Brownstonelit's Blog

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.

9/30/10

For you Charley…
For you Roxanne…
For you MOT…

Today is yours. Celebrate that you have been found. Celebrate that you have been heard and dance in the light that was meant to be yours from the very start.

Charles Gordon Covington was murdered on October 9, 1966.
He was preceded in death by a young pretty blonde named Roxanne who I believe was murdered approximately ten days before him.

The Mot- (man on tape) died 6 days after Charley in a dingy hotel room from fright that he might be next.

And there’s more…

I told you before the day wasn’t over yet. It’s 10:44 P.M. and all I can say is…
Oh my God!
I know where. I know when. I know why… and now at last, I finally know who.

You know that really cheezey part in spy movies like the James Bond series where they ask the spy what he knows and the spy responds,
“I could tell you… but then I’d have to shoot you.”

Yeah… that part. Today is the 29th of September and as promised, several things have already happened and the days not even over yet!

You want to know what they are?
Well, I could tell you… but then I ‘d have to…
You get the drill!
Until later then…

9/28/10

Tomorrow is the 29th of September and I wait at the edge of my chair to see what it is that Charley wanted to alert me to. Never has some date been given without some sort of confirmation and/or occurrence happening. Maybe I will finally be able to get through to the older woman who has information for me. Or maybe I will hear back from R on specific questions that deal with Theodore. Maybe my book at a conference in North Carolina will do well in its showing… or maybe, just maybe I shall hear something from the ‘authorities that be’ about my report and they will begin pursuit of this case in earnest. Or maybe, Rox will finally step forward and give up the secret of her identity from under the murky waters of…

If you were able to finish this sentence it is only because of one of two things. You either know me very well…

Or… you were one of the ‘four in flannel’ that was there the night she went missing!

9/27/10

This morning at 6:47 I awoke to rain and a gray day. There was a small hint of damp coolness in the air and as I walked dogs in the half light of dawn I was acutely aware of nostalgia creeping in. Fallen leaves pasted to the sides of my clogs as I crossed the lawn and the patter of rain as it slid down the street drains kept cadence with the clicking of the dogs’ toenails on the asphalt. The phantom scent of kindergarten glue paste and cinnamon flavored Red Hots in apple cider invaded my memory banks and I suddenly realized that October is but days away. I looked back at the front door- what was I thinking? By now there should have been dried corn stocks and faux pumpkins embracing the front stoop. Where is time running to so fast these days that I have so little time for myself or my family? Has my insatiable need to validate my work with cold cases (writing) become so blinding that I am myopic to all else?
I slow in my approach to the steps and let the rain drool into the collar of my housecoat. I need to slow down. Need to pace myself and find a minute here and there for Charley, but also a minute here and there for me.

Another show in the can leaves me now with just one show to produce for the next month and a half. The additional show combined with school and other obligations has pushed me to the limits this past two weeks. Mentally and physically I am stretched as far as I believe I can get and yesterday morning I found out my psychic/medium/detective will be relocating to another part of the country. Along with a plethora of other unforeseen complications, I believe I have reached my saturation point for frustrations. Still, no rest for the weary as they say…

A new school week is upon me and without compassion for my exhaustion it will roll on through without even the slightest concern for my breaching the melting point.
Breathe… breathe … I keep hearing myself say. The job is imperative to my family’s survival and my writing is imperative to mine. School was my idea and so I am unable to chastise anyone but myself for such strain. I comfort myself with the knowledge that a few short years from now I will look back and see this as another achievement worthy of my efforts. It is only now in the thick of my chaos that I see it as strain and not segue to a better, bolder me. In the meantime I shall take in deep the slight morning chills, enjoy the turn of foliage and the sweet, crisp shadows of baring trees that will begin to exhaust themselves earlier each day on my way to the theatre where night is always tinged with the magic of potential.

I look at the clock and realize I have chapters to read and quizzes to study for and just when I feel the overwhelming urge to scream, I hear the faint call of Carole King and the Gilmore Girls, gulp down a few sips of my cold coffee, look out side my window at the ever green and the ever gray and sigh that I am exactly where I am meant to be…

At my laptop!

9/25/10
It has been a fascinating week for me. I was honored with a speaking engagement, an award for a programming effort and opened a great show. My grades are still good and while the homework is daunting in so far as time commitments… I am still on track and continuing to manage my time accordingly. Besides Charley’s Birthday, this week also brought me another gift; the gift of introduction. Two introductions in fact. One to someone who I hope will be instrumental in helping me find out who Rox was and the other whom I hope will be instrumental with attaining a personal goal. Oddly enough, my life report for this month told me that I would receive an award for a past effort. I assumed it had something to do with my book and not the theatre. Who knew?

Life is such a mystery and I am always amazed at how things manifest themselves in my life. I cannot speak for others and how the universe connects with them. Most people are so bound by their experience and by their perception of that experience that they forget to look for the lesson it came attached to. As a species, we make life so complicated. It is our blessing and our curse to do so. My blessing and my curse is an insatiable appetite for information and wisdom. “Curiosity killed the cat” they say and no doubt one day you shall hear of my own and when you do… be certain to listen carefully for that tiny Meow that may follow- for this cat does not always know when to keep its nose clear of certain things.

And that begs the question- when is enough, enough? I now think I can pretty much put all the pieces together in a plausible fashion; even though certain specifics evade me. But that’s not the point. I cannot begin to put pen to pad in earnest until I get the go ahead from Charley and while he teases and tickles at my outline, he has yet begun to set me free from research. Is it because it is still in the end of a nine year that I must wait? Or is it that there is something more I have yet to learn about in regards to the questions still unanswered?

Questions like:
Why the baking association to Rox? Who is young Theodore who gifts her and then is never mentioned again? Who exactly are the “four in flannel” who were there that night in the room with her? Or rather… I think I can vouch for two- it is the remaining two that give me pause. Why did Chance not go for outside help on this? Why did the grim reaper manipulate so many deaths and then have the audacity to stand so tall in a church pew? Why have others continued to chatter when some have gone silent? Who was the man who drove the fire truck? Who is the mother whose child fell down a ravine? Who owned the small fishing boat that heard and saw things he dare not tell others?

While some clues erupt and some fade, they continually make a circle and come back with a vengeance. No doubt they will continue to present them to me until I find the segue. It is ok by me. I am busy just now- patience is currently possible only due to fatigue and exhaustion. But do not think that you are safe- those of you who wait with baited breath to see what I know and what I have already shared with others.

Months ago I was told that I may find more information from an older woman with a foot or leg injury who may have more information for me. R reminds me the most important thing to remember is trust. Trust that they will provide information that is useful and trust that I will find the connections when I need them or when they are right. Thursday I found both. We shall see what I am able to harvest of them each!

Another reading presented the date of September 29 as significant. I initially thought perhaps this might be a piece of throwback information to 1966. Maybe attached to Rox somehow- maybe the night she was assaulted and left for dead. Or maybe it is about a contemporary conference where my first book is being displayed. Perhaps it is even attached significantly to something that happened this week. Either way, the mantra is to trust. Trust that there is reason and cause for all that comes into my path. Trust that I have been chosen to receive information for good and not for evil. Trust that I am wise enough to know what to do with it all in the end. So the question remains; is a clue a clue only if you figure it out? Or is a clue still a clue, even if you have yet to find its connection?

Since “curiosity killed the cat”, I shall listen to the quiet meow inside my head that tells me when I am too close to a suspect for comfort… or just far enough away for safety and “Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…” in the meantime to keep you all guessing! I will get what I am looking for- make no doubt about that!

Until then, I shall wait like a small child at the top of the stairs; frightened that Santa may find me awake and spying on him, yet equally frightened that he may come and I might miss him because I fell asleep!