Brownstonelit's Blog

I am taking a momentary break from studying for my finals to tell you… the wheels have finally been set upon their proper course. Patience my dears… After all the hard work and the months of research and listening, we are approaching the peak. It will be a few days- perhaps a week or two before we get there, but trust me- we are on our way! When I get to the top of the hill, I shall let you know. You will most definitely want to hang on tight to your seats. For when we finally tip the scales towards the other side… you will not want to let go!

Count down the days, Grim.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five…………………..

11/17/10
Most of the time I write for, and/or about Charley… about his journey and about the people both immediate and peripheral to his murder. But today for one brief moment, I need to focus a little closer to my life.

In the last few weeks I have been under such tight schedules that one literally had to schedule in breathing time. Productions at work, school projects and classes… work on this blog and research for Charley. Still in the throes of study and finals, I am hard-pressed to claim even this moment as right to squander. I have given children away this year in marriage and in love, lost friends and colleagues to greener pastures or grayer dispositions… seen gaps increase and decrease between where I am and where I am meant to be. While I accept that this is a 9 year, now fast approaching its end and understand that all things that have terminated have and will morph into voids as a way to propagate the fertility of new beginnings… I simply felt the need today to pause and mourn the loss.

One leaf… one thought… one leaf… one person… one leaf… one experience… one leaf… one adventure… one leaf… one loss at a time…gone.

This year has been plagued by separations, disappointments, opportunities and colossus change- but it has also generated incalculable potential for rebirth. Each day a battlefield of unending challenges and retreats, has buried parts of me as it has allowed other parts to blossom. Bridges that had been built to stand the test of time, have fallen prey to unauthorized decay and yet I divine that the path on the other side must still be reached by digging deep for new foundations and reconstructing new ones. For even when you lose something which is better given away than kept, there is a keen sense of loss that that still registers across the heart. Each damp wind, like a new experience tests our resolve. Should we cling to that which has brought us this far… or do we adjust to the seasons in our lives with grace and humility? Do we allow the approaching winter winds to teach us to stand stark and alone for a time, that we might retreat to our core and center ourselves? To build from within and brace against the cold so that later when the warmth of opportunity returns we might find a new sense of appreciation and gratitude for the time to mend, heal and solidify the image of self?

And do we really have option to do otherwise?

Like the small maple tree that stands outside my office window, now barren but for 7 turning leaves that cling desperately to its young mast… I too must learn to stretch my fledgling limbs to the autumn sky and graciously allow those leaves meant for greater deeds than I can provide vehicle for… those leaves who still cling to me, or those leaves to which I still cling… to separate and fall away as providence demands and embrace the new blush of another impending season.

11/16/10

I doubt we will ever know what Charley had planned to do that night. He said he would not have left Hazel for G and yet, might he have left for another reason? The reason I ask is because inside his wallet, crinkled and stuffed into the upper corner of the billfold area I found a tiny piece of paper. When I used my tweezers to remove it and then pressed it out so that it could be read… this is what I saw:

“Two bedroom home in ______________, Ga. den, carport, wall to wall carpet central air and heat. $140 Owner transferring.”

Was this for Charley?

So many questions left. I await word from R about Hazel’s journey in all this. Perhaps Hazel will have more to say. Perhaps Charley will have more to say. The 11th of November was predicted as being significant and it was. The clock is ticking softly in the background and each day moves closer to December 17th. This date is significant as well… I just don’t know why yet, but Charley does.
If it has anthing to do with information from the 11th… all I can say is, OMG!

11/15/10

Today the numbers, 555 keep appearing in front of me. Car tags, calculators…if you look for the meaning on this number you will find this as the response:
“…555 — Buckle your seatbelts. A major life change is upon you. This change should not be viewed as being “positive” or “negative” since all change is but a natural part of life’s flow. Perhaps this change is an answer to your prayers, so continuing seeing and feeling yourself to be at peace…”

Thus far this month, I have had about all the change I can personally afford and/or absorb without pulling my hair out. But, if this is what the universe has in store for me, then I shall grit my teeth and forge ahead. I am fresh out of resistance, so if the cosmos has plans of change for me I am amenable.
But all kidding aside… I think I know what this is about. Last week I had two very important meetings. One of which should dovetail nicely into another later the end of this week. I pray that by then, my exams are under my belt and that I can move forward into Charley’s book and this holiday season with peace of heart.
This meeting is very important as information now being confirmed will catapult this case to where it should have been 44 years ago. Also, I am awaiting some further confirmation of certain facts and perhaps Hazel will be more forthcoming with information about Carlos and the other prison workers who kept watch over Charley as he began to investigate the rumors about certain law enforcement officers involved with Jessica and Roxanne. People who had a hard time explaining why these two girls were last known to have been with them- entertaining them, as it were. Then even harder to explain is why these two girls suddenly went missing shortly thereafter. And not only missing- but, flat out gone!
How do you explain that Grim? And you a married man… but then of course… they were all married men! Oh wait… all married, except for the shooter who was divorced at that point. Oh my! Now this just doesn’t look at all good for these men- two of which are still alive. Do their wives know? Did they suspect? Won’t they be shocked when they find out that Friday night poker sometimes led to Friday night trysts and Saturday morning burials?

Here’s another riddle for you. …
What three letters spell doomsday? Think hard…
ABC… CBS… NBC…???
No… no. Think harder!
CIA…CSI… IRS… ATF… FBI…???
Now you’re cooking!!!!!

Come back later in the day…
I will have more!

11/13/10

Cradled in a false sense of security…

Think about the calm before the storm. Think about how a tiny boat will cradle you in its womb and lull gently to and froe while traversing the waves that wander beneath its keel towards the shore… feel the gentle rocking that soothes your soul and brings composure to your thoughts.

Memorize its emotional echo, for that is only for today and not tomorrow. For tomorrow the winds will begin to pick at the leaves and tug at distant clouds- teasing them both to leave this pleasant sanctuary and dramatically alter their course. Can you feel it in the air all around you? The stench of imminent decay? The brittle crispness of truth as it settles like feathery strands of fog, low in the crevices and craters of your soul? Do you even recognize its warning?

It is coming Grim. The hour of reckoning… before the first blush of snowfall… before the first real nip of winter, the fear will begin to settle in your bones like a damp and unrelenting malady. An ache that radiates pain deep within your very marrow. The need to suppress your bulimic instinct–to purge yourself of unwanted mediocrity… to teach your ego to evade and not give you further away.

You will not go free Grim. Neither you, nor your minions. They know who you are now… what you have done. They know what you know… they see how it all was. The lure, the bait, the gun, the lights… The set of the tires and the foolish attempt to present as suicide. All part of the trap you set- all for the ultimate prize. The man who had to take a bath with blood on his hands, betrays you from the grave. His legacy points the way to the shooter who chased his fears across state lines. The red headed man who counseled- then codified. The MOT knew too. He and Charley both had to pay… knowledge is power. Power was concealed in vinyl… but how many were there? Can you count that high? Two… three… four… five… six?

Did you really think that 44 years would erase the memory of Charley’s blood imprinted upon the asphalt? Did you really believe that all were so naive or so corruptible that your secret would remain securely buried along with their bodies? That greed and sexual perks would forever seal their lips or satiate their appetites for further compensation? Or even better… pay for their eternal loyalty? You were a foolish boy who tried to wear the pants of a man and now the fabric woven by your lies- gathers quickly around your ankles, stained with blood that refuses to wash free in the night’s rain.

Did you think they would not tell? Not whisper of your deeds to save their own skins?

Everyone has a price Grim and you no longer hold the currency to mollify.

Great truths inspire great loyalty… great brutality inspires only dismal fear. Who will wield your shovel now? Or press their fingers to another’s throat for you? Who will carry across their brow the enormous mantle of grief and regret? Who will trade their golden years for your sullied name? Who will honor the dead and their sacrifice, as they watch you dance upon the fires of your mentor? But even more… who will not remain silent from beyond the grave? What bones will share their tale of woe and point in your direction? Leading the way for all to come and gaze at the great failure that you now present…

Who will protect you now from those you can no longer reach? If they were alive, you could fight or discredit… dead you can do neither and they shall consume you.

This was the fatal flaw in your execution plan.
Think Grim.
What move do you make now and on whose chessboard do you now play?

I can feel it in the air… the chill is beginning to creep from the night into the dawn and the days while not truly shorter are feeling more eclipsed for reasons I cannot share with you now. Spirits are restless and they are chanting with added volume. The end is coming… Soon all will be revealed and you will gag on your own bile at what you learn. How could these crusaders of the light, wallow in such debauchery in the dark? Careful as you sleep. Careful as you speak… careful as you listen — the few of you still alive, for your days are numbered.

Can you not hear what it is they are saying about you now? The whispers and the stares that haunt your every move? You do not know who has spoken and who has kept your secrets… still they smile and nod their heads as if they are still one of you. Everything dies… even the brotherhood. One by one they betray for their own reward. Their hands are wrung of the blood you spilt. They claim ignorance and deceive you at every turn. The cross you carry is one of your own making. Splinter by splinter have you constructed its heft. Think naught of it as a sign of your religious fervor or martyrdom, but as the cross beam and support post construction to prop the lid of your coffin upon.

While Charley walks further away from his murder, he walks closer to justice for him and for you. I see you now Grim… wandering your halls at night and thinking… when will they stop… when will they stop?

The answer is you are already too late… it has already begun.

So what if I told you the clue that Charley gave me back in February has come true? Do you remember it???
“… the trail will lead to MOT…”

What he forgot to say in February, was what he has given me in November.

“… the trail will lead to…T…”

Sleep tight Grim!

11/10/10
Now comes the dawn…
Hazel has begun to speak. Her journal chronicles the last few months of Charley’s life. Who he talked to, what he did- projects he was working on. She talks about the house building and how she was tired of having prisoners forced on her. She said she felt like she was running a prison farm at the end, but was it really? I called R from my car on the way from one meeting to the next. She was on her way to a meeting as well. We talked briefly about the events leading to the MOT. I arrived at my meeting a few minutes early and as I was organizing my briefcase, she was getting her car washed. This is what I love about what we do… As the water began to blast her windshield, she apologized for the noise. A large school bus pulled up next to me and I apologized for its noise. Two seconds later the cacophony lulled and in the midst I began to speak about my gratitude for Charley’s help and that certain agencies now seemed to be stepping to the pate to help in re-opening this case. In my soliloquy I marveled at how Charley has been able to help alter the course of his history- change the timbre of his legacy from one of suicide and marital discord- to one who was trying to do the right thing. Someone who was following the bread crumbs to find Jessica and Rox. As we were commiserating on the collateral affects bringing this case back to life would have for Hazel on the other side and for Charley’s children still on this side… she broke in.

“…Go to pages 19, 26 and 42- there is information for you there…”

As we discussed the contents of the journal and my conjecture that the prison director and its workers were involved, more information came bleeding through. She began speaking about an energy known as Carlos- a prison worker.

“…A tall, thin young man…”, there at the construction site where Charley built his houses. “…He is between 19-23…only been in prison a few years… the kind who hurts animals, then moves on to humans… convicted of possible assault against his mother… he is very discreet- watching-always watching…soft spoken and smart… there is money… money in his hands…”, he is part of those who watch and inform.

So a prison farm it may have looked like, but a network of spies is what it was. Prisoners who were on payroll, paid to watch Charley’s every move. Paid to keep tabs on what he did, where he went. Who he talked to and what he did in the hours of his day that were occupied by working at home- so that Gerrie could keep an eye on the rest of the hours he was not! It was all staged…

See how this all begins to fit together? In the beginning it all seemed so disconnected. The moonshine, the porn… the murder… the players. Charley having a fling- prisoners being used a would-be carpenters- the big come on by G…everyone up to their eyeballs in coffee… the parties… the booze… the card games and the women…the blood.

It was all a little odd from the start. The folks I talked to- everyone with his own agenda. All not wanting to share information, but wanting to know what I knew. Well my friends, I could not have imagined what I now know and I am a fiction writer! Common, ordinary people who go to church on Sunday, profess allegiance to the flag, their God and their spouses… sleeping with young girls, killing them and leaving their bodies to rot. Good Christian men who pound their chest and speak about honor and the brotherhood… all rotting from the inside out with evil and lust.

Lust for money… lust for power… lust for the sake of lust.

I worked on my psychology paper this week, along with my Criminology paper. I chose serial killers for one and for the other a most curious psychological approach to the question:

How can ordinary people, who are good and kind in their daily lives…become capable of the most vile and inhumane things?

The answer has now become the new focus for this book…

11/08/10
I received aerial photos today of two places of supreme interest…
I received confirmation of a name…
I received a phone call from a number that cannot be redialed… and sent an update that cannot be retrieved…

I also received confirmation of a location and an intention.

The MOT would be proud!

Today I received an address; 2223_______________________.
It is a specific kind of building. The roof has what appear to be thick wooden or wood-like shingles. Like a hut or a shack… has to do with the lockbox, #____________.

Do you understand?
I do….
Are you sweating yet, Grim?