Brownstonelit's Blog

6/28/11

I was not the only one to see the feathers fall…
There are others who know of what I speak. Almost two years ago they told me about her… the woman with the injured foot. Speak to her for she knows many things. She will talk… she will tell.

The clouds gathers at the edge of the storm and you can feel the slight upturn of the breeze from here. Did she talk… did she tell? Of course she did, you fool. No one wants to carry such vile secrets with them into eternity, for there can be no way to take such words back… or bury their meaning once spoken.

Look to the bloody shovel and the compass she told me…
Look for the lack of water in the lungs…
Look for the bruises…
Look to the Fort…

Look to Grim!

So, did she talk about everything? Do not be foolish enough to think that only the dead have something to say, Grim. They talk… in the end… they all talk-DEAD or ALIVE.

6/27/11

Like tin soldiers… one by one they fall.

Yesterday another key witness died and their demise grieves me in more than one way. For this individual’s soul- may the path of illumination be clear and may their contribution to this case, have not be in vain. Because I know there is a process that must first take place; I do not see further information from this source for awhile on the other side of the veil… but while alive… this individual was a great help to discovering more about what happened to Jessica and Roxanne, both. And how ironic is this?
The day before that… a feather.
Yesterday… another feather.
So much information gained and yet, so much information lost. The clock continues to tick for them all and now I find out that at the same time I was driving through Augusta on the Carl Sanders Highway- past the burial home of the MOT- this individual was making their way to the ultimate weigh station, stalling in their path, waiting on further directions. I knew something was afoot in the cosmos even as I saw the sign. And last night I saw a missed call on my phone and knew something important had happened. Then late into the wee hours of the morning, as I passed through the same area on my way back home from Columbia, S.C., I saw the sign again as lightening flashed across the sky and I knew it was not just for grins that it continued to present itself to me.

Thus far this weekend has seen two deaths and we know they always come in three’s, so… the clock ticks.

How many more tin soldiers will fall before we can end this case? How many more obstacles to surmount before my dear Charley, Jessica, Roxanne and the MOT receive justice?

How are you feeling Grim and who would you rather face? Those who must now carry on the torch of investigation… or the ultimate investigator who already knows all your sins?
Tick… tick… tick… tick…

Remember when I said a great secret or a hidden message may be revealed to me this month? Well… it has… but it may not be what you think! Great revelations are seldom what we expect!
Until later then…

Happy Father’s day dad…

6/18/11

Synchronicity…
Remember I had seen the feather? I got my message.
Yesterday after work I went to Kroger to pick up my husband’s meds. While waiting, I picked up a book from a nearby shelf and began to thumb through it to kill some time. The title was catchy, but several paragraphs into it, that’s where it ended…. still,bored without other options- I read on until my name was called. Eager to be on about my way, I hopped up and rushed to put the book back on the shelf. When I did so, another fell and hit the floor. Harried, I bent to pick it up and in doing so saw the title and the author: unfinished business by James Van Praaugh- What the Dead Can Teach Us About Life.
No doubt about it- that was a sign, so I decided to keep the book.
When I got home, I laid the book down and set about making dinner. My husband likes to spend time together at the end of the day and because so much of it gets eaten up by work, school and writing – I try to go out on the boat, go fishing or watch some TV with him after dinner. As fate would have it, the weather was not conducive to outdoor activities and nothing descent was on but guy shows–so I made him a deal. He could watch his “guy” shows, if I could read my new book. His only request was that I do it on the couch next to him. Done deal, I began to read. Hours later I was tired and so carried myself off to bed. As usual, I wished Charley a good night and then in keeping with the reading material- I looked at the photo of my parents on my nightstand and secretly told them I loved them and that I missed them terribly- especially my mother, as I had been feeling so disconnected from her for some time.

Last night she came to me in a dream. She told me about her heart attack and how she was unable to control the time and could not wait for me to get there at the hospital before she had to move on. She told me that she knew how hard I had tried to get there- that she loved me- that my father was fine and that I should forgive myself for not being there at her side. We spoke of other things and then she kissed me goodbye and was gone. Following the advice in the book from the night before about dreams ad messages from afar- I got out of bed and recorded the events, then went back to bed and tried to recapture her in another dream.

For years I have been beating myself up for those 31 minutes that kept me from my mother’s side at death. For weeks I have been beating myself up for not knowing how best to begin the book. Not that I don‘t know what the story is about- that’s not the point. It was the opening that had me stalled and that I was still uncertain of the voice. Should it be written as historical fiction, a thriller or should I just write the truth and let the chips fall where they will? Today I found the perfect voice and it is my own. Had my mother not come to talk to me last night, I might never have gotten the right words to start.

Tonight after several hours at the laptop, I sat down to read more of my new book. I began by finishing the chapter I had fallen asleep during the night before and then turned the page and smiled. Why? Because, the words on the next page were the very same words my mother had used in her visit, when asking me to forgive myself for not being at her side when she passed. I read the remaining pages with tears in my eyes and thought about the fact that I had used my connection through Charley to heal both my mother and myself of a terrible regret. Confident now in my path for the book and grateful that a weight had been lifted from my heart, I whispered a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to my darling mother who I know hears my every word.
A Gardenia for you mother darling.
I love you…and dad…and Charley.
Good night.

Not long ago I received an email from someone who hid behind another name- you know who you are. I need you to contact me… again.
It is important. So that you will know who I am talking about, I will use one of your key words…
Texas.

You know my number.

Yesterday I found a feather. Today, four dead fish washed up on my shore. The sight unhinged me slightly and with the eclipse upon us… I sense something afoot in the cosmos beyond celestial chess. Something is going on- I can feel it. An undercurrent of sorts that vibrates at such low levels- one can hadly perceive it.
There is sense of danger and foreboding and I wonder what tomorrow will bring? There is a smell of death in the air…

6/14/11
So last night I watched the debate for the Presidential Primary in New Hampshire and it reminded me of something???
Hmmmm…. what could that be?
Oh, I remember now. Another Presidential Primary debate held back in 1966. A Presidential Primary that became more of a clandestine affair that somehow involved loose diamonds and purchased influence.
Do your homework children!
Who would have been there from here in 1966? Who would have also been part of the Coffee Pot Conspiracy to cover up the murder of Charles Gordon Covington? Want to know? Do some digging of your own!
Think my dear readers…. Think!
Why would they show me loose diamonds and one red ruby in the hands of G and tie that to the Presidential Primary? Think about the other connections to G from the very beginning. Go back to the first few blogs- reread the first session with R and then extrapolate from there.
Remember… one of the clues was the set of letters-LT. But what if LT was really more like…Lt? That would mean something completely different! Now, think back and also remember that one of the very next lines in that session asked:
“Who became a Lt. later?”
Could it be the man with the scar on his left hand? The man who was possibly involved with Jessica? The man whose name gets two thumbs up from Charley?
Don’t you just love the political process? So much information, from so little minds!

6/12/11

I have a question…
I have a question for the 4 in flannel. Make that… the 2 who are still alive that were part of the 4 in flannel.
Was it really necessary to tie and cut up her ankles like that? Jessica shows her ankles cut up- possibly having been tied with barbwire. Was it not enough to bash her face in with the shovel? Was it really necessary to hog tie the child with wire? She was pregnant. And with whose child? Let’s think…
Not a commoner. Who would give a ________ about that. After all, you all called her a hooker. So who in the state of Georgia could loose more if their name was tied to that? Must have been somebody big. Somebody in the public eye- someone who could ill afford having a pregnant hooker calling his office… or his wife! Someone whose entire career would have fallen apart had the people of the state known how really corrupt he was.
Isn’t it ironic? Men who live so publicly- live so debauched privately. Don’t you just love men who parade themselves about as pillars and then slum in the shadows- praying their wife does not find out- hoping that harlots and hookers will hold their tongues. What? Because you killed her, you think she cannot talk anymore? Foolish men…large egos- small minds. There are but two of you left who will pay for the sins of the four and I know who you are. But I’m not the only one. That’s right, Grim. They know…
Bloody shovel and a compass!
The pool…pretty brown hair clumped with dirt and blood…
Red lipstick used to write a message…

What did it say, Grim? Did it mention you by name? He’s dead now and can no longer act as buffer for you. No client-attorney privileges for the dead!

Dear God Grim…what gives you the right to torture and disfigure young woman and then go home to slide into bed next to your waiting wife? Does she know? Does she suspect how truly vile you are? Is there some place in the back of her mind that knows and cannot let it surface, else she vomit up the blood of all your victims like worms rotting inside her? She knows and it makes her skin crawl. There is no church that will house you. No preacher that can pardon you for what you have done. The clock ticks for you Grim. As it ticked for those you went after- so it now ticks for you!

I pray- and this is a solemn prayer- that you will not rest another night. That you will know that I am on your trail and that I will hold your feet to the fires of Hell for what you have done. For forty-five years you have walked the streets of Valdosta, using your ego and your religeous ferver to deflect suspicions. Too bad you can no longer wear them in good conscience. Every person you meet will know what you have done before I am through. Every church will close their door to you and your feet will be burning hot from the flames of Hell that lick at them- salivating for the day they can engulf the rest of you!

Do you believe in God, Grim?

Then pray!

Who is Ray?
Are you the man with the mole on his upper lip?
Hmmmmmm….