passenger laughed at the language I had used and teased me for it. I looked up and saw the figure almost at the door and so I began reaching for my purse to get out my license– though I somehow knew it would not be necessary. Grim already knew exactly who I was and why I was there. When he got to the driver’s window, he shined the light in my face so I could not see his and he asked if I knew why he had pulled me over. I still could not figure out how his car had gotten around me and in front without me seeing him- but let it go. He asked if I was aware I was driving without my headlights on.

I informed him it was not my car, looked in front of the vehicle and suddenly realized that I had indeed not turned them on. I explained up until that point the moon had been so bright I had apparently not needed them and so never made the connection they were not on. When I apologized, he warned me it was very dangerous to drive blind- that I could get hurt real bad that way. He said he’d let me off with a warning this time. I apologized again and when he went back to his car, I turned the headlights on and when I did- he and his car had vanished. There was no one there on the road but me- alone in the car. My passenger, who ever it had been had disappeared as well. I sat for a moment with the car in idle. Silence filled the air and then suddenly the crickets began to chirp again and I knew that whoever had been with me was long gone. The wind began to rustle between the trees and alone in the shadows I began to sense my vulnerability and so turned the radio back on– hit the left-hand turn signal to pull back out onto the road. I looked in the side view mirror- nothing. I pulled forward out of the grass and as I did, the moon rose over the pines and when I saw the bridge ahead awoke.

Charley was murdered on such a road… at such a place…at such hour of the night… before a bridge… and before it rained.

The Grim Reaper was there too… on such a road… at such an hour of the night… before a bridge… and before it rained.

Truth is stranger than fiction.

10/1/10
Tell me about the flat edged shovel, Grim… tell me about the number 7 stamped in the middle of the scoop. Tell me about the compass and why if she was so important to you… how you could have been a part of this? Crime scene manipulation, homes invaded and searched for missing tapes? Pornography, moonshine distribution, skimming profits…Murder?

Remember what they told me just a few weeks ago?
“…The crow threatened to scratch out grim’s eyes. MOT tied to Rox, Rox tied to Grim…” Is that a scar, Grim? The one she left under your left eye? Tsk, tsk. She shouldn’t have fought you so hard… should she? She should have just laid there and taken it like a… man.
Oh what a tangled web we weave!

I know who the MOT was, Grim. I’ve known that for quite some time and now thanks to September 29, 2010 and Charley– I finally know who Rox was. And as for you, Grim? The Grim Reaper…
I’ve known who you were, since the day I sat across from you. The day I typed your name into my phone and got back the text:

“Wow. Dark. They present the Grim Reaper. I have never seen this before. Be careful- follow your gut.”

I did Grim… and look where it led me? To a place far, far away. A place with lots of water and a clear view of…

They tell me there is more. I thought in the beginning that finding out who the shooter was would be enough. I was so naive. Charley told me his death was just the tip of the iceberg and he was right. There’s more. Oh, so much more. So I wait. The agencies have enough to go on for now as the details will continue to drip into place. Like coffee from a percolating pot… one life, one clue, one confirmation… one drip at a time the truth will seep through the filter of all your lies and time. Just like the night Charley agreed to have a cup of coffee with his wife before he was going to leave. Just like the way he said he couldn’t stay as she was making it , but promised he’d be home before his cup got cold. Just like the hours that dripped slowly into the night for her, waiting… waiting..
Just like the title for the book says:
The Coffee Pot Conspiracy. You’d like it Grim- it’s a quick read. It should only take-oh, let’s see? Hmmmmm… about 44 years for you to finish! But then, you’ve got time. Or is that- you’ll do time? Hmmmmmmm…
Until later then.