Brownstonelit's Blog

10/30/11

Yesterday morning I took a break
from homework and life to drive to a small little town not to far from here and
shared a wonderful breakfast and crossword puzzle with my husband. The weather
was brisk, but not entirely brutal and the trees in brilliant display. After breakfast
we walked the sidewalks and rummaged through old hardware stores and kitschy
boutiques that boasted times gone by and times to come and I was glad for the distractions.

I was also happy because Charley had
spoken to R and I have dearly missed his input of late. I know you think I am
dogged and down right annoying about securing the identity of the fourth in
flannel, but you do not understand. Already I have mapped these men from
misdemeanor to manslaughter and so I must be precise and certain of my
information as it becomes the eventual tool of their demise.

The dead; helpful as they are sometimes like to walk around the
ball field before they make the final pitch and while I appreciate their
deliberations and need to show me the journey… some days I just want definitive
information without all the esoteric blatherings that might come with it. That
being said, I decided to stall in my advance and remain in my bubble a bit longer.

With hot coffee to go,
we drove the remaining countryside, weaving in and out of weathered glen and bucolic
bliss… and then in an effort to suspend the moment further, I slipped the ’Stang down
another back road that I knew would end into the drive of a home we have been
considering for a while as alternative to the yellow house. Mostly because we do not know
if it will still be available when the month for action arrives, and I am
determined to have a back-up contingency in place.

While I still prefer the yellow house
on the hill, there is something equally intriguing about this little house on
another hill not to far away that has captured my imagination. Small, too small
in fact for the herd of furniture I bring with me wherever I go… it rises
sweetly above a craggy shoreline of blackened rock and gnarled roots before,
toying with the treetops and a marvelous view of the water below. Shingled and
stacked, it is more contemporary than the other home and speaks more to privacy
and seclusion than family and fusion.

It is not a social abode, but there is
something about its long and withered driveway… its subliminal submersion into
the foliage and fauna that looms above a staggered path that breaks into a
sweeping beach of golden sand that has captured my sense of mystery and need
for independence. My husband of course champions its configuration and its
miniscule mortgage and sees it as a way to buffer us from world and worry. He
calls it cozy, and while it has windows galore I wonder in the end if it might
not suffocate me without intention to do so.

Still, I am called to be judicious
and divine what will work now and in the future, for in the future we are as
two, but could be one and that one will be responsible for all that must be handled.
As I stood with jacket zipped and hood engaged, I watched the waters whip below
and saw a curious sight… An otter of considerable size who dipped between the swells of the waves and
poked his nose here and there with great joy to be out and about without human
interruptions.

From the lofty perch of a sullen deck, I watched his water
ballet for more than fifteen minutes and thought to myself…is this the kind
of life I could endear? Could this smaller slice of sky and broader scope of
shoreline, tucked within the privacy of wooded wonder be just what the doctor
ordered? Was wide open and expansive just obligation and invitation to constant
interruption or invasion? Or was there comfort in securing more space to redefine
oneself and accommodate others as they passed in and out of your reality?

Desperate for another point of reference… I walked down to the shore and crossed under
the bough of a tree and across to the beach at the water’s edge. The waves lapped
at the rocky border with arrogance, ignoring my presence and I knew that they would do
so regardless of who stood in my shoes. It was both irreverent and assuring at
the same time to know that the wind, the water and the mystery could co-exist,
defining one another without obscuring one another.

From the shore below, the
house was impressive…solid and eclipsed. Like the house in Hansel and Gretel
its shingled facade spoke of sweet interlude and assumptive joys…but there at
the shore with waves beating the sand and nature’s ragged breath thrashing limbs
about like broken rag dolls… I wondered if there was another reason it was
calling to me.

An impression… an assumption… a premonition.

It made me
shudder.

10/29/11

Charley was busy today
and woke R early…

“…4th in flannel=pipe smoker. Sat
in the same booth...the second booth all the

time in that restaurant "the fort" the one in the "v" it was his spot. People

should know
about him always sitting in the same spot. My air is filled with

tobacco
smoke...it's him. If still alive has intestinal problems(possibly

cancer) his
daughter may know the truth..."

Ok Valdosta, your turn. Who remembers the S&K
(Sit and Kiss) restaurant that sat in the V of the two intersecting highways?
You know, the one they used to call "the fort" where all the law hung
out! Come on now, think. In 1966 who sat where? We already know that G hung out
there quite a bit. G and S_________. In fact she once approached my mystery
emailer/caller and tried to get her/him to perform a sexual favor for somebody
in the trailer park nearby. Then later he/she was run out of town the night
Charley was murdered!

Hmmmmmmm.... who might that be?

Grim?

Albert Einstein?

Shooter?

Pipe-smoker?

I bet Miss M knows.
Maybe she will wake R early tomorrow morning and confirm the true identity of
the pie-smoker for me! Anybody smell mint tobacco in the room? Hmmmmmm.

I’d BANK on it!

Do you get it???

10/26/11

I know you
miss the rush of information and I am doing my best to serve many gods these
days; school, work, home, Charley, family crisis… I have not forgotten you, or
Charley. In fact I have asked Charley to reconnect and make his presence known
as I miss his guiding hand.

You see I am
quite at the point were faith must be my spouse. I can continue to write the
book and I have given as much information as I can to those whose eyes are more
trained than mine and other than that… I must find the hours lost to living
to plug the holes of questions I have yet to be answered. R assures me we will
find a space soon and perhaps then… or even before then if I am lucky,
Charley will come to me and share.

So who is Lisbon?

Who is
Granger?

Who is
Chauncey?

What about the
man from Dupont, Georgia
and what was so pressing about a man in Lakeland
in 1963 that this man had to hand deliver a letter to my dear friend… 3 years
before they took him out?

10/22/11

I am at the
point where I can see the end of the book and then becomes the task of edit,
edit, edit and edit! But do not be excited… the end is still weeks away from
me and that just means that I get to turn around and write it again. Any book
is important, but this book is paramount because it will effect real change in
many lives. Some good changes… some very bad changes. And those are the
changes I wish to address today, for I may not say this again outside of legal
disclaimers.

People died.

People died
at the hands of other people who did horrible things and needed to hide them.

These are
the people who killed Charley.

These are
the people who took two young women and treated them like sex toys ad then brutally
beat them and then killed them for pleasure.

These are
people who took another man… an older man who should have known better, but
put himself at risk by seeing, knowing, watching… He too was beaten to death.

Now… here’s
the really bad part.

Not all of
them are dead.

What does
this mean for you? It means they lived 45 years after the crimes as free men
and women. That they lied to spouses, children and grandchildren about who they
really are…what they have done. Everything got buried that night with the MOT,
or so they thought. Jessica got pregnant. In March she tried to commit suicide
and then was killed in July somewhere north of Valdosta where one of the men watched her
body begin to rot in the sun because he got off on it. Then when her pretty,
blonde haired friend began to put two and two together- the four in flannel
struck again. Roxanne was sleeping with one of the four when he snapped; then
the others joined in the fray and the boys club was sealed along with her doom.
They dragged her to the lake, kicked and beat her and then the three placed
their hands upon her throat and squeezed till there was nothing left of the
wanna-be debutante. Roxanne was strangled to death just days before
Charley…then Charley was lured to the Clyatteville-Nankin Road and when he
refused to give up the location of the _______________, they beat and shot him.
The last to go was the MOT. His first name was Robert and you will learn his
last name in the book or perhaps in the process of investigation. He was a
kinder soul- affectionate with Roxanne, but not sexual. He got both Jessica and
Roxanne jobs at the American Legion Club. Then several key players in town
seduced them into the porn industry and adult entertainment for visiting
dignitaries and Hollywood stars. MOT made the
mistake of aligning himself with the four in flannel, but when bodies began to
stack… he began to panic. His panic led to his association with Charley and
then his death. He too was beaten to death.

Got the
pattern?

How many of
the four in flannel are still alive? Enough of them to make you sleep with one
eye open at night. They have/had wives… they have/had children…they
have/had grandchildren. They own businesses.. they are retired… they walk among you and sneer at your ignornace.

They walk
among you at the grocery stores… restaurants… even churches, though I do
not know how they don’t spontaneously combust as they cross the thresholds.
They hold badges and honors and one day soon… they will all come to heel.
Their names will be like the decay of those they left for dead. Their reputations
destroyed, their families will wonder how they could have loved and been
related to such vile creatures. And I will try to feel their pain, but I doubt
it will rise to that of Julie’s who has lived without her father for these men
and women her entire life.

But there is
one in this mix, whose contrition compromised his life. From the other side he
has done what he could to right his part in this wrong. It was his Karma to do
so. If Charley can forgive him… then so should I.

Nah…Sorry,
Charley.  I’m not ready to do that yet.
He needs to do one more thing from the great beyond before that can be
possible.

You know who
you are, __________. Step to the plate and tell R what I need to know. Is the
pipe smoker the owner of the silver lighter, or is it the man who writes the
checks? Was the business card there because he was part of it, or just trying
to help?  What was the farmer’s role
beyond the parade of staged witnesses? What was his tie to G? And who now owns
the red ruby and the diamonds she received as payment? Who inherited these?

Ladies? Got
any jewelry we can look at???

10/21/11

Fog on the
lake and a fire burning in the fireplace, I am at peace for a time. Yesterday I
finished my Bone Quiz and the day before that I completed a course on Mapping
and Exhumation of Clandestine Graves. That’s right Grim… CERTIFIED! Now, in
and of itself that certification does not make me an archeologist, but it does
prepare me to work on gravesites and how to properly retrieve skeletal remains.

I know where
Charley is buried and his bones will tell the truth.

I know where
the MOT is buried and his bones will tell the truth too!

But the
bottom line is, I made a promise to both Jessica and Roxanne to find where they
are buried and their bones will tell the world the truth about the four in
flannel.

Can you
imagine how many bones were broken or fractured by being slammed in the face
with a shovel? Can you imagine how many fractures may be represented by the
beatings both she and Roxanne received before the sweet sting of death took
away the final pain?

Can you
imagine how many pieces Roxanne’s hyoid bone is broken into after three sets of
hands across her throat? Each day I study and apply my craft… I can!

Here’s to
higher education boys!

I have not
heard from Charley in a few days… he is overdue!

Talk to me
Charley… talk me!

10/20/11

I read
another blog today about how far apart we sometimes become from what we want at
a deeper level out of fear or negativity. So I thought I would take the test.  How far apart am I from what it is
that I want, but more importantly am I working as hard as I can towards what it
is I really want? The answer is I am walking in the direction of that goal
everyday. I work full time, I go to school on line and not a day goes by that I
don’t work on this blog or on the book. How far apart am I from where I am and
where I want to be?

Four
arrests, one book and one degree!

And while
that sounds like a really far ways off, it’s not.

I’ve work
hard with R (psychic detective) to get the ball rolling on Charley’s case and I
continue to work hard to keep that ball rolling towards the eventual arrests f those
guilty for his murder and those of Roxanne, Jessica and the MOT.

I work on
the book everyday…over 300 pages and counting! And even though once it’s
done, there is editing and the search for representation… it is underway!

I am taking
my forensic courses on line in between my full time job and so far I remain on
the Dean’s List!

That’s how
far I am from where I want to be. In moments when I despair that I may never
make it to my goal, I try to look back and see where I was in that line two
years ago and it makes me smile.

I jus hope
it makes Charley smile too!

Be afraid
Grim… be very afraid!

10/16/11

Today is the
last show in a production and yesterday I worked a show after a very long day
behind the wheel to do a theatre workshop in Statesboro, Georgia…
exhaustion is then the theme for today, but I am sensing I am not alone today.

Roxanne has
been on my mind of late. Everywhere I go I see young, beautiful, blonde
debutantes walking the streets of Athens…
and I think…if not for death and 45 years one of them could be Roxanne. I
tend to focus a lot on her as she mirrors my daughters in age and my heart
grieves for her as though she were one of my own. The other day while working
on my anthropology bone quiz she came to mind as well. When asked to identify
bones from slides, I was presented with my second favorite bone of the body
now- the hyoid bone.

The hyoid
bone is the thin bone that suspends in the neck and remains in tact, unless
sever pressure is applied. Severe pressures like from… strangulation.

As I study
and learn the art of Forensic Investigation, I feel Roxanne at my side,
whispering, “Look for mine… find me. It has been broken. Find me and prove
what they have done.”

I promise
you Roxanne… it will come to pass. I know what they did. The farmer knows
what they did and the second farmer confirmed it! I will find you Rox and when
I do… the world will know that justice prevails.

Rest little
one…I’m on my way!

10/13/11

Yesterday
was the anniversary of my father-in-laws death and so a quiet moment to honor.
Today is the 13^th  of October.
This is a very active day as far as astrology, but more important… Charley
had said this date was significant. What he didn’t tell me was why.

I do not
know if this significance is contemporary or meant for 1966. If it is meant for
today… than what energy will it bring? What news will I receive or what news
will others receive on my behalf? Perhaps Grim will receive a visit? Perhaps
Albert Einstein will be questioned about his silver engraved lighter? Or maybe the
farmer will finally tell the truth?

Maybe this
is noteworthy for 1966, in which we must think about the timelines of this collective
murder scenario:

Jessica was
murdered somewhere around the 11^th of July, 1966.

Roxanne was
murdered somewhere about the 7^th of October, 1966.

Charley was
slain on October 9^th, 1966.

The MOT was
found dead on October 15^th, 1966… but perhaps today is the  actual day he was beaten to death by the four
in flannel in the Daniel
Ashley Hotel?

Or…
perhaps this is the day Grim was there to help pull Roxanne’s body out of the
lake as his lights atop his patrol car swirled in the sky.

Or maybe…
this was the night they took her body in the dark and rolled it into the swamp
as the farmer next door watched in horror, but never said a word? No… that
was last night! Sorry!

You see
Grim, so many have information about you that some times I get ahead of myself.
But, that’s right. The farmer definitely said it was the night of October 12^th
when he watched the bunch of you and your cronies take Roxanne’s body and dump
it across from you know where.

Maybe this
is the day I make the call about the name Charley gave me. Hmmmmm…

So today is
October 13^th… what will Charley bring me today?

10/9/11

The date
pretty much says it all.

I have
carried a photo of Charley with me all day long as a constant reminder that
today was the ending and the beginning of so many things… the end of this
life and the beginning of something beyond.

I had fully
expected to start my day in thought of Charley and his family and to do so
somewhat alone. I knew Julie would be in thought today, but I was surprised
when I opened my email to find that R had received a visit from him early this
morning. He showed her papers he was going through in the back of his car. And
the name of who he was gathering papers on.

I am half
heartedly wishing to post it here, but am reticent as I must be able to vet if
it is a name… a word… or has a separate meaning I am yet to discover. What
is clear though is that Charley still has information to give me and I am happy
to receive it.

Today was
difficult for me. I had a show and homework to deal with and even though both went
well, I had so wanted to be able to leave the day for just thoughts of Charley and
clues still left undone. With his photo near, I drove the long drive home
listening quietly to music, watching the clouds build across the horizon and in
between thoughts of Charley. As the wheels dodged swirling masses of leaves and pine straw
that crawled across the roads with every breeze, I mentally connected with his memory and held his hand knowing what lie ahead for him.

I cannot
possibly know what you were feeling that night my dear man, as your life and images of your wife and
children flashed before your eyes. How could they do what they did? How could
they have continued to lie about it for 45 years? Tonight is the last October 9^th
that Charley will suffer without justice… it is a promise I intend to keep.

So Grim, may
the night not finish without both you and the other four in flannel still living, knowing
that this is the last October you all walk as free men. Even if they never place
you all behind bars… everyone will soon know what  you all have done.

As my
favorite Egyptian Ramses Two…

“So let it
be written… so let it be done.”

The clock
continues to click… the pages continue to fill and the book is fast becoming finished.
They will know Grim. Even if I have to alter the names of the guilty…everyone
who has ever met you will know what you did forty five years ago. They will
know about you and the others who plotted and planned to take away Charley’s
life, to keep your lives of greed, deceit and debauchery a secret. Death will
not protect those who have passed from shame…and a life of lies will not
protect those of you left from discovery. You can run, but you can no longer hide anymore,
Grim.

It’s coming…. Can you feel it?

Justice…
justice…justice…justice…justice…justice…

At 8:55 PM
Charley said goodbye to his wife and children.

At 2:30 AM
Charley was lain atop a cold steel gurney in the Pineville Hospital Morgue
while officers and agents miles away blocked the driveway of the widow and
refused to allow her to go to see her husband’s dead body. The list of those
who were that that night read like the who’s who inValdosta’s history.

Somewhere inbetween
those hours… Grim, G, the shooter and two others participated in taking his
life, hid the second gun and then staged the crime scene while the farmer
helped make the parade of witnesses count.

Think I do not know what you all have done? Do
not be so foolish.

Dearest
Charley…reach for my hand and I will be there in spirit with you tonight…
tomorrow… and everyday from here to your eternity.

10/8/11

As I drove
through the countryside this morning; cherished the colors of the season, and noted the deep
blue of an autumn sky bristled by the stubble of freshly harvested cotton fields… I
chanced to ponder the significance of the day.

Tonight is
the last night of Charley’s life…

Forty five
years ago on October 8, 1966 Charley was still at home on stand-by, mowing the
yard, swinging children on swings and being the man he had become.

Hazel was
still married and determined to make her marriage work.

Julie still
had a father and a world of joy ahead of her.

On this eve
of Charley’s death, I pause to reflect about all the small and large things
that have happened since I stood at the appointed hour with Julie, in the
middle of a blacktop road just 1000 feet from the Withlacoochee River
one year ago.

I have had
more than one visitation by the man I defend.

I have seen
my mother and felt her tender touch as she bid me to let go of the past.

I have done
my best to honor Charley’s death, Hazel’s horror and Julie’s loss.

I have
completed one year of school and remained on the Dean’s List as I struggle with
a new path for my life.

I have moved
with fragile confidence towards the life of my dreams.

I have heard
the words and wisdom of my dear friend R as she walks me through this
experience.

I have made
two more comrades in my quest for truth.

I have been
blessed to receive information from a second psychic who was contacted by one of
my young female victims.

I have heard
from a trusted ally in the great beyond and found confirmation.

I have found
the owner of the lighter.

I have traced
the lineage of a key witness.

I have named
the four in flannel.

I have been
accused of witchery.

I have been
helped and hindered by those who fear the unknown.

I have made
peace with some internal wars.

I have
watched my children grow.

I have
watched myself learn to live outside my head.

I have been
guided by angels, both ethereal and corporeal.

I have found
myself a new road to travel and an old road to watch fade in the distance.

I have been
places emotionally and intellectually I never thought possible for this old
dog.

I have been
told of release and the promise of closure.

I have seen
the feathers and the power of their presence in my life.

I have given
my formal report.

I have begun
the book.

On this eve
of eves…I ask that Charley be spared the reliving of his death and that he be
left alone for the next 48 hours to watch the efforts made on his behalf
blossom into the justice he deserves.

This is my
prayer… this is my purpose.

Oh and I
forgot the most important thing!

I have made
several people very, very, very, very nervous.

I love that
part!!!

For you
Charley.

For you
Jessica.

For you
Roxanne.

For you MOT.

For Julie…for
me.