Brownstonelit's Blog

3/27/11

It has been a ridiculously long set of hours in between my posts and I do apologize, but such is life and the nature of what I do here. Charley is still at my side, but he tends to wander off to do whatever it is they do on the other side. My parents too have found their own rhythm and I… in this plane struggle to find my own with as much grace as they.

Though there are still fragments of this case that evade me, there are a great many that have not and I am both cautious and eager to see where this all will lead. Another Spring has befallen us and the skies have wreaked havoc over most of Georgia this last eve and I find myself settled and unsettled in the evergreen and ever gray that has followed. In between raindrops, I can hear the breeching of tires as they cross the bridge towards destinations unknown. It is a far away call that reminds me that I must finish homework and bolster myself for the heavy week ahead. It is odd this year, this relocation of both heart and soul and yet perhaps just what was necessary to find the small constant hum of who I once was. Death can be a profound tool for the employment of chaos in one’s life and while none are recent… the echo of such losses, ring for years after– creating a ripple of voids and chasms that must be crossed. Here in this place, the horizon and lack of proximity provide salve, with water and sky marginalized by encroaching pines. I am joyed at its healing elements and grateful for those who so lovingly aligned.

I know it is not easy to pace yourself like this, dear readers… You expect things to happen and so do I, but there is timing built into this for a reason. Details await me. Confessions simmer and come to the surface, then retract themselves again, only to boil and crest again. It will come… it will come, they tell me… all in due time. All those involved will begin in unison to shudder and then the dam will break and a flood of information will crest the city walls and Valdosta will be cleansed of its corrupt and distant past. No more shall false pillars stand erect and take credit for meritorious deeds that never happened. Those who have passed will be given a new legacy and those that are still alive, another mantel of shame to bear.
He reminds me not to let the man with the mint tobacco to escape- that all must know his part in this! When I ask that he recheck page #7, he replies… “It is A-ok!” When I ask if I can move forward now–they give me the green light. I ask if he will help me with other cases, he confirms with a smile. But what is most touching is when I ask if he will stay…
His answer, with enfolded wings is, “We are forvere- you and I.”

Fear not faithful readers… if the exploration of this case by others more skilled than I does not get them to speak the truth… the book will!

Thank you Charley…

It is imperative that you trust your instincts…it is imperative that you trust your instincts… it is imperative that you…listen to Charley!!!

Silence is not only GOLDEN… it is necessary!

3/15/11
One of you still alive will crack!
One of you left can no longer take the pressure… can no longer sleep at night knowing that there is someone else left in this world that knows what you know… that saw what you did and will tell the world before you do! One of you can no longer keep the secret! One of you will no longer honor the sacred covenant you made with the others. One of the “4 in flannel” can no longer hide their guilt and they want to go to their maker clean. Was it you, who brandished the shovel and was left to bury the dead while the others kicked the corpse and laughed at their innocence? Was it you, the mastermind who stood back and watched as others do your dirty work for you? Or will it be the crazy one who likes to watch fish? How about the one with the gavel and hideous ego that cannot imagine a world where his word is not golden or protected? Hmmm… Which one will it be?
Page 7, page 7 they keep presenting. “Clean it up! Clean it up!” they all say. So I did. I read your name there. I know who you are!
You can come to me now or you can come to me later… but you will come regardless the timing and when you do… the world will see that everything I have written and everything I haven’t… YET… will tell the truth about what happened on the Clyattville-Nankin Road that late night in October of 1966.

3/14/11
Saturday would have been my father’s Birthday and I cannot tell you how poignant the day evolved for me on the heels of the loss just days before of one of my father’s pets- Rocket J. Squirrel. Yes, I said squirrel. A tiny little fellow that had fallen from his nest, bare bottomed and blind… my father had been doing yard work and noticed the tiny hairless ball squirming in the dirt next to a fire ant hill and was moved to scoop him up and brush him off. When the hairless ball survived the first night, my father was exhilarated. When he survived the next, my father was joyous. When he survived the next, my father was panicked that he was now both mother and father to a creature he could hold within his fist.
On Thursday, March 10th I received noticed that Rocket J. had passed quietly the night before, tucked lovingly inside one of my father’s handkerchiefs. It is yet one more passing to be observed. One more loss of things attached to my father that must be weathered.
I say all this as a reminder to those of you who read this blog religiously and those who stop by occasionally hoping for trysts and intrigue.

Charley Covington was somebody’s father and somebody’s husband. While the tale he has led me on so far is one of unconscionable debauchery and waste, it is still the story of this man’s death. Not his life, mind you… but his death and the perverse reasoning behind it. I am certain you have all but figured this thing out now- minus the names of the key players. But could you have seen this coming so long ago? I know I couldn’t. I remember in the beginning how focused I was on finding the shooter. Then on the first victim, who turned out to be the second victim in the “4 in flannel” boy’s club! Then, of course the MOT. Who could forget the appearance of the MOT? While I am still reeling, waiting for the MOT to make his second appearance… the clock continues to click away till Tuesday. What’s this you say, Grim? The MOT? Coming back from the dead???? Hmmmm… isn’t that always the way it happens? Just when you think it’s safe to go out into the community again…those corpses just won’t keep their yaps shut. They chatter up a storm and then the storm hits home! And… BAM!*?*!?*O!!
That old devil moon plucks something from the grave and you are back at square one again. Only this time… how do you kill someone who is already dead?
Good question, eh Grim? Good question! Want to know the answer?
You can’t! That’s why I am here!
Tomorrow is Tuesday. Deadlines… deadlines…
Who will be talking next???

3/10/11
Just like Dorothy from The wizard of Oz I have begun to take my first steps…
“Follow the yellow brick road,” they whisper as they intermittently spring forth from the chaos that surrounds me. Over and over again, each tiny soul who has suffered in this affair begs me to move forward in my quest. “Follow the yellow brick road…follow the yellow brick road! Follow, follow, follow, follow… follow the yellow brick road!” they sing until at last I stand at the crossroads and must choose my course of direction.

And do you know where that new road leads to Grim?
I do…

3/9/11
Yesterday and today have both been filled with many, many numbers. The outstanding ones of course are always 11:11 and 12:12 and we toss in the remaining appearences of 1:11, 2:22,3:33, and then it somehow skipped and jumped to 5:55- which of course we all know now symbolizes the number sequence eluding to “huge changes rumbling through my life”. And so, I wait to see what changes and where all this will take me. There is something afoot in the cosmos. You can feel it in the air. Even the weather was restless today.
Indeed, many things are happening and if I can just keep my wits about me and keep up with the pace the cosmos has now set before me to match… I will be doing all right. Patience and stamina are key for this month. Revisitng and reviewing my notes with fevered attention.
I finally know exactly who the “4 in flannel” were and that my dears, is one of the major tickets to reconstructing this case. Charley is waiting for me to ask another question. I have and so now I wait to see his answer.

What is the question?
Why if I tell you what it is, then we shall both have placed ourselves in un-necessary danger!
Until later then…

I saw something on a church marquee the other day that simply read:
God plans. The devil plots.

Aptly put, my dear readers… aptly put. I have a date with destiny next Tuesday. We shall see what it produces!

3/6/11

How did we get to be in another month and so quickly? Ah yes… time does not stand still, nor does my momentum to pursue justice for Charley- pursuant to this latest bit of information whilst I was relocating. I received an interesting message the other day about Grim. Still trying to purge oneself of past sins, eh Grim Reaper? We know what must be done and the remedy is soon upon you. I cannot tarry long as much work and ciphering is still before me before the papers must be laid out for review; but dear readers watch and listen carefully these next few months. The pendulum of justice begins to sway just slightly- telling me that the process is underway. I propose to you that by the anniversary of my dearest friend’s (Charley) death this year… you and I will be in a whole different space of understanding and Grim? Well… you might just be in a whole different space period.

There is a nervous tick about you these days, is there not dear Grim? A nagging sensation that you have forgot to take care of something in your master plan? That the lives you had snuffed have found a way to give themselves a new voice? A variable you could not have seen before? A process that you have never considered before? How could this be? How could they know??

How is it possible that small bits of information are somehow oozing from the graves of those you so carefully manipulated into death; crawling to the surface like tiny worms motivated to reach the surface by too much rain? Who is speaking out against you now and how can this be done? Did you not calculate their murders down to the minutest details and take care of all the peripherals- those little folks who whispered of the many disappearences?

Could it be the MOT? Could it be him speaking the words you silenced from him in life? Or, perhaps the battered Jessica and her unborn child, who are now ready to let her family know the truth? Or perhaps, our dear blonde headed vixen Roxanne who may want her parents to finally know where her bones can be found? Or maybe some of your accomplices? Guilt from beyond the grave, maybe? Could it be your minions have finally rolled in their graves and turned on you?

Karma is a bitch, Grim and redemption damn near impossible.

Finding it uncomfortable to sit in the church pews with the flames of Hell licking at your feet?

“Is anybody else getting hot in here?” you mutter under your breath- shifting nervously in your seat. Outside the walls of the church a low rumble begins. Can you hear the hooves of your mighty steed pounding the red clay in the distance, Grim?

This time he comes for you!

Pray… pray… pray as you might, there can be no forgiveness for what you have done. You must pay the price you prescribed for others.
Rumble… rumble… rumble… closer and closer they come. Can you not feel the earth shake beneath you?

I’m back, dear readers and boy howdy… what a difficult task it is to move 30 years of your life! Ouch… anyway, give me a few hours to regroup and I will share another secret with you!
By the way? The view is worth every bruise!
Until later then…