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"The Heir Apparent"


Prologue
Prologue to Heir Apparent

By Sasha









James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy.  He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible.  His eidetic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library.  Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James’s life into a living hell.  He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case.  Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.
 
 
 
 
*Eidetic memory, commonly referred to as photographic memory


Author Notes The illustration used is not intended to be the final cover of the book.


Prologue
Good News and Bad News

By Sasha











Mom, Susan, Charlie, Angela and I all arrived at the hospital early to reassure Grandmother that everything would be fine.  To no one’s surprise, Grandmother was a beacon of positive anticipation and a bundle of energy.  She was running on adrenaline and it showed in her speech.

 
“Angela, tell me about God and His love for everyone, even me.  Did you know He has angels that help Him fight the evil of Satan, a bad angel God threw out of heaven?  When Satan was an angel his name was Lucifer, but he changed it to Satan when God told him to leave.  James, did you know that God created the world and man?  God be very powerful.
 
“But I think maybe He make a mistake when He send Lucifer away.  Lucifer become very angry and they be fighting ever since.  Man is weak and easily tricked by the Devil. Many like Dark and Alexandru fall to the evil of the Devil.  But if God be so powerful, why He don’t use His magic and make the Devil want to be good?  I think that be the way to end evil. James, what do you think?”
 
“Sorry Grandmother, I haven’t spent much time thinking about God.  But I believe one of the things He wants is for man to make his own choice.”
 
“Do you think Dark and Alexandru have a choice?”
 
I wasn’t prepared for her questions. But the answer was actually at the heart of the case against Dad. “Yes, Grandmother, I believe Dad had a choice.  Dad was able to escape Dark’s clutches and get an education, married a wonderful woman and had three children, a good job and the respect of the community.  Yet, he still chose to follow in Dark’s footsteps.  He made his choice and he now has to pay for it.
 
“I don’t know Dark’s story.  But somewhere along the line he made a choice, a bad choice.  He chose the devil over God.”
 
Grandmother nodded. “Yes, I see what you say. I just wish I knew why he made the choice to kill all those girls and why Dark be so cruel.”
 
“Grandmother, I would like to know too, but I doubt we will.  Dad is not talking and he is the only one that can answer that question.”
 
Suddenly Susan spoke.  “Okay now that we have thoroughly depressed everyone, can we talk about something more uplifting?”
 
Mom quickly responded.  “Alfina, we wanted to tell you that you are welcome to stay with us when you are released from the hospital.  There is plenty of room, and we would love to have you with us.”
 
Grandmother blushed and looked at Angela.  “Thank you so much, Martha but Angela has offered to let me stay with her.  I hope you do not think this means I no app…. app….”
 
I finished Grandmother’s word.  “Appreciate.”
 
“Yes, that be the word… I appreciate you ask me to stay with you, but I already tell Angela I stay with her.”
 
Mom smiled.  “I think that is a great plan.  You and Angela get along so well.  We don’t live far from Angela and you can visit as often as you want.”
 
Listening to Grandmother talk, I couldn’t help but notice how much better her English was.  It seemed every day it improved significantly.  Her thirst for knowledge was amazing.  She was like an innocent child suddenly aware of the world and couldn’t get enough of it. 
 
Several nurses came in to prepare Grandmother for surgery.  I had explained the procedure to her, and she seemed to understand.  She was a bit confused about the anesthetic, but I assured her it was just like sleeping.  I tried to put on a tough face, but as they wheeled her down the hall, I felt a large lump develop in my throat.


 
* * * * * * * * * *

 
We waited anxiously outside the operating room for two very long hours before a nurse finally came out to speak with us.
 
“The biopsy went fine and is nothing to be concerned about. It is just a benign tumor that can be easily removed.  However, complications have developed with her foot. The damage done is more severe than anticipated.  It has been repeatedly broken, and several blood vessels have been blocked causing deformity of the bone.  We can remove the deformed portion of the bone, but that would make walking impossible.  Or, we can amputate and fit the foot for prosthesis.”
 
To my horror, everyone looked at me.  “When you say never walk, what does that mean?”
 
“The deformities are large and include the ball of the foot as well as the heel.  The amount of bone that would have to be removed would leave nothing for her to stand on.  The amputation would be below the ankle allowing for mobility with prosthesis.
 
 
“James, we don’t have much time.  A decision has to be made now.”
 
I took a deep breath and said, “Okay, do the amputation.”
 
The nurse turned and walked back toward the
operating room then turned back and looked at me.  “The operation will take one or two more hours, and she will be in recovery for at least three hours before you can see her.  You may as well go get something to eat to occupy the time.  There is no point sitting here and just waiting.  James, give me your cell number and I’ll call you when she is awake.”

 
I was relieved to know that Harborview and University Hospital were two of the best Rehabilitation Centers in the country.  Grandmother would be in excellent hands and receive the best of care.  Their prosthetics lab was top notch and known for its perfection.
 
Mom, Susan, and Charlie left to go to the cafeteria.  Angela and I sat in the waiting room in complete silence for several very long minutes.  Angela took hold of my hand and said, “James, you made the right decision.  Alfina is strong and she will be fine.”
 
I knew Angela was right, but I hated being the one to make the decision.
 
Angela stood and said, “James, let’s go outside and get some fresh air.”
 
“Do you mind if I join you?”
 
I immediately recognized Mac’s voice.  Turned around and saw him leaning against the wall.
 
“What are you doing here?”
 
“Tom told me about Alfina’s surgery, and I thought I’d come by and see how she is doing.”
 
When I told Mac about the amputation, his concern
appeared sincere.  “I am so sorry to hear that.  She is an amazingly strong woman, and I'am sure she will be fine,”

 
I nodded then asked, “Okay, now that’s out of the way, you can tell me why you're really here.”
 
Mac actually blushed.  “Can’t fool you, can I?”
 
“No, so tell me what is so important you had to come here in person.”
 
Angela spoke,  “Would you guys like some privacy?”
 
Mac smiled. “No there is nothing you can’t hear.”
 
“James, I just learned your father knows about the grand jury. But more important he now knows that Alfina is alive and will be testifying.”
 
“Okay, but he was bound to find out eventually.  Why the concern that he knows about it now?”
 
"Your dad now knows he is being charged with both Dark and Marie Anne’s death.  There is no way he is going to make a deal and even if he offered to plead guilty, I doubt Snohomish County would agree.”
 
“So, why is the concern?”
 
"You and Tom are going to have to really work hard to prepare Alfina for the cross examination.  The good news is that she is not required to speak to the defense attorney, nor is her testimony open to the public until the trial.  Right now their only strategy is to discredit Alfina."
 
I knew this would be their strategy all along.  It would be awhile before she was going to be up to being grilled by Tom and me.  It just didn’t seem fair.  Grandmother has been through hell her entire life, and now her son is going to try and destroy her on the stand.





* * * * * * * * * *
List of Characters:
Please note age of the Alfina 1 and 2 at the time they were kidnapped is not known.

James Mathews  -  18 year old genius
John Martin Mathews  AKA Alexandru Popescu – Father and Serial Killer

Martha Mathews - Mom
Adain Popescu AKA Dark – John Mathew’s father

Charlie Mathews – Brother 13
Susan Mathews -  Sister 16
Detective MacKinnon  ‘Mac’ – Head of Belltown Task Force
Thomas Hurley – Criminal Attorney representing the family and Alfina
Dr. Perez – Susan’s Psychiatrist
Marcy – James’s ex-girlfriend
Marilyn- Susan’s Day Nurse
Dr. Williams – Mom’s Psychiatrist also Alfina 3’s doctor
Dr. Gunzel – Alfina’s orthopedic surgeon
Dr. Stolov – Alfina’s respiratory doctor
Alfina 1 – Kidnapped June 6, 1935  died in childbirth in 1940 –child stillborn
Alfina 2-  Kidnapped August 15, 1940 age 8  gave  birth to Alfina 3 June 21,  1945
                 Alfina 2 died giving birth to stillborn child in 1948
Alfina 3-  in 1957 at age 12 gave birth to Alexandru (John Mathews)
Marcy Campbell – Babysitter missing for nearly 5 years found buried at the cabin
Angela Campbell- Marcy’s grandmother
Rachael – Mr. Hurley’s assistant and Jame’s new love interest
 



Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Prologue
Prologue

By Sasha

Author Note:Families are usually the last to know.


 

James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy.  He has an IQ of 165 that makes him smarter than most adults he knows and developing friends his own age next to impossible.  His eidetic memory makes him a walking, talking library.  Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James’s life into a living hell.  He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case.  Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James faces the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.

 
 
 
 
 
*Eidetic memory, commonly referred to as photographic memory, is a medical term, popularly defined as the ability to recall images, sounds, or objects in memory with extreme precision and in abundant volume. The word eidetic, referring to extraordinarily detailed and vivid recall not limited to, but especially of, visual images, comes from the Greek word edos.   While a person with photographic memory will precisely recall visual information, a person with eidetic memory is not limited to merely visual recall – theoretically they can recall other aspects of the event including sensory information that is visual, auditory, tactile, gustatory and olfactory, as well as other dimensions.  Much of the current popular controversy surrounding eidetic memory results from an over-application of the term to almost any example of extraordinary memory skill—from Wikipedia

 

List of Characters:


Please note age of the Alfina 1 and 2 at the time they were kidnapped is not known.

James Mathews  -  18 year old genius
John Martin Mathews  AKA Alexandru Popescu – Father and Serial Killer
Martha Mathews - Mom
Adian Popescu AKA Dark – John Mathew’s father
Charlie Mathews – Brother 13
Susan Mathews -  Sister 16
Detective MacKinnon  ‘Mac’ – Head of Belltown Task Force
Thomas Hurley – Criminal Attorney represents the family and Alfina
Dr. Perez – Susan’s Psychiatrist
Marcy – James’s girlfriend
Marilyn- Susan’s Day Nurse
Dr. Williams – Mom’s Psychiatrist also Alfina 3’s doctor
Dr. Smyth - Alfina's Orthopedic Surgeon
Dr. Holden - Attending Psychiatrist at Harborview Medical Center
Alfina 1 – Kidnapped June 6, 1935  died in childbirth in 1940 –child stillborn
Alfina 2-  Kidnapped August 15, 1940 age 8  gave  birth to Alfina 3 June 21,  1945
                 Alfina 2 died giving birth to a stillborn child in 1948
Alfina 3-  in 1957 at age 12 gave birth to Alexandru (John Mathews)
Alicia Campbell – Babysitter missing for nearly 5 years found buried at the cabin
Angela Campbell- Alicia's grandmother
Rachael - Tom Hurley's assistant
Betty - Waitress with fire engine red hair



Chapter 1
The Waiting Game

By Sasha





I sat on the cold, damp grass beneath the giant willow tree in the middle of the back yard.  As a child, I preferred solitude to the company of other children.  We had nothing in common then, and fourteen years later, it remains the same.  Labeled a genius at the age of four set me apart from other children and was neither a blessing nor a curse.  I am, perfectly content with whom I am. What appears odd to some has always been the norm for me.  

By the age of five, I could add, subtract, multiply, and divide multiple digit numbers in my head.  I have an eidetic memory, graduated from high school at age twelve, and received a master’s degree in Social Anthropology from the University of Washington at sixteen.  Over the past three years, I have been working toward my Ph.D. in Social Anthropology. Everything I once viewed as important now seemed foolish and pointless. 
 
I ignored the tears trickling down my cheeks as I stared at the house that had been my home my whole life.  The knot in my stomach tightened, sending a sharp pain up into my throat when the cell phone in my hand suddenly vibrated.  Seeing the words, “We have him” erased the microscopic hope I clung to that this was all just a terrible dream. 

I stood up, wiped the tears from my face, and walked toward the back door.  It would only be a matter of minutes before the police arrived to tell my family that Dad was under arrest for murder.  Mom, Charlie, and Susan would not believe he could kill anyone.  Yet, it was true.  I found evidence that proved, without a doubt, Dad was the Belltown Killer.  I pressed my hand against my stomach as the knot continued to tighten. Feeling sick to my stomach, I wondered who they would hate more, Dad for what he was or, me for what I did.
 
I took a deep breath, placed my hand on the doorknob and went inside the house.



Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 2
The Family

By Sasha











One week earlier.


 
I pulled into the driveway and parked beside Dad's yellow Humvee, his pride and joy.  Money was not, and never would be, a problem for my family.  Mom came from a long line of wealthy businessmen.  Only after Grandfather's death did we learn the full extent of his wealth, which included stock in Microsoft, IBM, Nordstrom, and Starbucks.  He owned several large office buildings on prime real estate in downtown Seattle and nearby Redmond.  Dad's mother died when he was still a child, and his father died when I was twelve.  Dad did not come from a prestigious background.  He grew up in a small, rundown cabin in Arlington. Although he lived an hour away, we never met his father and Dad refused to talk about him.  Without a face to recall, I never thought of him as my grandfather; I always referred to him as Dad’s dad.

Arlington is a charming, small farming community surrounded by lush forests, and borders the Stillaguamish River.  A few miles of Seattle, is the town of Marysville, famous for tulip fields that run end-to-end for miles.  In the spring, hundreds of red, purple, yellow, orange, lavender, and pink fields that look like a giant exquisitely handmade quilt when viewed from the sky.  Thinking about the cabin immediately reminded me of the tackle box and its contents, abruptly yanking me from a momentary daydream back to reality.

 I sat in the car watching Mom kneeling in the garden meticulously pruning each rose- bush with the loving care of a mother for her precious child. Knowing tomorrow would bring an end to her perfect world caused the lump in my throat to return.  I desperately wanted to start the car and drive away, someplace where I could hide and not have to watch the disintegration of my family.  However, this was not a movie with a beautiful sunset hovering above the horizon, promising a happy ending.  This was a real nightmare, far more frightening than anything I could have imagined.

 I glanced up and down the street; looking for the surveillance team Detective Mac told me was watching Dad.  I saw nothing out of the ordinary, no unfamiliar cars or strangers walking their dogs.  Wherever they were, they were well hidden.

 Seeing Mom walk toward me, my heart skipped a beat.  I got out of the car, hoping to make a run for the house to avoid speaking to her.

No such luck.

Normally, Mom's smile was the highlight of my day.  She put her arms around me and gave me a giant hug. I turned my head to the side.  Mom could read me like a book.  She never missed the slightest sign of a problem.  With an expression of concern on her face, Mom asked, "James, what's wrong? You're trembling."

Charlie and Susan often called me goodie-two-shoes for what they described as my brutal honesty.  I did not know any way to explain it other than to say the truth was an intrinsic part of my personality.  Dad called it a character flaw.  He and Mom had many arguments over it.  Fortunately, at an early age, Mom taught me that while honesty was admirable, it should always be accompanied by courtesy and presented with kindness.  Somehow, I did not think her advice was going to be of much use tomorrow.
I looked Mom directly in the eyes and lied. "I'm fine.  I've been jogging and need a few minutes to relax.  I'll be okay after I take a shower."

Although it was obvious she did not believe a word I said, she chose not to pursue it further and just nodded.  Feigning a smile, I walked through the garage. Standing in the open doorway to the kitchen, I glanced at the workbench, instantly noticing the space where the tackle box belonged.

 * * * * * *

From the kitchen, I heard the television blaring in the living room, confirming what I already knew; Dad was preparing for another forty-eight hour shift in his all too predictable manner; sitting in his favorite chair, holding the remote control in one hand and a beer in the other.  By dinnertime, he would be drunk, and his usual obnoxious behavior of rolling over us like a tank on its daily search and destroy mission would be in full gear.

Even sober, Dad was tough on all of us.  However, Mom was his primary focus of ridicule.  No matter how spotless she kept the house or what she cooked for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, he always found something to criticize.  According to Dad, the mashed potatoes were too dry, the fried chicken was too greasy, or the vegetables overcooked. Listening to Mom constantly apologize infuriated me, but I learned long ago, standing up for her only made Dad more angry.

Despite bragging to his co-workers and neighbors about his genius son, behind closed doors Dad never missed an opportunity to display his jealousy of me.  One of his favorite put-downs was, "What good is it to be so damn smart if you can't even get a date?"

Pitting me against my younger brother Charlie is where Dad's cruelty knew no limit.  At thirteen, Charlie was nearly six-feet tall.  He was the captain of the wrestling team and an outstanding student too.  Maybe not a genius, but take my word for it, one in the family is enough.  No matter how hard Charlie tried, Dad reminded him daily he would never be as smart as me.  This did nothing to improve the already strained relationship between my brother and me.  Charlie worshiped Dad, and although never successful, he spent all his time and energy trying to win his approval.

Susan was Dad's favorite.  She could do no wrong.  However, Susan was not a fool. Like Charlie, she worshiped Dad but tried to downplay his constant praise.  She also found his attention annoying.  He told her what to wear; whom she could date, took her shopping, telling Mom she had lousy taste in clothing.  He demanded to know where she was at all times and insisted on driving her to and from school every day.  Susan secretly complained to me about Dad's obsessive behavior, saying, "For God's sake, James, I am sixteen years old, and it is embarrassing to have Dad treat me like a ten-year-old."

Slipping past Dad unseen was no problem.  Hidden behind the banister, I knelt on the top step of the stairs and stared down at him.  I tried to remember when I stopped loving him but realized I probably never did. Although he was an arrogant ass, there was not a single incident or behavior I had ever observed that even hinted that the man I was staring at was capable of killing anyone.  Verbal abuse was his forte; until now, violence had never been an issue.

I quietly walked down the hall, went into my bedroom and shut the door, making sure to lock it.  Sitting down at my computer, I typed in the word sociopath.  It was clearly time to familiarize myself with the world of serial killers, sociopaths, and psychopaths.  It was going to be an exceedingly long night.
I opened the top desk drawer and grabbed one of several unopened packages of over the counter antacids.  I stopped taking prescription medication for my ulcer months ago, but the events of the past few days had awakened the beast.

I ignored Mom when I heard her call from downstairs that dinner was ready. Assuming I was working on my dissertation, she knew it was best to leave me alone.  Sitting at across the table from Dad was more than I could deal with at the moment.

 * * * * *

I stayed up the entire, night cramming my head with contradictory information on serial killers.  After a few hours on the computer, it became obvious few people knew much about the subject. When I heard Dad's Humvee pull out of the driveway, I popped another antacid into my mouth, got up and went downstairs.   Mom's cheerful "Good morning James" went ignored as I walked out the back door. 
Sitting beneath the giant willow tree in the center of the backyard, I silently waited for hell to arrive.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James'?s life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 2
The Mathews Family

By Sasha

I pulled into the driveway and parked beside Dad's yellow Humvee, his pride and joy.  Money was not, and never would be, a problem for our family.  Mom came from a long line of wealthy businessmen.  Only after Grandpa's death did we learn the full extent of his wealth, which included stock in Microsoft, IBM, Nordstrom, and Starbucks.  He owned several large office buildings located on prime real estate in Seattle and Redmond, as well as more than one-hundred acres of property in Arlington where, after Grandma died, he built a small vacation cabin for himself, Mom, and her sister, Aunt Lilly.
 
Arlington is located an hour north of Seattle.  It is a charming, small farming community surrounded by lush forests, and borders the Stillaguamish River.  A few miles to the north is the town of Marysville, famous for tulip fields that run end-to-end for miles.  In the spring, you can see hundreds of red, purple, yellow, orange, lavender, and pink fields that look like a giant exquisitely handmade quilt when viewed from the sky.  Thinking about the cabin immediately reminded me of the tackle box and its ugly contents, abruptly yanking me from a momentary daydream back to reality. 
 
I sat in the car watching Mom kneeling in the garden meticulously pruning each rose bush with the loving care of a mother for a precious child. Knowing tomorrow would bring an end to her perfect world caused the lump in my throat to return.  I desperately wanted to start the car and drive away, some place where I could hide and not have to watch the disintegration of my family.  However, this was not a movie with a beautiful sunset hovering above the horizon, promising a happy ending.  This was a very real nightmare, far more frightening than anything I could have imagined.
 
I glanced up and down the street, looking for the surveillance team Detective Mac told me was watching Dad.  I saw nothing out of the ordinary, no unfamiliar cars or strangers walking their dogs.  Wherever they were, they were well hidden.
 
When I saw Mom walking toward me, my heart skipped a beat and my chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe.  I got out of the car as quickly as I could, hoping to make a run for the house to avoid speaking to her.  No such luck.
 
Normally, Mom's smile was the highlight of my day.  She put her arms around me and gave me a big hug. I turned my head to the side.  Mom could read me like a book.  She never missed the slightest sign of a problem.  She stepped back and with an expression of concern on her face, asked, "James, what's wrong? You're trembling."
 
Lying was something I was not familiar with.  Charlie and Susan often called me goodie-two-shoes for what they described as my brutal honesty.  I did not know any way to explain it other than to say truth was an intrinsic part of my personality.  Dad called it a character flaw.  He and Mom had many intense arguments over it.  Fortunately, at an early age, Mom taught me that while honesty was a good thing, it should always be accompanied by courtesy and presented with gentle kindness.  Somehow, I did not think her advice was going to be of much use tomorrow.
 
I looked Mom directly in the eye and said, "I'm fine.  I've been jogging and need a few minutes to relax.  I'll be okay after I take a shower."
 
Although it was obvious she did not believe a word I said, she chose not to pursue it further and just nodded.  Feigning a smile, I walked through the garage. Standing in the open doorway to the kitchen, I glanced at the workbench, instantly noticing the empty space where the tackle box belonged.
 
* * * * * *
 
From the kitchen, I heard the television blaring in the living room, confirming what I already knew; Dad was preparing for another forty-eight hour shift in his all too predictable manner, sitting in his favorite chair, holding the remote control in one hand and a beer in the other.  By dinnertime, he would be drunk, and his usual obnoxious behavior would be rolling over us like a tank on its daily search and destroy mission.
 
Even sober, Dad was tough on all of us.  However, Mom was his primary focus of ridicule.  No matter how spotless she kept the house or what she cooked for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, he always found something to criticize.  The mashed potatoes were too dry, the fried chicken too greasy, or the vegetables were overcooked. Listening to Mom constantly apologize infuriated me, but I learned long ago, standing up for her only made Dad more angry.
 
Despite bragging to his co-workers and neighbors about his 'genius' son, behind closed doors Dad never missed an opportunity to display his jealousy of me.  "What good is it to be so damn smart if you can't even get a date?" was one of his favorite put-downs.  However, pitting me against my younger brother Charlie is where Dad's cruelty knew no limit.  Charlie was only fourteen but stood nearly six-feet tall.  He was the captain of the wrestling team and a good student too.  Maybe not a genius, but take my word for it, one in the family is enough.  No matter how hard Charlie tried, Dad reminded him daily he would never be as smart as I was.  This did nothing to improve the already strained relationship between my brother and me.  Charlie worshiped Dad and, although never successful, he spent all his time and energy trying to win his approval.
 
Susan was Dad's favorite.  She could do no wrong.  But Susan was not a fool. Like Charlie, she worshiped Dad but tried to downplay his constant praise.  She also found his attention annoying.  He told her what to wear; whom she could date, took her shopping, telling Mom she had lousy taste in clothing.  He demanded to know where she was at all times and insisted on driving her to and from school every day.  Susan secretly complained to me about Dad's obsessive behavior, saying, "For God's sake, James.  I am seventeen years old and it is embarrassing to have Dad treat me like a ten-year-old."
 
Slipping past Dad without being seen was no problem.  Hidden behind the banister, I knelt on the top step of the stairs and stared down at him.  I tried to remember when I stopped loving him but realized I probably never did. Although he was an arrogant ass, there was not a single incident or behavior I had ever observed that even hinted that the man I was looking at was capable of killing anyone.  Verbal abuse was his forte; until now, violence had never been an issue.
 
I quietly walked down the hall, went into my bedroom and shut the door, making sure to lock it.  Sitting down at my computer, I typed in the word 'sociopath'.  It was clearly time to familiarize myself with the world of serial killers, sociopaths, and psychopaths.  It was going to be a very long night.
 
Opening the top desk drawer, I grabbed one of several unopened packages of over the counter antacids.  I stopped taking prescription medication for my ulcer months ago, but the events of the past few days had awakened the beast.
 
I ignored Mom when I heard her call from downstairs that dinner was ready. Assuming I was working on my dissertation, she knew it was best to leave me alone.  The thought of sitting at the table across from Dad was more than I could deal with. 
 
* * * * *
 
Staying up the entire night cramming my head with information on serial killers made it more and more apparent it was a subject few people knew much about. When I heard Dad's Humvee pull out of the driveway, I popped another antacid into my mouth, I got up and went downstairs.   Mom's cheerful "Good morning" went ignored as I walked out the back door.  

Sitting beneath the giant willow tree in the center of the backyard, I silently waited for all hell to break loose.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 3
Now What?

By Sasha


Not bothering to ask where I had been, Mom simply smiled, "Good morning sweetheart, you missed breakfast. Would you like me to fix you something?"
 
I shook my head.  "No thanks.  I'm not hungry."  Doing my best to avoid eye contact, I opened the cupboard above the stove and grabbed a glass.  "My stomach has been acting up again.  I'll just have a glass of milk."
 
Sitting at the kitchen table, I watched Mom in silence as she washed the dishes.  She was dressed in a neatly pressed brown skirt, white short sleeve blouse, and a blue apron with, of all things, ruffles around the edge. She looked like June Cleaver, Dad's idea of the perfect wife.  I tried, but I couldn't remember ever seeing Mom wearing pants, not even when she worked in the garden.  Occasionally I thought about it, but until now, I never paid much attention to how much control Dad had over all of us. Because it was always there, it seemed normal.  The reality that there was nothing normal about Dad caused my heart to race, pumping way too much adrenaline throughout my body.  Terrified Mom could hear my heart beating from across the room, I tried to focus on something, anything, except Dad.
 
The kitchen door swung open with a loud thud as it slammed against the wall. Charlie entered the room with a big grin on his face and wearing a sweat-drenched jogging suit with a towel around his neck.  Bouncing from foot to foot, he looked like a young Mohammed Ali. "I think I beat my own record."
 
I had no idea which record he was referring to since his goal was to be number one in anything that had to do with sports. Charlie continued to hop from one foot to the other as he bounced across the room to where Mom was standing and gave her a big hug. "Next year I think I'll try out for the track team."
 
As though the Devil himself were trying to torture me, Mom just had to say, "Oh, that would be wonderful.  I'm sure your dad will be pleased."
 
Unable to take any more, I got up and stomped out of the room. I glanced at my watch.  It was eleven o'clock.  Mac, where the hell are you?  I know it takes time to process Dad, but if you don't hurry up, I am going to have a heart attack!
 
My entire body shook, my stomach was on fire, and my head was about to explode.  I took a deep breath, held it inside for a moment, and then slowly exhaled.   Unaware I was speaking aloud, I said, "Calm down, James, you have to calm down."
 
"Talking to yourself now?"
 
The sound of Susan's voice startled me.  I turned around and saw her sitting on the couch, laughing at me.  "James, you really need to get out more."
 
I tried to smile but every muscle in my body was suddenly mush.  I slumped down into the chair and pretended to ignore her. Susan was having none of it.
 
"Listen, big brother, I am serious.  You are starting to lose it.  You spend way too much time alone in that room of yours doing God knows what.  You really need to find a hobby or something.  Even geniuses need to have fun once in a while."
 
Under any other circumstance or on any other day, this would just be another stupid once-sided conversation with Susan that I could brush off like an annoying piece of lint. Right now, all I wanted to do was scream, "SHUT UP!"  I looked at my watch again.  It was twelve-thirty.
 
Susan leaned forward and tapping her fingers on the glass coffee table to get my attention, said, "James, what's wrong? Did you and Charlie have another fight?"
 
Not in the mood to talk, I just shook my head.
 
"Come on, James, it's me, Susan.  I can read you like a book.  Tell me what's wrong."
 
Beneath Susan's soft voice and gentle demeanor lay a bulldog ready to strike at the slightest provocation.  Once she got her teeth into something, she held on for dear life.  I could tell by the tone of her voice and raised eyebrow, she wasn't going to leave me alone until I answered her.  Not this time, little sister. You're all going to find out soon enough and sure as hell, not from me. I'll leave that nasty task to Detective Mac, if the SOB ever gets here!
 
I continued to ignore Susan.  I got up, walked over to the living room window, and looked outside.   My heart skipped a beat and my chest tightened making it hard to breath when I saw two unmarked cars followed by a Seattle Police vehicle pull into the driveway. Without thinking, I blurted out, "OH SHIT!" in a very loud voice.
 
Unable to move, I remained staring out the window, letting Susan do the honors and answer the door.  Hearing the doorbell from the kitchen, both Mom and Charlie came into the room to greet our guests.  To my surprise, Detective Mac remained silent while Detective Acres extended his hand toward Mom, and in a noticeably official tone, said, "I am Detective Acres and," pointing to Mac, "this is my partner, Detective Mackinnon."
 
He paused briefly then said, "I am sorry to have to inform you that we have just arrested your husband and father, John Mathews for the murder of six women.  He is also a suspect in six additional unsolved murders."
 
He reached into his pocket, removed a folded sheet of paper, and handed it to Mom.  "This is a warrant allowing us to search your house and the surrounding property for any additional evidence."
 
Hearing the words 'additional evidence', Susan immediately turned to look at me.
 
In a voice filled with disbelief, Susan screamed, "James, you knew they were coming, didn't you?  What the hell have you done!"
 
Charlie ignored Susan and immediately started yelling at both Detective Acres and Mackinnon, "You have made a big mistake. There is no way my dad would hurt anyone.  I don't know what you think you know, but you're wrong."
 
Unable to control his temper, Charlie slammed his fist into the wall. Detective Mac finally spoke.  "Okay son, you need to calm down."
 
Obviously not intimidated, Charlie took a swing at Detective Mac who immediately grabbed Charlie's arm, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him against the wall.
 
"Like I said, Charlie, you need to calm down now!"
 
Always the one to keep everyone calm, Mom ran over to Charlie and put her arms around his neck, "Honey, this is hard for all of us. I am sure it is all a terrible mistake but we need to sit down and listen to what the detectives have to say so we can sort it all out."
 
Charlie pushed Mom away and, looking as though he wanted to hit Detective Mac again, grumbled, "Okay. I'll listen but there is nothing those assholes can say that will ever convince me that Dad's a killer."
 
It was pointless for me to deny I knew the police were coming, but I didn't feel it was the time or place for me to provide details of what I had found.  For now, I knew was best to let Detective Mac and Acres do all the talking.
 
Mom, Susan, and Charlie sat on the couch leaving me on the opposite side of the room sitting in Dad's chair.  Detective Acres did what he seemed to do best, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.  Detective Mac sat at the end of the coffee table facing all of us. He paused long enough to make sure he had our attention then began to speak.
 
"I'm not here to discuss the specifics of the case we have against Mr. Mathews.  However, I do think it is important that you know the evidence we have is significant.
 
Charlie immediately interrupted and demanded to know what evidence they had.
 
"I'm sorry but I cannot go into that with you.  However, I can say we have forensic evidence such as fibers, hair, and DNA that link Mr. Mathews to these crimes.  We have additional evidence that will be presented at a later time."
 
Susan shook her head and pointing an accusatory finger at Detective Mac, said in a sarcastic tone, "That's just a bunch of legal mumbo jumbo.  It doesn't mean a damn thing!"
 
No longer able to remain silent, I took a deep breath before speaking. "No, Susan, you are wrong.  They have enough evidence to convict Dad right now. They found things that prove it was him."
 
I started to shake and Detective Mac leaned over and placed his hand on my shoulder to steady me.
 
"James, you don't have to do this now…."
 
"Do what now?" Charlie demanded.
 
As I looked at my family, I felt tears trickling down my cheeks.  I got up from my chair and with both hands wiped the tears from my face.  In a voice filled with noticeable terror and shame said, "I found some photographs that Dad had taken.  They were hidden in his tackle box along with a ring, a necklace, and watch."
 
Confused, Charlie asked, "Okay. Dad had some photographs and jewelry.  So what?"
 
I completely lost it.  The anger and guilt I had been trying to control for days burst like a broken dam.  "Jesus Christ, Charlie! They were photographs of bound, gagged, dead girls.  It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know what they were."
 
Susan stood up and in an agitated and angry voice said, "You took the photographs to the police without talking to us first?  You sold Dad out!"
 
"No, Susan.  Dad murdered those girls.  He sold himself out."
 
Charlie kicked the table and glared at me.  "I can't believe you would turn Dad in. How could you betray him like that?" 
 
Charlie's eyes welled up with tears, he shook his head, and unable to hide his anger he yelled, "I never want to speak to you again!"
 
Detective Mac stood up.  "This is getting us nowhere.  In less than three hours, this is going to be on the six o'clock news. Everyone in the city, state, and country is going to know John Mathews is the Belltown Killer. Whether you realize it or not, your lives are never going to be the same. We need to get you to a safe place where the television, newspaper, and magazine reporters can't get to you.  Believe me, the last thing you want is your picture plastered on the front page of the Seattle PI or on the Eleven O'clock News.  You are going to have every tabloid in the country fighting to get to you.  Whether or not you believe your father is guilty is not the issue right now.  That is something you will have to decide for yourselves later. What you need to do now is formulate a plan to get the hell out of Dodge."
 
Detective Mac had clearly been in this situation before and this take-charge attitude impressed me.
 
"You cannot stay here.   We have a team of forensics ready to go over the house from top to bottom so you will need to find somewhere else to stay. Beside, reporters will be camped on your front lawn for the next month.  You are going to need to get yourself a good lawyer to both protect your rights and act as your spokesman.  I highly recommend you talk to a professional.  If you don't, I guarantee you, as a family, won't get through this intact."
 
I doubted anyone, except me, heard a word Detective Mac said.
 
Mom just stared out the window. Charlie gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. Susan just sat on the couch staring at her feet.
 
I knew Mom loved Dad and I wondered if she could ever accept the truth about him.  I wondered if any of them could.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 3
Detective MacKinnon

By Sasha

James recalls the day he discovered the evidence proving his father is a killer.
 


I was searching for a screwdriver in the garage when I mistakenly opened Dad’s tackle box.  It was an honest mistake; they looked similar in size and color.  As I stared at the handmade fishing lures left to rust, unused for years, a wave of nostalgia came over me.  I recalled how much Charlie and I dreaded weekend trips to Dad’s father’s cabin in Arlington.  Calling it a cabin was a joke.  I found it hard to believe that anyone ever lived in that rundown, pathetic excuse for a home.  The trips to the cabin began a few weeks after his father died, and then stopped abruptly after only a few months.  I always assumed going to the cabin triggered sad memories for Dad, and I chose not to question him about it. 
 
I removed the top tray and noticed two clear, plastic bags lying beneath several unopened packages of fishing line.  Curious, I removed the bags and emptied the contents of one on the metal workbench.  I thought it strange to find jewelry stored in with old fishing gear.  However, when I opened the second bag, I was unprepared to see several horrific photographs of a number of young girls covered in blood, bound in duct tape.   It did not take a rocket scientist to know the photographs were real.  I looked at the jewelry again, and saw what appeared to be dried blood and hair and immediately realized I was holding the same bracelet worn by one of the girls in the photographs.
 
For more than five years, Seattle and the surrounding area had been terrorized by a series of unsolved murders.  Although each girl came from a different part of town, their bodies were found in Belltown, a quiet section of old Seattle.  The victims had no history of drug or alcohol abuse and came from reputable families.  Other than the similarity in age, background, and physical appearance, they appeared to have nothing in common.  The city was in a panic.  The police formed a special task force, but even after five years, the identity of the Belltown Killer remained a mystery.
 
A cold shiver ran up my spine, realizing my sister, Susan, fit the profile of the victims perfectly.  She was pretty, sixteen, had long naturally blonde hair; she was an excellent student at the local high school and had a steady boyfriend.  Suddenly I felt sick to my stomach.  My hands shook violently as I placed the bracelet and photographs back into the plastic bags.  Still shaking, I put the plastic bags into my backpack, opened the car door, and placed it and the toolbox on the passenger seat.  I got into the car and drove directly to the police department.  I prayed Dad was not the killer, but if he was, he had to be stopped.
 
I find it fascinating, any doubt I had about Dad being the killer only lasted a few seconds.  To me, the photographs and jewelry posed questions that led to only one conclusion.  To his friends and the neighbors, Dad was a kind, intelligent man.  They saw him as a devoted husband and a dedicated father.  He was a real hero with dozens of awards for saving numerous lives over his seventeen-year career as a Seattle firefighter.  Although he had never raised a hand against my mother, sister, brother, or me, he was a closet drunk, and his need for total control, bordered on obsession.  None of this made him a killer, but I could not ignore what I had found.
 
I had driven by the police station many times without once giving it a second thought.  Until today, I never had a reason to go inside. I left the backpack and toolbox locked inside the car.  I entered the building and walked up to the counter where an officer sat behind a window.  Pointing to the clipboard on the counter, he said, “Sign in, last name first.”
 
He then asked me to empty my pockets and when I asked why, he simply replied, “Rules.”
 
I placed my keys, wallet, and the two plastic bags on the counter.  Barely looking at them, he handed them back, then pointed to an empty chair across the room.  “Have a seat.  Someone will be out in a few minutes to speak with you.”
 
I heard a buzzing sound followed by a loud click just before the door next to the counter opened allowing a female officer to exit.  Above the door was a sign in bold black letters that read, ‘Authorized Personnel only’.  I sat down and impatiently waited to speak to someone.
 
Within a few minutes, I heard the same buzz followed by a click and the door opened again.  Two men dressed in cheap wrinkled suits, white shirts, and wearing similar red ties, walked toward me.  The taller of the two spoke first.
 
“Hello, James.  My name is Detective John MacKinnon, but you can call me Detective Mac.”  Pointing to the man beside him, he said, “This is my partner, Detective Acres.”
 
The thought of someone naming his or her son Detective seemed humorous, and I felt myself start to laugh.  My habit of laughing when I was nervous had gotten me into trouble before, and I desperately fought the urge to express my inappropriate amusement knowing I would look like an idiot.
 
Detective Mac intentionally ignored my nervous twitch.  “So, you think you have some information that will help identify the Belltown Killer.”
 
Suddenly thrust back into the dark world of reality, I nodded.
 
Detective Mac signaled the officer behind the counter with a wave of his hand.  The annoying buzzer sounded again.  Detective Acres held the door open as I followed Detective Mac down the long hallway.  He stopped in front of Interrogation Room 3, opened the door, and pointing to a table and chair in the center of the room, told me to have a seat.
 
The room had a small window covered with wire and a large mirror on the wall, obviously for observers.   It looked as though it was from the set of a cheap, outdated movie set.  There wasn’t even a clock on the wall for the poor sucker who, unlike me, probably did not have a watch.
 
I sat down at the table across from Detective Mac.  Detective Acres remained standing with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall.
 
After several seconds of painful silence, Detective Mac asked in a voice filled with doubt, “Okay, James.  What information do you think you have that will solve a case ten detectives have been working on for more than five years?”
 
Not in the mood for a duel of wits, I leaned back in my chair, and told him what I found in my father’s tackle box.  I handed Mac the two plastic bags and gave Detective Acres the keys to my car.  They both ran out of the room like a two rabbits chased by the devil.
 
I sat in the interrogation room for more than an hour before Detective Mac returned.  His face was pale, and his expression spoke volumes.  “It will take a while for forensics to provide more information.  However, all six of the photographs have been positively identified as victims of the Belltown killer.”
 
Although I knew in my heart that Dad was the killer, hearing it said aloud was more than I could take.  The room began to spin.  I felt Detective Mac grab me before my head hit the floor.


* * * * *
 
Suddenly finding myself in the middle of a case I had only read about in the papers and reported on the news, was overwhelming.  The realization my father was the prime suspect in at least twelve vicious murders brought my usual mundane life to a complete halt.  The most difficult aspect was I could not tell anyone.  Detective Mac made it clear that while they had enough evidence to bring Dad in for questioning, they had to wait for forensics to confirm what we already suspected.  DNA would take the longest.  It is not like CSI; no matter how urgent the case, the results do not come in overnight.
 
I was torn between knowing I had done the right thing, and the reality that what I was doing could destroy my family.  The guilt I felt grew with every passing minute.  Detective Mac appeared to sympathize with what I was experiencing.
  
I knew the police had DNA from all the victims, and matching what was found on the jewelry and plastic bags to any of them was vital if they were to connect Dad to the murders. Although I asked, Detective Mac would not tell me if there was any unidentified DNA on any of the victims that could potentially be matched to Dad.  As a firefighter, Dad's fingerprints were on file and identified as those found on the photographs as well as on the plastic bags.

With nothing left to do but wait, Detective Mac told me to go home, saying he would call me later.

Unable to sleep or go to school, I spent every minute of the following three days thinking about the case.  I drove Detective Mac crazy with so many phone calls he stopped answering the phone.  When I showed up at the police station two days in a row refusing to leave until I spoke with him, he finally gave in and agreed to keep me apprised of what was going on.
     
“James, I am breaking all the rules by talking to you, so if you don’t want to end up on the wrong end of my gun, you will keep your mouth shut and not repeat anything I tell you.”
 
Although there was nothing funny about the situation, my nervous twitch kicked in, and without thinking I laughed and said, “Only if you promise to give me my own personal badge.”
 
Detective Mac stared at me with a blank expression on his face before suddenly bursting out laughing.  He then patted me on the back affectionately and said, “James, I cannot imagine the hell you must be experiencing.  I think what you are doing is truly brave.”
 
I knew his comment did not require an answer, but I shrugged and said, “You know I can’t even remember why I was looking for that damn screwdriver.”
 
Detective Mac’s pager went off and without saying anything, he left the room.  He returned twenty minutes later.  His face became flushed and he began breathing rapidly.
 
“James, the blood and hair on some the jewelry match three of the victims and the jewelry has been positively identified as belonging to four of the victims.  The judge is issuing an arrest warrant as we speak.”

My heart sank, and I felt the knot in my stomach tighten sending a wave of burning acid up into my throat.  Detective Mac asked me if I was okay.
 
I shook my head and with tears in my eyes, said, “Hell no.”
 
Feigning a smile, I asked, “What happens now?”
 
“We’ve had your dad under constant surveillance for the past three days.  He is scheduled for a forty-eight hour shift starting at ten o’clock tomorrow.  We plan to arrest him after he leaves home and before he arrives at work.”
 
Knowing Mom, Charlie, and Susan would not have to witness Dad’s arrest did nothing to lessen the guilt I felt.   

Detective Mac continued, “Although we will be there, SWAT is going to make the arrest.  They will take him to King County Jail, and Detective Acres and I will question him there.”
 
I chuckled.  “He isn’t going to talk to you or anyone.  Take my word for it.”
Detective Mac agreed.  “If he is half as smart as I think he is, he will ask for a lawyer and remain silent.”
 
He paused to let the reality of what was happening sink in before telling me to go home.  “James, you need to be with your family now.  Tomorrow is going to be the worst day of their lives.  They are going to be upset, confused, and angry.  I know from experience it isn’t going to be easy for them to accept that the man they thought they knew is not only a stranger, but a killer as well.”
 
I sat in the car holding the keys in my trembling hand.  My heart raced. I leaned back and closed my eyes. I felt the lump in my throat grow with each heartbeat. Barely able to breathe, I felt my chest suddenly heave.  Unable to stop the sobs fighting to get out, I cried until there were no tears left to shed.  I was worried about Mom, Susan, and Charlie. I had no idea what to say to them. We all knew Dad could be an ass, but Charles and Susan worshiped him.  He was their hero.
 
From where I sat, I knew most of the anger would be directed at me. I had no doubt they would see me as a traitor, the son of a bitch who led the police to the one man they would never believe was a killer.  
 
I inserted the key into the ignition, started the engine, and took the long route driving home.  After tonight, life as we knew it would never be the same.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory* has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 4
Dad's Arrest

By Sasha











Not bothering to ask why I had been sitting under the willow tree in the backyard all morning, Mom simply smiled, and said, "Good morning sweetheart, you missed breakfast. Would you like me to fix you something?"
 
I shook my head.  "No thanks.  I'm not hungry."  Doing my best to avoid eye contact, I opened the cupboard above the stove and grabbed a clean glass. "My stomach has been acting up again.  I'll just have a glass of milk."
 
Sitting at the kitchen table, I watched Mom in silence as she finished washing the dishes. She was dressed in a neatly pressed brown skirt, white short-sleeve blouse, and a blue apron with, of all things, ruffles around the edge. She looked like June Cleaver, Dad's idea of the perfect wife.  I tried, but I could not remember ever seeing Mom wear pants, not even when she worked in the garden.  Until now, I never paid much attention to how much control Dad had over all of us.  Because it was always there, it seemed normal.  Thinking about him caused my heart to race, pumping way too much adrenaline throughout my body. Terrified Mom could hear my heart beating from across the room I tried to focus on something else, anything, except my father.
 
The kitchen door swung open with a loud thud as it slammed against the wall. Charlie entered the room with a big grin on his face.  He was wearing a sweat-drenched jogging suit with a towel draped around his neck.  Bouncing from foot to foot, he looked like a young Mohammed Ali. 
 
"I think I beat my own record."
 
I had no idea which record Charlie was referring to since his goal was to be number one in anything that had to do with sports. He continued to hop from one foot to the other as he bounced across the room over to where Mom was standing and gave her a loving hug. "Next year I think I'll try out for the track team."
 
As though the Devil was trying to torture me, Mom just had to say, "That’s terrific.  Your dad will be pleased."
 
Unable to take any more, I got up and stomped out of the room. I glanced at my watch.  It was eleven o'clock.  Mac, where the hell are you?  I know it takes time to process Dad, but if you don't hurry up, I am going to have a heart attack!
 
My entire body shook.  My stomach was on fire, and my head was about to explode.  I took a deep breath, held it inside for a moment, and then slowly exhaled. Unaware I was speaking aloud, I said, "Damn it, James, calm down, you have to calm down."
 
"Talking to yourself now?"

The sound of Susan's voice startled me.  I turned around and saw her sitting on the couch, laughing at me.  "James, you seriously need to get out more."
 
I tried to smile, but every muscle in my face was mush.  I slumped down into the chair and pretended to ignore her.  Susan was not done.
 
"Listen, big brother, I am serious.  You are starting to lose it.  You spend way too much time alone in that room of yours doing God knows what.  You seriously need to find a hobby or something.  Even geniuses need to have fun once in a while."
 
Under any other circumstance or on any other day, this would just be another stupid one-sided conversation with Susan that I could brush off like an annoying piece of lint. Right now, all I wanted to do was tell her to shut up.  I looked at my watch again.  It was eleven-twenty.
 
Susan leaned forward, and tapping her fingers on the glass coffee table to get my attention, said, "James, what's wrong? Did you and Marcy have a fight?
 
Hearing Marcy’s name knocked the wind out of me.  The reality that my girlfriend would soon learn I was the son of a serial killer, caused the knot in my stomach to tighten, sending a burning pain up into my throat.  If I could not tell Marcy about Dad, I was not about to tell Susan.
 
"Come on, James, it's me, Susan.  I can read you like a book.  Tell me what's wrong."
 
Beneath Susan's soft voice lay a bulldog ready to strike at the slightest provocation. Once she got her teeth into something, she held on for dear life. I could tell by the tone of her voice and raised eyebrow, she was not going to leave me alone until I answered her.  Not this time, little sister, you're all going to find out soon enough and sure as hell, not from me. I'll leave that nasty task to Detective Mac, if the SOB ever gets here!
 
I continued to ignore Susan.  I got up, walked over to the living room window, and looked outside.   My heart skipped a beat and my chest tightened when I saw two unmarked cars followed by a Seattle Police vehicle pull into the driveway. Without thinking, I blurted out, "OH SHIT, THEY’RE HERE!"
 
Unable to move, I continued staring out the window, leaving the task of answering the door to Susan.  Hearing the doorbell from the kitchen, Mom and Charlie came into the room to greet the unexpected guests. 
To my surprise, Detective Mac remained silent while Detective Acres extended his hand toward Mom, and in a noticeably official tone, said, "I am Detective Acres and," pointing to Mac, "this is my partner, Detective Mackinnon."
 
He paused briefly then said, "I am sorry to have to inform you, we have just arrested your husband, John Mathews, for the murder of six women.  He is also a suspect in six additional murders."

He reached into his pocket, removed a folded sheet of paper, and handed it to Mom.  "This is a warrant allowing us to search your house and the surrounding property for any additional evidence."
 
Hearing the words additional evidence, Susan immediately turned to look at me.
 
In a voice filled with disbelief, Susan screamed, "James, you knew they were coming, didn't you?  What the hell have you done?"
 
Charlie ignored Susan and immediately started yelling at both Detective Acres and Mackinnon, "You have made a big mistake. There’s no way my dad would hurt anyone.  I don't know what you think you know, but you're wrong."
 
Unable to control his temper, Charlie slammed his fist into the wall. Detective Mac finally spoke.  "Okay son, you need to calm down."
 
Obviously not intimidated, Charlie took a swing at Detective Mac who immediately grabbed Charlie's arm, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him against the wall.
 
"Like I said, you need to calm down now!"
 
Always the one to keep everyone calm, Mom ran over to Charlie and put her arms around his neck, "Honey, this is hard for all of us. I am sure it is all a terrible mistake, but we need to sit down and listen to what the detectives have to say so we can sort it all out."
 
Charlie pushed Mom away and, looking as though he wanted to hit Detective Mac again, grumbled, "Okay, I'll listen, but there is nothing those assholes can say that will ever convince me Dad's a killer."
 
It was pointless for me to deny I knew the police were coming, but I did not feel it was the time or place for me to provide details of what I had found. For now, it was best to let Detectives Mac and Acres do all the talking.
 
Mom, Susan, and Charlie sat on the couch leaving me on the opposite side of the room sitting in Dad's chair.  Detective Acres did what he seemed to do best, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.  Detective Mac sat at the end of the coffee table facing all of us. He paused long enough to make sure he had our attention then began to speak.
 
"I'm not here to discuss the specifics of the case we have against Mr. Mathews.  However, it is crucial you know the evidence we have is significant.
 
Charlie immediately interrupted and demanded to know what evidence they had.
 
"I'm sorry, but I cannot go into that with you.  However, I can say, we have forensic evidence such as fibers, hair, and DNA that link Mr. Mathews to these crimes.  We have additional evidence that will be presented at a later time."
 
Susan shook her head, and while pointing an accusatory finger at Detective Mac, said in a sarcastic tone, "That's just a bunch of legal mumbo jumbo.  It doesn't mean a damn thing!"
 
No longer able to remain silent, I took a deep breath before speaking. "No, Susan, you are wrong.  They have enough evidence to convict Dad right now. They found things that prove it was him."
 
I started to shake.  Detective Mac leaned over and placed his hand on my shoulder to steady me.
 
"James, you don't have to do this now."
 
"Do what now?" Charlie demanded.
 
As I looked at my family, I saw tears trickling down their cheeks.   In a voice filled with noticeable shame, I said, "I found some photographs that Dad had taken.  They were hidden in his tackle box along with a ring, necklace and watch."
 
Confused, Charlie asked, "Okay. Dad had some photographs and jewelry.  So what?"
 
I totally lost it.  The anger and guilt I had been trying to control for days burst like a broken dam.  "Jesus Christ, Charlie! They were photographs of bound, gagged, dead girls.  It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know what they were."
 
Susan stood up and in an agitated and angry voice said, "You took the photographs to the police without talking to us first?  You sold Dad out!"
 
"No, Susan.  Dad murdered those girls.  He sold himself out."
 
Charlie kicked the table and glared at me.  "I can't believe you would turn Dad in. How could you betray him like that?" 
 
Charlie's eyes welled up with tears; he shook his head, and unable to hide his anger he yelled, "I never want to speak to you again!"
 
Detective Mac stood up.  "This is getting us nowhere.  In less than four hours, this is going to be on the five o'clock news. Everyone in the city, state, and the country is going to know John Mathews is the Belltown Killer. Whether you realize it or not, your lives are never going to be the same. We need to get you to a safe place where the television, newspaper, and magazine reporters can't get to you.  Believe me, the last thing you want is your picture plastered across the front page of the newspaper or on the Eleven O'clock News.  You are about to have every tabloid in the country fighting to get to you. Whether or not you believe your father is guilty is not the issue now. That is something you will have to decide for yourselves later. What you need to do now is formulate a plan to get the hell out of Dodge."
 
Detective Mac had clearly been in this situation before and this take-charge attitude impressed me.
 
"You cannot stay here.   A forensic team is prepared to go over the house from top to bottom, so you will need to find somewhere else to stay. Beside, reporters will be camped on your front lawn for the next month.  You will also need to get yourself a reputable lawyer to both protect your rights and act as your spokesman.  If you don't, I guarantee, as a family, you will not get through this intact."
 
I doubted anyone, except me, heard a word Detective Mac said.
 
Mom stared out the window. Charlie gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. Susan just sat on the couch staring at her feet.
 
Accepting the truth about Dad was not going to be easy for them.  I wondered if they ever would. 

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 4
Mr. Hurley

By Sasha

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong language.

Sitting in a hotel room forced to listen to an inept therapist tell me what I already knew, put me in an emotional category way beyond annoyed. Of course, I am angry.  Of course I am confused, and yes, I am pissed off, frustrated, and want to scream.  However, she is definitely wrong to tell me I feel guilty. I could only describe watching my family disintegrate before my eyes as pure, unadulterated sadness.  After seeing the photographs, guilt never entered the picture.
 
I sat silently looking over at Mom lying on the couch, curled up into a fetal position.  I could see shock and disbelief written on her face in capital letters; it oozed from every pore.  I wanted to hug her and tell her everything was going to be fine, but that was a lie.  To say anything would just validate the horrific nightmare she was experiencing.  I had already done enough to destroy her carefully constructed, 'perfect' world. I wondered if she, Charlie, or Susan would ever see Dad for who he really was; a vicious, sick, pathetic killer.  
 
Dad had done his job well.  He was a true chameleon.  From the day we were born, he meticulously brainwashed us into seeing him as the perfect father. We blindly accepted his robotic and calculated manipulation of us. Behind closed doors, he was a demanding, critical, and unrelenting taskmaster.  To the neighbors and his co-workers he was a loving father and perfect husband.  He attended all of Charlie's wrestling matches, cheered him on with embarrassing enthusiasm, patted him on the back, and praised him when he won.  However, once home, he would force Charlie to sit for hours as he tore apart every move he had made, demanding nothing less than perfection the next time.
 
He was the same guy who openly hugged me when, three years in a row, I was named student of the year but laughed and taunted me in private because I preferred solitude to the company of people my own age.  He took particular joy in reminding me I was a boring nerd no girl would ever want to go out with.
 
Dad never openly criticized Susan, but his obsession with controlling every aspect of her life was creating friction between them.  Susan obviously loved Dad, but she was a normal teenager who was ready to spread her wings.
 
I was relieved when I heard a knock on the door.  Without appearing rude, I could finally take a break from having to listen to a trauma specialist who was more boring than my physics professor.
 
When I opened the door and saw Detective Mac standing beside the fattest man I had ever seen, I burst out laughing—damn nerves again— and I couldn't resist the urge to say, "Laurel and Hardy, I presume."
 
Detective Mac smiled and said, "Very funny, James. I'd like you to meet Mr. Hurley; he's the attorney I told you and your mother about."
 
Charlie immediately came to life.  Still angry, he snapped at Detective Mac.  "I told you we don't need an attorney. We didn't do anything wrong."
 
To no ones surprise, Mom quickly interrupted. "Please excuse Charlie and James. They are both tired.  It's been a long, hard, and frustrating day for all of us."
 
Mom's June Cleaver routine was really beginning to annoy me.
 
Pointing at the table and chairs in front of the sliding glass door, Mom offered both men a seat.
 
Realizing our therapy session was over, the woman, whose name I had already forgotten, handed Mom several business cards and said, "I encourage you to call me any time, day or night if you have any questions or just need someone to talk to."
 
Mom thanked her, placed the cards on the coffee table, and practically shoved the woman out the door. Definitely not something Mrs. Cleaver would do.  Leaning against the closed door and looking at Detective Mac, Mom sighed.  "If I had to listen to that woman for five more minutes, I swear I would have screamed.  Is she really the best you guys can do?"
 
This was a side of Mom I had not seen before and I liked it.
 
Detective Mac shrugged and with a grin on his face said apologetically, "Probably."
 
Turning toward Mr. Hurley, Detective Mac gave a polite little salute and said goodbye.  "I'll leave you guys alone.  I'm sure you have a ton of questions and don't need me getting in the way."
 
Mom raised her hand to signal she had something to say.  "Detective Mac, do you know how long it will be before we can go home and get some of our clothes?"
 
"First of all, drop Detective and just call me Mac. I know we are not friends and you probably think of me as the enemy…."
 
Charlie laughed sarcastically and said, "Damn straight!"
 
Mom glared at him and in a loud voice said, "Shut up, Charlie. You are being rude again."
 
Mac continued.  "You won't be able to go home for a while. I'm sorry, but as long as your house is being treated as a crime scene, it is off limits. Maybe, in a few days, we can arrange for an officer to go to the house with you so you can pick up a few things.  In the meantime, I'm sure Mr. Hurley can arrange for you and your family to go shopping for a change of clothes, toothpaste, hair brush, you know, whatever you may need."
 
I didn't like the idea of a stranger going through my room, manhandling my personal belongings looking for evidence.  I could tell from the expression on her face, Mom didn't like the idea either but had clearly resigned herself to the fact that she had no control over anything the police were going to do.  She simply nodded. "Thank you for finding us a quiet place to stay."
 
Charlie, still pissed, added, "Yeah, this is great. I've always wanted to stay at the Holiday Inn. It's perfect.  It has a pool and room service. It'll be like a real vacation."
 
Angry, Mom snapped her fingers.  "Knock it off, Charlie.  We're having a hard enough time as it is without your obnoxious attitude."
 
As soon as Mac left, Mom, Charlie, and I stood silently staring at the floor. The moment we arrived at the hotel, Susan locked herself in one of the two bedrooms and she hadn't come out since. Mom walked over to the  bedroom door and knocked on it.  "Susan, you need to come out now. We have to talk."
 
After Mom asked politely, three times, Susan finally opened the door and with eyes red and swollen from crying, walked into the room and, without speaking, sat down on the couch.
 
Still not knowing what to say, the four of us just stared at the very fat man sitting at the table staring back at us.
 
Mr. Hurley reached over and picked up the phone. He dialed room service and ordered two pots of coffee, eight hamburgers, fries, and enough Coke and Sprite for a family of ten.  After hanging up the phone he smiled and said, "Pretty rough day, wouldn't you say?"
 
I laughed, Susan started to cry, Charlie kicked the chair, and Mom just nodded.
 
* * * * *
.
After an hour of playing questions and answers, even Charlie agreed he was glad we had an attorney.  It didn't take long for all of us to realize we had entered foreign territory and needed a professional to guide us through the myriad of unknowns lying behind every door, just waiting to trip us up.
 
The first thing Mr. Hurley made clear was that under no circumstances were we to speak to the media.
 
"Newspaper and television reporters are all going to want to speak to you. They will pretend to be your friend so they can get an interview with one of you. Newspapers will sell more papers, the TV stations get more viewers, and you end up looking like an idiot or worse, misquoted.  I don't know how to make it any clearer other than to say, do not talk to reporters!"
 
The second rule was, "Do not talk about the case with anyone. If the police need to speak to you, make sure they call me first. You don't talk to anyone without me in the room with you."
 
"Why?" Charlie asked.  "What difference does it make? We don't know anything."
 
Charlie's anger and frustration suddenly returned.  He sat forward, and in a loud voice demanded to know why the police arrested Dad.
 
Mr. Hurley shook his head before responding. "Charlie, the evidence they have against your dad is compelling.  If I were his attorney, I would be remiss if I didn't advise him to confess and try to make a plea agreement."
 
"So, you are saying Dad's guilty."  Susan's voice was shaky and tears were streaming down her cheeks again. Mom reached over to put her arms around her, but Susan pushed her away.  I was becoming annoyed with both Susan and Charlie's treatment of Mom.  Without realizing it, they were both responding the way Dad had taught them.  He was the one to lean on, the one to turn to for comfort, not Mom.  Her job was to keep a clean house, fix dinner, and make sure meals were prepared on time. Neither Charlie nor Susan understood that those days were gone forever.
 
"Can you tell us what evidence they have?" I paused and, looking at Charlie, Susan, and Mom before adding, "Beside the photographs and jewelry I found."
 
Mr. Hurley shook his head.  "You don't need to hear the grisly details right now. You are all still in shock…."
 
"No, that's not acceptable!" Charlie yelled.  "Dad's in jail.  The whole fucking world has already convicted him, no one will tell us a damn thing, and you expect us to just sit here and quietly wait until you decide we are ready to hear the so-called 'grisly' details.  Well, screw you, Mr. Hurley. I want to know everything, and I want to know it now!"
 
Mr. Hurley looked over at Mom, who silently nodded, apparently giving him permission to speak.
 
Mr. Hurley hesitated briefly then shrugged.  "Okay, if that is what you want."

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.

I somehow disabled my spell check (I didn't even know that was possible) and Eddie is just not cooperating...he keeps telling me I misspelled, Mr. So, I apologize ahead for the misspelled words I may have missed...as for punctuation, most of you already know I flunked that course in grade school.


Chapter 5
The Evidence

By Sasha

Susan did not bother to hide her anger over what she described as my betrayal of Dad. Mom looked like a beaten puppy and Charlie's hateful glares only confirmed my fear the family was on the verge of disintegrating before my eyes.
 
I took a seat at the table across from Mr. Hurley.  When Charlie poured himself a cup of coffee, I noticed he did not add his usual cream and sugar.  I could only interpret this as his way of showing loyalty by drinking his coffee black, the way Dad did.
 
Mr. Hurley leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his thick, grey hair. He peered over his glasses, staring at the wall behind us, appearing to weigh the severity of what he was about to say. I wanted to tell him to hurry up, but I remained silent.  At the same time, my gut told me maybe he was right and we weren't ready to hear the gory details.
 
Finally, he leaned forward, sucked in a loud deep breath, and sounding more like a robot than an attorney, exhanled then began to speak.
 
"Now, before I get into the specifics of the case against your father, I need to address a few issues. First, Charlie, you need to check your temper and attitude at the door. Appearing as an obnoxious and rude hooligan is not going to win you or your family any points with the public who are going to be out for blood.  Although I want each of you to keep a low profile, you need to be seen as a polite, composed, and united family; not a group of out of control teenagers throwing temper tantrums. Your behavior reflects on your image which, whether you like it or not, in a few hours, is going to be public domain.
 
"Second, but equally important, you need to back off with the rude and sarcastic tone with Detective MacKinnon. Mac and I have been friends for several years.  He is an honest, hard working and honorable man whose only intent is finding the truth.  He is not out to get your father or try to make a name for himself by arresting the first suspect he finds.
 
"The minute he was assigned this case, he stopped working for the city and began working for the victims. He is neither for nor against your father. He has no choice but to go where the evidence takes him. Despite your negative opinion, he does not manipulate evidence to fit a suspect. If he found anything that would eliminate your father as a suspect, believe me, Detective MacKinnon would be the first to speak up.
 
"It was Mac who came to me and asked if I could help your family.  He knows how the system works, especially the scrutiny you will all be facing by an angry public looking to you for answers to questions you won't have the answers to.  You will also have to deal with an out of control media looking for anything, and I do mean anything, to print about you or your father.
 
"Although he didn't break any rules, Mac is walking a fine line. He cannot, and will not, discuss any aspect of this case with you.  At some point he may feel the need to ask you some questions, but he is under no obligation to answer any of yours."
 
I wasn't sure where all this was headed, and listening to Mr. Hurley describe Mac as an honest and honorable man, felt awkward. I was uncomfortable admitting to myself, or to the world for that matter, that I liked the man who was trying to put my father in prison for the rest of his life. This was a secret I did not intend to share with anyone.
 
Anxious to get to the point, I took advantage of Mr. Hurley's pause and asked again, "In addition to the photos and jewelry, what is the evidence against Dad?"
 
Mr. Hurley waited a few seconds before responding.
 
"After Mac came to me, I spoke to Allen Ross, your father's attorney.  Your father has given me permission to discuss certain aspects of the case against him with you…."
 
Apparently confused, Charlie interrupted to ask, "Why do you need his permission and what do you mean when you say you can only discuss 'certain aspects' of the case?"
 
"Allen is my partner and as such, we discussed the case prior to my agreeing to represent you.  Although I am not your father's attorney, I must respect the attorney client privilege between your father and Allen.  Now that I am your attorney, I will have no further access to information; however, what I already know can only be repeated with your father's permission."
 
Still confused, Charlie asked, "Are you saying there are some things Dad doesn't want you to tell us?"
 
Mr. Hurley nodded. "Yes. I can tell you about most of the evidence but I am not permitted to discuss what your father told the police."
 
"Why?"  I asked.
 
Mr. Hurley shook his head and said, "I cannot answer that."
 
I didn't like, or understand, the strange constraints Dad put on what Mr. Hurley could or could not tell us.  However, having no choice in the matter, I was forced to wait for him to continue.
 
Mr. Hurley stared at all of us for a moment, then asked, "Are you sure you want all the details?"
 
Looking like four puppets connected by the same string, we all nodded simultaneously.
 
Mr. Hurley did the same and sounding like he was reading from an invisible script, he began to tell us what we did not want to know.
 
"At ten o'clock this morning, your father was arrested at the corner of South Carnation and East Albertson, two blocks from your house.  He immediately invoked his right to remain silent and asked for an attorney.  The police took him downtown to King County Jail. He was arraigned at King County Court house at one o'clock, pleaded not guilty, and was returned to jail at two-fifteen.  He is currently under a court ordered hold, meaning no one can visit or speak to him, other than his attorney, for 72-hours.  And, before you ask, because he is charged with a capital offense, he will not be getting out on bail."
 
All this was very interesting but didn't tell any of us what evidence the police had on Dad.  As though reading my mind, Mr. Hurley continued.
 
"Although he is charged with six murders, the police suspect your father has killed a total of twelve young girls."
 
Unable to remain quiet any longer, I pounded on the table and in a voice far louder than I expected, said, "Wait!  Mac told me himself that all eight photographs I found were positively identified as Belltown Murder victims.  So, why is he only charged with six murders?"
 
"Sorry, James, I cannot answer that at this time. You need to be patient.  I promise, in time all your questions will be answered."
 
My stomach was on fire. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a new package of antacids. I popped one into my mouth and waited for Mr. Hurley to continue.
 
"As I already said, your father has been charged with six murders and the police are investigating his involvement in six more.  Each victim was killed in the same manner. The pathologist determined none of the victims was sexually assaulted but each was tortured before death, suggesting the perpetrator had a secluded place where he was able to hold the victims for an unknown period.  The police have yet to learn the location of this place.
 
"Forensics has determined the killer is left-handed and used a six-inch hunting knife with a serrated edge. Hairs, fibers, and DNA, were found on rope, tape, and clothing left at the dumpsites. Forensic tests reveal the DNA came from a single suspect.  The police also found matching boot prints at three of the dumpsites."
 
As though asking for permission to continue, Mr. Hurley glanced at me for a moment, and then cleared his throat before going on.
 
"Five days ago, James went into the garage looking for a screwdriver.  Opening your father's tackle box by mistake, he found two plastic bags containing eight photographs later identified as victims of the Belltown Killer.  James also found jewelry positively identified as belonging to four of the victims. Blood and hair found on the jewelry belonged to three of the victims.  Your father's fingerprints have already been identified as those on both plastic bags."
 
Mr. Hurley paused to allow what he had just said to sink in.
 
"It is just a matter of time before the results of the DNA and fibers found are linked to your father as well."
 
Susan put her arms around Mom's neck and started to cry. Hugging each other, they both began to sob uncontrollably.
 
Charlie buried his face in his hands and tried to hide the sobs coming from deep inside his chest.  I felt a large lump stick in my throat as a painful sadness welled up in my chest, but the tears did not appear. They were there, I feltl them; I just couldn't find a way to release them.  I looked at Mr. Hurley and praying he would say no, I asked, "Is there anything else we should know?"
 
He nodded and took a deep breath before speaking.  "Yes, after arresting your father, the police confiscated his car and took it downtown as part of the investigation. In the trunk they found his kill kit."
 
Barely able to speak, Charlie asked, "What the hell is a kill kit?"
 
"A kill kit contains all the items a killer uses to commit his crime. In your father's case, it is a small gym bag containing a roll of duct tape, pliers, wire, rope, leather gloves, ski mask, and a six-inch hunting knife. A pair of rubber boots was also found in the trunk.  Forensics is going over the car as we speak. I am not a betting man, but if I were smart, I'd place a hundred bucks on the police connecting every item in that trunk to your father and the victims."
 
I had heard enough. Looking at Mom, Charlie, and Susan I could tell they too, had heard enough.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 5
Mr. Hurley

By Sasha

Sitting in a hotel room forced to listen to an inept therapist determined to tell me what I was feeling, put me in an emotional category way beyond annoyed.  Of course, I am angry.  Of course, I am confused, and yes, I am pissed off, frustrated, and want to scream.  However, she is wrong to tell me that I feel guilty. I could only describe watching my family disintegrate before my eyes as pure, unadulterated sadness. After seeing the photographs, guilt never entered the picture.
 
I sat silently looking at Mom lying on the couch, curled up into a fetal position.  I could see shock and disbelief written on her face in capital letters; it oozed from every pore. I wanted to hug her and tell her everything was going to be fine, but that was a lie.  To say anything would just validate the horrific nightmare she was experiencing.  I had already done enough to destroy her carefully constructed, perfect world. I wondered if she, Charlie, or Susan would ever see Dad for the person he actually was; a vicious, sick, pathetic killer.  
 
Dad had done his job well.  He was a true chameleon.  He meticulously brainwashed us into seeing him as the perfect father from the day we were born. We blindly accepted his robotic and calculated manipulation of us. Behind closed doors, he was a demanding, critical, and unrelenting taskmaster.  To the neighbors and his co-workers he was a loving father and the perfect husband.  He attended all of Charlie's wrestling matches, cheered him on with embarrassing enthusiasm, patted him on the back, and praised him when he won. However, once home, he would force Charlie to sit for hours as he tore apart every move he had made, demanding nothing less than perfection the next time.
 
He was the same guy who openly hugged me when, five years in a row, I was named student of the year but laughed and taunted me in private because I preferred solitude to the company of people my own age.  He took particular joy in reminding me I was a boring nerd no girl would ever want to go out with.  After I met Marcy, Dad insisted I could do better than a mind-numbing geek studying pre-MED at the University. 
Marcy was the first girl I felt comfortable enough to ask out.  She was pretty, smart, interesting, and most important she liked me as much as I liked her.  I knew Dad would never approve of anyone I liked.  No one could ever meet his unrealistic and unattainable standards.
 
My father openly criticized Billy, Susan’s boyfriend but treated her like a princess.  However, his obsession with controlling every aspect of her life was creating friction between them. Susan obviously loved Dad, but she was a normal teenager ready to spread her wings.
 
A knock at the door woke me from my daydream.  Without appearing rude, I could finally take a break from having to listen to a trauma specialist who was more tedious than my physics professor.
 
When I opened the door and saw Detective Mac standing beside the fattest man I had ever seen, I burst out laughing—damn nerves again—and I could not resist the urge to say, "Laurel and Hardy, I presume."
 
Detective Mac smiled and said, "Very funny, James. I'd like you to meet Mr. Hurley; he's the attorney I told you about."
 
Charlie immediately came to life.  Still angry, he snapped at Detective Mac.  "We don't need an attorney. We didn't do anything wrong."
 
Mom quickly interrupted, and while glaring at both of us said, "Please, excuse Charlie and James. They are both tired.  It's been a long, hard, and frustrating day for all of us."
 
Mom's June Cleaver routine was beginning to annoy me.
 
Pointing at the table and chairs in front of the sliding glass door, she offered both men a seat.
 
Realizing our therapy session was over, the woman, whose name I had already forgotten, handed Mom several business cards and said, "I encourage you to call me any time, day or night if you have any questions or just need someone to talk to."
 
Mom thanked her, placed the cards on the coffee table, and practically shoved the woman out the door. Leaning against the closed door and looking at Detective Mac, Mom sighed. "If I had to listen to that woman for five more minutes, I swear I would have screamed.  Is she really the best you guys can do?"
 
Detective Mac shrugged and with a grin on his face said apologetically, "Probably."
 
Turning toward Mr. Hurley, Detective Mac gave a polite little salute and said goodbye. "I'll leave you alone.  I'm sure you have a ton of questions and don't need me getting in the way."
 
Mom raised her hand to signal she had something to say.  "Detective Mac, do you know how long it will be before we can go home and get some of our clothes?"
 
"First of all, drop Detective and just call me Mac. I know we are not friends, and you probably think of me as the enemy…."
 
Charlie laughed sarcastically and said, "Damn straight!"
 
Mom glared at him and in a loud voice said, "Shut up, Charlie. You are being rude again."
 
Mac continued.  "You won't be able to go home for a while. I'm sorry, but as long as your house is being treated as a potential crime scene, it is off limits. Maybe, in a few days, we can arrange for an officer to go to the house with you, so you can pick up a few things.  In the meantime, I'm sure Mr. Hurley can arrange for you and your family to go shopping for a change of clothes, toothpaste, hair brush, you know, whatever you may need."
 
I did not like the idea of a stranger going through my room, manhandling my personal belongings looking for evidence.  I could tell from the expression on her face she did not like the idea either.  However, she had clearly resigned herself to the fact that she had no control over anything the police were going to do. She simply nodded. "Thank you for finding us a quiet place to stay."
 
Charlie, still pissed, added, "Yeah, this is great. I've always wanted to stay at the Holiday Inn.  It's perfect.  It has a pool and room service. It'll be like a real vacation."
 
Angry, Mom snapped her fingers.  "Knock it off, Charlie.  We're having a hard enough time as it is without your obnoxious attitude."
 
As soon as Mac left, Mom, Charlie, and I stood silently staring at the floor. The moment we arrived at the hotel, Susan locked herself in one of the two bedrooms and she hadn't come out since. Mom walked over to the bedroom door and knocked on it. "Susan, you need to come out now. We have to talk."
 
After Mom asked politely, three times, Susan finally opened the door and with eyes red and swollen from crying, walked into the room and, without speaking, sat down on the couch.
 
Not knowing what to say, the four of us just stared at the extremely fat man staring at us.
 
Mr. Hurley reached over and picked up the phone. He dialed room service and ordered two pots of coffee, eight hamburgers, and enough Coke, Sprite and fries for a family of ten. After hanging up the phone, he smiled and said, "Pretty rough day, wouldn't you say?"
 
I laughed. Susan started to cry, Charlie kicked the chair, and Mom just nodded.
 
* * * * *

After an hour of playing questions and answers, even Charlie agreed he was glad we had an attorney.  It did not take long for all of us to realize we had entered foreign territory and needed a professional to guide us through the myriad of unknowns lying behind every door, just waiting to trip us up.
 
The first thing Mr. Hurley made clear was that under no circumstances were we to speak to the media.
 
"Newspaper and television reporters are going to want to speak to you. They will pretend to be your friend in order to get an interview. Newspapers will sell more papers.  TV stations get more viewers, and you end up looking like an idiot or worse, misquoted.  I don't know how to make it any clearer other than to say, do not talk to reporters!"
 
The second rule is, "Do not talk about the case with anyone. If the police need to speak to you, make sure they call me first. You do not talk to anyone without me in the room with you."
 
"Why?" Charlie asked.  "What difference does it make? We don't know anything."
 
Charlie's anger and frustration returned.  He sat forward, and in a loud voice demanded to know why the police arrested Dad.
 
Mr. Hurley shook his head before responding. "Charlie, the evidence they have against your dad is compelling.  If I were his attorney, I would be remiss if I didn't advise him to confess and try to make a plea agreement."
 
"So, you are saying Dad's guilty."  Susan's voice sounded shaky and tears were streaming down her cheeks again. Mom reached over to put her arms around her, but Susan pulled away from her.  I was becoming annoyed with both Susan and Charlie's treatment of Mom.  Without realizing it, they were both responding the way Dad had taught them.  He was the one to lean on, the one to turn to for comfort, not Mom.  Her job was to keep a clean house, fix dinner, and make sure meals were prepared on time. Neither Charlie nor Susan understood that those days were gone forever.
 
"Can you tell us what evidence they have?" I paused and, looking at Charlie, Susan, and Mom before adding, "Beside the photographs and jewelry I found."
 
Mr. Hurley shook his head.  "You don't need to hear the grisly details right now. You are all still in shock."
 
"No, that's not acceptable!" Charlie yelled.  "Dad's in jail.  The whole fucking world has already convicted him; no one will tell us a damn thing, and you expect us to sit here and quietly wait until you decide we are ready to hear the so-called grisly details. Well, screw you, Mr. Hurley. I want to know everything, and I want to know it now!"
 
Mr. Hurley looked over at Mom, who silently nodded giving him permission to speak.
 
Mr. Hurley hesitated briefly then shrugged.  "Okay, if that is what you want."


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. After discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, James's life is turned into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 6
The Evidence

By Sasha







Susan did not bother to hide her anger over what she believed was my betrayal of Dad.  SOB echoed off the walls as she stomped past me and sat down on the couch beside Mom.  Mom looked like a beaten puppy and Charlie's hateful glares only confirmed my fear the family was on the verge of disintegrating.
 
I took a seat at the table across from Mr. Hurley.  When Charlie poured himself a cup of coffee, I noticed he did not add his usual cream and sugar.  I could only interpret this as his way of showing loyalty by drinking his coffee black, the way Dad did.
 
Mr. Hurley leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his thick, gray hair.  Appearing to weigh the severity of what he was about to say, Mr. Hurley peered over his glasses while staring at the wall behind us.  I wanted to tell him to hurry up, but I remained silent.  My gut told me maybe he was right, and we weren't ready to hear the details.
 
Finally, he leaned forward, sucked in a deep breath, and sounding more like a robot than an attorney, exhaled and then began to speak.
 
Mr. Hurley looked directly at Charlie before speaking. "Now, before I get into the specifics of the case against your father, I need to address a few issues. First, Charlie, you need to check your temper and attitude at the door. Appearing as an obnoxious and rude hooligan is not going to win you or your family any points with the public who are going to be out for blood.  Although I want each of you to keep a low profile, you need to be seen as a polite, composed, and united family; not a group of out of control teenagers throwing tantrums. Your behavior reflects on your image, which, whether you like it or not, has become public domain."

He turned to look at me.  "Second, but equally noteworthy, James, you need to back off with the rude and sarcastic tone with Detective MacKinnon. Mac and I have been friends for several years.  He is an honest, hard working and honorable man whose only intent is finding the truth.  He is not out to get your father or try to make a name for himself by arresting the first suspect he finds.
 
"The minute he was assigned this case, he stopped working for the city and began working for the victims. He is neither for nor against your father. He has no choice but to go where the evidence takes him. Despite your negative opinion, he does not manipulate the evidence to fit a suspect. If he found anything that would eliminate your father as a suspect, believe me, Detective MacKinnon would be the first to speak up.
 
"It was Mac who came to me and asked if I could help your family.  He knows how the system works, especially the scrutiny you will all be facing by an angry public looking to you for answers to questions you won't have the answers to.  All of you will also have to deal with an out of control media determined to find something, anything, and I do mean anything, to print about you or your father.

"Although he didn't break any rules, Mac is walking a thin line. He cannot and will not, discuss any aspect of this case with you.  At some point, he will need to ask you some questions, but he is under no obligation to answer any of yours."
 
I was not sure where all this was leading.  Listening to Mr. Hurley describe Mac as an honest and honorable man, felt awkward. I was uncomfortable admitting to myself, or to the world for that matter, that I liked the man who was trying to put my father in prison for the rest of his life. This was a secret I did not intend to share with anyone.
 
Anxious to get to the point, I took advantage of Mr. Hurley's pause and asked again, "In addition to the photos and jewelry, what is the evidence against Dad?"
 
Mr. Hurley waited a few seconds before responding.
 
"After Mac came to me, I spoke to Allen Ross, your father's attorney.  Your father has given me permission to discuss certain aspects of the case against him with you."

Confused, Charlie interrupted to ask, "Why do you need his permission and what do you mean when you say you can only discuss certain aspects of the case?"
 
"Allen is my partner, and as such, we discussed the case prior to my agreeing to represent you.  Although I am not your father's attorney, I must respect the attorney client privilege between your father and Allen.  Now that I am your attorney, I will have no further access to information regarding the case; however, what I already know can only be repeated with your father's permission."
 
Still confused, Charlie asked, "Are you saying there are some things Dad doesn't want you to tell us?"
 
Mr. Hurley nodded. "Yes. I can tell you about most of the evidence, but I am not permitted to discuss what your father told Allen or the police."
 
"Why?"  I asked.
 
Mr. Hurley shook his head and said, "I cannot answer that."
 
I did not like, or understand, the strange constraints Dad put on what Mr. Hurley could or could not tell us.  However, having no say in the matter, I had no choice but to accept them.
 
Mr. Hurley stared at all of us for a moment, then asked, "Are you sure you want all the details?"
 
Looking like four puppets connected by the same string, we all nodded simultaneously.
 
Sounding like he was reading from an invisible script, Mr. Hurley began to tell us what we did not want to know.
"At ten o'clock this morning, the police arrested your father at the corner of South Carnation and East Albertson, two blocks from your house.  He immediately invoked his right to remain silent and asked for an attorney.  The police took him downtown to King County Jail. He was arraigned at King County Court House at 11:45, pleaded not guilty, and returned to jail at twelve-fifteen.  He is currently under a court ordered hold; meaning no one can visit or speak to him, other than his attorney, for 72-hours.  And, before you ask, because he is charged with a capital offense, he will not be getting out on bail."
 
All this was interesting but did not tell any of us what evidence the police had on Dad.  As though reading my mind, Mr. Hurley continued.
 
"In addition to the six murders he is charged with, the police suspect your father has killed a total of twelve young girls."
  
My stomach was on fire. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a package of antacids. I popped one into my mouth and waited for Mr. Hurley to continue.
 
"As I already said, your father has been charged with six murders, and the police are investigating his involvement in six more.  Each victim was killed in the same manner. The pathologist determined each was sexually assaulted.  All were tortured before death, suggesting the perpetrator had a secluded place where he was able to hold the victims for an unknown period.  The police has yet to learn the location of this place.
 
"Forensics have determined the killer to be left-handed, and used a six-inch hunting knife with a serrated edge. Hairs, fibers, and DNA were found on rope, tape, and clothing left at the dump sites. Forensic tests reveal the DNA came from a single suspect.  The police also found matching boot prints at three of the dumpsites."
 
As though asking for permission to continue, Mr. Hurley glanced at me for a moment, and then cleared his throat before continuing.
 
"Five days ago, James went into the garage looking for a screwdriver.  Opening your father's tackle box by mistake, he found two plastic bags containing several photographs, all identified as victims of the Belltown Killer.  James also found jewelry positively identified as belonging to four of the victims. Blood and hair found on the jewelry belonged to three of the victims.  Your father's fingerprints have already been identified as those on both plastic bags and the photographs."
 
Mr. Hurley paused to allow us to absorb what he had just told us.
 
"It is just a matter of time before the results of the DNA and fibers found are linked to your father as well."
 
Susan put her arms around Mom's neck and started to cry. Hugging each other, they both began to sob uncontrollably.
Charlie buried his face in his hands and tried to hide the sobs coming from deep inside his chest.  I felt a large lump in my throat as a painful sadness welled up in my chest, but the tears did not appear. They were there.  I felt them. I just couldn't find a way to release them.  I looked at Mr. Hurley and praying he would say no, I asked, "Is there anything else we should know?"
 
He nodded and took a deep breath before speaking.  "Yes, after arresting your father, the police confiscated his car and took it downtown as part of the investigation. Under the front passenger seat, they found his kill kit."
 
Barely able to speak, Charlie asked, "What the hell is a kill kit?"
 
"A kill kit contains all the items a killer uses to commit his crime. In your father's case, it is a small gym bag containing a roll of duct tape, pliers, wire, rope, leather gloves, ski mask, and a six-inch hunting knife with a serrated edge. Pair of rubber boots was also found in the trunk.  Forensics is going over the car as we speak. I am not a betting man, but if I were smart, I'd place a hundred bucks on the police connecting every item in that trunk to your father and the victims."
 

I had heard enough. I still had the graphic images of the photographs in my head.  I doubted I would ever forget them.  Mom, Charlie, and Susan did not need those images inside their heads too.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. After discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, James's life is turned into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 6
A Moment of Reflection

By Sasha

Author Note:Even Big Boys Need to Cry


Mr. Hurley stood in the open doorway and shook my hand.  "Get a good night's sleep, James. Tomorrow is going to be a rough day."
 
I couldn't help but laugh.  Today was, and always would be, the worst day of my life.  The thought that tomorrow would be 'rough' struck me as amusing and the suggestion that I would ever again have a good night's sleep, even more absurd.
 
As soon as Mr. Hurley left, we all stood silently staring at each other for several long, painful minutes.  Unable to fight back the tears welling up in his eyes, Charlie suddenly wrapped his arms around me.  Despite his size and bulging muscles, he was still my kid brother.  Feeling his body tremble broke my heart.  I wanted to say something profound.  Something that would erase the ugly images I knew were inside his head, but all I could think of to say was, "I'm sorry."  Then Charlie did something he had never done before. He kissed me on the cheek and said, "I love you," sealing it with a hug that nearly squeezed all the air out of my lungs.
 
Charlie and I walked over to the couch and knelt in front of Mom and Susan. Without speaking, we put our arms around each other.  The soft humming sound of their gentle sobs could be heard floating above the strange looking ball of intertwined arms grasping desperately for something to cling to.  Their sobs quickly turned into deep moans of agony that vibrated violently through each of us.
 
Of the estimated 650,000 words in the English language, I had no doubt there was not a single word, or combination of words, that anyone on the planet could find that would offer any comfort to them whatsoever.
 
As though a silent, invisible internal alarm had gone off at exactly the same time, signaling they had used up their allotted tears, we stood up and, without saying a word, we went to bed.
 
** * * *
 
I looked at the clock on the nightstand.  It was nine o'clock.  I was in no hurry for tomorrow, but lying in bed counting each second as it slowly ticked by was excruciating.  Charlie slept in the bed beside me, occasionally whimpering like a baby as he tossed and turned.  I could only imagine what he was dreaming.
 
Exhaustion weighed so heavily on my eyelids I could hardly hold them open,  yet sleep eluded me.  My brain had become my enemy.  It raced frantically from one horrific image to another while, at the same time, my emotions were fighting a losing battle with each other.  All my feelings were tied into a single, giant twisted knot of rage, fear, sadness, frustration, love, hate, despair, ambivalence, emptiness, and worst of all, grief.  If I could face each one individually, maybe I could somehow find a way to deal with what was happening; but not all of them at the same time.  Beneath the giant knot were the tears I could not release.  They were literally pinned under the weight of the violent battle of emotions being fought above them. 

 
Careful not to wake Charlie, I got up and crept out of the room, quietly closing the door behind me.  I walked over to the table, picked up a can of warm Sprite, and opened it.  I remembered there was an ice machine just a few feet down the hall, but I didn't have the energy, or desire, to make the trip.
 
I opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony looking out over the city below.  I sat down, leaned back in the chair, and stared at the huge full moon that had just appeared above the horizon.  I was sure someone, somewhere, was looking at the same moon and thinking it was a beautiful sight.  However, I couldn't imagine ever looking at a sunset, a child's smiling face, take a quiet walk in the woods, or ever again being able to enjoy any of the things I once took for granted.  I feared the images burning in my head were destined to stay with me forever.
 
Overwhelmed by a thousand emotions fighting for their rightful place at the top of the list, I suddenly realized I couldn't catch my breath.  Panting like a dog, I fought for just one deep breath of air but my lungs refused to take in more than a singe, small gulp at a time; barely enough to keep me from passing out.
 
I felt a hand on my shoulder.  Startled, I jumped to my feet.  I unclenched my fists when I saw Mom standing beside me.
 
I slumped back down into my chair.  "Shit, Mom!  You scared the hell out of me!"
 
Mom feigned a smile and sat down in the chair beside me.
 
"Sorry James, I couldn't sleep either."
 
The both of us stared out into the night sky.  My mind raced with questions I wanted to ask Mom; but didn't dare.  I was never very good with people and realized, for the first time, why I avoided them like the plague.  I could understand Einstein's theory of relativity or calculate the weight of the moon with complete ease.  However, my ability to comprehend the human condition was a puzzle that, until now, posed no interest to me.  I was all too aware that Mom, Susan, and Charlie were looking for the 'why' that would explain what Dad did.  I didn't care about the why.  There was nothing he, or anyone, could say that would make me understand.  I didn't want to understand.  My head continued to pound as it raced in circles looking for an answer to a question I was trying to convince myself I didn't want or need.
 
Mom leaned over, placed her hand on mine, and looked me directly in the eyes. "James, I have spent every moment of the past twelve hours trying to figure out how John could do something so horrible."  
 
With tears steaming down her cheeks, I cringed as Mom choked on the words she spoke.  "I swear my head and chest are going to explode if I don't find out why he did it."
 
I stared at Mom as she wiped the tears from her face.  She looked so frightened and confused.  I loved Mom with all my heart, but we were not close.  I had never been nor wanted to be, the one to lean on.  Thinking about it, I realized Mom never leaned on anyone.  She always kept her distance, pretending life was good, and all was well.  That was her job; put on a happy face, no matter what was happening.  Knowing those days were gone, I wondered how Mom would get through this.
 
"Mom, there is nothing Dad can say that will ever explain why he did what he did in a way that will make sense to you.  You are looking for that magical answer that will take away the pain you are experiencing. You foolishly think if you can understand why he did this terrible thing that it will somehow make all this bearable.  But it won't.  It won't because it will never make sense."
 
Mom's bottom lip quivered and she nodded her head.  
 
"Mom, I don't know how we are going to get through this.  I know it is not going to be easy.  But we have to stick together.  We cannot become four more of Dad's victims.  Do you understand what I am saying?"
 
The reality that we would never know why the man we called Dad was who he was, caught me off guard. The lump in my throat slowly began to swell and without any warning, I felt a single tear well up in the corner of my eye before rolling at the speed of a runaway boulder down my cheek.  The giant knot inside me shifted and my body began to tremble.  I began to shake uncontrollably.  I laid my head on Mom's shoulder.  She gently wiped the tears from my face as I began to sob.  Unlike my family, I had no internal alarm.  I cried until exhaustion took pity on me by finally allowing me to fall asleep.

 

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.

Okay, I still don't have spell check and Evil Eddie just WILL NOT COOPERATE!!! He still tells me there is no '.' after Mr.....then immediately goes into 'error' mode. I swear it is a vicious (probably spelled wrong) plot.


Chapter 7
A Taste of What's to Come

By Sasha

The sound of someone knocking at the door woke me from a deep sleep.  I had no memory of how I ended up on the couch.  After a split second of feeling like a normal kid again, the reality of my life returned like a cruel enemy intent on torturing me forever.  I glanced over at Susan and Charlie sitting at the table, then heard the knock again. 

As she walked toward the door, Mom paused long enough to pat me on the head.  "Time to get up, sleepy head.  I think our breakfast has finally arrived." 

Mom's attempt to sound perky and upbeat was a miserable failure, but I appreciated her effort. 

Reluctantly, I got up, stretched, and wiped the sleep from my eyes.  Feeling as though I had slept in a cement mixer, I stumbled across the room toward the bathroom.  After stripping off my clothes, I turned on the shower.  The warm water felt good beating against my skin.  I lathered up several times, hoping to get rid of the sticky feeling of anger and disgust that clung to me like the smell of rotten eggs, but it wouldn't go away.  After getting dressed, I went back into the living room and, not bothering to say hello or good morning, I asked Mom when we were going to get some clean clothes. 

Still trying to look perky, Mom said, "We can all go to the mall after breakfast and get what we need." 

"When do you think the police will let us go back into the house?" 

Susan's question surprised me, but it was my response that surprised me even more.  "Christ, I never want to go back there.  By now everyone, the neighbors, the mailman, even the stupid kid who delivers the groceries knows about Dad." 

Mom nodded.  "James has a point…" 

Confused, Charlie interrupted.  "Mom, what about school, my friends, and the wrestling tournament?  We can't just walk away like cowards.  We didn't do anything wrong." 

"No, Charlie, we didn't do anything wrong but people are going to look at us differently now.  Some are going to feel sorry for us.  Others are going to point a finger and say we should have known.  Most will probably blame us." 

Susan threw her hands into the air.  "That's insane.  Why would anyone blame us for what Dad did?" 

I raised my hand to let Mom know I wanted to answer this one. 

"Everyone liked Dad.  He was the perfect husband and the perfect father.  Shit, he was a role model for half the kids in the neighborhood." 

Charlie shrugged his shoulders.  "What's that got to do with us?"

"Nothing and everything.  His co-workers, our neighbors, our friends, everyone we know are just as shocked and angry as we are.  But they are going to want to know what we knew." 

"But we don't know anything." 

"Charlie, he is our father.  We lived every day of our lives with him.  They are going to assume we knew him better than anyone else on the planet.  Do you honestly believe they will accept our pathetic 'gee, we were just as surprised as you' statement?" 

"But James, that's the truth." 

I laughed.  "They are not interested in the truth.  They want to hear something from us that will help them understand how a man they trusted and looked up to could do this.  They want answers and, if they don't get the answers they are looking for, they are going to need someone to blame.  And who better to blame than us?" 

Susan shook her head.  "James, I don't agree.  I think you are overreacting." 

The sound of the phone ringing startled all of us.  Charles knocked over his glass of juice and Mom froze. 

"No one is supposed to know we are here."  I said staring at the phone. 

Trying to reassure us, Susan said, "Maybe it's Mr. Hurley or Billy." 

Mom shook her head.  "No.  It's not Mr. Hurley.  He told me if he needed to speak to me, he will call me on my cell phone." 

Glaring at Susan, Mom shook her finger and in an angry voice yelled, "You were specifically instructed not to use the phone?  Why in hell did you call Billy and give him this number?" 

On the verge of tears, Susan tried to explain.  "Of course I called Billy.  We're practically engaged.  He was worried.  Besides, what's wrong with telling him where we are?" 

Furious, I slammed my fist down onto the table.  "Christ, Susan, what the hell were you thinking?  Did you talk about Dad too?" 

Susan's face turned red and she sheepishly nodded. 

After the third ring, Mom picked up the phone, said hello, then slammed the receiver down so hard I was sure she had broken it 

"Goddamned reporters!" 

Looking at Charlie and me with her 'don't you dare lie to me' eyes, Mom demanded to know if either of us had called anyone.  We both shook our heads.  Realizing her mistake, Susan started to cry.  I felt bad and thinking it would make her feel better said, "It's alright.  It's not your fault Billy's an asshole." 

Her tears stopped instantly.  "Damn it, James.  Billy would never talk to the reporters." 

"Yeah, and Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are real too."  I snapped back sarcastically. 

I opened my backpack and pulled out my cell phone.  At Mr. Hurley's request, I turned it to vibrate and hadn't looked at it since yesterday.  I was shocked to see the number of messages.  Several were from my classmates, but most were from numbers I didn't recognize.  Who were these people?  How did they get my number? 

Mom was furious. 

"Damn it.  This is not a game.  If I cannot trust you to follow Mr. Hurley's instructions then you can give your phones to me.  Under No circumstances are you to speak with anyone without clearing it with Mr. Hurley or me first.  Understood?" 

Reluctantly, Susan handed Mom her phone.  Charlie couldn't resist reminding Mom he didn't have one.  "You and Dad told me I couldn't have a phone until I was fifteen." 

The poor kid nearly choked when he said 'Dad' as though it was now a dirty word and he was about to get his mouth washed out with soap. 

Mom immediately called Mr. Hurley and told him what  had happened. 

* * * 

There are advantages to having no suitcases to lug around.  It makes moving to a new hideout much easier.  Within thirty-minutes, Rachael, Mr. Hurley's assistant, was in our room efficiently facilitating our getaway. 

Dressed in a tasteful, maroon, two-piece suit, I could tell immediately Rachael was a contender for next month's Playboy centerfold.  Trying desperately to appear the perfect gentleman, I found it difficult to keep my eyes focused on her beautiful, flawless face and emerald-green eyes, and not on her perfectly shaped breasts and Cheerios waist.  Even Charlie stuttered when she spoke to him. 

However, when we walked through the lobby, I immediately forgot about Rachael's physical attributes when I saw no less than twenty reporters with an equal number of cameras gathered at the entrance looking like a vicious pack of hyenas ready to attack. 

Rachael did her best to act as a buffer between the reporters and cameramen as she tried to maneuver through the crowd and guide us to her car in the parking lot. 

Despite our repeating over and over, "No comment" and "We have nothing to say at this time", the reporters continued their physical and verbal assault.  Shoving microphones into our faces, taking dozens of photographs, and nearly knocking us over with their cameras, asking the questions at the same time, each trying to out yell the other. 

"How long have you known your husband was the Belltown Killer?  How does it feel knowing the man you married is a murderer?  Have you spoken to him?  Do you think he is innocent?  Do you still love your father?  If found guilty, do you think he should face the death penalty?" 

The rage inside me had reached the boiling point.  I could see Charlie gritting his teeth and clenching his fists.  I knew that at any moment he was going to hit someone.  I immediately grabbed his arms.  "Don't do anything stupid.  Just help me get Mom and Susan into the car." 

An hour later, we checked into the Downtown Sheraton Hotel registered under the name of Rachael Stein.  However, now that the media had our photographs, I knew it was only a matter of time before someone recognized us. 

Rachael spent the next thirty-minutes reminding us of the importance of keeping a low profile and not talking to anyone.  We all agreed. 

Mom looked terrible.  She was obviously a nervous wreck and I had no doubt all she wanted to do was go back to bed and pull the covers up over her head.  But I also knew she needed to keep busy or would collapse from the pressure. 

Charlie and I decided to stay at the hotel while Mom, Susan, and Rachael went shopping.  As soon as they left, I looked at my watch.  It was exactly noon.  I glanced at Charlie, then picked up the remote control and turned on the television.  I immediately clicked onto Channel 8 News. 

I shook my head in disgust.  There we all were in full color for the world to see.  I clicked mute and I put my arm around Charlie.  "How's it feel to be known as the son of Seattle's famous Belltown Murderer?" 

Charlie ignored my question.  With a puzzled expression on his face he asked, "How come they blurred out my face but not yours, Susan's, or Mom's?" 

I laughed and affectionately punched Charlie in the shoulder.  "Didn't you know that because you are a minor, you have special rights." 

"So you are telling me I have the right to be blurred?  Is that legal?" 

I laughed.  "It's got something to do with ethics." 

Charlie laughed.  "You know what, James?  Even with a blurry face I'm still better looking than you." 

We both burst out laughing.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 7
Too Many Whys

By Sasha







Mr. Hurley stood in the open doorway and shook my hand.  "Get a good night's sleep, James. Tomorrow is going to be a rough day."
 
I could not help but laugh.  The past week was, and always would be, the worst days of my life.  The thought that tomorrow would be rough struck me as amusing, and the suggestion that I would ever again have a good night's sleep, absurd.
 
As soon as Mr. Hurley left, we all stood silently staring at each other for several long, painful minutes.  Unable to fight back the tears welling up in his eyes, Charlie suddenly wrapped his arms around me.  Despite his size and bulging muscles, he was still my kid brother. Feeling his body tremble broke my heart.  I wanted to say something profound.  Something that would erase the ugly images I knew were in his head, but all I could think of to say was, "I'm sorry." 
Then Charlie did something he had never done before. He kissed me on the cheek and said, "I love you," sealing it with a hug that nearly squeezed all the air out of my lungs.
 
Charlie and I walked over to the couch and knelt in front of Mom and Susan. Without speaking, we put our arms around each other.  The soft humming sound of their sobs could be heard floating above the strange looking ball of intertwined arms grasping desperately for something to cling to.  Their sobs quickly turned into deep moans of agony that vibrated violently through each of us.
 
Of the estimated 650,000 words in the English language, I had no doubt there was not a single word, or combination of words, that anyone on the planet could find that would offer any comfort to them whatsoever.
 
As though a silent, invisible internal alarm had gone off at exactly the same time, signaling they had used up their allotted tears, we stood up and, without saying a word, we went to bed.
 
** * * *
 
I looked at the clock on the nightstand.  It was nine o'clock.  I was in no hurry for tomorrow, but lying in bed counting each second as it slowly ticked by was excruciating.  Charlie slept in the bed beside me, occasionally whimpering like a baby as he tossed and turned.  I could only imagine what he was dreaming.
 
Exhaustion weighed so heavily on my eyelids I could hardly hold them open, yet sleep eluded me.  My brain had become my enemy.  It raced frantically from one horrific image to another while, at the same time my emotions were fighting a losing battle with each other.  All my feelings were tied into a single, giant twisted knot of rage, fear, sadness, frustration, love, hate, despair, ambivalence, emptiness, and worst of all, grief.  If I could face each one individually, maybe I could somehow find a way to deal with what was happening; but not all of them at the same time. Beneath the giant knot were the tears I could not release.  They were literally pinned beneath the weight of the violent battle of emotions being fought above them. 

 
Careful not to wake Charlie, I got up and crept out of the room, quietly closing the door behind me.  I walked over to the table, picked up a can of warm Sprite, and opened it.  I remembered there was an ice machine just a few feet down the hall, but I did not have the energy, or desire, to make the trip.
 
I opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the balcony looking out over the city below.  I sat down, leaned back in the chair, and stared at the full moon that had just appeared above the horizon.  I was sure someone, somewhere, was looking at the same moon and thinking it was a beautiful sight.  However, I could not imagine ever looking at a sunset, a child's smiling face, take a quiet walk in the woods, or ever again being able to enjoy any of the things I once took for granted.  I feared the images burning in my head were destined to remain with me forever.
 
Overwhelmed by so many emotions fighting for their rightful place at the top of the list, I suddenly realized I could not catch my breath. Panting like a dog, I fought for just one deep breath of air; but my lungs refused to take in more than a single, small gulp at a time, barely enough to keep me from passing out.
 
I felt a hand on my shoulder.  Startled, I jumped to my feet.  I unclenched my fists when I saw Mom standing beside me.
 
I slumped back down into my chair.  "Shit, Mom!  You scared the hell out of me!"
 
Mom feigned a smile and sat down in the chair beside me.
 
"Sorry James, I could not sleep either."
 
Both of us stared out into the night sky.  My mind raced with questions I wanted to ask Mom, but did not dare.  I was never particularly adept with people and realized, for the first time, why I avoided them like the plague. I could understand Einstein's theory of relativity or calculate the weight of the moon with complete ease. However, my ability to comprehend the human condition was a puzzle that, until now, posed no interest to me.  I was all too aware that Mom, Susan, and Charlie were searching for the why that would explain what Dad did.  I did not care about the why.  There was nothing he, or anyone, could say that would make me understand.  I did not want to understand.  My head continued to pound as it raced in circles looking for an answer to a question I was trying to convince myself I did not want or need to know the answer to.
 
Mom leaned over, placed her hand on mine, and looked me directly in the eyes. "James, I have spent every moment of the past twelve hours trying to figure out how John could do something so horrible."  

With tears streaming down her cheeks, I cringed as Mom choked on the words she spoke.  "I swear my head and chest are going to explode if I don't find out why he did it."
 
I stared at Mom as she wiped the tears from her face.  She looked so frightened and confused.  I loved Mom with all my heart, but we were not close.  I had never been nor wanted to be the one to lean on.  Thinking about it, I realized Mom never leaned on anyone.  She always kept her distance, pretending life was peachy, and all was well.  That was her job; put on a happy face, no matter what was happening.  Knowing those days were gone, I wondered how Mom would get through this.
 
"Mom, there is nothing Dad can say that will ever explain why he did what he did.  You foolishly think if you can understand why he did this terrible thing that it will somehow make all this bearable.  But it won't.  It won't because it will never make sense. The only answer is that he is a sick, evil man, who, for whatever reason, got his kicks from torturing and killing young girls.  Knowing the why will not take the pain away. What concerns me is the question the public will be asking.
 
Mom's bottom lip quivered as she looked at me with a curious expression.  “What question is that?”
 
“Mom, everyone’s going to want to know what we knew, and when we tell them we didn’t know anything, they are going to ask why. How could we not know anything?
 
 
"Mom, I don't know how we are going to get through this.  I know it is not going to be easy.  But we have to stick together.  We cannot become four more of Dad's victims. Do you understand what I am saying?"
 
The reality that we never knew the man we called Dad caught me off guard. The lump in my throat slowly began to swell, and without any warning, I felt a single tear well up in the corner of my eye before rolling at the speed of a runaway boulder down my cheek.  The giant knot inside me shifted and my body began to shake uncontrollably.  I laid my head on Mom's shoulder.  She gently wiped the tears from my face as I began to sob. Unlike my family, I had no internal alarm.  I cried until exhaustion took pity on me by finally allowing me to fall asleep.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. After discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, James's life is turned into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 8
Chaos

By Sasha







The sound of a knock at the door woke me from a deep sleep.  I have no memory of how I ended up on the couch, only falling asleep on the chair on the balcony.  For a split second life felt normal again before reality returned like a cruel enemy intent on torturing me forever.  I glanced at Susan and Charlie sitting at the table, then heard the knock again.
 
As Mom walked toward the door, she paused long enough to pat me on the head.  “Time to get up, sleepy head, I think our breakfast has finally arrived.”
 
Mom’s attempt to sound perky was admirable but a complete failure.  Reluctantly I got up, stretched, and wiped the sleep from my eyes.  Feeling as though I had slept in a cement mixer, I stumbled across the room toward the bathroom.  After stripping off my clothes, I turned on the shower.  The warm water felt good beating against my tired, stiff skin.  I lathered up several times, hoping to get rid of the sticky feeling of anger and disgust that clung to me like the smell of rotten eggs.  After dressing in the same clothes I had worn for two days, I went back into the living room and, not bothering to say good morning, I asked Mom, “When are we going to get some clean clothes to wear?”
 
Still trying to sound perky, Mom said, “We can all go to the Mall after breakfast and get whatever we need.”
 
“When do you think the police will let us go back into the house?”
 
Susan’s question surprised me, but it was my response that surprised me even more.  “Christ, I never want to go back there.  By now everyone, the neighbors, the mailman, even the kid who delivers the paper knows about Dad.”
 
Mom nodded.  “James has a point…”
 
Confused, Charlie interrupted. “What about school, my friends, and the wrestling tournament?  We can’t just walk away like cowards. Besides, we didn’t do anything wrong.”
 
“No, Charlie, we didn’t do anything wrong, but people are going to look at us differently now. Some are going to feel sorry for us.  Others are going to point a finger and say we should have known.  They need someone to blame.”
 
Susan threw her hands into the air in frustration.  “James, that’s insane.  Why would anyone blame us for what Dad did?”
 
I raised my hand to let Mom know I wanted to answer this one.
 
“Susan, everyone liked Dad.  They saw him as the perfect husband.  Shit, he was a role model for all the kids in the neighborhood.”
 
Charlie shrugged his shoulders.  “What’s that got to do with us?”
 
“Nothing and everything.  Dad’s co-workers, our neighbors, our friends, everyone we know are just as shocked and angry as we are.  But they are going to want to know what we knew.”
 
“But we don’t know anything.”
 
“Charlie, he is our father.  We lived every day with him.  They are going to assume we knew him better than anyone on the planet.  Do you honestly believe they will casually accept our pathetic gee, we are just as surprised as you statement?”
 
“But, James, that’s the truth.”
 
I laughed.  “They are not interested in the truth.  They want to hear something from us that will help them understand how a man they trusted and looked up to could do this.  They want answers and, if they don’t get the answers they are looking for, they are going to need someone to blame.”
 
Susan shook her head.  “James, I don’t agree.  I think you're overreacting.”
 
The sound of the phone ringing startled all of us.  Charlie knocked over his glass of juice and Mom froze.
 
Staring at the phone, I said, “No one is supposed to know we are here.”
 
Trying to reassure us, Susan said, “Maybe it’s Detective Mac or Billy.”
 
Mom shook her head.  “No, it’s not Detective Mac.  He and Mr. Hurley told me if they needed to speak to me they would call me on my cell phone.”
 
While the phone continued to ring, Mom glared at Susan, shook her finger and in a loud, angry voice yelled, “Damn it, you were specifically instructed not to use the phone.  Why in the hell did you call Billy and give him this number?”
 
On the verge of tears, Susan tried to explain.  “Of course I called Billy.  We’re practically engaged.  He was worried.  Besides, what’s wrong with telling him where we are?”
 
Furious, I slammed my fist down onto the coffee table.  “Christ, Susan, what the hell were you thinking?  Did you talk about Dad too?”
 
Susan’s face turned red, and she sheepishly nodded.
 
Unable to ignore the phone any longer, Mom picked it up and said, “Hello”, then slammed the receiver down so hard I was sure she had broken it.
 
“Goddamned reporters!”
 
Looking at Charlie and me with her don't you dare lie to me expression, Mom demanded to know if either of us had called anyone.  We both shook our heads.   Finally, realizing her mistake, Susan started to cry.  I felt guilty for yelling at her.  “It’s alright.  It’s not your fault Billy’s an asshole.”
 
Susan’s stopped crying instantly.  “Damn it, James.  Billy would never talk to the reporters.”
 
“Yeah, and Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are real too.” I snapped back sarcastically.
 
I opened my backpack and pulled out my cell phone.  At Mr. Hurley’s request, I turned it to vibrate and had not looked at it since yesterday. I was shocked to see the number of messages.  Several were from Marcy, others from classmates, but most were from numbers I did not recognize.  Who are these people?  How did they get my number?
 
Mom was furious.  “Damn it, this is not a game. If I cannot trust you to follow Mr. Hurley and Detective Mac’s instructions, then you can give your phones to me.  Under no circumstances are you to speak with anyone without clearing it with me first.  Is that understood?”
 
Reluctantly, Susan handed Mom her phone.  Charlie couldn’t resist reminding Mom he did not have one.  ”You and Dad told me I couldn’t have one until I was fifteen.”
 
Poor Charlie nearly choked when he said, Dad, as though it was now a dirty word and he was about to get his mouth washed out with soap.
 
Mom immediately called Detective Mac and told him what had happened.

* * * * * * * * *
 
There are advantages to having no suitcases to lug around.  It makes moving to a new hideout much easier.  Within thirty-minutes, Rachael, Mr. Hurley’s assistant was in our room efficiently facilitating our getaway.
 
Dressed in a tasteful, maroon, two-piece suit, I could tell immediately Rachael was a contender for next month’s Playboy centerfold.  Trying to appear the perfect gentleman, I kept my eyes focused on her thick, curly, auburn hair, emerald green eyes, and flawless skin, not on her impressively large breasts and Cheerios waistline.  Even Charlie stuttered when she spoke to him.
 
However, as we walked through the lobby, I immediately forgot about Rachael’s physical attributes when I saw at least twenty reporters in front of the entrance, looking like a vicious pack of hyenas ready to attack.
Rachael did her best to act as a buffer between reporters and cameramen as she attempted to maneuver through the crowd and guide us to her car in the parking lot.
 
Despite repeating, “No comment” and “We have nothing to say at this time”, the reporters continued their physical and verbal assault.  They shoved microphones into our faces, took dozens of photographs nearly knocking us over with their cameras.   All were asking questions at the same time, each trying to yell louder than the other.
 
“How long have you known your husband was the Belltown Killer?  How do you feel knowing the man you married is a murderer?  Have you spoken to him?  Do you think he is innocent? Do you still love your father?  If found guilty, do you think he should face the death penalty?”
 
The rage inside me had reached the boiling point. I could see Charlie gritting his teeth and clenching his fists. I knew that at any moment, he was going to hit someone.  I immediately grabbed his arms.  “Don’t do anything stupid.  Just help me get Mom and Susan into the car.”
 
An hour later, we checked into the Downtown Sheraton Hotel registered under the name of Rachael Stein.  Now that the media had our photographs, I knew it was only a matter of time before someone recognized us.
 
Rachael spent the next thirty-minutes reminding us of the importance of keeping a low profile and not talking to anyone.  We all agreed.
 
Mom looked terrible.  She was obviously a nervous wreck, and I had no doubt all she wanted to do was climb into bed and pull the covers up over her head.  But I also knew she needed to keep busy, or she would collapse from the pressure.
 
Charlie and I decided to stay at the hotel while Mom, Susan, and Rachael went shopping.  As soon as they left, I looked at my watch.  It was exactly noon.  I picked up the remote control and turned on the television.  I immediately clicked onto Channel 14 News.
 
I shook my head in disgust.  There we were in full color for the world to see.  I clicked the mute, and I put my arm around Charlie.  “How do you feel knowing you are the son of Seattle’s infamous Belltown murderer?”
 
Charlie ignored my question. With a puzzled expression on his face, he asked, “How come they blurred Susan’s and my face?”
 
I laughed and affectionately punched Charlie in the shoulder.  “Didn’t you know that because you and Susan are minors, you have special rights?”
 
“So, are you telling me Susan and I have the right to be blurred?  Is that legal?”
 
I laughed.  “Yes, it is legal.  It has something to do with ethics.”

Charlie laughed.  “You know what, James?  Even with a blurry face, I am still better looking than you.”
 
We both burst into laughter.


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. After discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, James's life is turned into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 8
A Plea Bargain?

By Sasha

Long before knowing what Dad had done, I didn't like him; love was never a consideration.  Some might consider that odd, but in my world, love is earned with respect and kindness, not by cracking a whip or threats.  I watched my family ignore his narcissistic personality by sinking deeper into their bizarre world of denial.  I tried, unsuccessfully, to understand why they put up with him.  It was as though they needed to acknowledge his inflated idea of his own importance by constantly seeking his approval.  They seemed to depend on each other to validate their existence. 
 
Dad demanded an excessive amount of praise and admiration from all of us.  He lacked empathy and was incapable of recognizing or identifying with the feelings of anyone, other than himself.  To me, it was obvious he was jealous of Charlie's popularity and never hid his disdain for me.  He walked around the house like a pompous ass convinced everyone was envious of him.  His behavior reeked of arrogance founded on nothing more than his vivid and warped imagination.  When Dad looked at himself in the mirror, it was obvious the image staring back at him was grossly distorted by a large unseen crack. 

Despite twenty-two years of marriage, Mom was nothing more than a live-in servant.  I had no memories of Dad ever displaying affection for her, no handholding, no kissing, and no words of endearment.   Yet Mom always addressed him with dear, darling and even sweetheart.  To Dad, Mom was just Martha. 
 
Susan was his personal trophy.  She could do no wrong.  However, over the past few years Dad became noticeably paranoid, driving a wedge between them.  His critical comments had begun to undermine his ability to control her.

I sat at the table drinking a cup of coffee silently staring at Mom who still looked like a June Cleaver wannabe.  She was doing her best to appear strong.  Just what Dad would have demanded.  I couldn't help but notice the ever so small downward turn at the corners of her mouth revealing the tiniest sign of sadness.  I wondered if Mom would ever be able to be herself, whoever that was.

I felt an unexpected flash of guilt try to ignite the painful knot in my stomach.  I was the lucky one.  My studies occupied most of my time, which was spent at school, or in the field working on my dissertation.  I was seldom home leaving Mom, Susan, and Charlie the primary focus of Dad's insatiable need to maintain control.

I wondered if Charlie and Susan actually saw Dad's dark side, or if  denial had completely blinded them.  Watching Mom's veil slowly disintegrate was a relief, but I worried if she was strong enough to face the difficult days ahead.
 
* * * * *

By Monday, the novelty of room service, a roof top swimming pool, and access to a fully equipped exercise facility had worn off.  We were all going stir-crazy. 

Watching Billy's on camera interview this morning with Channel 8 News devastated Susan and sent Charlie into a full-blown rage.  He threw a full can of Sprite at the television, missing it by millimeters.  Charlie's inability to control his temper was becoming a real concern to both Mom and me.  Inconsolable, Susan locked herself in the bedroom and refused to come out. 

During breakfast, Mom informed Charlie and me she had a one o'clock meeting with Mr. Hurley at his office.  I was livid when she told me I couldn't go with her.  Mom was adamant.  She was going alone. 

I felt as though I had lost what little control I had over my life.  Decisions were being made without any discussion.  Yesterday, Mom and Mr. Hurley informed us we were not returning to school.  Mr. Hurley was arranging for a private tutor, which infuriated Charlie.  Charlie was popular and he didn't understand why he couldn't go to school.  I, on the other hand, had few friends.  Being the smartest kid in school set me apart from the other kids.  After Billy's television interview, I doubted Susan would ever want to be seen in public again.
 
Mom sent Charlie to the exercise facility to burn off some of his anger and Susan remained locked in her room.  Mom sat quietly on the couch staring out the window.  After pouring myself a cup of coffee, I sat down beside her. 

"What's going on, Mom?  What aren't you telling us?" 

Pretending she didn't hear my question, Mom continued to stare out the window.  Mom wasn't very good at keeping secrets and I was not much better at being left with unanswered questions.

"I know you are trying to protect us, but it's too late for that.  What could possibly be worse than what has already happened?" 

There is a variety of ways to display grief. Sadness, and tears are the most common.  In the past two days, our family had shed enough tears to fill a swimming pool.  At first, I wasn't able to cry, but now seeing the tears streaming down Mom's cheeks immediately set mine into motion. 

I went into the bathroom and returned with two clean washcloths.  I handed one to Mom and waving mine in front of her face, said, "This is far more efficient than a Kleenex, don't you think?  It's reusable and ecologically friendly too.  Think of all the trees we're saving." 

When Mom smiled, I realized this was the first time she had shown any emotion other than anger or sadness since Friday. 

She wiped her face with the washcloth and with a forced smile patted me affectionately on the knee. 

"The prosecutor is going for the death penalty." 

Staring out the window again, Mom sighed, and then shook her head.  "Apparently this scared your father.  I find that odd, don't you?" 

I wasn't sure what Mom was trying to say.  The thought of Dad being executed was too unreal for me to imagine.  This was not something I wanted to discuss. 

Mom unclenched her fists and took a long, deep breath before speaking.  "A man brutally murders six young girls and when he is told he may die for it, he has the audacity to get scared.  Don't you find that odd?" 

Shocked by Mom's casual tone, I stuttered trying to think of an answer.  

This conversation was beyond bizarre.  My head reeled with contradictions.  Yes, no, maybe, and I don't know raced in a circle like a continuous, unstoppable loop in my head.  For a moment, I thought I was going to throw up. 

Mom shook her head.  In a voice filled with absolutely no emotion, said, "Apparently his attorney is trying to work out some sort of plea agreement. What the hell does he have to bargain with?"

I placed my hand on Mom's shoulder.  "The Belltown Killer murdered twelve girls.  The six unsolved murders are his bargaining point."

Apparently still confused, she said, "I don't understand."

"The police and prosecutor know Dad is guilty of killing all twelve, but they can't prove it.  Maybe in time they will, but right now, there are six families going through hell because they believe Dad is guilty but fear he will never be charged.  I assume he is offering to plead guilty to the unsolved murders in exchange for taking the death penalty off the table."

Mom sat up straight and shook her head.  "It is disgusting he would use those poor girls to avoid the death penalty." 

I stared at her for a moment then finally asked, "Do you think Dad should get the death penalty?" 

Crying again, Mom buried her face in the washcloth.  "James, I don't know what I want.  I only know it is wrong to use those poor girls that way.  I can't even imagine what their families are going through." 

"What does the prosecutor say about this?" 

"He is talking to all twelve families.  He wants to hear what they have to say before he makes a decision." 

I was wrong when I said it couldn't get any worse.  Until this moment, I hadn't thought much about the victims' families.  I couldn't fathom the agony they had been, and still were, going through.  The realization that my father was the cause of their pain made me sick to my stomach. 

I looked Mom in the eyes and asked, "Do you still love Dad?" 

After several long, painful minutes of silence, she finally spoke. 

"I thought I loved the man I married.  But I am afraid that man only existed in my mind."  Pausing just long enough to wipe the tear dangling from the tip of her nose, she then said, "I can say with absolute certainty, I hate the man sitting in jail." 

Suddenly the door flew open and in bounced Charlie covered in sweat, with a large towel draped over his shoulders, and shadow boxing, or as Charlie liked to call it, 'cooling down after a good workout'.  Acting as though life had miraculously returned to normal, Charlie, still shadow boxing, informed Mom it was time to get out of the hotel and get some fresh air. 

"Over my dead body!"  Immediately regretting her choice of words, Mom winced and rephrased her response.  "Charlie, you know the rules.  We all have to keep a low profile.  "

With a big grin on his face, Charlie shook his head. "Hey, I have been officially 'blurred'.  No one will recognize me.  You, Susan, and James have to wear the big floppy hats to hide under, not me."  Charlie paused long enough see if Mom's frown turned into a smile.  It didn't.  "Come on Mom, if I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to go nuts." 

I had to agree with Charlie.  Thick, heavy air weighed down with ugliness and depression filled every inch of the hotel room.  It was choking the life out of me.  I desperately needed a break too.  I patted Mom on the back.  "He's right.  We need to get out of here.  I'll make sure nothing happens.  I promise we'll be fine." 

Reluctantly, Mom agreed. 

Charlie yelled, "Yahoo!", and then made a beeline for the bathroom. 

Mom looked at the closed bedroom door for a few seconds. 

"James, I'm worried about Susan.  She refuses to talk to me." 

"I know Mom; I'm worried about her too."

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.

I am sitting here wearing an eye patch (I look a lot like a pale pirate). I went to the eye doctor today and apparently my right eye got sunburned. Not to worry, I am blind in that eye so no real harm done. But my question is, how do you get sunburned in one eye and not the other? The point is, despite already being blind, wearing an eye patch is messing with my other eye....thus I anticipate that despite reading this 300 times, I am sure I missed a few spags. Be kind, I am old, walk like a duck, am blind in one eye, and wear false teeth. None of this has anything to do with my ability to proofread my work but I thought I'd give it a shot.


Chapter 9
Underestimating Betrayal

By Sasha

A pleasant cool breeze greeted us as we stood in front of the hotel. Although only the middle of May, Seattle was experiencing an unusual warm spell. It had not rained for several weeks and while predicting the weather is pretty much a crapshoot, I doubted we would see any precipitation in the near future. Charlie grinned, pounded on his chest like King Kong, and shouted, "Thank God, freedom at last!" 

With no particular plan or destination in mind, I took the lead and started walking north toward Olive Way where I made a left turn, then headed up the hill toward Stewart Street. As we walked under the Monorail, Charlie asked if we could go to the Seattle Center, a popular place with games, rides, a Food Circus that boasts of more than a hundred restaurants, and a giant, ugly fountain that looks more like an unexploded mine from World War II than the marvelous expression of modern art the tourist brochures describe. 

I shook my head. "No. Let's go to the waterfront, get something to eat, and maybe take a ferry ride to one of the islands."  I thought it would do us good to get some exercise and give Charlie and me some long overdo alone time. 

Charlie agreed. "Sounds good to me." 

I found it amusing that just a few days ago everything about Charlie irritated me. His squeaky voice, his terrible jokes, and his annoying need to follow me around like a lonely puppy dog looking for a friend. Charlie was big for his age, good looking, and despite all the girls in his class vying for his attention, he was painfully shy and terribly insecure. I guess that made him a perfectly normal fourteen-year-old. Watching him march up the street beside me giggling like a five-year-old made me smile and reminded me how much I loved him. 

Charlie poked me in the side to get my attention. "James, do you know how to tell a tourist from a Seattleite?" 

I shook my head. 

"Tourists carry umbrellas, locals don't. 

I chuckled. He was right. We all had boots and raincoats, but no one in our family owned an umbrella. None of our friends did either. 

After passing the fourth Starbucks since leaving the hotel, Charlie asked if we could get a latte. I nodded. 

"You got enough for a double grande?" 

I smiled, patted him on the back and said, "Yes, I think I can afford to buy my baby brother a latte." 

Charlie winced at my baby brother remark, but to my amazement, he didn’t over react. Somewhere between ordering the lattes and walking silently for three blocks, the chest pounding and wise cracking kid disappeared. Not sure what to say, I left Charlie alone with his thoughts. 

The streets were filled with people. It was too early for lunch, causing me to wonder if they were all playing hooky or, if it was a holiday that somehow slipped my mind in all the confusion. Seeing so many smiling faces filled me with anger.  I wanted to scream at all of them. "Don't you know the world has come to an end? How can you be so selfish and go on with your stupid, pathetic lives as though nothing has happened!" 

We walked for twenty minutes in total silence; only after arriving at Ivar's Restaurant at the waterfront did Charlie finally speak. "Can we skip the ferry ride and just get something to eat?" 

Pointing at the front door with my left hand and toward the outdoor fish bar with my right, I said, "You want to go inside or get something to go?" 

"To go is fine with me." 

Both Charlie and I ordered fish and chips, extra tartar sauce, a large cup of clam chowder, and two extra-large cokes. Charlie poured an ounce of vinegar over his chips while I settled for a few drops of fresh squeezed lemon juice on mine. With our trays loaded with enough food to feed two armies, we looked for an empty table on the dock beside the restaurant. It was still early.  It was only ten-forty-five, at least an hour before the lunch crowd arrived, leaving plenty of good spots to choose from. 

We both ate in silence. I sat staring at my empty tray trying to find a tactful way to ask Charlie how he was doing. As though he could read my mind, Charlie spoke first. 

"The 'and' is gone forever, isn't it?" 

I had no idea what Charlie was trying to say. Seeing the confused look on my face, he tried to explain. 

"It's always been Mom 'and' Dad.  Mom 'and' Dad this and Mom 'and' Dad that. But now the 'and' is gone and it's not coming back, is it?" 

Charlie was right. We would never sit gathered around the family photo album reminiscing over the good old days. For us, there were no good old days. It had all been a lie. 
 
Charlie pushed the empty tray aside, leaned back in his chair, and stared at me with the expression of a frightened lost child.

"You know, James, I always wanted to be just like Dad. Now, I don't know what I want. I don't know who I am any more. I'm no longer Charlie Martin. To the world, I am the son of a murderer and I'm terrified that's all I will ever be." 

It broke my heart to see the fear in Charlie's eyes. I wanted to say something that would take away his fear and give him a glimpse of hope, but I couldn't think of anything. 

"Charlie, I wish I could tell you why Dad did what he did and that everything is going to be okay. But the truth is we will never know why and I really don't know if we will ever be okay; I do know we will never be the same."

Charlie bowed his head to hide his tears and speaking barely above a whisper said, "I know I should hate him, but I don't. I still love Dad. Does that make me a bad person?" 

"Of course not! He's your father, it is natural to love him." 

I lied. But what else could I say. Would Charlie feel better if I told him I thought Dad was a piece of garbage and I hoped he rotted in prison for the rest of his life? Charlie had to decide what he felt about Dad for himself. We all did. 
 
We walked around for a few more hours avoiding any further discussion about Dad. We arrived back at the hotel at one-thirty. I was exhausted and all I wanted to do was take a nap. 
 
As we approached the font door, I noticed three newspaper stands.  My heart sank when I saw Susan and Billy's prom photograph on the front page of all three.  I pulled two quarters out of my pocket, slid them into the first slot and grabbed a paper.  The headline, KILLER'S TEENAGE DAUGHTER OUT OF CONTROL - BOYFRIEND TELLS ALL, sent wave of anger racing up my spine faster than the speed of light exploding like a bomb in my chest.  I began hyperventilating as I read the lies Billy told about Susan having sex with every boy in school, binge drinking, and using cocaine.
 
Not caring who heard me, I called Billy a son-of-a-bitch, crumpled the paper into a ball, and then tossed it into the street.
 
I put my hand on Charlie's shoulder and still shaking with anger, said, "We can't let Susan see these."
 
Charlie looked as though he was ready to punch the first person who walked by.  Again, I told him we had to prevent Susan from seeing what Billy had done.  

When I opened the door to our room, I knew immediately something was wrong. All the lights were off and all I could hear was Mom, in the bathroom, screaming for help.

I ordered Charlie to stay in the living room. I ran into the bathroom and found Susan lying in the bathtub, fully dressed, soaking wet, and covered in blood from a large gash in her left wrist. Mom was on her knees, screaming, while trying to pull Susan out of the bathtub. A blood soaked copy of the Tattler with the picture of Susan and Billy lay on the floor next to a bloody bread knife.

I immediately grabbed a towel, wrapped it around Susan's wrist, and yelled at Mom to call 911.
 
When Mom didn't respond, I yelled again, "God Damn it, call 911!"
 
She got up and ran into the other room.  Charlie stood in the doorway looking as though he was about to pass out. In a loud, firm voice I said, "Keep it together, Charlie. I don't have time to hold your hand."
 
Still pale, and shaking from head to foot, Charlie nodded then asked what he could do to help.
 
I didn't answer.  From the other room, Mom yelled, "They're on their way!"
 
I closed my eyes and prayed they got here fast.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 9
A Plea Bargain

By Sasha






Charlie and I ordered lunch from room service, and after eating, Charlie fell asleep on the couch.  I covered him with a blanket, poured myself a glass of milk and went out onto the balcony to relax.  I need quiet to sort out my feelings about Dad.

Long before I knew what Dad had done, I didn’t like him; love was never a consideration. Some might consider this odd, but in my world, love is earned with respect and kindness, not by cracking a whip or threats.  For years, I watched my family ignore his narcissistic personality by sinking deeper into their bizarre world of denial. I tried, unsuccessfully, to understand why they put up with him.  It was as though they needed to acknowledge his inflated idea of his own importance by constantly seeking his approval to validate their existence.
 
Dad demanded an excessive amount of praise and admiration from all of us.  He lacked empathy and was incapable of recognizing or identifying with the feelings of anyone, other than his.  To me, it was obvious he was jealous of Charlie’s popularity and never hid his disdain for me.  He walked around the house like a pompous ass, convinced everyone was envious of him.  His behavior reeked of arrogance founded on nothing more than his vivid and warped imagination. When Dad looked at himself in the mirror, it was obvious the image staring back at him was distorted by his overgrown ego.
 
Despite twenty years of marriage, Mom was nothing more than a live-in servant.   I had no memories of Dad ever displaying affection for her, no hand holding, no kissing, and no words of endearment.  Yet, Mom always addressed him with dear, darling, and even sweetheart.  To Dad, Mom was just Martha.
 
Susan was his favorite.  She could do no wrong.  However, over the past few years, Dad had become noticeably possessive, driving a wedge between them.  His constant criticism of Billy and obsession with controlling Susan’s every move caused his princess to pull away.
 
I suddenly felt an unexpected flash of guilt trying to ignite the painful knot in my stomach.  I was the lucky one.  School occupied most of my time which I spent working on my dissertation.  I was seldom home, leaving Mom, Susan and Charlie the primary focus of Dad’s insatiable need to maintain control.
 
I wondered if Charlie and Susan saw Dad’s dark side, or if denial had totally blinded them.  Watching Mom’s veil slowly disintegrate was a relief, but I worried if she was strong enough to face the difficult days ahead.
 
 
* * * * * * * * *
By Monday, the novelty of room service, a swimming pool, and access to a fully equipped exercise facility had worn off.  We were all going stir-crazy.

Watching Billy’s on-camera interview this morning with Chanel 14 News devastated Susan and sent Charlie into a full-blown rage.  He threw a full can of Sprite at the television, missing it by inches.  Charlie’s inability to control his temper was becoming a real concern to both Mom and me.  Inconsolable, Susan locked herself in the bedroom, and she refused to come out.
 
During breakfast, Mom informed Charlie and me that she had a one o’clock meeting with Mr. Hurley at his office.  I was livid when she told me I could not go with her.  Mom was adamant.  She was going alone.
 
I felt as though I had lost what little control I had left over my life.  Decisions were being made without any discussion.  Yesterday, Mom and Mr. Hurley informed us we were not returning to school.  Mr. Hurley was arranging a private tutor, which infuriated Charlie.  Charlie was popular, and he did not understand why he could not go to school.  I, on the other hand, had few friends.  Being the smartest kid in school set me apart from the other kids.  After Billy’s television interview, I doubted Susan would ever want to be seen in public again.
 
Mom sent Charlie to the exercise facility to burn off some of his anger, and Susan remained locked in her room.  Mom sat quietly on the couch staring out the window.  After pouring myself a cup of coffee, I sat down beside her.
 
“What’s going on, Mom? What aren’t you telling us?”
 
Pretending she did not hear my question, Mom continued to stare out the window.  Mom was not particularly skilled at keeping secrets and I was not much better at being left with unanswered questions.
 
“Mom, I know you’re trying to protect us, but it is too late for that.  What could be worse than what has already happened?”
 
There are a variety of ways to display grief.  Tears are the most common.  In the past two days, our family had shed enough tears to fill a swimming pool.  At first, I was not able to cry, but now, seeing the tears streaming down Mom’s cheeks immediately set mine into motion.  I went into the bathroom and returned with two clean washcloths.  I handed one to Mom and while waving mine in front of her face, said, “This is far more efficient than a Kleenex, don’t you think?  It’s reusable and ecologically friendly too.  Think of all the trees we’re saving.”
 
When Mom smiled, I realized this was the first time she had shown any emotion, other than anger or sadness, since Dad’s arrest.
 
She wiped her face with the washcloth and with a forced smile, patted me affectionately on the knee.
 
“The prosecutor is going for the death penalty.”
 
Staring out the window again, Mom sighed and then shook her head.  “Apparently this scared your father.  I find that odd, don’t you?”
 
I was not sure what Mom was trying to say.  The thought of dad being executed was too unreal for me to imagine.  This was not something I wanted to discuss.
 
Mom unclenched her fists and took a long, deep breath before speaking.  “A man brutally tortures and murders six young girls, and when he’s told he may die for it, he has the audacity to get scared.  Don’t you find that odd?”
 
Shocked by Mom’s casual tone, I stuttered trying to think of an answer.  This conversation was beyond bizarre.  My head reeled with contradictions. Yes, no, maybe, and I do not know raced in a circle like a continuous, unstoppable loop in my head.  For a moment, I thought I was going to throw up.
 
In a voice void of any emotion, Mom said, “Apparently his attorney is trying to work out some sort of plea agreement.  What the hell’s he got to bargain with?”
 
I placed my hand on Mom’s shoulder.  “The Belltown Killer murdered twelve girls.  The six unsolved murders are his bargaining point.”
 
Apparently still confused, she said, “I don’t understand.”
 
“The police and prosecutor know Dad is guilty of killing at least twelve, but they cannot prove it.  Maybe in time they will, but right now, there are six families going through hell because they believe Dad is guilty but fear he will never be charged.  I assume Dad is offering to plead guilty to the unsolved murders in exchange for taking the death penalty off the table.”
 
Mom sat up and shook her head.  “It is disgusting he would use those poor girls to avoid the death penalty.”
 
I stared at Mom for a moment then finally asked, “Do you think he should get the death penalty?”
 
Mom buried her face in the washcloth.  “James, I don’t know what I want.  I only know it is wrong to use those girls that way.  I cannot imagine what their families are going through.”
 
“What does the prosecutor say about this?”
 
“Mr. Hurley told me the prosecutor is planning to talk to all twelve families.”  He wants to hear what they have to say before he makes a decision.”
 
I was wrong when I said it couldn’t get any worse.  Until this moment, I had not thought much about the victims’ families.  I couldn’t fathom the agony they had been, and still were, going through.  The realization that my father was the cause of their pain made me sick to my stomach.
 
I looked Mom in the eyes and asked, “Do you still love Dad?”
 
After several long, painful minutes of silence, she finally spoke.  “I thought I loved the man I married.  But I realize that man only existed in my mind.”  Pausing just long enough to wipe the tear dangling from the tip of her nose, she then said, “I can say with absolute certainty I hate the man sitting in jail.”
 
Suddenly the door flew open, and Charlie burst into the room covered in sweat.  A large towel was draped over his shoulders, and he was bouncing from foot to foot, shadow boxing, or as Charlie liked to call it, cooling down after a good workout.  Acting as though life had miraculously returned to normal, Charlie, still bouncing, informed Mom it was time to get out of the hotel and get some fresh air.
 
“Over my dead body!” Regretting her choice of words, Mom winced and rephrased her response.  “Charlie, you know the rules.  We have to keep a low profile.”
 
With a big grin on his face, Charlie shook his head.  “No problem.  Haven’t you heard? I’ve been officially blurred no one will recognize me.  You and James have to wear the big floppy hats to hide under, not me.”  Charlie paused long enough so see if Mom’s frown turned into a smile.  It didn’t.  “Come on, Mom, if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to go nuts.”
 
I had to agree with Charlie.  Thick, heavy air weighed down with ugliness and depression filled every inch of the room.  It was choking the life out of all of us.  I needed a break too.  I patted Mom on the back.  “He’s right.  We need to get out of here.  I’ll make sure nothing happens.  I promise we’ll be fine."
 
Reluctantly, Mom agreed.
 
Charlie yelled, “Yahoo”, and then made a beeline for the bathroom.  
 
Mom looked at the closed bedroom door for a few seconds.  “James, I’m worried about Susan. She refuses to talk to me.”
 
"I know, Mom, I’m worried about her too."

Charlie emerged from the bathroom dressed and ready to go.  He kissed Mom on the cheek, promised to stay out of trouble, and grabbed my arm before dragging me across the room to the door.


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 10
The Price of Betrayal

By Sasha

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong language.











A refreshing breeze greeted us as we stood in front of the hotel. Although the middle of May, Seattle was experiencing an unusual warm spell. It had not rained for several weeks and while predicting the weather is pretty much a crapshoot, I doubted we would see any precipitation in the near future. Charlie grinned, pounded on his chest like King Kong, and shouted, "Thank God, freedom at last!" 

With no particular plan or destination in mind, I took the lead.  I walking north toward Olive Way where I made a left turn then headed up the hill toward Stewart Street. As we walked under the Monorail, Charlie asked if we could go to the Seattle Center, a popular place with games, rides, and a Food Circus that boasts of dozens of restaurants, and a giant, ugly fountain that looks more like an unexploded mine from World War II than the awe-inspiring expression of modern art the tourist brochures describe. 

I shook my head. "No. Let's go to the waterfront, get something to eat, and maybe take a ferry ride to one of the islands."  I thought it would do us good to get some exercise and give Charlie and me some long overdue alone time. 

Charlie agreed. "Sounds perfect to me." 

I found it amusing that just a few days ago, everything about Charlie irritated me. His squeaky voice, his terrible jokes, and his annoying need to follow me around like a lonely puppy dog looking for a friend. Charlie was tall for his age, good looking, and despite all the girls in his class vying for his attention, he was painfully shy and terribly insecure. I guess that made him a perfectly normal thirteen-year-old. Watching him giggle like a five-year-old made me smile and reminded me how much I loved him. 

Charlie poked me in the side to get my attention. "James, do you know how to tell a tourist from a Seattleite?" 

I shook my head. 

"Tourists carry umbrellas, locals don't. 

I chuckled. He was right. We all had boots and raincoats, but no one in our family owned an umbrella. None of our friends did either. 

After passing the fourth Starbucks since leaving the hotel, Charlie asked if we could get a latte. I nodded. 

"You got enough for a double grande?" 

I smiled, patted him on the back and said, "Yes, I think I can afford to buy my baby brother a latte." 

Charlie winced at my baby brother remark, but to my amazement, he did not over react. Somewhere between ordering the lattes and walking silently for three blocks, the chest pounding and wisecracking kid disappeared. Not sure what to say, I left Charlie alone with his thoughts. 

The streets were filled with people. It was too early for lunch, causing me to wonder if they were all playing hooky or, if it was a holiday that somehow slipped my mind in all the confusion. Seeing so many smiling faces filled me with anger.  I wanted to scream at all of them. "Don't you know the world has come to an end? How can you be so selfish and go on with your stupid, pathetic lives as though nothing has happened!" 

We walked for twenty minutes in total silence; only after arriving at Ivar's Restaurant at the waterfront did Charlie finally speak. "Can we skip the ferry ride and just get something to eat?" 

Pointing at the front door with my left hand and toward the outdoor fish bar with my right, I said, "You want to go inside or get something to go?" 

"To go is fine with me." 

Both Charlie and I ordered fish and chips, extra tartar sauce, a large cup of clam chowder, and two extra-large drinks. Charlie poured an ounce of vinegar over his chips while I settled for a few drops of fresh squeezed lemon juice on mine. With our trays loaded with enough food to feed two armies, we looked for an empty table on the dock beside the restaurant. It was still early.  It was only ten-forty-five; at least an hour before the lunch crowd arrived, leaving plenty of prime spots to choose from. 

We both ate in silence. I sat staring at my empty tray trying to find a tactful way to ask Charlie how he was doing. As though he could read my mind, Charlie spoke first. 

"The and is gone forever, isn't it?" 

I had no idea what Charlie was trying to say. Seeing the confused look on my face, he tried to explain. 

"It's always been Mom and Dad.  Mom and Dad this and Mom and Dad that. But now the and is gone and it's not coming back, is it?" 

Charlie was right. We would never sit gathered around the family photo album reminiscing over the good old days. For us, there were no good old days. It had all been a lie. 
 
Charlie pushed the empty tray aside.  He leaned back in his chair and stared at me with the expression of a frightened, lost child.

"You know, James, I always wanted to be just like Dad. Now, I don't know what I want. I don't know who I am anymore.  I'm no longer Charlie Mathews. To the world, I am the son of a murderer, and I'm terrified that's all I will ever be." 

It broke my heart to see the fear in Charlie's eyes. I wanted to say something that would take away his fear and give him a glimpse of hope, but I couldn't think of anything. 

"Charlie, I wish I could tell you why Dad did what he did and that everything is going to be okay. But the truth is we will never know why and I honestly don't know if we will ever be okay; I do know we will never be the same."

Charlie bowed his head and speaking barely above a whisper said, "I know I should hate him, but I don't. I still love Dad. Does that make me a terrible person?" 

"Of course not! He's your father; it is natural to love him." 

I lied. But what else could I say? Would Charlie feel better if I told him that I thought Dad was a piece of garbage? Or, I hoped he rotted in prison for the rest of his life? Charlie had to decide what he felt about Dad for himself. We all did. 
 
We walked around for a few more hours avoiding any further discussion about Dad. We arrived back at the hotel at one-thirty. I was exhausted.   All I wanted to do was take a nap. 
 
As we approached the front door, I noticed three newspaper stands. My heart sank when I saw Susan and Billy's prom photograph on the front page of The Tattler.  I pulled two quarters out of my pocket, slid them into the first slot and grabbed a paper. The headline, KILLER'S TEENAGE DAUGHTER OUT OF CONTROL - BOYFRIEND TELLS ALL, sent waves of anger racing up my spine faster than the speed of light exploding like a bomb in my chest.  I began hyperventilating as I read the lies Billy told about Susan having sex with every boy in school, binge drinking, and using cocaine.
 
Not caring who heard me, I called Billy a son of a bitch, crumpled the paper into a ball, and then tossed it into the street.
 
I put my hand on Charlie's shoulder and still shaking with anger, said, "We can't let Susan see these."
 
Charlie looked as though he was ready to punch the first person who walked by.  Again, I told him we had to prevent Susan from seeing what Billy had done.  

When I opened the door to the room, I knew immediately something was wrong. All the lights were off and all I could hear was Mom, in the bathroom, screaming.

I ordered Charlie to stay in the living room.  He ignored me and we nearly tripped over each other running to the bathroom.  We found Susan lying in the bathtub, fully dressed, soaking wet, and covered in blood from a large gash in her left wrist. Mom was on her knees, screaming, while trying to pull Susan out of the bathtub. A blood soaked copy of the Tattler with the picture of Susan and Billy lay on the floor next to a bloody bread knife.

I immediately grabbed a towel, wrapped it around Susan's wrist, and then yelled at Mom to call 911.
 
When Mom didn't respond, I yelled again, "God Damn it, call 911!"
 
She got up and ran into the other room.  Charlie stood in the doorway looking as though he was about to pass out. In a loud, firm voice I said, "Keep it together, Charlie. I don't have time to hold your hand."
 
Still pale, and shaking from head to foot, Charlie nodded then asked what he could do to help.
 
I didn't answer.  From the other room, Mom yelled, "They're on their way!"
 
I closed my eyes and prayed they got here fast. 
 


 

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 10
James Takes Charge

By Sasha

I climbed into the back of the aid car careful to stay out of theway of the medics working on Susan. One was taking her pulse and monitoring her blood pressure while the other repeatedly asked her to say her name.  Susan remained unresponsive. 
 
Unsure of how much blood she had lost, I instructed the driver to call ahead and notify the hospital Susan was A positive.  Unable to do anything but watch the two medics, neither much older than I was, I could not ignore the irony of the situation.  Flushed with adrenaline, my heart pounded in my ears as I wondered if Dad had trained them.  He was the best and strange as it felt, I prayed he had.  Dad insisted we all learn CPR, perform the Heimlich maneuver, and how to perform an emergency tracheotomy with a straw and a steak knife.  He prepared us for almost every imaginable situation, except one.
 
The siren abruptly stopped as we pulled up to the Emergency entrance of Harborview Medical Center. Mom and Charlie arrived in a taxi a few minutes later. Susan was immediately wheeled into an examination room. When the nurse asked me to leave, I stood my ground and refused.  Mom quietly allowed me to take charge and silently stood by my side.  Charlie remained alone in the waiting room.
 
While two doctors worked on Susan, a nurse entered the room and proceeded to ask what seemed like an endless list of unimportant questions, height, weight, age, and date of first period, any surgeries, known allergies, broken bones, childhood diseases, and a list of childhood inoculations.  Mom answered each question as though her brain were on autopilot.  She always dealt with pressure by shutting down and transforming into a quiet, polite, non intrusive robot, never showing her true emotions.  Dad had done such a good job turning her into June Cleaver, I wondered if I would ever really know who Mom was or, if the real Martha Martin still existed.

A few minutes later, a third doctor entered the room. He introduced himself as the Psychiatric Resident On-Call.  I already knew Susan's attempted suicide required an automatic seventy-two hour hold on the psychiatric ward.  Looking at Mom, the doctor asked, "Can you tell me what led up to your daughter's current mental state?"
 
Mom froze.  Although I knew it was not funny, it took every ounce of strength I could muster to keep a straight face. I rolled my eyes as my mind retraced the past week.  Well, let's see.  Our father is a murdering piece of shit, Susan's boyfriend is an asshole who told the television reporters she was a slut, and oh yeah, this morning, she saw her picture on the front page of the country's biggest tabloid.  I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and said, "She's been under a lot of pressure the past few days."
 
"What type of pressure?"

Dr. Shrink obviously didn't read the newspaper, watch television, or subscribe to any of the tabloids.
 
"Our father was just arrested and charged with the Belltown murders.  I am sure you can understand the shock something like that can cause.  It has been hard on all of us, but especially Susan.  Under the circumstances, I'm surprised she didn't fall apart sooner."
 
The doctor looked at me with sympathetic eyes. "How are you doing under all this pressure, young man?"
 
I grinned and couldn't resist asking, "Why, are you offering us a family discount?"
 
The doctor smiled. "Be careful. I often find inappropriate displays of humor the first sign of emotional fatigue."
 
I laughed.  "And I sometimes find humor a necessary release valve for built up tension. There's always more than one way of looking at a situation."
 
The doctor smiled again and nodded.  "Very true."
 
As if suddenly coming out of a fog, Mom looked at her watch and yelled, "Oh, shit!  I missed my appointment with Mr. Hurley.  I need to call and tell him what happened."
 
In an attempt to calm her down, I patted Mom on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry so much. The way news travels around this town, he probably knew what happened ten minutes after I called 911."
 
One of the doctors working on Susan interrupted to say, "Your daughter is going to be fine.  Despite the significant loss of blood, the cut on her wrist is actually superficial.  After we stitch it up, she will be fine, physically.  However, I am having her transferred to the psychiatric ward."
 
Mom and I walked over to Susan and sat down beside her. I took her hand and pressed it against my chest.  I leaned down, kissed her on the cheek, and whispered in her ear, "Susan, I love you."
 
The tears welling up in my eyes burned.  My sister was in trouble and there was nothing on Dad's list of what to do in an emergency that told me what I could do to help.  As I brushed the still wet hair from Susan's forehead, I noticed a single tear trickling down her cheek. I smiled, knowing she was still with us.  I kissed her again and said, "Take your time Susan. Take all the time you need.  I'll come and see you every day, I promise."
 
When I stepped into the waiting room, I immediately saw Charlie cowering in the corner, trying to hide from the crowd of television reporters standing on the sidewalk in front of the Emergency Room.  I clicked my fingers to get his attention, signaled him to follow me, and we went back into the examination room together.  I asked the doctor to go out and tell the reporters there would be no statement from the hospital or family.  Although patient privacy laws prohibited any discussion of Susan's medical condition, I reminded the doctor to keep his mouth shut. 
 
Mom stayed at the hospital with Susan.  Charlie and I, leaving through a side exit, took a taxi back to the hotel.  As soon as I walked into the room, I called Mr. Hurley and told him I wanted him to arrange a meeting between Dad and me.
 
"James, I don't think that's a good idea…."
 
I interrupted.  "I don't care what you think.  Set up the meeting."
 
"Listen, James, I'm not even sure I can get you on the visitor's list.  The prosecutor, the police, and even your dad's attorney…."
 
I interrupted again.  "You're not listening. I don't care what you, the prosecutor, the police, Dad's attorney, or Dad wants or doesn't want.  SET UP THE DAMN MEETING!"
 
"James, it just isn't that easy…."
 
"Sure it is."  My anger was in total control.  "Just tell them if I don't meet with Dad, I'm going straight to the media about this little plea agreement.  I'm sure the public would love to know the prosecutor is actually considering letting Dad off with a slap on the hands."
 
I struck a nerve.  "James, don't be foolish.  That's not going to win you any friends with the prosecutor's office."
 
"Friends?  Mr. Hurley, I'm not looking for friends.  I'm looking for answers.  Set up the damn meeting.  Tomorrow works fine for me and I'm sure its' a safe bet Dad's got plenty of free time too."
 
Not bothering to say goodbye, I slammed down the phone and looked over at Charlie, who was staring at me with his mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief.
 
I took a deep breath and then feeling a strange sense of satisfaction, exclaimed, "Damn, that felt good!"

 

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.

I got my eye-patch removed today so I have absolutely no excuses for any of the spags I probably missed. Those of you familiar with me, know I am the worst speller on this sight and as I have said may times before, I flunked English grammar in elementary, junior high, AND high school. Any and all help will be greatly appreciated.


Chapter 11
Home is Not Where the Heart is

By Sasha

Mom returned several hours later. The expression on her face when she entered the room was a combination of exhaustion, concern and fear, but mostly anger. It was apparent she had spoken with Mr. Hurley.

When I started to speak, Mom raised her hand, and in a voice shaking with anger, she told me to shut up and sit down.

Maintaining a neutral expression, I silently laughed. Goodbye June Cleaver and hello Mom!

"James, what the hell were you thinking? How dare you threaten to talk to the reporters? That is the last thing any of us need to do. Reporters are just looking for an opportunity to nail us to the wall and you're willing to hand them the hammer and bloody nails to do it with!"

Since Dad's arrest, Mom had shown shock, disbelief, and even sadness, but she still had yet to express herself openly about Dad. I assumed she had the same questions that I had. Meeting with Dad meant facing those questions and I wasn't sure she was ready to do that. Hell, I wasn't sure if I was ready. I suddenly came to a distressing realization; I didn't really know Mom very well. Other than observing nineteen years of apathy, I was unable to say with any certainty, how she felt about Dad. I still couldn't distinguish the robot from the real person.

"Mom, I have to see Dad."

Looking as though she was on the verge of crying, she shook her head and asked, "Why in God's name do you want to talk to him? Do you think he's suddenly going to explain his actions in such a way you will feel better and be able to forgive him?"

"No, I know there is nothing Dad can say that could ever explain why he did what he did. And, no, I will never forgive him."

"Then why, James? Why do you insist on seeing him?"

"Because I won't let him hide behind us anymore. I need to look into his eyes and see the monster he is and always has been."

Mom sat down on the couch beside Charlie who had remained completely silent since Mom returned.

"Mom, when I saw Susan in the hospital lying on the table strapped down like a frightened animal, the first question that popped into my head was, does Dad have any idea of the hell we are going through. I realized then that he not only doesn't know what he has done to us, he obviously doesn't care. How could he? How can a man who brutally murders twelve girls without giving any thought to them or their families possibly care about his own family? We are nothing more to him than a mask he has carefully created to hide behind. He is not a father, a husband, a neighbor, or a hero. He is a monster who pretended to love us because we provided him the perfect cover."

The look on Charlie's face broke my heart. I could tell he did not like hearing what I was saying. I didn't want to upset him but I had to speak the truth.

Mom put her arm around Charlie and kissed him on the cheek.

"I still don't want you to see your father. Mr. Hurley and I both think it's a bad idea."

"Mom, this is not open for discussion. I am going to see Dad and if I have to use threats to do it, then so be it."

Realizing I had made up my mind, Mom sighed and simply said, "Okay. However, it may not be tomorrow. Mr. Hurley said it could take a couple of days to set it up."

I shrugged then subtly changed the subject. "How's Susan?"

Mom shook her head and sighed. "Not much better. I think she's still in shock. I spoke with the staff on the ward and they seem capable and caring. Susan can have visitors, but they suggest we wait a few days until they have had a chance to evaluate her."

"No. I told Susan I would visit her every day and that's what I plan to do. She needs to know someone in her life can be trusted to keep their word."

Mom didn't argue. "I have an appointment with her nurse and doctor tomorrow at nine o'clock. You can come with me if you want."

She suddenly sat up as though remembering something important.

"Mr. Hurley said Detective Mac has released the house. We can go back any time we want. "

Mom paused, and then said, "I have to be honest. Not knowing how the neighbors feel and knowing the media are still camped out on the front lawn, I don't think it is such a good idea we move back home. I've been thinking about renting a place where no one knows us so we can take our time to figure out what we want to do."

I agreed. To my amazement, Charlie agreed too.

* * *

Mac offered to drive us to our house to get some clothes. I was sure after my temper tantrum this afternoon, he planned to shoot me and add my death to his list of unsolved murders.

As we walked to the car, Mac winked at me and, with an unexpected grin, said, "I'm impressed. You're pretty feisty for a kid. Although I'm not sure pissing off the prosecutor was the best route to take, I must say it was amusing to see how quickly he's working to get your name on the visitors' list."

"Well, you might not think it was the best tactic, but it has been my experience that people don't pay much attention to nerds unless they carry a big stick, or as you boys in the legal world like to say, have a bargaining chip."

Mac chuckled. "I bet you play a mean game of poker too."

I laughed.

Half a block from the house, I could already see several vans from the various local television stations parked in front of the house. As soon as we pulled into the driveway, it became an instant replay of our previous encounters. Mom, Charlie, Mac and I simply ignored their questions and pushed our way through the crowd.

Once we were inside the house, I felt a strange sense of foreboding, as though it was haunted. The warm, familiar feeling of being home where it was safe was gone and I knew it was never coming back. The look on Mom and Charlie's face told me they felt exactly the same way.

Charlie immediately turned on the answering machine. One by one, we listened to, "Hello, Martha. I am so sorry to hear about John. If you need someone to talk to, please don't hesitate to give me a call." "I hope you all burn in hell. How could you live with that piece of shit and not suspect he was a monster?" "Charlie, I miss you. Please call and let me know you are okay, but call me on my cell phone, not at home. My parents don't want me to talk to you. My dad said, it's in the genes. I don't know what that means, but he'll be really pissed if he finds out I called you." "Mrs. Martin, this is your fault. If you were a better wife, I'm sure your husband wouldn't have been forced to go looking for young girls. "

Unable to listen to any more, Mom turned off the recorder, removed the cassette, and tossed it into the trash bin beside the desk.

Mom slowly walked around the room looking at all the photographs on the wall. Once a year, as far back as I could remember, we had a family photograph taken. There were at least twenty photographs of Mom, Dad, Charlie, Susan, and me with big smiles on our faces. Each perfectly framed and neatly lined up starting with the first taken before Charlie and Susan were born, and ending with the one taken just a few months ago. To a stranger we looked like the perfect American family. Before realizing I was angry, I suddenly punched my fist into one of the photographs, breaking the glass, and sending it crashing to the floor. To my shock, Mom began smashing all the photographs too, and when she was done, she collapsed onto the floor and began sobbing uncontrollably.

Charlie, also crying, knelt down and put his arms around Mom. I took a step toward Mom but Mac pulled me back. He patted me on the back, and in a voice riddled with sadness said, "Let Charlie help her. He needs to be needed right now. Let them cry. God knows they have earned it."

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.

Okay Evil Eddie is playing stupid with me again....Every time I try spell check it tells me Mr. needs a second '.' and then goes into error mode....story of my life, right?


Chapter 11
James Takes Charge

By Sasha

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong language.





I climbed into the back of the aid car, careful to stay out of the way of the medics working on Susan. One took her pulse and monitored her blood pressure while the other repeatedly asked her to tell him her name.  Susan remained unresponsive. 
 
Unsure of how much blood she had lost, I instructed the driver to call ahead and notify the hospital Susan was A positive.  Unable to do anything but watch, I felt utterly helpless. I could not ignore the irony of the situation.  Flushed with adrenaline, my heart pounded in my ears as I wondered if Dad had trained them.  He was the best and strange as it felt I prayed he had.  Dad insisted we all learn CPR, perform the Heimlich maneuver, and taught all of us how to perform an emergency tracheotomy with a straw and a steak knife.  He prepared us for almost every imaginable situation, except one.
 
The siren abruptly stopped as we pulled up to the Emergency entrance of Harborview Medical Center. Mom and Charlie arrived in a taxi a few minutes later. Susan was immediately wheeled into an examination room. When the nurse asked me to leave, I stood my ground and refused.  Mom quietly allowed me to take charge and silently stood by my side.  Charlie remained alone in the waiting room.
 
While two doctors worked on Susan, a nurse entered the room and proceeded to ask what seemed like an endless list of unimportant questions; height, weight, age, and date of her first period, any surgeries, known allergies, broken bones, childhood diseases, and a list of childhood inoculations.  Mom answered each question as though her brain was on autopilot.  She always dealt with pressure by shutting down and transforming into a quiet, polite, non intrusive robot, never showing her true emotions.  Dad had done such a terrific job turning her into June Cleaver I wondered if I would ever know who Mom was or, if the real Martha Mathews still existed.

A few minutes later, a third doctor entered the room. He introduced himself as the Psychiatric Resident On-Call.  I already knew Susan's attempted suicide required an automatic seventy-two hour hold on the psychiatric ward.  Looking at Mom, the doctor asked, "Can you tell me what lead up to your daughter's current mental state?"
 
Mom froze.  Although I knew there was nothing amusing about my sister’s attempt to take her life, it took every ounce of strength I could muster to keep a straight face. I rolled my eyes as my mind retraced the past week.  Well, let's see.  Our father is a murdering piece of shit.  Susan's boyfriend is an asshole who told the television reporters she was a slut, and oh yeah, this morning, she saw her picture on the front page of the country's biggest tabloid.  I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and calmly said, “She's been under a lot of stress the past few days."
 
"What type of stress?"

Dr. Shrink obviously did not read the newspaper, watch television, or subscribe to any of the tabloids.
 
"Our father was just arrested and charged with the Belltown murders.  I am sure you can understand the shock something like that can cause.  It has been hard on all of us but especially Susan."
 
The doctor looked at me with sympathetic eyes. "How are you doing under all this pressure, young man?"
 
I grinned and couldn't resist asking, "Why?  Are you offering us a family discount?"
 
The doctor smiled. "Be careful. I often find inappropriate displays of humor the first sign of emotional fatigue."
 
I laughed.  "And I sometimes find humor a necessary release valve for built up tension. There's always more than one way of looking at a situation."
 
The doctor smiled again.  "Very true."
 
Mom looked at her watch and yelled, "Oh, damn!  I missed my appointment with Mr. Hurley.  I need to call and tell him what happened."
 
In an attempt to calm her down, I patted Mom gently on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry. The way news travels around this town, he probably knew what happened five minutes after you called 911."
 
One of the doctors working on Susan interrupted to say, "Your daughter has lost a significant amount of blood from the laceration on her wrist.  She has extensive tendon and muscle damage that will require surgery.  Physically, in time she is going to be fine.  However, she is currently in a catatonic state and will require close monitoring.  After her surgery, she will be transferred to the psychiatric ward for a full evaluation."
 
Mom and I walked over to Susan and sat down beside her. I took her hand and pressed it against my chest.  I leaned down, kissed her on the cheek, and whispered in her ear, "Susan, I love you."
 
The tears welling up in my eyes burned.  My sister was in trouble, and there was nothing on Dad's list of what to do in an emergency that told me what I could do to help.  As I brushed the still wet hair from Susan's forehead, I noticed a single tear trickling down her cheek. I smiled, knowing she was still with us.  I kissed her again and said, "Take your time, Susan. Take all the time you need.  I'll come and see you every day I promise."
 
I spoke with the doctor and told him I wanted Susan transferred to University Hospital.  Harborview was a top rated triage hospital but University was knownfor its excellentpsychiatric care.  Knowing Harborview was a dumping off point for drug addicts, street people, and alcoholics did not reassure me that it was the right place for Susan.  To my surprise, the doctor did not argue and promised to make immediate arrangements for the transfer.
 
When I stepped into the waiting room, I immediately saw Charlie cowering in the corner, trying to hide from the crowd of television reporters standing on the sidewalk in front of the Emergency Room door.  I clicked my fingers to get his attention, signaled him to follow me into the examination. 
I instructed the doctor to tell the reporters there would be no statement from the hospital or family.  Although patient privacy laws prohibited any discussion of Susan's medical condition, I reminded the doctor to keep his mouth shut. 
 
Mom stayed at the hospital with Susan.  Charlie and I left through a side exit and took a taxi back to the hotel.  As soon as I walked into the room, I called Mr. Hurley.  I told him to arrange a meeting between Dad and me.
 
"James, I don't think that's a wise idea."
 
"I don't care what you think.  Set up the meeting."
 
"Listen, James, I'm not even sure I can get you on the visitor's list.  The prosecutor, the police, and even your dad's attorney…."
 
"You're not listening. I don't care what you, the prosecutor, the police, Dad's attorney, or Dad wants or doesn't want.  SET UP THE DAMN MEETING!"
 
"James, it just isn't that easy."
 
"Sure it is."  My anger was in total control.  "Just tell them if I don't meet with Dad, I'm going straight to the media about the plea agreement.  I'm sure the public would love to know the prosecutor is considering letting Dad off with a slap on the hands."
 
I struck a nerve.  "James, don't be foolish.  That's not going to win you any friends with the prosecutor's office."
 
"Friends?  Mr. Hurley, I'm not looking for friends.  I'm looking for answers.  Set up the damn meeting.  Tomorrow works fine for me, and I'm sure it’s a safe bet, Dad's got plenty of free time too."
 
Not bothering to say goodbye, I slammed down the phone and looked over at Charlie, who was staring at me with his mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief.
 
I took a deep breath and then, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction, exclaimed, "Damn, that felt good!"
 
Charlie looked at me intently for several seconds with an expression of confusion on his face.  He suddenly threw his hands into the air, then, without saying where he was going, stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 12
Charlie Returns

By Sasha










After thirty-minutes passed with no sign of Charlie, my imagination kicked into full gear. Fearing he was up to no good, I called Mr. Hurley.  As expected, he assured me Charlie was probably just walking off his anger and frustration and would be back soon.  My gut refused to accept his poor attempt to reassure me.  Charlie had a terrible temper with little, if any, impulse control, and I was sure he was searching for Billy.
 
Finally, Mr. Hurley told me he would ask Mac to look for Charlie.  I was relieved knowing Mac was the one who would be looking for him. However, I prayed Charlie hadn’t already done something stupid.  My concern was growing with every passing minute, and I knew if he was still MIA when Mom got back, she would freak out, and like me, fear the worst.
 
Twenty-minutes later, there was a knock at the door.  Mac greeted me with a handshake and a big smile.  “I hear one of the litter has escaped from the kennel, and you require assistance in locating him.”

“Yes.  Charlie stomped out after we got back from the hospital.”

Mac’s smile disappeared and was immediately replaced with concern.  “I heard about Billy, and I am sorry about what Susan did.  How’s she doing?”
 
“Her arm is pretty messed up, but under the circumstances, it could be a lot worse.”
 
Mac poured himself a cup of coffee.  “Got any milk?”

“Yeah, there’s some in the fridge.”
 
Coffee in hand, Mac walked over to the couch and sat down, took a sip from his cup, then began what sounded like a well rehearsed speech.
 
“James, Mr. Hurley warned you and Charlie about keeping a low profile.  Personally, I’d like a few minutes in a room with Billy myself, but beating the crap out of him would only make an already bad situation worse.”
 
Despite my fear that was exactly what Charlie was planning, I felt the need to defend him.
 
“Give Charlie a break.  He’s been through hell, and if I were a few pounds heavier, I’d be out there looking for Billy myself.”
 
Mac grinned.  “No, James, you wouldn’t.  You’re too smart to use your hands.  You’d talk the poor idiot to death.”
 
Mac took another sip of his coffee.  “If you remember, he took a swing at me the first time we met.  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see he has a wicked temper with poor impulse control.  If he doesn’t get into an anger management class soon, Charlie is headed for a shitload of trouble.”
 
Mac was right.  “Okay, now that we’ve cleared that up, what do we do now?”
 
“Relax, my friend, Detective Acres has already found Charlie, and they are on their way here as we speak.”
 
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that when you got here?  Why let me worry needlessly when you knew he was okay? Where did Acres find him?”
 
“He found him two blocks from Billy’s house.”
 
I was angry with Mac for not telling me sooner, but relieved that Charlie was okay and hadn’t made it to Billy’s. 
 
The door abruptly opened and Charlie and Detective Acres walked in.  Mac stood up, and looking at Charlie, said, “Have a seat young man, we need to talk.”
 
Charlie glared at Mac and then snapped, “Go to hell.”  Charlie stomped across the room, went into the bedroom, and to no one’s surprise, slammed the door.
 
I got up and walked over to the bedroom door and pounded on it with my fist.  “Charlie, get the hell out here right now! You’re acting like a spoiled brat and you need to apologize to Mac.”
 
Charlie refused to come out of his room.  A few minutes later, Mom arrived.  Surprised to see Detectives Mac and Acres, she asked why they were here.  After Mac explained, Mom, furious, pounded on the bedroom door, demanding Charlie come out immediately.  He did as he was told.
 
Charlie stood with his hands behind his back while staring at the floor.  Mom was still angry and grabbed Charlie by the arm and shook him.  “Damn it, what the hell were you thinking?  That’s all this family needs is another scandal.  I can see the headlines now, “Serial Killer’s son follows in his father’s footsteps and kills his sister’s boyfriend.”
 
Mom was so angry she was trembling.  Charlie began to cry.  “Mom, I wasn’t going to kill him.  I just wanted to teach him a lesson.”
 
“Listen to me, young man.  It is not up to you to teach anyone a lesson.  Mr. Hurley has been working on filing a lawsuit against Billy for slander.  By the time I get done with him and his family, they will wish they had never messed with this family.”
 
Mom’s words touched a sore spot.  I could think of at least twelve families that already wished they never heard of our family.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 12
A Visit With Susan

By Sasha



Mac dropped us off in front of the hotel and said goodbye with a nod and a quick wave of his hand. Although our intent had been to get some clothes, except for two family photograph albums, we returned empty handed. Whether we liked it or not, we were about to start a new life and there was nothing from the past that Charlie or I wanted to bring with us. 

Mom had not spoken since leaving the house.  Other than a hug or pat on the shoulder, I had no idea how to comfort her.   Susan always knew what to say, how to say it, and exactly when to say it.  That was her forte.  Watching Mom sit on the couch, silently staring out the window, I felt helpless.  A hug was not going to be enough this time.

Although common sense told me otherwise, I couldn't help wonder if I had missed something; some clue to what Dad really was. The burden weighing on all our shoulders was more than any family should have to bear. The anger building up inside me fueled my determination to confront Dad. I didn't know what I was going to say, and, in all honesty, I wasn't interested in what he had to say. I only knew I wanted him to know how much I hated him. 

None of us was hungry but I knew we needed to eat something. I called room service and ordered two cheeseburgers, a large order of fries, and two large Cokes for Charlie and me. I ordered a chicken Caesar salad and lemonade for Mom. 

Charlie went into the bedroom to watch television and I sat down beside Mom on the couch. She was still holding the two photograph albums in a vice-like grip. 

"How are you doing, Mom?"  Stupid question, but nothing else came to mind. 

Mom feigned a smile. "Well, James, I've been better." 

She paused, and then laying one album on the chair beside her, opened the other, and began slowly flipping through the pages. She gently touched each photograph as though saying goodbye to a memory long gone. When she came to a picture of Dad, she removed it, opened her purse, and took out a pair of scissors, and methodically cut his image from the photograph; dropping each one onto the rug as though nothing more than dust. Mom went through every page of both albums removing all evidence of Dad.

After an hour, the pile on the floor had grown significantly. Mom may have cut his image from the photographs, but it upset me knowing that we would take hatred, anger, and sadness to erase him from our hearts. I prayed that seeing him would be the first step toward extinguishing him completely. 


Mom woke me at eight in the morning and told me I needed to hurry up and get dressed. We were expected at the hospital at nine o'clock and she didn't want to be late. Charlie was already up and dressed. He refused to stay at the hotel, saying he was tired of being treated like a child.

"I'm as much a part of this family as all of you. Susan is my sister too and no one is keeping me from seeing her." 

I smiled and gave Charlie a hug. I was proud of him for standing up for himself. 

We arrived at the hospital a few minutes before nine. We went directly to 7 North, one of the two psychiatric wards at the hospital. Mom pressed the button beside the door to let someone inside know we were there. A young woman, probably a nurse, opened the door, and after introducing ourselves, we were quickly ushered down a hall and into a large conference room. Surprisingly, we didn't have to wait long before the door opened and a tall, very attractive, blonde woman and a short, very young-looking doctor entered the room. 

"Hello, Mrs. Martin. I am Dr. Perez and this is Marilyn, Susan's day nurse. I know you have a lot of questions, but let me begin by telling you Susan has given me permission to discuss her medical condition with each of you.  I'd like to begin with explaining who we are and what we do here." 

We each nodded. 

"First of all, I am a third year resident specializing in Psychiatric Medicine. I am a board certified doctor fully qualified to treat your daughter. Marilyn is a psychiatric nurse with six years experience.  Each patient is assigned a team consisting of a resident, nurse, social worker, physical therapist, and occupational therapist. An attending physician, a psychiatrist, oversees each patient's care and heads the team. Dr. Holden is the attending psychiatrist and he and I will work closely with Susan. I hope this assures you that Susan is in good hands." 

Mom relaxed her tight grip on my hand and smiled at the doctor. "Yes, it does." 

Dr. Perez continued, "As you know, Susan was brought into the ER yesterday in a non-responsive state. After reviewing her chart, and spending more than an hour examining her, it is obvious to me her condition stems directly from the traumatic events she, and your family, have experienced over the past few days. Susan is not in a catatonic state. It is my opinion that she is suffering the first stages of posttraumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. I believe she will make a full recovery." 

Dr. Perez paused to let his words sink in then asked, "Do you have any questions?" 

Mom immediately asked if we could see Susan. 

Dr. Perez smiled. "We usually prefer to wait a few days to allow the patient to settle into a routine.  However, I think it is important she have contact with all of you. Susan is currently under medication and may appear drowsy and distant. She may or may not recognize you. Try not to be concerned if she does not respond to you. This is not unusual. I only ask that you not discuss either her boyfriend or her father. These are subjects she must initiate herself. Susan will decide when she is ready to talk about them. 

Marilyn smiled and added, "I spent some time with Susan this morning and as Dr. Perez said, she may seem distant, but she is talking, which is a very good sign. She knows you are here and has expressed embarrassment. This is also normal. Just be yourselves and talk about how much you love and miss her." 

"How long will you keep her medicated?" I asked. "Usually PTSD is a long term illness, often requiring years of therapy."

"For some patients, PTSD it is a single episode and for others it is a long term illness that requires continued treatment. In Susan's case I am leaning toward this being a single episode, but only time will give us an accurate answer. The medication I've prescribed allows Susan to relax and should lessen the stress she is under. If Susan shows improvement, I will lower the dosage in the hope of eventually eliminating it. "

Charlie looked at Mom then at Dr. Perez. "Can we see Susan now?" 

Dr. Perez nodded, "Marilyn, why don't you see if Susan wants to join us." 

After Marilyn left the room, Dr Perez leaned forward and took Mom's hand. "I encourage you all to visit her every day and spend as much time with her as she can tolerate. If she becomes sad, or shows any sign of stress, it is important you leave, but leave graciously, never abruptly or in anger. Susan is going to have good days and bad days. This is unavoidable. You need to be aware of her limits and make sure your visits are as positive as possible." 

We all agreed. 

A few minutes later, the door opened and Susan walked in with Marilyn at her side. I was horrified at what I saw. Wearing a hospital gown, rumpled robe, and foam rubber slippers, Susan stood staring at us as if searching her mind for some recognition of who we were.  It was impossible not to notice the large bandage on her left wrist.

Mom immediately got up and walked over to where Susan was standing and gave her a big hug. 

"Hi sweetie. We all missed you." 

Still looking lost and confused, Susan said in a flat voice, "I missed you too." 

However, I could tell she still did not recognize any of us. Without thinking, I blurted out, "How's the food here? Is it as bad as they say?" I felt like an idiot. 

But to my surprise, Susan smiled. I looked at Dr. Perez and said, "Maybe tomorrow we can bring you some fish and chips. Would you like that?" 

Susan nodded then turned around and walked toward the open door.

Dr. Perez smiled again. "I think Susan is tired and could use a nap." 

Marilyn took hold of Susan's arm and gently guided her out of the room. Mom and Charlie both started to cry. I fought back the tears welling up in my eyes. 

Dr. Perez said he thought the meeting went well and encouraged us to come back tomorrow. 

We left the ward arm in arm, and as we walked down the hall toward the elevator, Mom's phone rang. She said, 'Hello" and then "Okay" several times before putting the phone back into her purse. 

With her faced flushed and her hands shaking, Mom looked at me and said, "Well, James, your dad has agreed to see you at two o'clock this afternoon." 

Still shaking, she bit her lip then asked, "James, are you sure you want to do this?" 

"Yes, Mom, I am absolutely sure—Now more than ever."

Author Notes James and his family return to the hotel. The next morning the family has a short visit with Susan and James learns he can meet with his father that afternoon.

This is a short but necessary chapter and hopefully not to dull. The next one will be more intense.


Chapter 13
The Demon and His Son

By Sasha


I have no clear recollection of the time between Mom speaking on the phone with Mr. Hurley, and my arrival at King County Jail.  When I got out of the taxi, the sky was a blanket of dark clouds that felt like an omen telling me to get back into the car and return to the hotel.  I ignored my gut and walked over to Mr. Hurley, who was standing in front of the jail, waiting for me.  
 
Trying to sidestep the panic attack I felt myself sliding into, I shook Mr. Hurley's hand and blurted out, "Sorry about the other day.  In retrospect I probably could have handled it better."
 
Mr. Hurley patted me on the back and smiled as he pulled me toward the front door and out of the sudden downpour. "I like a kid with spirit.  Besides, you got what you wanted, right?"
 
I ignored the question.  "Are you going in with me?"
 
"I don't know.  That's up to you.  Mr. Douglas, the prosecutor, called in a lot of favors to get you this meeting.  Rules are rules, but it seems if your father is the infamous Belltown Murderer, special arrangements can be made."
 
The thought of receiving special treatment sent a heavy wave of shame up my spine, causing the knot in my stomach to tighten.
 
King County Jail is a large, unimpressive, square building that sits under the I-5 Freeway.  I could find no architectural value to the building whatsoever. The dull, grey walls appeared to be made of solid unpainted concrete.  I stood in the lobby pretending to stare at the high ceiling while Mr. Hurley spoke with the guard at the front desk.  A few minutes later, another guard approached and without introducing himself, led us up a ramp, and down a long hallway.
 
The sound of our footsteps echoed off the walls like church bells announcing the start of High Mass. My heart was still racing and my mind was spinning as I searched for what I was going to say when I saw Dad. Large beads of sweat dripped off my nose and chin, leaving a trail Hansel and Gretel could have followed with their eyes closed.  The guard and Mr. Hurley stopped abruptly causing me to slam into Mr. Hurley, nearly knocking him over.  We were standing in front of a door with a large glass window in the center.  Looking at the window, my first thought was, I bet that's bulletproof.  My second thought was, I am so glad I didn't say that out loud!
 
The guard unlocked the door and Mr. Hurley, who had clearly done this before, followed him inside, took off his coat, and emptied his pockets.  He instructed me to do the same.  The guard placed the items into a large plastic container that he put on a shelf next to the door.  He then turned to me and in a loud, booming voice said, "AMZUP!"
 
Not sure what he meant, I said, "I beg your pardon?"
 
He repeated his command in an even louder voice, "I said arms up!"
 
I raised my arms. The guard proceeded to pat, prod, and pinch very inch of my body before ordering me to take off my shoes and socks.  After thoroughly checking my shoes, inside and out, he handed them back to me and left the room.
 
Not sure what to expect next, I looked at Mr. Hurley. "Now what?"
 
He pointed to the door behind me. "They are bringing your father in now. They'll let us know when we can go in."
 
"So, you are coming in with me?"
 
"Yes, if you want me to.  I'll sit far enough away so you can have some privacy."
 
At that moment, I wasn't sure privacy was what I wanted. The door opened and a third guard stood in the doorway and indicated with a nod that we could go in.
 
My heart was beating so hard I could hardly hear and my entire body started to shake.  Seeing me tremble, Mr. Hurley took hold of my arm to steady me. "James, you don't have to do this if you don't want to."
 
I had come too far to turn back now.  "No, I'll be fine".
 
Still holding my arm, Mr. Hurley and I walked into the room.  Seeing Dad sitting behind the glass partition, I froze. Then, from somewhere deep inside me came a strange unexpected strength I had never experienced before. I stopped trembling, my mind was suddenly crystal clear, and my heartbeat slowed to a normal rate.  I was surprised to find myself in complete control.
 
I stood staring at Dad for several minutes before finally taking a seat in front of him.  He was dressed in a red jumpsuit with his hands and legs shackled. Despite looking tired, Dad appeared just as he always did; calm, confident, and cocky.  With an inappropriate smile on his face, he picked up the phone attached to the wall and pointed to the one beside me.  We both sat staring at each other waiting for the other to speak first.  Dad broke the silence.
 
"James, this is all just a big misunder….."
 
Unable to hide my anger, I interrupted yelling, "Don't even go there!"
 
Clearly surprised by my response, Dad attempted to maintain the control he was so familiar with.  "Hey, don't talk to me that way, young man."
 
Feeling as though I was drowning in my rage, I slammed my fist down on the counter.  "We are way past denial.  I refuse to play your stupid games any longer.  You are a pathetic, narcissistic, asshole and I hope you rot in hell for what you did."
 
Dad remained silent.
 
I wasn't finished.  "Go ahead.  Tell me your sad story.  Tell me Grandpa beat you when you were a child  or a neighbor abused you and turned you into the monster you are today. Tell me Grandma knew everything but turned a blind eye.  Maybe your first girlfriend laughed when you couldn't get it up.  Blame it on everyone else but yourself."
 
I don't know what I said, but the calm expression on Dad's face disappeared and was instantly replaced with undeniable rage.  I couldn't resist grinning.  "Whoa, I hit a nerve, didn't I?"
 
Still fighting for control, Dad shrugged and said, "You don't know what you're talking about."
 
I laughed.  "Oh, but I do.  You're scared shitless.  You got caught because you're not as smart as you think you are. You're terrified they want to stick a needle in your arm.  Face it, Dad, you're a stupid, gutless coward."
 
I paused for a moment then looked Dad straight in the eyes.  "How can a man who tortures, brutalizes, and murders twelve innocent girls for pleasure have the nerve to beg for mercy when suddenly faced with death himself?  Tell me Dad, did the girls you killed beg for their lives?  Why should you get the mercy you denied them?"
 
Dad stared at me with a blank expression on his face, but the anger in his eyes spoke volumes.  He was hiding something; I just didn't know what it was.
 
There was nothing more to say.  I hung up the phone and ran out of the room with Mr. Hurley following close behind.  I felt my knees buckle and I fell to the floor.  I heard a loud, frightening wail reverberate off the walls then realized it was coming from inside me. I pulled my knees up to my chest and covered my ears, but the wailing continued.  Mr. Hurley knelt down beside me and laid my head on his lap.  The tears and sobs poured out of me like a broken dam with a force so strong I felt sure my chest was going to split wide open.
 
Mr. Hurley sat with me for a long time before finally asking, "James, are you going to be all right?"
 
Barely able to speak, I shook my head and said in a voice barely above a whisper, "No sir, I don't think so."

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.

Those of you familiar with the first draft will notice in this version, Dad does not show any remorse. He continues to try and maintain control. James says something that triggers his dad's anger.


Chapter 13
There's No Place Like Home

By Sasha







Mom returned several hours later from her meeting with Mr. Hurley. The expression on her face was a combination of exhaustion, concern and fear, but mostly anger.

When I started to speak, Mom raised her hand, and in a voice shaking with anger, she told me to shut up and sit down.

Maintaining a neutral expression, I silently laughed. Goodbye, June Cleaver, and hello, Mom!

"James, what the hell were you thinking? How dare you threaten to talk to the reporters? That is the last thing any of us need to do. Reporters are just looking for an opportunity to nail us to the wall, and you're willing to hand them the bloody hammer and nails to do it with!"

Since Dad's arrest, Mom had shown shock, disbelief, and even sadness, but she still had yet to express herself openly about Dad. I assumed she had the same questions that I had. Meeting with Dad meant facing those questions, and I wasn't sure she was ready to do that. Hell, I wasn't sure if I was ready. I suddenly came to a distressing realization; I still didn't know Mom very well. Other than observing years of apathy, I was unable to say with any certainty, how she felt about Dad. I still could not distinguish the robot from the real person.

"Mom, I have to see Dad."

Looking as though she was on the verge of crying, she shook her head and asked, "Why in God's name do you want to talk to him? Do you think he's suddenly going to explain his actions in such a way you will feel better and be able to forgive him?"

"No, I know there is nothing Dad can say that could ever explain why he did what he did. And, no, I will never forgive him."

"Then why, James? Why do you insist on seeing him?"

"Because I refuse to let him hide behind us anymore. I need to look into his eyes and see the monster he is and always has been."

Mom sat on the couch beside Charlie, who had remained perfectly silent since Mom returned.

"Mom, when I saw Susan in the hospital lying on the table strapped down like a frightened animal, the first question that popped into my head was does Dad have any idea of the hell we are going through. I realized then, he not only doesn't know what he has done to us, he obviously doesn't care. How could he? How can a man who brutally murders twelve girls without giving any thought to them or their families possibly care about his own family? We are nothing more to him than a mask he has carefully created to hide behind. He is not a father, a husband, a neighbor, or a hero. He is a monster who pretended to love us because we provided him the perfect cover."

The look on Charlie's face broke my heart. I could tell he did not like hearing what I was saying. I didn't want to upset him, but I had to speak the truth.

Mom put her arm around Charlie and kissed him on the cheek.

"James, I still don't want you to see your father. Mr. Hurley and I think it's a terrible idea."

"Mom, this is not open for discussion. I am going to see Dad, and if I have to use threats to do it, then so be it."

Realizing I had made up my mind, Mom sighed and simply said, "Okay. However, it may not be tomorrow. Mr. Hurley said it could take a couple of days to set it up."

I shrugged then subtly changed the subject. "How's Susan?"

Mom shook her head and sighed. "The surgery went well, but the damage was more severe than they originally thought.  She will have to go through months of physical therapy, and there is still no guarantee she will regain full use of her wrist.  Her emotional state is not much better. She's still in shock. I spoke with the staff on the ward, and they seem capable and caring. Susan can have visitors, but they suggest we wait a few days until they have had a chance to evaluate her."

"No. I told Susan I would visit her every day. She needs to know someone in her life can be trusted to keep their word."

Mom didn't argue. "I have an appointment with her nurse and doctor tomorrow at nine o'clock. You can come with me if you want."

She suddenly sat up as though remembering something important.

"Mr. Hurley said Detective Mac has released the house. We can go back any time we want."

Mom paused, and then said, "I have to be honest. Not knowing how the neighbors feel and knowing the media are still camped out on the front lawn, I don't think it is such a bright idea we move back home. I've been thinking about renting a place where no one knows us, so we can take our time to figure out what we want to do."

I agreed. To my amazement, Charlie agreed too.


* * * * * * * *


Mac offered to drive us to the house to get some clothes. I was sure after my temper tantrum with Mr. Hurley this afternoon, he planned to shoot me and add my death to his list of unsolved murders.

As we walked to the car, Mac winked at me and, with an unexpected grin, said, "I'm impressed. You're pretty feisty for a kid. Although I'm not sure pissing off the prosecutor was the best route to take, I must say it was amusing to see how quickly he started working to get your name on the visitors' list."

"Well, you might not think it was the best tactic, but it has been my experience that people don't pay much attention to nerds unless they carry a large stick, or as you boys in the legal world like to say, have a bargaining chip."

Mac chuckled. "I bet you play a mean game of poker too."

I laughed.

Half a block from the house, I could already see several vans from the various local television stations parked in front of the house. As soon as we pulled into the driveway, it became an instant replay of our previous encounters. Mom, Charlie, Mac and I simply ignored their questions and pushed our way through the crowd.

Once we were inside the house, I felt a strange sense of foreboding, as though it was haunted. The warm, familiar feeling of being home where it was safe was gone, and I knew it was never coming back. The expressions on Mom and Charlie's face told me they felt exactly the same way.

Charlie immediately turned on the answering machine. One by one, we listened to, "Hello, Martha. I am so sorry to hear about John. If you need someone to talk to, please don't hesitate to give me a call… I hope you all burn in hell. How could you live with that piece of shit and not suspect he was a monster…?  Charlie, I miss you. Please call and let me know you’re okay, but call me on my cell phone, not at home. My parents don't want me to talk to you. My dad said it's in the genes. I don't know what that means, but he'll be seriously pissed if he finds out I called you… Mrs. Martin, this is your fault… Mrs. Mathews, if you were a better wife, I'm sure your husband wouldn't have been forced to go looking for young girls. "

Unable to listen to any more, Mom turned off the recorder, removed the cassette, and tossed it into the trash bin beside the desk.

Mom slowly walked around the room looking at all the photographs on the wall. Once a year, as far back as I could remember, we had a family photograph taken. There were twenty photographs of Mom, Dad, Charlie, Susan, and me with happy smiles on our faces. Each perfectly framed and neatly lined up starting with the first taken before Charlie and Susan were born, and ending with the one taken just a few months ago. To a stranger we looked like the perfect American family. Before realizing I was angry, I suddenly punched my fist into one of the photographs, breaking the glass, and sending it crashing to the floor. To my shock, Mom began smashing all the photographs too, and when she was done, she collapsed onto the floor and began sobbing uncontrollably.

Charlie, also crying, knelt down and put his arms around her. I took a step toward Mom, but Mac pulled me back. He patted me on the back, and in a voice riddled with sadness said, "Let Charlie help her. He needs to be needed right now. Let them cry. God knows they have earned it."

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 14
A Visit With Susan in the Hospital

By Sasha










Mac dropped us off in front of the hotel and said goodbye with a nod and a quick wave of his hand. Although our intent had been to get some clothes, except for two family photograph albums, we returned empty handed. Whether we liked it or not, we were about to start a new life, and there was nothing from the past that Charlie, Mom or I wanted to bring with us. 

Mom had not spoken since leaving the house.  Other than a hug or a pat on the shoulder, I had no idea how to comfort her.   Susan always knew what to say, how to say it, and exactly when to say it.  That was her forte.  Watching Mom sit on the couch, silently staring out the window, I felt helpless.  A hug was not going to be enough this time.

Although common sense told me otherwise, I couldn't help wonder if I had missed something, some clue to what Dad actually was. The burden weighing on all our shoulders was more than any family should have to bear. The anger building up inside me fueled my determination to confront Dad. I didn't know what I was going to say, and, in all honesty, I wasn't interested in what he had to say. I only knew I wanted him to know how much I hated him. 

None of us were hungry, but we needed to eat something. I called room service and ordered two cheeseburgers, a large order of fries, and two large Cokes for Charlie and me. I ordered a chicken Caesar salad and lemonade for Mom. 

Charlie went into the bedroom to watch television, and I sat beside Mom on the couch. She was still holding the two photograph albums in a viselike grip. 

"How are you doing, Mom?"  Stupid question, but nothing else came to mind. 

Mom feigned a smile. "Well, James, I've been better." 

She paused, and then laying one album on the chair beside her, opened the other, and began slowly flipping through the pages. She gently touched each photograph as though saying goodbye to a memory long gone. When she came to a picture of Dad, she removed it, opened her purse, and took out a pair of scissors, and methodically cut his image from the photograph; dropping each one onto the rug as though nothing more than garbage. Mom went through every page of both albums removing all evidence of Dad.

After an hour, the pile on the floor had grown significantly. Mom may have cut his image from the photographs, but it upset me knowing that it would take hatred, anger, and sadness to erase him from our hearts. I prayed that seeing him would be the first step toward extinguishing him completely. 

 
* * * * * ** * *


Mom woke me at eight in the morning and told me that I needed to hurry up and get dressed. We were expected at the hospital at nine o'clock, and she didn't want to be late. Charlie was already up and dressed. He refused to stay at the hotel, saying he was tired of being treated like a child.

"I'm as much a part of this family as all of you. Susan is my sister too and no one is keeping me from seeing her." 

I smiled and gave Charlie a hug. I was proud of him for standing up for himself. 

We arrived at the hospital a few minutes before nine. We went directly to 7 North, one of their two psychiatric wards. Mom pressed the button beside the door to let someone inside know we were there. A young woman, probably a nurse, opened the door, and after introducing ourselves, we were quickly ushered down a hall and into a large conference room. Surprisingly, we did not have to wait long before the door opened, and a tall, very attractive, blonde woman and a short, very young-looking doctor entered the room. 

"Hello, Mrs. Mathews. I am Dr. Perez and this is Marilyn, Susan's day nurse. I know you have a lot of questions, but let me begin by telling you Susan has given me permission to discuss her medical condition with each of you.  I'd like to start with explaining who we are, and what we do here." 

We each nodded. 

"First of all, I am a fourth-year resident specializing in Psychiatric Medicine. I am a board certified doctor fully qualified to treat your daughter. Marilyn is a psychiatric nurse with six years experience.  Each patient is assigned a team consisting of a resident, nurse, social worker, physical therapist, and occupational therapist. An attending physician, a psychiatrist, oversees each patient's care and heads the team. Dr. Holden is the attending psychiatrist, and he and I will work closely with Susan. I hope this assures you that Susan is in excellent hands." 

Mom relaxed her tight grip on my hand and smiled at the doctor. "Yes, it does." 

Dr. Perez continued, "As you know, Susan was brought into the ER yesterday in an unresponsive state. After reviewing her chart, and spending more than an hour examining her, it is obvious to me her condition stems directly from the traumatic events she and your family, have experienced over the past few days. Susan is not in a traditional catatonic state. It is my opinion that she is suffering the first stages of posttraumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. With time, proper treatment and the correct medication, I believe she will make a full recovery." 

Dr. Perez paused to let his words sink in then asked, "Do you have any questions?" 

Mom immediately asked if we could see Susan. 

Dr. Perez smiled. "We usually prefer to wait a few days to allow the patient to settle into a routine.  However, I think it is crucial she have contact with all of you. Susan is currently under medication and may appear drowsy and distant. She may or may not recognize you. Try not to be concerned if she does not respond to you. This is not unusual. I only ask that you not discuss either her boyfriend or her father. These are subjects she must initiate herself. Susan will decide when she is ready to talk about them. 

Marilyn smiled and added, "I spent some time with Susan this morning, and as Dr. Perez said she may seem distant, but she is talking, which is an exceptionally good sign. She knows you are here and has expressed embarrassment. This is also normal. Just be yourselves and talk about how much you love and miss her." 

"How long will you keep her medicated?" I asked. "Usually PTSD is a long term illness, often requiring years of therapy."

"For some patients, PTSD is a single episode and for others, it is a long term illness that requires continued treatment. In Susan's case I am leaning toward this being a single episode, but only time will give us an accurate answer. The medication I've prescribed allows Susan to relax and should lessen the stress she is under. If Susan shows improvement, I will lower the dosage in the hope of eventually eliminating it. "

Charlie looked at Mom then at Dr. Perez.  "Can we see Susan now?" 

Dr. Perez nodded. "Marilyn, why don't you see if Susan wants to join us." 

After Marilyn left the room, Dr Perez leaned forward and took Mom's hand. "I encourage you to visit her every day and spend as much time with her as she can tolerate. If she becomes sad, or shows any sign of stress, it is crucial you leave, but leave graciously, never abruptly or in anger. Susan is going to have good days and bad days. This is unavoidable. You need to be aware of her limits and make sure your visits are as positive as possible." 

We all agreed. 

A few minutes later, the door opened, and Susan walked in with Marilyn at her side. I was horrified at what I saw. Wearing a hospital gown, rumpled robe, and foam rubber slippers, Susan stood staring at us as if searching her mind for some recognition of who we were.  It was impossible not to notice the large bandage on her left wrist.

Mom immediately got up and walked over to Susan and gave her a loving hug. 

"Hi, sweetie. We all missed you." 

Still looking lost and confused, Susan said in a flat, unemotional voice, "I missed you too." 

However, I could tell she still did not recognize any of us. Without thinking, I blurted out, "How's the food here? Is it as bad as they say?" I felt like an idiot. 

But to my surprise, Susan smiled. I looked at Dr. Perez and said, "Maybe tomorrow we can bring you some fish and chips. Would you like that?" 

Susan nodded then turned around and walked slowly toward the open door.

Dr. Perez smiled again. "I think Susan is tired and could use a nap." 

Marilyn took hold of Susan's arm and gently guided her out of the room. Mom and Charlie both started to cry. I fought back the tears welling up in my eyes. 

Dr. Perez said he thought the meeting went well and encouraged us to come back tomorrow. 

We left the ward arm in arm, and as we walked down the hall toward the elevator, Mom's phone rang. She said, 'Hello" and then "Okay" several times before putting the phone back into her purse. 

Mom's face was flushed and her hands shaking.  She looked at me and said, "Well, James, your dad has agreed to see you at two o'clock this afternoon." 

Still shaking, she bit her lip then asked, "James, are you sure you want to do this?" 

"Yes, Mom, I am absolutely sure—Now, more than ever."



Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 14
A Late Night Talk

By Sasha

Sitting beside Mr. Hurley in the backseat of the taxi is all I remember of the ride back to the hotel.  Emotionally drained, I just wanted to go to bed and sleep for the next twenty-four hours.  When I entered the hotel room, I was both relieved and surprised that neither Mom nor Charlie asked about my visit with Dad.  I found that curious, but it was a question that would have to wait. Not bothering to say 'hello', I stumbled into the bedroom and flopped down onto the bed.  I was asleep before I closed my eyes.

* * * * * * * * *

I felt a hand on my shoulder. 

"James, are you awake?" 

The room was dark, and despite trying to focus my eyes, I could barely see Charlie's silhouette sitting beside me. He shook me again. 

"James, are you awake?" 

I intentionally did not hide my irritation. "Well, I am now!" 

"Sorry, but I couldn't sleep." 

Why is it when a person cannot sleep, they have this uncontrollable need to wake up someone to tell them?  My irritation slowly lifted as the concern in Charles's voice became clearer. 

"James, I really need to talk to you. It's important." 

I sat up, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and looking for the clock, asked, "What time is it?" 

"It's one o'clock in the morning." 

"Have you been awake all night?" 

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, like I said, I can't sleep." 

I chuckled. "You want me to tell you a bedtime story?" 

"Come on, James, I'm serious. I need to talk to you." 

I knew he was serious and that my feeble attempt at humor was poorly timed. "Sorry, give me a minute to wake up, and then we can talk all you want." 

I went into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on my face. Seeing Dad this afternoon had been a complete disaster and drained me emotionally. I really did not know if I had the energy to listen to Charlie's problems, but he was having a rough time too and he needed me. 

Finally awake, I returned to the bedroom, turned on the light, and sat down on the bed beside him. "Okay, you have my full attention. What's up?" 

"I went to the library today to see if I could find some information on serial killers, thinking maybe I could figure out why Dad did what he did." 

Charlie paused then looked at me with his big blue, puppy-dog eyes filled with confusion. 'God, James, you wouldn't believe how many books there are on serial killers. Most were horrible and only contained the ugly details of what the killer did to the victims. Few said anything about why they did such terrible things, and those that did, used words like sociopath, psychopath, and antisocial behavior that just confused me even more. James, you're the smartest person I know.  Can you explain to me how someone like Dad could do something so horrible?" 

Charlie loved calling me a nerd and a smart ass, but I knew he envied and admired me, not like most of the kids at school who shied away from the guy they called the 'brain.'

I put my arm around his shoulder.  He was trembling.

"No one really knows why a person does such terrible things. There are lots of theories.  There have even been some studies done on the subject, and the FBI has a special department called Behavioral Science that specializes in serial killers. But as far as I am concerned, they still don't have a definitive answer." 

"But, there has to be a reason." 

"Oh, there's a reason, but no one can agree on what it is." 

Charlie looked frustrated and disappointed.  His eyes begged for an answer.

"Listen Charlie, I am not an authority on the subject, but trying to label Dad a sociopath, a psychopath, or antisocial is just too simple. It is far more complicated than that. 

"I'll tell you what I do know. People with antisocial behavior problems are often violent. Many have drug and alcohol problems and often have no regard for the rights of others. I guess you could say Smithy, the kid at your school who's always picking fights, cussing out the teachers, and smoking a joint in the bathroom every day could be considered a person with antisocial traits. These people, more often than not, stand out in a crowd." 

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, okay.  But that doesn't sound like Dad." 

I agreed. 

"A psychopath can have antisocial traits, but their behavior is considerably more extreme. They are especially prone to violent and criminal offenses, lack empathy and remorse, and have no moral conscience." 

"This doesn't sound like Dad either." 

I wasn't as sure. There was clearly a lot about Dad I didn't know. 

"A sociopath is more adept at feigning their emotions. They can appear calm, when in fact they are filled with rage. They are natural chameleons. They can change their image to fit any situation, allowing them to blend into society very well. You could be in a room filled with sociopaths, and not have a clue. They appear completely normal. They are oblivious to the devastation they cause. A sociopath will never accept responsibility for what he does.  They always blame others. Many believe they are all-powerful, all knowing, and entitled to anything they want. Many are charming, yet are covertly hostile and domineering, seeing their victims as merely an instrument to be used. They may dominate and humiliate their victims. However, it's important to know, not all sociopaths become serial killers." 

Looking completely beaten and ready to cry, Charlie asked, "Where does Dad fit into all of this?" 

I looked at Charlie and wished more than anything that I wasn't having this conversation. "Dad could be a sociopath, but I honestly don't know. We only know the Dad he wanted us to see.  You know, the control freak and the asshole. We never saw or knew the real Dad." 

Grandma and Grandpa died before we were born. I knew very little about Dad's childhood, other than what he told us. He was an only child so we didn't have any aunts or uncles to talk to. 

Charlie still looked confused. "What do you know about serial killers?" 

Without thinking, I blurted out, "Well, I can say with a certain amount of confidence, we have one in the family." 

Charlie didn't find my sarcasm funny and neither did I. "Sorry, I don't mean to be flippant, sometimes I speak before I think. 

"To answer your question, there are basically three types of serial killers. Actually there are four if you include 
spree killers, but they fall into a completely different category—depending on who you talk to or which article you read.  The first are thrill seekers who enjoy outsmarting law enforcement. They think of it as a game. They like the media attention, the police pursuit, and evading the authorities. They send messages and keep records. Dennis Rader, BTK, was a thrill seeker and the Zodiac killer was probably one, too. 

"The second is 'mission oriented'. They feel they are doing society a favor by eliminating certain people, like drug users, prostitutes, the homeless, or drunks. Gary Ridgway, the Green River Killer, claimed he was doing society a favor. 

"The last is 'power and control'. They enjoy the victim's terror and suffering. Ted Bundy, Henry Lee Lucas, and John Wayne Gacy enjoyed the power and control they had over their victims." 

Charlie and I looked at each other without speaking. Horrible as it was to admit, it seemed to both of us that Dad fell into this category.

"Some serial killers keep souvenirs; personal items that allow them to enjoy the memories of the crime. Others keep trophies they make into a shrine." 

Charlie stared at the floor. "Dad kept souvenirs." 

"Yes, Charlie, he did." 

Charlie laid his head on my shoulder. "What did Tommy mean when he said he couldn't talk to me because his father said it was in our genes?"

My tolerance for stupidity was never very high but ignorance infuriated me.

"Tommy's father is an idiot who thinks we carry the 'serial killer' gene and believes when we grow up we will be just like Dad." 

Shocked and obviously worried, Charlie sat up and demanded to know if that was true. 

"Hell, no! There is absolutely no scientific proof a 'serial killer gene' exists. As far as I am concerned, it is a load of crap." 

"James, how do you know so much? Where does all your information come from?" 

I chuckled. "I don't know. There's a lot of stuff rattling around in my head and I have no idea where most of it comes from." 

Charlie didn't say anything.  He climbed back into bed and turned his back to me.  I turned out the light and lay on my back, wide-awake, and wondering why Charlie still didn't ask about my meeting with Dad.

* * * * * *

Although we had plenty of time, Mom was in a frenzy. It was only twelve-thirty and we didn't have to be at the hospital until two o'clock. Mom had been on the phone earlier with Marilyn, Susan's nurse, and was excited to learn there was a noticeable improvement in Susan's awareness. She was talking more and had even expressed her anger over Billy's betrayal. This was a very good sign. Susan had yet to mention Dad. Mom reminded us that it was up to Susan to let us know when she was ready to talk about him. 

Mom was also excited because she had arranged to meet with a real estate agent later to look at three houses for rent in the Kirkland and Bellevue area. Both were close to Seattle, but far enough away to allow us some semblance of privacy. 

Then Mom dropped the bombshell. 

"Mr. Hurley and I have talked, and we have decided it is time for me to make a public statement." 

Both Charlie and I were shocked. How could we possibly keep a low profile if Mom spoke to the media? I thought it was an insane idea and I didn't hesitate to express my displeasure. "Why in the hell would you want to do that?" 

"The prosecutor is about to announce his decision on whether or not to accept your father's plea bargain. No matter what he decides, there will be a lot of unhappy people. If he accepts it, people are going to be angry and say your Dad got off too easy. If he says no, others are going to be angry because the prosecutor will be seen as denying closure for the families of the six victims.  Mr. Hurley and I think the public needs to know where we stand before the shit hits the fan." 

Mom's choice of words caught me off guard. The quiet, soft-spoken Mother I previously knew had changed considerably in the span of a single week. 

Making a point of not hiding the sarcasm in my voice, I  asked, "Do you honestly think telling the public you are for or against the death penalty is going to win us some fans?" 

"No, James, that's not what I am going to do. I plan to tell them I am shocked, angry, and horrified over what John has done. I need to apologize to the victims' families and tell them I pray for them every day. But most importantly, I want people to know I will accept whatever punishment the justice system deems appropriate for your father and that I will not say or do anything to try to influence their decision." 

I didn't want to admit it, but Mom was beginning to make sense.

"James, we have been silent too long. The public has already judged us. I doubt there is anything I can say that will change anyone's opinion of us. However, I do think it is time we stop hiding and step up to the plate. If for no other reason, we owe that much to the victim's families." 

I understood Mom's point. Maybe it was time to speak up. I doubted she would agree, but if Mom was going to make a speech, I was going to make one, too.

I was right. Mom did not agree. 

"Absolutely not! You and Charlie are not going anywhere near the reporters!" 

"Sorry Mom, but I'm doing it with or without your permission."

Angry, Mom stomped her foot and pounded her fist onto the table.   "I said no and that is final!" 

I looked at Mom, and in a determined voice said, "I've made my decision, so let's move on to something else." 

Mom threw her hands into the air and stomped her foot again. However, before she could respond, we heard a loud knock at the door.  When Charlie opened it, we were all surprised to see Aunt Emily and Uncle Martin, Mom's sister and brother-in-law, standing in the doorway holding two very large suitcases.


 
PLEASE NOTE:  GARY RIDGWAY is spelled without an "E".

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.

Sorry about the long chapter but I just couldn't find a place to break without loosing the flow. Also, it has been pointed out, and rightly so, that I interchange the term 'serial killer' and 'serial murderer/er' throughout this book. Law enforcement usually uses the term 'serial murder/er' while the general public more often uses 'serial killer'. It is for this reason that when Mac is speaking, he will more often than not say 'serial murder/er' while James and his family will sometimes say 'killer'. I have noticed in my research that reporters, both newspaper and television, prefer the term 'killer', most likely because the word killer seems to convey a stronger image...whether this is true or not doesn't seem to matter to them.


Chapter 15
The Calm Before The Storm

By Sasha

Although Mom and her sister Emily were close, they hadn't seen each other since Grandpa's funeral two years ago. They spoke on the phone at least once a week, but the distance between Miami and Seattle prevented regular visits. Seeing Aunt Em standing in the doorway, I realized for the first time that she was probably the first person Mom called after Dad's arrest.  My Aunt and Uncle's visit was a pleasant, but unexpected surprise.

"Good heavens Em, how did you know where to find us?" Mom asked as she hugged both enthusiastically. 

Aunt Em laughed. "It took quite a bit of persuasion, but Detective MacKinnon was kind enough to give us the name and telephone number of your attorney. Mr. Hurley wanted to call you, but I insisted I wanted it to be a surprise. So, don't you go getting all pissed off at him. You know I'm a formidable presence when I want to be. Besides, we had to wait for him to check us out before he would tell us anything." 

Mom smiled. "No, I'm not mad at him.  I'm actually glad to see you.  I could use the moral support." 


Despite Mom's smile and upbeat tone of voice, her eyes conveyed an uncertainty that worried me.
 
Although they looked alike, that is where the similarities between them ended. Aunt Em was two-years-older than Mom, but looked at least ten-years younger.  Unlike Mom, she was a free spirit, spoke her mind, and possessed a sense of humor that insured a room filled with laughter whenever she was present.  Neither she nor Uncle Mark had ever bothered to hide their dislike of Dad and, under the current circumstances, I didn't anticipate they would start now.

Both Aunt Em an Uncle Mark wanted to go with us to the hospital to see Susan but they understood when Mom explained the situation. "Susan is in a very delicate state right now and I think it would be best if we give her more time before overwhelming her with too many visitors." 

However, I was not happy when Mom asked me to remain at the hotel with my aunt and uncle. Despite protesting, I lost the argument. 

After Mom and Charlie left, I stayed in the room with Aunt Em while Uncle Mark went downstairs to get a room. He returned with a bellhop who helped carry their suitcases down the hall to a room exactly like ours.

Although I wasn't hungry, we went downstairs to have lunch.

I spent the first twenty minutes answering questions about how we were handling the media and Susan's hospitalization. Then, Uncle Mark, never one to dance around an issue, dove right in and asked the big one. "I hear you saw your Dad yesterday. What did the son-of-a-bitch have to say for himself?" 

Finally, someone asked about my meeting with Dad.

I stirred my cold coffee for several seconds before responding.  "To be honest, he didn't say much." 

Uncle Mark shook his head. "Typical." 
 
"You are the first person to ask me about my meeting with Dad.  Neither Mom nor Charlie has mentioned it.  It's as though they don't want to know."

Aunt Em immediately responded. "Martha has been avoiding reality for so long it has to be hard for her to accept she lived with a man capable of murder.   I am not at all surprised she doesn't want to know what you talked about."
 
Aunt Em sat back in her chair and the expression on her face told me she had something important to say.  "James, I am worried about Martha.  She is doing her best to put on a strong face, but I am afraid it's only a matter of time before she cracks under all the pressure."
 
I agreed.  "Mom wants to speak to the reporters. I don't think it is a good idea. They are all a bunch of vultures and she is no match for them."
 
Aunt Em shook her head. "Damn.  That is the worst thing she could do."
 
I agreed again.  "Don't worry.  I'll be there beside her.  I'll make sure they keep their distance."
 
Uncle Mark grinned. "Good for you. If anyone can set those idiots straight, it's you." 

With his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his hands, Uncle Mark smiled. "When your Mom gets back, I want to talk to her about taking you and Charlie up to the cabin for a few days." 

I disagreed. "No. That's not a good idea. Mom needs me here with her. I don't want to leave her alone." 

"She won't be alone. Em is here and I think it would be good for you guys to take a break from all this crap." 

Grandpa had a cabin near Arlington, north of Seattle in Snohomish County that he left to Mom and Aunt Em when he died. It was a few miles from the River Meadows Park, near the Stillaguamish River. Over the years, Dad, Charlie and I spent many weekends there fishing and hiking. When Mom and Dad were married, they spent their honeymoon there. I wasn't sure the peace and quiet Uncle Mark was looking for was going to be found in a place that held so many phony memories for Charlie and me. 

I knew Uncle Mark meant well and not wanting to offend him, I just smiled and said, "I'll think about it." 

Mom and Charlie returned at three-thirty. Mom told us how pleased she was with Susan's progress but also disappointed that Dr. Perez felt it would be several weeks before she could come home.

"He says she is still traumatized and until she talks about her feelings about Dad, he believes she is a time bomb waiting to go off again." 

Mom turned to Aunt Em, and with an anxious look on her face, told her she spoke to Mr. Hurley. 

"Mr. Douglas, the prosecutor, has scheduled a press conference for tomorrow afternoon. I'm sure it's to announce his decision on whether to accept or deny John's offer.   The fact that a plea bargain was even in the works is going to upset a lot of people.  No one is going to like the idea of John using those poor dead girls to try to save his neck. Even if Mr. Douglas denies his request, a lot of people are going to be angry." 

Aunt Em put her arm around Mom. "If he accepts it, Mr. Douglas will probably be out of a job when it comes time for the next election. It's the old, damned if you do and damned if you don't situation." 

Mom looked over at me.  "Mr. Hurley has scheduled our press conference for five o'clock today.  We need to hurry up and get ready." 

Mom suddenly began to shake. "I have never been so terrified in my life. I still don't know what I will say." 

I gave Mom a hug. "Don't worry about it. I'm going to talk first."

Mom was about to speak, but when our eyes met, she remained silent.  She obviously knew this was another argument she wasn't going to win.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 15
The Demon and his Son Speak

By Sasha




I have no recollection of the time between Mom speaking on the phone with Mr. Hurley, and my arrival at King County Jail.  When I got out of the taxi, the sky was a blanket of dark clouds that felt like an omen telling me to get back into the car and return to the hotel.  I ignored my gut and walked over to Mr. Hurley, who stood in front of the jail, waiting for me.  
 
Trying to sidestep the panic attack I felt myself sliding into, I shook Mr. Hurley's hand and blurted out, "Sorry about the other day, Sir.  In retrospect I probably could have handled it better."
 
Mr. Hurley patted me on the back and smiled as he pulled me toward the front door and out of the sudden downpour. "I like a kid with spirit.  Besides, you got what you wanted, right?"
 
I ignored the question.  "Are you going in with me?"
 
"That's up to you.  Mr. Douglas, the prosecutor, called in a lot of favors to get you this meeting.  Rules are rules, but it seems if your father is the infamous Belltown Murderer, special arrangements can be made."
 
The thought of receiving special treatment sent a cold wave of shame up my spine, causing the knot in my stomach to tighten.
 
King County Jail is a large, unimpressive, square building that sits hidden under the I-5 Freeway.  I could find no architectural value to the building whatsoever. The dull, beige walls appeared to be made of weathered, whitewashed concrete.  I stood in the lobby pretending to stare at the high ceiling while Mr. Hurley spoke with the guard at the front desk.  A few minutes later, a second guard approached, and without introducing himself, led us up a ramp, and down a long hallway.
 
The sound of our footsteps echoed off the walls like church bells announcing the start of High Mass. My heart was still racing and my mind was spinning as I searched for what I was going to say when I saw Dad. Large beads of sweat dripped off my nose and chin, leaving a trail Hansel and Gretel could have followed with their eyes closed.  The guard and Mr. Hurley stopped abruptly causing me to slam into Mr. Hurley, nearly knocking him over.  We stood in front of a door with a large glass window in the center.  Looking at the window, my first thought was, I bet that is bulletproof.  My second thought was I am so glad I did not say that out loud!
 
The guard unlocked the door and Mr. Hurley, who had clearly done this before, followed him inside, took off his coat and emptied his pockets. He instructed me to do the same.  The guard placed the items into a large plastic container that he put on a shelf next to the door.  He then turned to me and in a loud, booming voice said, "AMZUP!"
 
Not sure what he meant, I said, "I beg your pardon?"
 
He repeated his command in an even louder voice, "I said arms up!"
 
I raised my arms. The guard proceeded to pat, prod and pinch every inch of my body before ordering me to take off my shoes and socks.  After thoroughly checking my shoes, inside and out, he handed them back to me and left the room.
 
Not sure what to expect next, I looked at Mr. Hurley. "Now what?"
 
He pointed to the door behind me. "They are bringing your father in now. They'll let us know when we can go in."
 
"So, you are coming in with me?  Will his attorney be there?"
 
"Yes, I’ll come in with you if you want me to, and I'll sit far enough away so you can have some privacy. And, no he told his attorney not to come.  Foolish decision if you ask me."
 
At that moment, I wasn't sure privacy was what I wanted. The door opened, and a third guard stood in the doorway and indicated with a nod that we could go in.
 
My heart was beating so hard I could hardly hear, and my entire body started to shake. Seeing me tremble, Mr. Hurley took hold of my arm to steady me. "James, you don't have to do this if you don't want to."
 
I had come too far to turn back now.  "No, I'll be fine."
 
Still holding my arm, Mr. Hurley and I walked into the room.  Seeing Dad sitting behind the glass partition, I froze. Then, from somewhere deep inside me came a strange unexpected strength. I stopped trembling, my mind was suddenly crystal clear, and my heartbeat slowed to a normal rate.  I was surprised to find myself in complete control.
 
I stood staring at Dad for several minutes before finally taking a seat in front of him.  He was dressed in a red jumpsuit with his hands and legs shackled. Despite looking tired and unshaven, Dad appeared just as he always did; calm, confident, and cocky. With an inappropriate smile on his face, he picked up the phone attached to the wall and pointed to the one beside me.  We both sat staring at each other waiting for the other to speak first.  Dad broke the silence.
 
"James, this is all just a big misunder….."
 
Unable to hide my anger, I yelled, "Don't even go there!"
 
Clearly surprised by my response, Dad attempted to maintain the control he was so familiar with.  "Hey, don't talk to me that way, young man."
 
Feeling as though I was drowning in my rage, I slammed my fist down on the counter. "We are way past denial.  I refuse to play your stupid games any longer.  You are a pathetic, narcissistic, asshole, and I hope you rot in hell for what you did."
 
Dad remained silent.
 
I wasn't finished.  "Go ahead.  Tell me your sad, pathetic story.  Tell me your dad beat you when you were a child or a neighbor abused you and turned you into the monster you are today. Tell me your mom knew everything but turned a blind eye.  Maybe your first girlfriend laughed when you couldn't get it up.  Go ahead; blame it on everyone else but yourself."
 
The calm expression on Dad's face disappeared and was instantly replaced with undeniable rage.  I couldn't resist grinning.  "Whoa, I hit a nerve, didn't I?"
 
Still fighting for control, Dad shrugged and said, "You don't know what you're talking about."
 
I laughed.  "Oh, but I do.  You're scared shitless.  You got caught because you're not as smart as you think you are. You're terrified they want to stick a needle in your arm. Face it, Dad, you're a stupid, gutless coward."
 
I paused for a moment then looked Dad straight in the eyes.  "How can a man who tortures, brutalizes, and murders twelve innocent girls for pleasure have the nerve to beg for mercy when suddenly faced with death himself?  Tell me Dad, did the girls you killed beg for their lives?  Why should you get the mercy you denied them?"
 
Dad stared at me with a blank expression on his face, but the anger in his eyes spoke volumes. 
 “Do you even care what you have done to us?”

 “Yeah, you’re all famous now.”  The sarcasm in Dad’s voice infuriated me.
“Famous?  You Son of a Bitch!  Susan tried to kill herself.  She’s in the hospital locked on a psychiatric ward pumped full of pills.  Fame almost killed her.  Charlie is a basket case and Mom’s filing for divorce.”
 
Dad grinned.  “She won’t be able to balance her checkbook without me.”
 
Dad’s arrogance made me sick to my stomach and I suddenly found it hard to breathe.
 
I hung up the phone and ran out of the room with Mr. Hurley following close behind.  I felt my knees buckle as I fell to the floor.  I heard a loud, frightening wail reverberate off the walls then realized it was coming from inside me.  I pulled my knees up to my chest and covered my ears, but the wailing continued.  Mr. Hurley knelt down beside me and laid my head on his lap.  The tears and sobs poured out of me like a broken dam with a force so strong I felt sure my chest was going to split wide open.
Mr. Hurley sat with me for a long time before finally asking, “James, are you going to be all right?”
Hardly able to speak, I shook my head and said in a voice barely above a whisper, "No sir, I don't think
so."

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory* has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 16
A Talk with Charlie

By Sasha

Author Note:Read Author's Notes first...



Sitting beside Mr. Hurley in the back seat of the taxi is all I remember about the ride back to the hotel.  Emotionally drained, I just wanted to go to bed and sleep for the next twenty-four hours.  When I entered the hotel room, I was relieved and surprised that neither Mom nor Charlie asked about my visit with Dad.  I found that curious, but it was a subject I preferred not to deal with. Not bothering to say hello, I stumbled into the bedroom and flopped down onto the bed.  I was asleep before I closed my eyes.


* * * * * * * * *


I felt a hand on my shoulder. 

"James, are you awake?" 

The room was dark, and despite trying to focus my eyes, I could barely see Charlie's silhouette sitting beside me. He shook me again. 

"James, are you awake?" 

I intentionally did not hide my irritation. "Well, I am now!" 

"Sorry, but I couldn't sleep." 

Why is it when a person cannot sleep, they have this uncontrollable need to wake someone to tell them?  My irritation slowly lifted as the concern in Charles's voice became clearer. 

"James, I seriously need to talk to you. It's important." 

I sat up, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and looking for the clock, asked, "What time is it?" 

"It's one o'clock in the morning." 

"Have you been awake all night?" 

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, like I said, I can't sleep." 

I chuckled. "You want me to tell you a bedtime story?" 

"Come on, James, I'm serious. I need to talk to you." 

I knew he was serious and that my feeble attempt at humor was poorly timed. "Sorry, give me a minute to wake up, and then we can talk all you want." 

I went into the bathroom, turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face. Seeing Dad this afternoon had been a complete disaster and drained me emotionally. I honestly did not know if I had the energy to listen to Charlie's problems, but he was having a rough time too and he needed me. 

Finally, awake, I returned to the bedroom, turned on the light, and sat down on the bed beside him. "Okay, you have my full attention. What's up?" 

"I went to the library today to see if I could find some information on serial killers, thinking maybe I could figure out why Dad did what he did." 

Charlie paused then looked at me with his big blue, puppy-dog eyes filled with confusion. “God, James, you wouldn't believe how many books there are about serial killers. Most were horrible and only contained the ugly details of what the killer did to the victims. Few said anything about why they did such terrible things, and those that did, used words like sociopath, psychopath, and antisocial behavior that just confused me even more. James, you're the smartest person I know.  Can you explain to me how someone like Dad could do something so horrible?" 

I didn't want to tell Charlie that I had probably already read twenty times the number of books he read. He loved calling me a nerd and a smart ass, but I knew he envied and admired me, not like most of the kids at school who shied away from the guy they called the brain.
 I put my arm around his shoulder.  He was trembling.

"No one really knows why a person does such terrible things. There are lots of theories.  There have been dozens of studies done on the subject. The FBI has a department called the Behavioral Analysis Unit that specializes in serial killers. But as far as I am concerned, no one has a definitive answer on what actually makes someone a serial killer." 

"But, James, there has to be a reason." 

"Oh, there's a reason, but no one can agree on what it is." 

Charlie looked frustrated and disappointed.  His eyes begged for an answer.

"Listen Charlie, I am not an authority on the subject, but trying to label Dad a sociopath, a psychopath, or antisocial are just too easy. It is far more complicated than that. 

"I'll tell you what I do know. People with antisocial behavior problems are often violent. Many have drug and alcohol problems and often have no regard for the rights of others. I guess you could say Smithy, the kid at your school who's always picking fights, cussing out the teachers, and smoking a joint in the bathroom could be considered a person with antisocial traits. These people, more often than not, stand out in a crowd and are hard to miss." 

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, okay.  But that doesn't sound like Dad." 

I agreed. 

"A psychopath can have antisocial traits, but their behavior is considerably more extreme. They are especially prone to violent and criminal offenses, lack empathy and remorse and have no moral conscience. There are varying opinions over whether or not they know the difference between right and wrong.  If they do, most believe they just don’t care." 
"This doesn't sound like Dad either." 

I wasn't as sure. There was clearly a lot about Dad I didn't know. 

"A sociopath is more adept at feigning their emotions. They can appear calm, when, in fact, they are filled with rage. They are natural chameleons. They can change their image to fit any situation, allowing them to blend into society remarkably well. You could be in a room filled with sociopaths, and not have a clue. They appear perfectly normal. They are oblivious to the devastation they cause. A sociopath will never accept responsibility for what he does.  They always blame others. Many believe they are all-powerful, all knowing, and entitled to anything they want. Many are charming, yet are covertly hostile and domineering, seeing their victims as merely an instrument to be used. They may dominate and humiliate their victims. However, it's important to know, not all sociopaths become serial killers and, most important, they know the difference between right and wrong." 

Looking thoroughly beaten and ready to cry, Charlie rolled his eyes in frustration and asked, “In words that I can understand, can you tell me where Dad fits into all of this?" 

I looked at Charlie and wished more than anything that I wasn't having this conversation. "Dad could be a sociopath, but I honestly don't know. Does it really matter? We only know the Dad he wanted us to see.  You know the control freak and the asshole. We never saw or knew the real Dad." 

All I knew was his mother died when he was born. I knew remarkably little about Dad's childhood, other than what he told us. He said he was raised by an older sister, but I assumed she died a long time ago since Dad never talked about her.  Although his father lived in Arlington, we never met him.

Charlie still looked confused. "What do you know about serial killers?" 

Without thinking, I blurted out, "Well, I can say with a certain amount of confidence, we have one in the family." 

Charlie didn't find my sarcasm funny and neither did I. "Sorry, I don't mean to be flippant, sometimes I speak before I think.

“And, I would appreciate it if you could explain it to me without sounding like a talking encyclopedia—using words I understand.”

"To answer your question, there are essentially three types of serial killers. Actually there are four if you include spree killers, but they fall into a different category—depending on who you talk to or which article you read.  The first are thrill seekers who enjoy outsmarting law enforcement. They think of it as a game. They like the media attention, the police pursuit and evading the authorities. They send messages and keep records. Dennis Rader, BTK, was a thrill seeker and the Zodiac killer was probably one, too. 

"The second is mission oriented. They feel they are doing society a favor by eliminating certain people, like drug users, prostitutes, the homeless, or drunks. Gary Ridgway, the Green River Killer, claimed he was doing society a favor. 
"The last is power and control. They enjoy the victim's terror and suffering. Ted Bundy, Henry Lee Lucas, and John Wayne Gacy enjoyed the power and control they had over their victims." 

Charlie and I looked at each other without speaking. Horrible as it was to admit, it seemed to both of us that Dad fell into this category.

"Some serial killers keep souvenirs; personal items that allow them to enjoy the memories of the crime. Others keep trophies they make into a shrine." 

Charlie stared at the floor. "Dad kept souvenirs." 

"Yes, Charlie, he did." 

Charlie laid his head on my shoulder. "What did Tommy mean when he said he couldn't talk to me because his father said it was in our genes?"

My tolerance for stupidity was never high, but ignorance infuriated me.

"Tommy's father is an idiot who thinks we carry the serial killer gene and believes when we grow up we will be just like Dad." 

Shocked and obviously worried, Charlie sat up and demanded to know if that was true. 

"Hell, no! There is categorically no scientific proof a serial killer gene exists. As far as I am concerned, it is a load of crap.  There have been studies that state they have found Monoamine oxidase A, also known as MAO-A, an enzyme that in humans is encoded by the MO-A gene. A version of the primate monoamine oxidase-A gene has been popularly referred to as the warrior gene. Several different versions of the gene are found in different individuals. Try to remember that human behavior is complex and not just influenced by our genes. Our environment AND our life circumstances plays the largest role. One of the most provocative and controversial of genetic variants has been dubbed the Warrior Gene.

"Studies claim to have linked the so called 'Warrior Gene' to increased risk taking and to retaliatory behavior. Supposedly men with the 'Warrior Gene' are not necessarily more aggressive, but they are believed to be more likely to respond aggressively to perceived conflict.

"Charlie, it is important that you understand, while there have been many advances and discoveries in DNA and genetics research, it also contains hundreds of scientific oddities. These so-called genetic wonders make it into popular culture and develop a life there that far outpaces their academic worth. These factoids are best used as cocktail conversation' starters.”

"James, how do you know so much?”

I chuckled. "I guess I read too much and don't have the luxury of forgetting what I read."
 
"So, all that mumbo jumbo you just said means you don’t think I’ll grow up and be like Dad."


“Charlie, you may have a bad temper, but no, you are not a serial killer in the making.”
Charlie didn't say anything more.  He climbed back into bed and turned his back to me.  I turned out the light and lay on my back, wide-awake, and wondered why Charlie still didn't ask about my meeting with Dad.
 
I was worried about having lunch with Marcy tomorrow and even more concerned about my meeting with Mac.  I was tired, but sleep eluded me.  I lay in bed, awake until Mom came in to wake me at 8:00.














Author'sNote:  Ridgway is spelled without an E










A
uthor's Note:  Ridgway is spelled without an E

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory* has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.

I tried not to make this too technical, but not sure if I succeeded. If I read one more article on MAOA, sociopaths, psychopaths, or antisocial disorder I am sure I will be committed to an asylum.


Chapter 16
A First Round Knockout

By Sasha

Despite Mr. Hurley's offer to drive, we decided to walk. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we all felt the need for exercise and some fresh air. The courthouse was only five blocks from the hotel, giving me a few extra minutes to think about what I was going to say and Mom way too much time to panic. 

When she saw the crowd of reporters and dozens of cameras, her knees buckled and Uncle Mark quickly grabbed her before she fell.  Aunt Em rushed to Mom's side. "Are you sure you want to do this?" 

Mom brushed her hair from her face, straightened her skirt and looking like a frightened child, feigned a smile, and nodded.

As soon as the reporters saw us, we were immediately surrounded by an out-of-control mob, pushing and shoving their microphones into Mom's face while screaming questions at her. Uncle Mark pushed them aside as he tried to guide us through the crowd. Suddenly a voice I recognized started shouting orders like an angry drill sergeant. It was Mac. "Back off! Give them some room! Get out of the way!" 

With Mac on one side of Mom and Uncle Mark on the other, they pushed the throng of unruly reporters aside so we could get to the courthouse steps. I thanked Mac and asked him why he was there.

"Curiosity.  I thought I'd come hear what you had to say." Mac winked and stepped to the side. 

Mr. Hurley was waiting for us at the top of the steps, standing behind three microphones apparently placed there by the reporters. I took hold of Mom's hand and feeling her tremble, I whispered into her ear. "It's going to be fine. By the time you speak, I'll have them eating out of my hand." 

Mom smiled, but this time it was a real one. Wiping a single tear from her eye, Mom kissed me on the cheek. "I want you to know how proud I am of you." 

Mom stood beside me and Charlie stood behind her, between Aunt Em and Uncle Mark.  Mac gave us plenty of space, but remained close enough if needed. 

After the crowd finally settled down, Mr. Hurley stepped up to the center microphone. "I am Thomas Hurley, the attorney representing Mrs. Mathews and her children. Mrs. Mathews and her son, James, have a statement they would like to make. I ask that you not interrupt them while they are speaking, and I want to make it clear that when they finish they will not be taking any questions."
 
Mr. Hurley stepped back, looked at me, smiled, and pointed to the microphone. 

I took a deep breath. Although I could hear cameras clicking, I was surprised to see the previously wild mob standing frozen, completely silent, and staring directly at me. I took advantage of the silence and looked out over the crowd. Then, one by one, I intentionally made eye contact with each reporter. After several long, tense minutes, I cleared my throat. At that moment, I finally knew what I was going to say. 

"You are all reporters. It is your job to report the news. However, some of you have chosen instead to create the news. Few of you have done any real research and based your reports on speculation, assumption, and in the case of my sister, accepted lies as the truth from a source only interested in getting his fifteen-minutes of fame. Most of you have acted unprofessionally and should be ashamed of yourselves. The questions you have repeatedly asked only show your ignorance and preference for sensationalism rather than a sincere desire to find the truth." 

I raised my hand and pointed at a young, attractive reporter I recognized from a local television station as one who had asked several stupid questions. "Miss, how would you feel if the police knocked on your door and told you your husband of ten years had just been arrested for the rape and murder of a young girl?" 

I then pointed at the woman standing beside her. "How would you respond if someone told you your father just confessed to murdering three women?" 

Both women remained silent. I turned back to the first woman and staring her in the eyes, said, "I'm waiting for an answer. Tell me, how would you feel?"
 
I knew she was not going to answer, but I paused long enough to make my point.

"What's the matter? Are you not answering because you refuse to believe your husband would do anything so horrible? Or, is it because in your heart you know your husband is incapable of doing something so terrible? What if you were shown all the evidence that proved without a doubt he was guilty? Tell me, how would you feel?  What would you do?

"That is how my family felt when they first learned of our father's arrest; shock, disbelief, denial, and finally acceptance. Acceptance that the man we thought was a loving husband and father was nothing more than a lie. The heartbreaking realization that the man who was my father never existed. 

"You and so many others insisted we had to know something. With no facts to base it on, you chose to present us as nothing more than accomplices who saw all the signs but turned a blind eye."
 
I glared at the group of reporters staring up at me.  "My father was seen as a normal, well-respected, highly revered man in the community. Ask our neighbors, his co-workers, and his friends who knew him for years. They will all tell you the same thing; they suspected nothing. You want us to tell you who he was, but we cannot because everything about him was a lie. He conned his family, his friends, the neighbors, and his co-workers. None of us knew the real John Mathews. Sadly, only the victims and my father know who he really is. The victims are obviously unable to speak, so I suggest you talk to my father to get the answer to that question. 

"My family has been through hell, yet you insist on portraying us as accomplices." 

For the third time, I looked at the first reporter I spoke to. "Are you as strong as my family? Or, would your need to believe your husband was still the man you loved be so strong it would force you to turn a blind eye by convincing yourself you were just overreacting? Tell me, could you turn your father or husband in to the police, knowing he would probably spend the rest of his life in prison or worse, get the death penalty?"

I intentionally paused to allow my words to sink into their thick skulls.  

"Your questions are ludicrous and insulting.  Do I still love my father? What difference does it make? Would saying I still love him make for a better story? If I said I hate him, would that be more interesting to your readers and sell more newspapers, or get you more viewers and increase your ratings? 

"You ask if I believe in the death penalty. My opinion is pointless. I have no say in what will or will not happen to my father. I leave that to the justice system. My family and I will accept whatever the system decides.  We will not say or do anything to influence that decision. 

"The only people who have the right to ask us any questions are the families of the victims. More than anyone, they deserve answers to why did my father do this and why did he choose their daughter? My family and I have asked ourselves those questions a hundred times, and we do not have the answer." 

Feeling tears well up in my eyes, I paused for a second. "I want to tell the families of each precious young girl my father took from them, that if hating or blaming us gives you only the briefest moment of comfort, I eagerly and willingly accept your hate. The price you have paid has earned you the right to find peace whatever way you can." 

I stepped back and took hold of Mom's hand. She was crying. She put her arm around me and hugged me. 

Mom didn't have much to say other than my words expressed the feelings of the entire family. She also apologized to the families of the victims before tears and sobs prevented her from saying anything more. Aunt Em took Mom's arm and we all turned and walked away from the microphones. 

To my surprise, when we walked down the steps, the crowd of reporters silently stepped back, giving us plenty of room to pass. Only a few chose to make eye contact with me. I glanced over to where Mac was standing.  Although he tried to appear professional, I saw tears in his eyes. 

Did my words reach even one of the reporters? I honestly don't know, nor did I care. I said what I needed to say and that was all that mattered.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 17
The Decision

By Sasha

Mom was exhausted and wanted to take a nap, but Aunt Em insisted they get out of the hotel.  Too tired to argue, both left to go look at rental houses. Uncle Mark, Charlie, and I were firmly ensconced on the couch in front of the television, waiting impatiently for the six o'clock news. CBS aired my entire speech and the announcer actually described me as spunky and articulate. However, the local stations were apparently not as pleased with what I had to say. I learned later, the press conference was not aired live as originally planned. After editing everything out except the portion where I apologized to the families of the victims, it was finally aired at six-thirty. 

Charlie was furious. "How can they do that? They cut out the best part!" 

Uncle Mark laughed. "It seems they can dish it out but they sure can't take it." 

Charlie was still angry. "They are supposed to report the news, not let their personal opinions get in the way of telling the truth." 

I chuckled. "Boy, have you got a lot to learn, little brother." 

* * * 

Mom and Aunt Em returned well after midnight. Although Mom seldom drank, it was obvious she was not feeling any pain. After announcing they had found a nice little house in a secluded section of Kirkland, both Mom and Aunt Em began laughing and telling silly stories about their childhood. Despite it being a long and stressful day, we stayed up several more hours laughing and talking about things that had nothing to do with Dad or the case. It was the first time since Dad's arrest I felt the possibility that life might actually, at some point, return to normal. I chuckled silently, realizing normal in my family wasn't exactly what I had in mind.  It was definitely time to raise the bar. 

***

Although I was convinced Mr. Hurley knew what Mr. Douglas had decided, when I asked, he gave his usual stock answer. "Sorry, James, I am not permitted to discuss that aspect of the case with you." 

Because my father's plea offer had been a well-guarded secret, the public was completely unaware there was going to be a press conference, let alone the subject of it. Just as we had done the night before, we all sat in front of the television anxiously waiting to hear what Mr. Douglas was going to say. 

Unlike the public who openly expressed their opinion on what they felt was the appropriate punishment for my father, none of us had discussed the subject. I suspected Mom and Charlie were hoping for life in prison but I had no doubt Uncle Mark felt Dad deserved nothing less than the death penalty. While I assumed Aunt Em felt the same way, she would never admit it because I knew she loved Mom dearly . 

Until Dad's arrest, I had always been against the death penalty. I viewed it as cruel and the fear of executing an innocent man weighed heavily on me. However, Dad was anything but innocent. I understood the public's anger and desire for revenge. If anyone deserved the death penalty, it was my father. His crimes were despicable. Yet, the idea of him spending every minute of every day of the rest of his life in a concrete cell, also seemed appropriate. Knowing he would never again see a sunset, walk on the beach, or sit in his favorite chair and watch a movie would be its own form of hell for Dad. 

At precisely twelve-noon every local television station interrupted regular programming to announce the King County Prosecutor had called a special press conference to discuss the John Mathews murder case. My heart started to race, Mom held her breath, and Charlie began to shake. 

Mr. Douglas stood on the top step of the courthouse, exactly where I stood less than twenty-four hours earlier. Dressed in a three-piece brown suit, looking very professional, and composed, he calmly introduced himself. Then, holding a sheet of paper with both hands, he began reading a prepared statement. 

"Over the past several days, my office has spent considerable time discussing a plea agreement with Mr. Mathews and his attorney. As most of you know, Mr. Mathews has been charged with six of the Belltown Murders, and continues to be a person of interest in the remaining unsolved murders. After announcing my decision to seek the death penalty, Mr. Mathews offered to plead guilty to all twelve murders on the condition I take the death penalty off the table and replace it with life in prison without the possibility of parole. After personally speaking with the families of both the solved and unsolved murders, I have decided to accept Mr. Mathews' offer and will not be seeking the death penalty in this case. John Mathews will serve twelve consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole." 

Cameras immediately began to click and the reporters all started shouting questions at the same time. Mr. Douglas raised his hand and in a very loud voice, asked for silence. 

"Yes, we could have proceeded with original six murders, but in the end, lingering doubts about the unsolved murders would have remained. We are not accepting his plea on face value.  He has been required to answer questions and provide details of the crimes that only the killer would know.  He has answered all our questions to our satisfaction, leaving us with no doubt he is, in fact, the murderer of all twelve young women.  The criminal justice system is and always should be about the search for the truth and it is my belief this agreement was the only route to that end.  Please understand today's decision is not intended to provide mercy for him but to provide closure for the families who have suffered." 

Mom sighed and buried her face in her hands. When Charlie started to cry Aunt Em put her arms around him and tried to comfort him. Uncle Mark turned his head toward me and under his breath, softly whispered, "Mother fucker." 

I remained silent. The shame I felt knowing closure for the families had nothing to do with the reason for my father's plea made me sick to my stomach. At that moment, I realized for the first time that Dad was already dead to me.

He had manipulated the system to get what he wanted just as he had manipulated his victims, family, friends, co-workers, and neighbors. Everyone had an opinion as to what the correct punishment should be, but the decision was not ours to make, and it certainly wasn't Dad's. It was up to the court to decide if he was to get the death penalty or serve life in prison. As far as I was concerned, justice had not been served. 

Despite criticism, the prosecutor continued to defend his decision.  The majority of the public was not happy.

After the press conference, Mr. Hurley informed us Dad was being moved from the high security section of the King County Jail to an undisclosed place for his safety.  Apparently, even criminals have a bizarre sense of justice and serial killers are not as highly regarded, as you would expect.

Although the idea of going to the cabin was still not appealing, I knew Charlie needed to get away from the television and newspapers.  After dinner, I took Uncle Mark aside.

"I think a few days away from all this would be good for Charlie."

Uncle Mark patted me on the back and said, "It would be good for you too, James."

I hated to admit it, but I agreed.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 17
Unexpected Guests

By Sasha










Although we had plenty of time, Mom was in a state of frenzy.  It was only nine-thirty, and we didn’t have to be at the hospital until eleven o’clock.  Mom had been on the phone with Marilyn, Susan’s nurse, and was excited to learn there was a noticeable improvement in Susan’s awareness.  She was talking more and had even expressed her anger over Billy’s betrayal.  This was an extraordinarily good sign.  Susan had yet to mention Dad. Mom reminded us that it was up to Susan to let us know when she was ready to talk about him.

Mom was also excited because she had arranged to meet with a real estate agent later to look at three houses for rent in the Kirkland and Bellevue area. Both were close to Seattle but far enough away to allow us some semblance of privacy.

During breakfast Mom dropped a bombshell.

“Mr. Hurley and I have decided it is time for me to make a public statement.”

Both Charlie and I were shocked.  How could we possibly keep a low profile if Mom spoke to the media? I thought it was an insane idea, and I didn’t hesitate to express my opinion. “Why in the world would you want to do that?”

“James, the prosecutor is about to announce his decision on whether or not to accept your father’s plea bargain.  No matter what he decides, there will be a lot of unhappy people.  If he accepts it, people are going to be angry and say your Dad got off too easy.  If he says no, others are going to be upset because the prosecutor will be seen as denying closure for the families of the remaining six victims.  Mr. Hurley and I think the public needs to know where we stand before the shit hits the fan.”

Mom’s choice of words caught me off guard.  The quiet, soft spoken mother I previously knew had changed considerably in the span of a single week.
Making a point of not hiding the sarcasm in my voice, I asked, “Do you honestly think telling the public you are for or against the death penalty is going to win any fans?”

“James, that’s not what I am going to do.  I plan to say I am shocked, angry, and horrified over what John has done.  I have to apologize to the victims’ families and let them know I pray for them every day.  More important, I want people to know I will accept whatever punishment the justice system deems appropriate for your father and that I will not say or do anything to try to influence their decision.

“We have been silent for too long.  The public has already judged us. I doubt there is anything I can say that will change anyone’s opinion of us.  However, I do think it is time we stop hiding and step up to the plate. We owe that much to the victims and their families.”
What Mom said made sense.  I doubted she would agree, but if she was going to make a speech, I was going to make one too.

I was right.  Mom did not agree.

“Absolutely not!  You and Charlie are not going anywhere near the reporters.”

“Sorry, Mom, but I am doing this with or without your permission.”

Angry, Mom stomped her foot and pounded her fist on the table.  “I said no, and that is final!”

I looked at Mom, and in a determined voice said, “I’ve made up my mind, so let’s move on to something else.”

Mom threw her hands into the air and stomped her foot again.  However, before she could respond, we heard a loud knock at the door.  When Charlie opened it, we were all surprised to see Aunt Emily and Uncle Terry, Mom’s sister and brother-in-law, standing in the doorway holding two particularly large suitcases.
 
 
* * * * * * * * *
 
 
Although Mom and her sister Emily were close they hadn't seen each other since Grandpa's funeral two years ago. They talked on the phone at least once a week, but the distance between Miami and Seattle prevented regular visits. Seeing Aunt Em standing in the doorway, I realized for the first time that she was probably the first person Mom called after Dad's arrest.  My Aunt and Uncle's visit was a pleasant surprise.

"Good heavens, Em, how did you know where to find us?" Mom asked as she hugged both enthusiastically. 

Aunt Em laughed. "It took quite a bit of persuasion, but Detective MacKinnon was kind enough to give us the name and telephone number of your attorney. Mr. Hurley wanted to call you, but I insisted I wanted it to be a surprise. So, don't you go getting all pissed off at him. You know I'm a formidable presence when I want to be. Besides, we had to wait for him to check us out before he would tell us anything." 

Mom smiled. "No, I'm not mad at him.  I'm actually glad to see you.  We could use the moral support." 


Despite Mom's smile and upbeat tone of voice, her eyes conveyed an uncertainty that worried me.
Although they looked alike, that is where the similarities between the sisters ended. They both had light brown hair and green eyes. Aunt Em was several inches taller and much slimmer than Mom.  She was two-years-older than Mom but looked at least ten-years younger.  Unlike Mom, she was a free spirit, spoke her mind, and possessed a sense of humor that ensured a room filled with laughter whenever she was present. Neither she nor Uncle Terry had ever bothered to hide their dislike of Dad and, under the current circumstances, I did not anticipate they would start now.

Both Aunt Em and Uncle Terry wanted to go with us to the hospital to see Susan, but they understood when Mom explained the situation. "Susan is in an exceedingly delicate state right now, and I think it would be best if we give her more time before overwhelming her with too many visitors." 

However, I was not happy when Mom asked me to remain at the hotel with my aunt and uncle. Despite protesting, I lost the argument. 

After Mom and Charlie left, I remained in the room with Aunt Em while Uncle Terry went downstairs to get a suite. He returned with a bellhop who helped carry their suitcases down the hall to a room exactly like ours.

Although I wasn't hungry, we went downstairs to have brunch.

I spent the first twenty minutes answering questions about how we were handling the media and Susan's hospitalization. Then, Uncle Terry, never one to dance around an issue, dove right in and asked the big one. "I hear you saw your Dad yesterday. What did the son of a bitch have to say for himself?" 

Finally, someone asked about my meeting with Dad.

I stirred my cold coffee for several seconds before responding.   "To be honest, Dad didn't say much." 

Uncle Terry shook his head. "Typical." 
 
"You are the first person to ask me about my meeting with Dad.  Neither Mom nor Charlie have mentioned it.  It's as though they don't want to know."

Aunt Em immediately responded. "Martha has been avoiding reality for so long it has to be hard for her to accept she lived with a man capable of murder.   I am not at all surprised she doesn't want to know what you talked about."
 
Aunt Em sat back in her chair and the expression on her face told me she had something serious to say. "James, I am worried about Martha.  She is doing her best to put on a strong face, but I am afraid it's only a matter of time before she cracks under all the pressure."
 
I agreed.  "Mom wants to speak to the reporters. I don't think it is a good idea. They are all a bunch of vultures, and she is no match for them."
 
Aunt Em shook her head. "Damn.  That is the worst thing she could do."
 
I agreed again.  "Don't worry.  I'll be there beside her. I'll make sure they keep their distance."
 
Uncle Terry grinned. "Good for you. If anyone can set those idiots straight, it's you." 

With his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his hands, Uncle Terry smiled. "When your Mom gets back, I want to talk to her about taking you and Charlie up to the cabin for a few days." 

I disagreed. "No. That's not a good idea. Mom needs me here with her. I don't want to leave her alone." 

"She won't be alone. Em is here, and I think it would be beneficial for you guys to take a break from all this crap." 

Dad’s father had an old, rundown cabin near Arlington, north of Seattle in Snohomish County that he left Dad when he died. It was a few miles from the River Meadows Park, near the Stillaguamish River. Over the years, Dad, Charlie and I spent several weekends there fishing and hiking.  These family outings contained no fond memories and always came across more as a parental obligation rather than an adventure.  I wasn't sure the peace and quiet Uncle Terry was hoping for was going to be found in a place that held so many negative memories for Charlie and me. 

I knew Uncle Terry meant well, and not wanting to offend him, I just smiled and said, "I'll think about it." 

Mom and Charlie returned at twelve-thirty. Mom told us how pleased she was with Susan's progress but also disappointed that Dr. Perez felt it might be several weeks before she could come home.

"He says she is still traumatized, and until she talks about her feelings about Dad, he believes she is a time bomb waiting to go off again." 

Mom turned to Aunt Em, and with an anxious look on her face, told her she spoke to Mr. Hurley. 

"Mr. Douglas, the prosecutor, has scheduled a press conference for tomorrow afternoon. I'm sure it's to announce his decision on whether to accept or deny John's offer.  The fact that a plea bargain was even in the works is going to upset many people.  No one is going to like the idea of John using those poor dead girls to try to save his neck. Even if Mr. Douglas denies his request a lot of people are going to be angry." 

Aunt Em put her arm around Mom. "If he accepts the plea, Mr. Douglas will probably be out of a job when it comes time for the next election. It's the old, damned if you do and damned if you don't situation." 

Mom looked over at me.  "Mr. Hurley has scheduled our press conference for three o'clock tomorrow. 

Mom suddenly began to shake. "I have never been so terrified in my life. I still don't know what I will say." 

I gave Mom a hug. "Don't worry about it. I'm going to talk first."

Mom was about to speak, but when our eyes met, she remained silent.  She obviously knew this was another argument she was not going to win.

I glanced at my watch.  It was already twelve-forty-five, fifteen minutes before I was expected to have lunch with Marcy.  I hated lying, but since I had not told anyone what Dad said or that I was also meeting with Mac, I thought it best just to tell everyone I was going to the library.

Charlie wanted to go with me, but I said, “No, not this time, I feel like being alone for a while.”

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory* has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 18
James meets with Marcy

By Sasha


When I arrived at the restaurant, I saw Marcy sitting at a small table in the corner, away from the window.   She wore a blue, long-sleeve dress and a matching sweater. Her long brown hair was drawn into a ponytail that swished back and forth, as she moved her head.  As I walked toward her, I felt a painful tug at my heart.  I still had no idea what I was going to say, and worse, I didn’t know what she was going to say.  She looked up and smiled.  We exchanged kisses on the cheek and gave each other a brief hug. 
 
The waitress offered me a menu, but I declined.  “I’ll just have a glass of milk.”
 
Marcy smiled again.  “Stomach bothering you?”
 
I nodded.  “Yeah, it’s been a stressful week.”
 
We stared at each other in silence for what seemed like an eternity.   I spoke first.  “I'm sorry it took me so long to call you. But we’ve been under strict orders to not talk to anyone.”
 
Intentionally avoiding eye contact, she said, “James, it’s okay.  I understand.”
 
The expression on her face changed to one of distress. I reached across the table and placed my hand on hers.  Without saying a word, Marcy pulled her hand from mine and placed it on her lap. 
 
“Marcy, talk to me.  Tell me what’s wrong.”
 
With tears streaming down her cheeks and her bottom lip quivering, she began to shake.  “James, what do you want from me?  Do you expect me to pretend that what your father did has nothing to do with us?  I have plans for my life, and they do not include being the girlfriend of the son of a serial killer.  Do you honestly expect us to go on as if nothing has happened?  I've worked too hard to get where I am, and I can’t throw it all away by allowing your father’s insanity to take me down with him.”
 
This was a side of Marcy I'd never seen. Yet, her words rang true.  She was going to be a doctor, and having a connection to a serial killer could shut a lot of doors. I knew there was nothing I could say that could convince her we had a chance together. Not bothering to hide the tears welling up in my eyes, and without saying goodbye, I got up and walked out of the restaurant, leaving Marcy sitting alone at the table.
 

* * * * * * * * *
 

 
As soon as I stepped outside, I felt a wave of panic sweep over me. Usually levelheaded and never superstitious, I swear I felt the devil breathing down my neck.  Terrified, I immediately ran across the street, nearly knocking a pedestrian over as I rushed past her. I continued running until exhaustion took over. I had no idea where I was or how far I'd run. I leaned against a telephone pole for a moment, and then sat down on the curb to catch my breath. 

The feeling of panic slowly subsided but was replaced by the ominous sense that something terrible was going to happen.  I suddenly chuckled.  Not realizing I was talking out loud, I said in a surprisingly loud voice, "What could happen that could be any worse than what's already happened over the past ten days?" 
 
A familiar voice startled me. 
 
"Be careful what you ask, you might not like the answer." 
 
I looked up and to my surprise, I saw Mac standing over me. I jumped up and demanded to know if he was following me. 
 
Mac smiled. "Yes and no." 

I wasn't in the mood for games. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" 

As though prepared for my anger, Mac patted me on the shoulder. "I was out for a walk and saw you fly by me like a bat out of hell, so I decided to follow you." 
 
"You expect me to believe it's a coincidence you were just in the area? Give me a break. I'm not an idiot." 
 

Mac smiled again. "Believe me when I say, no one would ever call you an idiot." 
 
I sat back down on the curb.  Without waiting for a response, Mac sat down beside me. "I often go for a walk in the afternoon. It helps me clear my mind." 
 
I wasn't convinced. Sitting on the street beside Mac seemed surreal; much like a preplanned ambush. I wondered how long he had been following me, waiting for the perfect moment magically to appear. Mac stared down at his feet. "What's going on, James? You look like you've seen a ghost." 
 
Without thinking, I blurted out, “Marcy just broke up with me.  It seems dating the son of a serial killer carries too much baggage.”
  
Mac nodded. "Yeah, that's the way it usually works." 
 
"Well, screw you!" I started to stand up, but Mac put his hand back on my shoulder. I paused, waiting for what he was going to say next. 
 
"James, you need to trust me.  Besides, you’re the one who wanted to meet with me, remember.  Talk to me. Tell me what is going on in that big brain of yours." 
 

I chuckled again. "And what do I get out of this besides a giant guilt complex that will have me in therapy for the rest of my life?" 
 
Without hesitating, Mac responded, "The knowledge that not a single stone is left unturned, that everything possible is done to identify every victim and that everyone involved in this case is held accountable." 

My heart skipped a beat. Did Mac know more than he was telling me? What did he mean when he said everyone involved in the case?
 
I felt a familiar cold chill run down my spine. The devil had come back, and the son of a bitch was breathing down my neck again.

Mac pointed at a small cafe across the street. "Let's get a cup of coffee and talk."
 
When Mac said talk, I knew he meant he wanted to ask me questions. Although I was not in the mood for company or questions, I agreed but with conditions. "Today we play by my rules. You can ask me all the questions you want, but I get to decide which ones to answer. And this time, you will answer a few of mine too."
 
Mac chuckled. "You know I cannot discuss the case with you."
 
I smiled. "Those are the rules. Take them or leave them. The choice is yours."
 
I liked Mac. He was honest, upfront and treated me with respect. He was also an excellent cop and would not do anything that might put the case in jeopardy. However, I had questions too, and Mac was the only one I knew who had the answers.
 
Mac stood up and with a grin on his face, shook his head. "Fine, I'll tell you what I can, but don't expect much."
 
Except for the waitress with fire engine red hair that obviously came from a bottle sitting at the counter reading the newspaper, the cafe was empty. As we walked past her toward the back of the room, she looked up and smiled. "Afternoon, Mac. Your favorite table has been waiting for you all day. I'll bring you some coffee and a couple of menus."
 
"Forget the menus, Betty. Just bring some coffee for me and my friend."
As we waited for the coffee, I looked at Mac and smiled.  "I guess you've been here before."
 
"I told you I like to go for a walk to clear my head. There isn't a restaurant I haven't been in at least once for ten square-blocks."
 
I wasn't buying his I was just in the neighborhood routine. "Tell me the truth. Our meeting wasn't a coincidence, was it?"
 
The expression on Mac's face quickly became serious. "No, James, it wasn't."
 
Mac paused as Betty set two cups of coffee on the table in front of us. She placed her hand on Mac's shoulder and winked at me.  "Be easy with the kid, Mac.  If you want my opinion, he don't look much like a killer to me."
 
Mac nodded. "I've told you before Betty, you're wasting your time waiting on tables. You should join the police force."
 
Betty shook her head. "And give up my precious night life? Hell no!" 
 
They both laughed. Leaving Mac and me alone to talk, Betty returned to the counter and her newspaper. I poured some cream into my coffee and added a little sugar. As I stirred my coffee, I impatiently waited for Mac to speak. After what felt like an eternity, he finally broke the silence. "I'm concerned about you talking with the media tomorrow."
 
Mac paused before adding, "You cannot discuss any of the evidence against him."
 
I understood what Mac was saying.  Releasing evidence to the media could jeopardize the case.

"James, I also want you to dig into the deep recesses of that big brain of yours.  Can you think of any place that your Dad could have taken these girls?"
 
My head was reeling.  I wasn’t a detective, but I certainly had an idea of where Dad could have taken his victims. 

Mac snapped me out of my fog.  “We’ve contacted Snohomish County.  Your grandfather had a cabin out there, and it would be a perfect place for him to have the privacy he need.  They’ve already applied for a search warrant.” 

Mac took a sip of his coffee.  “What do you know about your grandfather?”

“Not much.  Since we never met, I never refer to him as grandfather. I just call him Dad’s dad.  He died about five years ago and left the property to Dad.  Dad, Charlie and I went fishing there a few times, but we stopped going about five years ago.”
“Why did you stop?”

I shrugged.  “No reason.  We just stopped.”

Mac's expression turned serious again. He fidgeted with his napkin, folding it repeatedly until it was the size of a quarter. I could tell he was debating on what to say next. Questioning me was his right, but providing me with information was clearly against the rules.
 
"James, your father is not aware we know about the property.  It is only a matter of time before he realizes we suspect its possible connection to the case. I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible. Is this going to be a problem for you?"
 
My response was immediate. "You don't have to worry about me or Mr. Hurley and I doubt Mom or Charlie will be talking to him any time in the near future. So, I think your secret is safe for now."
 
Mac leaned back and stared at me.  “Why did you want to meet with me?”
“Mom and Charlie are still trying to figure out what they may have missed.  I guess I am too.  I was just hoping you had some information that might fill in the gaps.”

“Sorry, kid.  I don’t know any more than you do.  Believe me when I say, I wish I did.”

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory* has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 18
Questions Without Answers

By Sasha

When I woke, I was pleasantly surprised to find three large boxes sitting on the table.  One was filled with new sheets and blankets, and the remaining two contained enough food to last Uncle Martin, Charlie, and me at least a week; far longer than I planned on staying at the cabin.  Despite the late night and two full bottles of wine, Mom and Aunt Em managed to wake early and go shopping. Mom left a note on the table telling us they had gone to see Susan and she hoped we had a good time.  At the bottom of the note was a large happy face, definitely not Mom OR June Cleaver.  I could only attribute the strange and uncharacteristic doodle to an abundance of adrenaline caused by obvious lack of sleep.

After we loaded everything into the back of the Humvee, I climbed into the front seat beside Uncle Martin.  Charlie, still tired, lay curled up on the backseat like a baby sound asleep.

Uncle Martin appeared tense and preoccupied, babbling about the weather in what seemed to be an obvious attempt to avoid revealing whatever was rattling around inside his head. His vise-like grip on the steering wheel was a dead give-a-way that something was bothering him.  After ten minutes of pointless chitchat, I couldn't take any more and finally interrupted him. "What's wrong?  If you squeeze that steering wheel any tighter, I swear gangrene is going to develop in those swollen, white knuckles that once resembled fingers."

Relaxing his death grip only slightly, Uncle Martin took a deep breath before responding.  "James, how much do you know about your dad's parents?"

I was unprepared for the question.  I felt a strange uneasiness come over me as I fumbled for the answer.  "Not much.  Grandma died before I was born and Grandpa died when I was nine-years-old. Although he lived in Bellingham, we never visited him so there is nothing to remember.  I learned long ago not to ask Dad about his parents. He made it clear the subject was off limits."

I noticed Uncle Martin's fingers turn white again.  Convinced he was hiding something, I abruptly added, "Okay, my turn to ask a question. What do you know that you are not telling me?"

"James, that's what bothers me.  Questions are all I have.  Every time I've tried to talk about your dad's parents, both Em and your mother change the subject.  If I press them for an answer, they simply get up and walk out of the room.  It's obvious they're hiding something but, for the life of me, I cannot get either to tell me anything."

I had always been curious about why Dad refused to talk about his parents or his childhood. But, knowing how angry he got when I broached the subject, I kept my curiosity in check, leaving my imagination to fill in the blank spaces; something I was not very good at.  A lifetime of telling myself that Dad and Grandpa simply didn't get along, just didn't cut it any more.  I reached over and tapped Uncle Martin on the shoulder.  "I've always known you didn't much care for Dad. But why now?  Why ask me a question you know I don't have the answer to?"

Uncle Martin kept his eyes on the road and in a voice shaking with anger and frustration, said, "Don't you think it's about time someone finds out what the hell your dad is hiding?"

Although I already knew the answer, I asked, "And just how do you suggest 'someone' go about accomplishing that?"

Uncle Martin smiled.  "I'm sure your new friend Detective Mac would be a good place to start."

Uncle Martin was right. This was something I needed to talk to Mac about.
 

* * * *

Uncle Martin clicked the turn signal, tapped the break pedal several times, and slowed down as we turned onto the dirt road leading to the cabin.  After slamming into the third pothole, Charlie fell off the backseat and landed with a thud onto the floor.  

Charlie crawled back onto the seat and in a whiney voice said, "Thanks for the warning, guys!"

I laughed.  "Buckle up, cry baby; we still have at least three-quarters of a mile to go before touch down."

It had been more than a year-and-a-half since our last visit to the cabin evidenced by the overgrown, nearly impassable road.  As we pulled up to the fence I was disturbed by the sight of the "No Trespass" sign, and a huge, rusty chain holding a gate shut, a gate and sign none of us had seen before. A familiar, sick feeling came over me.  The same feeling I had after I opened Dad's tackle box.  The three of us stared at the gate for several seconds without daring to speak.  Keeping his eyes on the gate, Uncle Martin reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and handed it to me. I dialed Mac's number.  I knew Snohomish County was out of his jurisdiction, but Mac would know what to do. 

Fearing what I might find, I had no intention of going into the cabin.  From the expressions on their faces, it was obvious, Charlie and Uncle Martin felt the same as me. 

After several unanswered rings, I suddenly heard Mac's voice, "Homicide, Detective MacKinnon speaking."

An unexpected calm come over me.

"Hi, Mac, it's James, I think we need to talk."

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.

Bellingham is a small city located two hours north of Seattle and less than an hour from the Canadian Border.

I'm using a friend's laptop and not used to not having a mouse. Any and all suggestions are welcome...instructions on the use of a laptop would be helpful too. I'm on my way to Guadalajara so I'm not sure you will even get this.


Chapter 18
Mom drops a Bombshell

By Sasha










Although we had plenty of time, Mom was in a state of frenzy.  It was only nine-thirty and we didn’t have to be at the hospital until eleven o’clock.  Mom had been on the phone with Marilyn, Susan’s nurse, and was excited to learn there was a noticeable improvement in Susan’s awareness.  She was talking more and had even expressed her anger over Billy’s betrayal.  This was a very good sign.  Susan had yet to mention Dad. Mom reminded us that it was up to Susan to let us know when she was ready to talk about him.

Mom was also excited because she had arranged to meet with a real estate agent later to look at three houses for rent in the Kirkland and Bellevue area. Both were close to Seattle, but far enough away to allow us some semblance of privacy.

During breakfast, Mom dropped a bombshell.

“Mr. Hurley and I have decided it is time for me to make a public statement.”

Both Charlie and I were shocked.  How could we possibly keep a low profile if Mom spoke to the media? I thought it was an insane idea, and I didn’t hesitate to express my opinion. “Why in the world would you want to do that?”

“James, the prosecutor is about to announce his decision on whether or not to accept your father’s plea bargain.  No matter what he decides, there will be a lot of unhappy people.  If he accepts it, people are going to be angry and say your Dad got off too easy.  If he says no, others are going to be upset because the prosecutor will be seen as denying closure for the families of the remaining six victims.  Mr. Hurley and I think the public needs to know where we stand before the shit hits the fan.”

Mom’s choice of words caught me off guard.  The quiet, soft spoken mother I previously knew had changed considerably in the span of a single week.
Making a point of not hiding the sarcasm in my voice, I asked, “Do you honestly think telling the public you are for or against the death penalty is going to win any fans?”

“James, that’s not what I am going to do.  I plan to tell them I am shocked, angry, and horrified over what John has done.  I have to apologize to the victims’ families and tell them I pray for them every day.  But more important, I want people to know I will accept whatever punishment the justice system deems appropriate for your father and that I will not say or do anything to try to influence their decision.

“We have been silent for too long.  The public has already judged us. I doubt there is anything I can say that will change anyone’s opinion of us.  However, I do think it is time we stop hiding and step up to the plate. If for no other reason, we owe that much to the victims and their families.”
 
What Mom said made sense.  I doubted she would agree, but if she was going to make a speech, I was going to make one too.

I was right.  Mom did not agree.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory* has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 19
Time to Ask for Help

By Sasha

Although my conversation with Mac was short, the concern in his voice added to the already high level of anxiety I was feeling. His insistence we stay in the car until Snohomish County Police got there, didn't sit well with Charlie, who suddenly proclaimed he had to pee. Fortunately, in less than ten-minutes, more than twelve Snohomish County police officers were cordoning off the area around the cabin with yellow tape. While not at all pleased over having an audience, Charlie finally got to pee.

A short, stumpy man dressed in blue jeans, a brown corduroy jacket, and a faded green flannel shirt, identified himself as Detective Reilly, the lead investigator. He was nothing at all like Mac. His breath smelled of garlic and his pock marked, bulbous nose screamed alcoholic in capital letters. The giant mole in the middle of his forehead was distracting and made it difficult to envision a brain inside his over sized baled head. After introducing himself, Detective Reilly abruptly walked away but not before telling us in a very loud voice, "Stay put."

The forensics experts arrived a few minutes later. Not knowing what they would or would not find, I was quite content to stay on this side of the fence and let them do their job undisturbed. Apparently, Detective Reilly had other plans. Standing in front of the car, he signaled with a jerk of his hand that he wanted me to follow him. Before getting out of the car, I turned to Uncle Martin and said, "I think Barney Fife wants to talk."

Uncle Mark nodded, and then asked Charlie, who was being unusually quiet, to hand him a blanket. It was only three in the afternoon, but it was already starting to get cold. I leaned over the seat and grabbed my jacket before getting out of the car. Detective Reilly didn't waste any time getting to the point. "Why didn't King County Police contact us about the cabin when they arrested your dad?" He grinned and then added, "I bet someone's head is going on the chopping block for this."

His tone of voice and cocky know-it-all attitude did nothing to instill me with confidence in his ability as an investigator. I didn't try to hide my irritation. "Everyone wants to be a Monday morning quarterback. The fact is, the cabin belongs to my Mom's father and when the police questioned us, none of us thought to mention it. They were investigating my Dad, not my mom's family."

Having to get in the last word, Detective Reilly smiled and said in an inappropriately sarcastic tone, "Doubt that's how the press will see it."

I could see the wheels turning inside his head. The turf-war had already begun. I hated to admit it but he was right. I knew it wouldn't be long before they found out about the cabin and the feeding frenzy would begin all over again.

After instructing us not to talk to the media, we were finally allowed to leave. During the ride home, Uncle Martin, Charlie, and I didn't speak. Charlie sat in the back with his head resting against the window staring off into space. I took advantage of the silence and tried to figure out what to do, talk to Mom and Aunt Em about Dad's parents, or wait and talk to Mac first. When we pulled into the hotel garage, I still had no idea what I was going to do.

* * * *

Not expecting us back for two days, Mom and Aunt Em were surprised to see us. The giggling, happy Mom I had seen the night before was gone and in her place was a tired, emotionally beaten woman. I doubted she knew what happened at the cabin, and could only assume her meeting with Susan had gone badly. I knew I should ask, but I didn't feel I could take more than one crisis at a time. I felt guilty, but for now, Susan would have to wait.

We all sat staring at each other for several minutes. Over the years, I learned that turning her head slightly to avoid eye contact, biting her bottom lip, or feigning a smile meant Mom was at the breaking point. When I saw her right eyelid began to flutter, I feared telling her about the cabin was a bad idea. However, I knew learning about it on the eleven o'clock news would be worse. I glanced at Uncle Martin and Charlie before blurting out the bad news. "It appears that someone has been at the cabin."

Mom's expression turned from concern to fear. I immediately tried to reassure her. "Don't get ahead of yourself. We don't know anything yet, just that someone put up a no trespass sign and a gate to keep people out. It may mean nothing."

Neither Mom nor Aunt Em took their eyes off me.

"I called Mac and he contacted Snohomish County Police. Until they finish looking for whatever they are looking for, we have no choice but to wait. Like I said, it may be nothing."

Mom reached over and took Aunt Em's hand. "Do you think that's where your dad took those poor girls?"

"Mom, for now it is just a gate and a sign. That's all."

My nonchalant attempt to downplay the potential seriousness of the situation failed. Even I had a sick feeling about what the police might find. No one said anything. The silence was painful, giving our imaginations far too much freedom to fill in the empty spaces and unanswered questions with ugly images of what we all feared.

After giving Uncle Martin a let's talk look, I got up and walked over to the sink. In a voice barely above a whisper I said, "I think it is best I talk to Mac about Grandpa. It is obvious, Mom and Aunt Em are hiding something. Maybe Mac can help me get some answers before I talk to them."

Uncle Martin agreed. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Mac's number. Although it was after nine, I was surprised he answered after the first ring. "Hi, James, I've been waiting for your call."

Feeling the knot in my stomach tighten,I paused a few seconds before responding. "You up for a cup of coffee? I think it's time we had a talk."

After hanging up the phone an unexpected, strange, and uncomfortable feeling came over me. A voice was screaming inside my head, but the words were muffled and made no sense. My chest tightened and I found it hard to breathe. The image of a familiar face flashed on and off like a faulty light bulb hiding beneath the muffled words that fought to be heard. My heart began to race. I needed some air.

Not bothering to tell anyone where I was going, I stood up and said, "I'll be back later" then walked out the door, slamming it behind me.




Chapter 19
The Press Conference

By Sasha

Author Note:A First Round Knockout for James












I left Mac at the restaurant and walked back to the hotel.  By the time I reached the room, the events of the day hit me like a tidal wave.  Marcy’s decision to break up with me weighed heavy on my heart.   A part of me understood her fears, but a greater part was angry that she felt I was a liability.  Trying to understand Mac added to the emotional exhaustion.  I did not like being ambushed and couldn’t figure out what he was actually up to.
 

I took a shower and went to bed.  Tomorrow was going to be another big day. Mr. Hurley had scheduled the press conference for three o’clock.
 
 
* * * * * * * * * *
 
 
 
Despite Mr. Hurley's offer to drive, we decided to walk. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and we all felt the need for exercise and some fresh air. The courthouse was only five blocks from the hotel, giving me a few extra minutes to think about what I was going to say, and providing way too much time for Mom to panic. 

When she saw the crowd of reporters and dozens of cameras, her knees buckled, and Uncle Terry quickly grabbed her before she fell.  Aunt Em rushed to Mom's side. "Are you sure you want to do this?" 

Mom brushed her hair from her face, straightened her skirt and looking like a frightened child, feigned a smile, and nodded.

As soon as the reporters saw us, we were immediately surrounded by an out-of-control mob, pushing and shoving their microphones into Mom's face while screaming questions at her. Uncle Terry pushed them aside as he tried to guide us through the crowd. Suddenly, a voice I recognized started shouting orders like an angry drill sergeant. It was Mac. "Back off! Give them some room! Get out of the way!" 

With Mac on one side of Mom and Uncle Terry on the other, they pushed the throng of unruly reporters aside, so we could get to the courthouse steps. I thanked Mac and asked him why he was there.

"Curiosity.  I thought I'd come listen to what you had to say." Mac winked and stepped to the side. 

Mr. Hurley was waiting for us at the top of the steps, standing behind three microphones apparently placed there by the reporters. I took hold of Mom's hand and feeling her tremble, I whispered into her ear. "It's going to be fine. By the time you speak, I'll have them eating out of my hand." 

Mom smiled, but this time it was a real one. Wiping a single tear from her eye, she kissed me on the cheek. "I want you to know how proud I am of you." 

Mom stood beside me, and Charlie stood behind her, between Aunt Em and Uncle Terry.  Mac gave us plenty of space, but remained close enough if needed. 

After the crowd finally settled down, Mr. Hurley stepped up to the center microphone. "I am Thomas Hurley, the attorney representing the Mathews family. Mrs. Mathews and her son, James, have a statement they would like to make. I ask that you not interrupt them while they are speaking, and I want to make it clear when they finish they will not be taking any questions."
 
Mr. Hurley stepped back, looked at me, smiled, and pointed to the microphone. 

I took a deep breath. Although I could hear the cameras clicking, I was surprised to see the previously wild mob standing frozen, completely silent, and staring directly at me. I took advantage of the silence and looked out over the crowd. Then, one by one, I intentionally made eye contact with each reporter. After several long, tense minutes, I cleared my throat. At that moment, I finally knew what I was going to say. 

"You are all reporters. It is your job to report the news. However, some of you have chosen instead to create the news. Few of you have done any real research and based your reports on speculation, assumption, and in the case of my sister, accepted lies as the truth from a source only interested in getting his fifteen-minutes of fame. Most of you have acted unprofessionally and should be ashamed of yourselves. The questions you have repeatedly asked only show your ignorance and preference for sensationalism rather than a sincere desire to report the truth." 

I raised my hand and pointed at a young, attractive reporter I recognized from a local television station as one who had asked several foolish questions. "Miss, how would you feel if the police knocked on your door and told you your husband of ten years had just been arrested for the rape and murder of a young girl?" 

I then pointed at the woman standing beside her. "How would you respond if someone told you your father just confessed to murdering three women?" 

Both women remained silent. I turned back to the first woman and staring her in the eyes, and said, "I'm waiting for an answer. Tell me, how would you feel?"
 
I knew she was not going to answer, but I paused long enough to make my point.

"What's the matter? Are you not answering because you refuse to believe your husband would do anything so horrible? Or, is it because, in your heart, you know your husband is incapable of doing something so terrible? What if you were shown all the evidence that proved without a doubt he was guilty? Tell me, how would you feel?  What would you do?

"That is how my family felt when they first learned of our father's arrest; shock, disbelief, denial, and finally acceptance. Acceptance that the man we thought was a loving husband and father was nothing more than a lie, the heartbreaking realization that the man who was my father never existed. 

"You and so many others insisted we had to know something. With no facts to base it on, you chose to present us as nothing more than accomplices who saw all the signs but turned a blind eye."
 
I glared at the group of reporters staring up at me.  "My father was seen as a normal, well-respected, highly revered man in the community. Ask our neighbors, his co-workers, and his friends who knew him for years. They will all tell you the same thing; they suspected nothing. You want us to tell you who he was, but we cannot because everything about him was a lie. He conned his family, his friends, neighbors, and his co-workers. None of us knew the real John Mathews. Sadly, only the victims and my father know who he actually is. The victims are obviously unable to speak, so I suggest you talk to my father to get the answer to that question. 

"My family has been through hell, yet you insist on portraying us as accomplices." 

For the third time, I looked at the first reporter I spoke to. "Are you as strong as my family? Or, would your need to believe your husband be so strong, it would force you to turn a blind eye by convincing yourself you were just overreacting? Tell me, could you turn your father or husband in to the police, knowing he would probably spend the rest of his life in prison or worse, get the death penalty?"

I intentionally paused to allow my words to sink into their thick skulls.  

"Your questions are ludicrous and insulting.  Do I still love my father? What difference does it make? Would saying I still love him make for a better story? If I said, I hate him, would that be more interesting to your readers and sell more newspapers, or get you more viewers and increase your ratings? 

"You ask if I believe in the death penalty. My opinion is pointless. I have no say in what will or will not happen to my father. I leave that to the justice system. My family and I will accept whatever the system decides.  We will not say or do anything to influence that decision. 

"The only people who have the right to ask us any questions are the families of the victims. They deserve answers to why my father did this and why he chose their daughter. My family and I have asked ourselves those questions a hundred times, and we do not have the answer." 

Feeling tears well up in my eyes, I paused for a second. "I want to tell the families of each precious young girl my father took from them that if hating or blaming us gives you only the briefest moment of comfort, I eagerly and willingly accept your hate. The price you have paid has earned you the right to find peace whatever way you can." 

I stepped back and took hold of Mom's hand. She was crying. She put her arm around me and hugged me. 

Mom did not have much to say other than my words expressed the feelings of the entire family. She also apologized to the families of the victims before tears and sobs prevented her from saying anything more. Aunt Em took Mom's arm, and we all turned and walked away from the microphones. 

To my surprise, when we walked down the steps, the crowd of reporters silently stepped back, giving us plenty of room to pass. Only a few chose to make eye contact with me. I glanced over to where Mac was standing.  Although he tried to appear professional, I saw tears in his eyes. 

Did my words reach even one of the reporters? I honestly don't know, nor did I care. I said what I needed to say, and that was all that mattered.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory* has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 20
The DA Makes His Announcement

By Sasha

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong language.








Mom was exhausted.  She wanted to take a nap, but Aunt Em insisted they get out of the hotel to go look at rental houses.

After eating a late lunch, Uncle Terry, Charlie, and I was firmly ensconced on the couch in front of the television, waiting impatiently for the five o'clock news. CBS aired my entire speech, and the announcer actually described me as spunky and articulate. However, the local stations were apparently not as pleased with what I had to say. After editing everything out, except the portion where I apologized to the families of the victims, it was finally aired at six o’clock. 

Charlie was furious. "How can they do that? They cut out the best part!" 

Uncle Terry laughed. "It seems they can dish it out but they sure can't take it." 

Charlie was still angry. "They are supposed to report the news, not let their personal opinions get in the way of telling the truth." 

I chuckled. "Boy, have you got a lot to learn, little brother."
 

* * * 


Mom and Aunt Em returned well after midnight. Although Mom seldom drank, it was obvious she was not feeling any pain. After announcing they had found a lovely little house in a secluded section of Kirkland, both Mom and Aunt Em began laughing and telling stories about their childhood. Despite it being a long and stressful day, we stayed up several more hours laughing and talking about things that had nothing to do with Dad or the case. It was the first time since Dad's arrest I felt the possibility that life might actually, at some point, return to normal. I chuckled silently; realizing normal in my family wasn't something to brag about.  It was clearly time to raise the bar. 

***

Although I was convinced Mr. Hurley knew what Mr. Douglas had decided, when I asked he gave his usual stock answer. "Sorry, James, I am not permitted to discuss that aspect of the case with you." 

Because my father's plea offer was a well-guarded secret, the public was totally unaware there would be a press conference, or the subject of it. Just as we’d done the night before, we all sat in front of the television, anxiously waiting to hear what Mr. Douglas was going to say. 
Unlike the public who openly expressed their opinion on what they felt was the appropriate punishment for my father, none of us had discussed the subject. I suspected Mom and Charlie were hoping for life in prison, but I had no doubt Uncle Terry felt Dad deserved nothing less than the death penalty. While I assumed Aunt Em felt the same way, she would never admit it because I knew she loved Mom. 

Until Dad's arrest, I had always been against the death penalty. I viewed it as cruel, and the fear of executing an innocent man weighed heavily on me. However, Dad was anything but innocent. I understood the public's anger and desire for revenge. If anyone deserved the death penalty, it was my father. His crimes were despicable. Yet, the idea of him spending every minute of every day of the rest of his life in a concrete cell, also seemed appropriate. Knowing he would never again see a sunset, walk on the beach, or sit in his favorite chair and drink a six-pack of beer would be its own form of hell for Dad. 

At precisely twelve-noon, every local television station interrupted regular programming to announce the King County Prosecutor had called a special press conference to discuss the John Mathews murder case. My heart started to race.  Mom held her breath, and Charlie began to shake. 

Mr. Douglas stood on the top step of the courthouse, exactly where I stood less than twenty-four hours earlier. Dressed in a three-piece brown suit, looking extremely professional, and composed, he calmly introduced himself. Then, holding a sheet of paper with both hands, he began reading a prepared statement. 

"Over the past several days, my office has spent considerable time discussing a plea agreement with Mr. Mathews and his attorney. As most of you know, Mr. Mathews has been charged with six of the Belltown Murders and continues to be a person of interest in the remaining unsolved murders. After announcing my decision to seek the death penalty, Mr. Mathews offered to plead guilty to all twelve murders on the condition I take the death penalty off the table and replace it with life in prison without the possibility of parole. After personally speaking with the families of both the solved and unsolved murders, I have decided to accept Mr. Mathews' offer and will not be seeking the death penalty in this case. John Mathews will serve twelve consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole." 

Cameras immediately began to click, and the reporters all started shouting questions at the same time. Mr. Douglas raised his hand and in a particularly loud voice, asked for silence. 

"Yes, we could have proceeded with original six murders, but in the end, lingering doubts about the unsolved murders would have remained. We are not accepting his plea at face value.  He will be required to answer questions and provide details of the crimes that only the killer would know.  He has answered all our questions to our satisfaction, leaving us with no doubt he is, in fact, the murderer of all twelve young women.  The criminal justice system is and always should be about the search for the truth, and it is my belief this agreement was the only route to that end.  Please understand today's decision is not intended to provide mercy for him but to provide closure for the families who have suffered." 

Mom sighed and buried her face in her hands. When Charlie started to cry Aunt Em put her arms around him and tried to comfort him. Uncle Terry turned his head toward me and under his breath, softly whispered, "Mother fucker." 

I remained silent.  The shame I felt knowing closure for the families had nothing to do with the reason for my father's plea made me sick to my stomach. At that moment, I realized for the first time that Dad was already dead to me.

He had manipulated the system to get what he wanted just as he had manipulated his victims, family, friends, co-workers, and neighbors. Everyone had an opinion as to what the correct punishment should be, but the decision was not ours to make, and it certainly wasn't Dad's. It was up to the court to decide if he was to get the death penalty or serve life in prison. As far as I was concerned, justice had not been served. 

Despite criticism, the prosecutor continued to defend his decision.  The majority of the public was not happy.

After the press conference, Mr. Hurley informed us Dad was being moved from the high security section of the King County Jail to an undisclosed location for his safety.  Apparently, even criminals have a bizarre sense of justice and serial killers are not as highly regarded, as you would expect.


 
* * * * * **
 

The option of going to the cabin was no longer on the table.   After dinner, I took Uncle Terry aside.

"Mac told me that both King and Snohomish County are getting ready to search the cabin and surrounding area.  They suspect that is where Dad took his victims.”
 
Uncle Terry shook his head.  “Do you ever wonder when this will all end?
 
 “I really think Charlie needs a break from all this.  Em and your mom will be busy packing and we can take a few days off and go to Victoria.  It’ll be a pleasant change for both of you.”
 
Charlie certainly needed a change of scenery, and a trip to Victoria would be great.  However, I had other plans.

“I agree Charlie needs to get away, but I am going to the cabin.”

“Why in the world would you want to go there?”

“You know I have an eidetic memory.  Mac could use me up there.  I remember precisely what the cabin looked like the last time I was there.  I could point out any changes or spot things that are different…”

“James, I don’t think that’s a good idea and besides, I doubt Mac would permit it.”

I shook my head.  “It’s not up for debate, not with you or with Mac.”
 
“James, you’re making a big mistake.  You’re too emotionally involved.”

I turned and walked away.  The conversation was over.  There was nothing Uncle Terry could say that would make me change my mind.  I doubted convincing Mac would be so easy.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory* has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.

An eidetic memory is more commonly known as a photographic memory.


Chapter 20
The Beginning of a Very Long Night

By Sasha

Although I had never experienced one before, I knew I was having a full-blown panic attack. I ran down the hallway toward the elevator.  I pressed the down button several times, anxiously waiting for it to arrive. The door opened, and to my relief, it was empty.  I pressed the button for the lobby and prayed there would be no stops on the way down.
 
As soon as the door opened, I felt a second wave of panic sweep over me.  I was the levelheaded one in the family.  I only dealt with facts.  The world was my personal Petri Dish and there was no room for intuition, gut instinct, or bad vibes.  However, since pulling up to the locked fence and seeing the no trespass sign, I felt the devil himself was breathing down my neck.  I tried to tell myself I was being foolish but the adrenaline pumping through my racing heart told me otherwise.
 
I immediately ran across the lobby and out the front door, nearly knocking down the doorman as I rushed past him.  I continued running until exhaustion took over.  I had no idea where I was.  I leaned against a telephone pole for a moment and then sat down on the curb to catch my breath.
 
The feeling of panic slowly subsided but was replaced with the ominous sense that something terrible lurked in the darkness.  I did not realize I was talking out loud when I said, "What could possibly happen that could be any worse than what has already happened?"
 
A familiar voice startled me.  "Be careful what you ask for, you might not like the answer."
 
Still gasping for breath, I looked up and saw Mac standing over me.
 
I shook my head, and said, "You must think I'm an idiot running down the street like that."
 
Mack smiled, "Believe me when I say, no one would ever call you an idiot."
 
Mac sat down beside me.  "What's going on, James?  You look like you've seen a ghost."
 
I stared at Mac several seconds before responding.  "Don't you dare laugh, but that is exactly how I feel."
 
Mac smiled again.  "I'm sure whatever you've seen, it isn't a ghost."
 
I started to stand up, but Mac put his hand on my shoulder.  I paused, waiting for what he was going to say next.
 
"James, you need to trust me.  I know you see me as the bad guy, but I think we want the same thing."
 
"And just what is that?"  I asked sarcastically.
 
"The truth."
 
Mac was right.  I wanted to know the truth, the whole truth, no matter where it led.  "You know, it may sound strange, but Dad raised me to be honest and truthful and he did a very good job teaching me. Now, it seems the truth is the very thing that may well tear my family apart. Tell me, Mack, what the hell would you do if you were me?"
 
"Talk to me, James.  Tell me what is going on in that big brain of yours."
 
I laughed.  "And what do I get out of this besides a giant guilt complex that will have me in therapy for the rest of my life?"
 
"Hey, if I recall, you're the one who called and asked to talk to me."
 
I nodded.  I felt a familiar cold chill run down my spine.  The devil had come back and the son-of-a-bitch was breathing down my neck again.  Mac was the guy that arrested Dad.  Common sense dictated that I view him as the enemy, but I didn't.  My ability to verbally interact with anyone other than my fellow nerds, was non-existant.  But there was something that drew me to Mac.  Unlike Dad, a major control freak, for some strange reason I trused this man and felt I could talk to him about anything.  He felt more like a freind than an advasary.  The feelings I felt were strange, awkward, and totally unfamiliar.  I wondered what he thought about me, the pushy, brazen kid poking around in his sandbox.  I feared I was about to find out.
 
Mac pointed at a small café across the street.  "Let's get a cup of coffee and talk."
 
When Mac said talk, I knew he wanted to ask me more questions.   I agreed, but with conditions.  "Tonight we play by my rules. You can ask me all the questions you want, but I get to decide which ones to answer, and this time, you will answer a few of mine too."
 
Mac shook his head.  "You know I cannot discuss the case with you."
 
I smiled.  "Those are the rules.  Take them or leave them.  The choice is yours."
 
It was impossible not to like Mac.  He was honest, upfront, and treated me with respect.  He was a good cop and I knew he wouldn't do anything that would put the case in jeopardy.  However, I had questions too, and Mac was the only one I knew who might know how to get the answers.
 
Mac stood up, brushed off the seat of his pants, and with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he shook his head. "Fine, I'll tell you what I can, but don't expect much."
 
Except for the waitress with the fire engine red hair and matching three-inch plastic nails sitting at the counter reading the newspaper, the café was empty. As we walked toward the back of the room, she looked up and smiled. "Evening, Mac.  Your favorite table awaits.  I'll bring you some coffee and a couple of menus."
 
"Forget the menus, Betty.  Just bring some coffee for me and my friend."
 
Betty placed two cups of coffee on the table in front of us. She tapped Mac on the shoulder and winked at me. "Be gentle with the kid, Mac.  If you want my opinion, he don't look much like a killer to me."
 
Mac nodded.  "I've told you before, Betty, you're wasting your time waiting on tables.  You should join the force."
 
Betty laughed.  "And give up my precious night life?  Hell no!"
 
They both laughed.  Betty returned to the counter and her newspaper, leaving us alone to talk.  I poured some cream into my coffee and added a little sugar.
 
My list of questions was growing with each passing minute.  I decided to jump right in with the big one.  "Mac, tell me everything you know about Dad, his parents, and his childhood."
 
Mac took a sip of his coffee.  "Are you sure you don't want to start with telling me about the ghost?"
 
I didn't find his attempt at humor amusing.  "No.  First tell me what you know about Dad, and then we'll talk about the ghost."

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 21
Quid Pro Quo Part 1

By Sasha

Mac set his cup down on the table and leaned back in his chair. I wasn't very good at reading people, and not knowing what he was thinking only added to my already high level of anxiety. He leaned forward and still staring at me, grinned. "Shouldn't the question be what, if anything, have they found at the cabin?"

I wasn't in the mood for an interrogation but knew he wasn't going to let up. "As far as the cabin goes, I doubt Barney Fife could find his way out of a room with three walls and two open doors. Right now, I just want to know what you know about Dad."

Mac laughed. "Don't underestimate Detective Reilly. Arlington may be a small town but Reilly's a darn good homicide detective. If there is anything to be found, he'll find it."

That was the second time Mac avoided answering my question.

The sound of the door opening momentarily distracted me. Several obviously cold, wet, and disheveled people came into the restaurant, each stomping their feet. I glanced out the window as thick pellets of rain slammed against the glass, blurring the yellow headlights of cars passing by.

Thoughts bottled up in the darkest recesses of my brain fought frantically for their rightful place at the top of my growing list of questions. Although the cabin remained somewhere in the middle, it was clear Mac had his own agenda and if I wanted his help, I'd have to play by his rules. For now, he was the one controlling the direction the conversation was taking. I silently acquiesced, telling myself, "Let the game begin."

The sound of Mac snapping his fingers caught my attention. I pushed my thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand.

"If I recall correctly, you're the one who told me you couldn't discuss an ongoing investigation."

Mac grinned again. "Under the current circumstances, I think we have progressed beyond casual conversation. Besides, you look like someone carrying a heavy load. I thought a little give and take might just be the incentive you need to loosen up."

It was my turn to grin. "Okay. You go first, what did they find at the cabin?"

Mac sat back and, appearing to weigh his words carefully, spoke in a deliberate and monotone voice. "Although it is still too early in the investigation to determine precisely what took place, there is evidence a violent altercation occurred inside the cabin. Despite an obvious attempt to clean up, the perpetrator was sloppy, leaving significant blood spatter on the walls and ceiling. This tells me he is either very confident and planned to come back at a later time to finish cleaning up, or, he is just plain stupid."

"Dad's not stupid."

"James, of course your dad is a suspect, but we can only go on the evidence collected. We have to keep all options open."

Not in the mood to play word games, I rolled my eyes and in a voice not intended to please, said. "You and I both know 'who' we are talking about, and we both know he is not stupid. Arrogant, yes, but not stupid. What else did they find?"

"What makes you think they found anything else?"

"C'mon, Mac. Just answer the question,"

The expression on his face turned serious. "They found clothing  belonging to a female partially burned clothing in the fireplace . A plastic bag containing a ring, silver chain, and a St. Christopher medal was found under a floorboard in the kitchen." He paused, and then added, "I won't be surprised if your father's prints are identified as those on the plastic bag."

He took a sip of coffee before continuing. "James, this is all circumstantial, and without a body it is going to be difficult to make a case against your dad."

That sick feeling I had earlier was back. It was strange how things that once meant nothing suddenly took on importance when looked at from a different view. Call it gut instinct, bad vibes, or just plain common sense, but I already suspected I knew who the victim might be. My heart began to race, and that damn knot in my stomach felt like someone had poured gasoline on it and set it on fire. "You might want to look into an old missing person case."

I had Mac's full attention. "About a year ago a neighborhood girl, Mary Ellen Campbell, disappeared. After a less than stellar investigation, she was declared a runaway."

"What makes you think her disappearance has anything to do with this case?"

"When the police canvassed the neighborhood, Dad went out of his way to avoid them for three days until they finally caught up to him at work. I thought his behavior was strange, but Dad was not someone we ever questioned."

Realizing what I just said, I abruptly stopped talking.  A wave of sadness settled over me.  Mac was practically a stranger and the circumstances under which we met were bizarre to say the least.  But I felt more comfortable talking to him than I ever did with Dad. I didn't undersand why I felt so at easy with the tough cop sitting across from me. I quickly pushed the strange and infamiliar  emotions swelling up inside me aside. I had more important things to think about.

"Like I already said, call it whatever you want; gut instinct or bad vibes but you need to take a closer look at Mary Ellen's case file. She also fit the profile of all Dad's victims; seventeen, good student, pretty, and long brown hair."

That sick feeling was getting worse.  For all I knew, the evidence they found pointed to more than one victim.  Dad already had twelve murders to his credit, it wouldn't surpise me if there were a dozen more.

Again Mac snapped his fingers bringing me back to the moment.

"I'll definitely check her out. But, without a body, we don't have much."

"C'mon, I'm not stupid. You and I know Arlington has some of the best cadaver dogs in the state and getting use of ground penetrating radar is just a phone call away."

Mac burst into laughter. I didn't see the humor. "James, have you considered going into law enforcement? Got any other helpful suggestions on how to proceed with this investigation?"

"Yes, in fact I do. The first thing you need to do is determine if you can obtain DNA from the blood spatter and then compare it to Mary Ellen. I am sure if you can't find a toothbrush, or hair follicle her mother would be more than willing to allow you to do a mitochondrial DNA for comparison. Maybe I'm wrong and it isn't Mary Ellen, but my gut tells me it is."

"Well, who am I to ignore your gut?"

Again, I wasn't amused.

Mac's nonchalant attitude told me he was way ahead of me. I hated to admit it, but he was the pro, I was just an annoying kid.

Mac tapped his fingers on the table. "Now that you've gotten that out of your system, it is my turn. Why do you want to know about your dad's life in Bellingham? What are you not telling me?

* * ** ***

Tom did his magic and restored the entire book.  Three cheers for Tom!!!!

Author Notes Although I plan to go into this more in a later chapter, Ground Penetrating Radar is a relative new but useful tool used to find a variety of objects beneath the surface, including concrete and rock. In the hands of a competent and well-trained professional it can be an excellent tool in law enforcement. It is also amazingly less expensive than the physical destruction of property normally used to hunt for bodies. Cadaver dogs are used as well and require extensive training.


Chapter 21
The Cabin

By Sasha






Despite the late night, Mom and Aunt Em managed to wake early.  They planned a busy day shopping for packing supplies in preparation for moving into the rental house. Mom left a note on the table telling us that they also planned to go see Susan. At the bottom of the note was a large happy face, certainly not Mom OR June Cleaver. I could only attribute the strange and uncharacteristic doodle to an abundance of adrenaline caused by the obvious lack of sleep and far too much wine.

To my surprise, Charlie and Uncle Terry had already left.  The ferry departure for Victoria was at 7:30 and neither thought to wake me.
 
I poured myself a cup of coffee, sat on the balcony soaking up the sunshine of what appeared to be another warm, beautiful day.  Suddenly, my conversation with Uncle Terry the previous night yanked me back to reality. I remembered him sitting at the table across from me babbling about the weather in what seemed to be an obvious attempt to avoid revealing whatever was rattling around inside his head. His viselike grip on his wine glass was a dead give-a-way that something was bothering him.  After ten minutes of pointless chit chat, I couldn't take any more and finally interrupted him. "What's wrong?  If you squeeze that glass any tighter, I swear gangrene is going to develop in those swollen, white knuckles that once resembled fingers."

Relaxing his death grip only slightly, Uncle Terry took a deep breath before responding.  "James, how much do you know about your dad's parents?"

I was unprepared for the question.  I felt a strange uneasiness come over me as I fumbled for the answer.  “Since we never met, I never felt the need to refer to them as Grandma or Grandpa.  Dad’s mother died before I was born, and his father died when I was nine-years-old. Although they lived in Arlington, we never visited them, so there is nothing to remember.   I learned long ago not to ask Dad about his parents. He made it clear the subject was off limits."

I noticed Uncle Terry’s fingers turn white again. Convinced he was hiding something, I abruptly asked, "Okay, my turn to ask a question. What do you know that you are not telling me?"

"James, that's what bothers me.  Questions are all I have.  Every time I've tried to talk about your dad's parents, both Em and your mother change the subject. If I press them for an answer, they simply get up and walk out of the room.  It's obvious they are hiding something, but for the life of me, I cannot get either to tell me anything."

I had always been curious about why Dad refused to talk about his parents or his childhood. However, knowing how angry he got when I broached the subject, I kept my curiosity in check, leaving my imagination to fill in the blank spaces; something I was not particularly skilled at.  A lifetime of telling myself that Dad and his father simply didn't get along just didn't cut it anymore.  I reached over and removed the wine glass from Uncle Terry’s hand.  "I've always known you didn't much care for Dad.  But why ask me a question you know I don't have the answer to?"

Uncle Terry avoided making eye contact, and in a voice shaking with frustration, said, "Don't you think it's about time someone finds out what the hell your dad is hiding?"

Although I already knew the answer, I asked, "And just how do you suggest someone go about accomplishing that?"

Uncle Terry smiled.  "I'm sure your new friend, Detective Mac, would be an excellent place to start."

My concern was not so much about what Dad was hiding, but what Mom and Em were hiding.  I wasn’t sure I honestly wanted to know the answer.

 

* * * *


I packed a small bag with enough clothes for two days.  My first stop would be REI, one of Seattle’s best camping supply stores.  I purchased two large flashlights, several batteries, a large box of candles, matches and two pans to cook on; one to boil water and the other to fry eggs and bacon.  I knew there was plenty of wood in the small shed out back, so making a fire wouldn’t be a problem.  I grabbed a can of lighter fluid just to be safe.  Although there were beds in the cabin, I decided to get a cheap sleeping bag and air mattress. I purchased a medium sized ice chest to store the perishables.  My next stop would be the grocery store.  I didn’t need much more than the basics: eggs, bacon, bottled water, hot dogs, potato chips and a few cans of beans.  I decided to wait until I got to Arlington to buy ice.

Uncle Terry assumed I’d spoken to Mac about my plan.  I knew Mac would not agree, so I solved the problem by not giving him an opportunity to tell me to stay away.  I didn’t tell him.
 

* * * * * * * * *


Washington State is a terrific place to live. We make jokes about the rain, but the reality is it has something for everyone. We have the ocean, rivers, lakes, streams, mountains, beautiful National Parks, and in the summer, Eastern Washington often gets as hot as Central Mexico. 
 
Arlington is located less than ninety-minutes north of Seattle. It is a charming, small farming community surrounded by lush forests.

After Dad’s mother died, his father built a small cabin on the land he owned deep in the woods near the Stillaguamish River.  Dad, Charlie, Susan, and I often spent weekends there. Although Mom claimed to have fond memories of the cabin, I had no memory of her ever going with us. I never knew why. 
 
It had been more than five years since my last visit to the cabin evidenced by the overgrown, nearly impassable road.  As I pulled up to the fence, I was disturbed by the sight of the "No Trespass" sign, and a large, rusty chain holding a gate shut, a gate and a sign that were not there that last time I visited. A familiar, sick feeling came over me.  The same feeling I had after I opened Dad's tackle box. 
 
I parked the car, got out, and cautiously climbed over the gate, careful not to disturb anything. After years of neglect, the yard had fallen into total disrepair. As I walked up the overgrown, nearly impassable path to the cabin, I was shocked at what I saw. The porch railing lay in several broken pieces on the ground, old, withered, vines hung in thick clumps from the chimney, the grass was over four-feet high, and the path to the river had disappeared. 
 
I stood in front of the cabin several minutes before finally deciding to go inside.  Except for a thick layer of dust and a few cobwebs, I was surprised to see it was still in pretty fair shape. 
 
Standing in the center of the room, I pictured the cabin exactly as it was the last time I was there.  The furniture was in the same place, but some things were different.  The red tablecloth was missing there were empty beer bottles on the floor beside the garbage can.  A large container of bleach sat on the counter alongside a stack of used rags. Next to the sink were three oil lamps.  

Strangest of all, the windows were covered with heavy, dark blankets nailed to the frame, preventing any light from entering or leaving.  It was obvious someone had been using the cabin.  Although I couldn’t see any sign of who it was, my gut told me what I already knew.  Suddenly, feeling light headed and experiencing difficulty breathing, I ran outside, tripped over the broken railing on the porch and fell, face first, onto the ground.

I stood up, dusted myself off and I slowly walked toward the large tool shed.  As far back as I could remember, the shed had always looked like it was about to collapse. Seeing it covered in thick, overgrown blackberry vines gave me an eerie feeling I had just stepped back to a time long ago.  Instinct told me not to go inside, but curiosity won the argument. Both doors to the tool shed had fallen off and lay on the ground.  I stepped over it and peered inside.   
 
Dad never threw anything away. I chuckled when I looked at the old, almost antique hand tools on the wall of the shed. The rusty saw hanging between a crowbar and a hatchet that had to be at least twice as old as me. After a few minutes, I found several shovels and an ax old enough for George Washington to have used to chop down the famous cherry tree. On the side wall was a large ring containing no less than twenty keys.  I recalled playing with the ring years ago and trying to figure out what they opened.  I asked Dad, but he just grinned and refused to answer the question. Just like the cabin, cobwebs, dust and dirt covered everything.  The biggest change in the shed was the placement of all the tools.  Someone had moved them.  The ax should have been on the right side of the smaller shovel, which should have been next to the larger shovel.  The crowbar and hatchet were in different places too.  I went back out into the light, sat down on the ground and tried to figure out what I was seeing and what it meant, if anything. 

As I walked down the path, I noticed a hint of the color lavender peeking out from behind a tall, thick patch of dried grass. I pushed the grass aside and found a large rhododendron just starting to bloom. To my knowledge, rhododendrons did not grow wild in this area. It was obvious someone had planted it there a long time ago. I noticed another rhododendron a few feet behind the lavender one. It was even bigger and in worse shape. I couldn't help but wonder why they had been planted so far from the cabin and in such a secluded spot. 
 
 
I looked at my watch.  It was four o'clock. I decided I had done enough for the day and headed back to the cabin. 
 

I unloaded the car and with considerable effort, was able to maneuver over the gate without disturbing anything.  I made a fire in the fireplace, heated a pan of beans along with several hot dogs and drank two bottles of water.

Exhausted, I climbed into the sleeping bag on the floor and fell asleep immediately. Despite being tired, I didn’t get a good night’s sleep.  I woke early, and the first thing I thought about was the rhododendrons. 
 
I don't know why, but I couldn't stop thinking about them. I tried to envision Dad wearing overalls and pulling weeds, but the picture just didn't fit. My curiosity got the best of me again, and I decided the only thing to do was to go back and take a closer look at the garden.

The harder I tried to convince myself that I was being silly, the more I feared what I might find if I followed my instincts. Having sufficiently worked myself into a state of complete and utter paranoia, I sat my half-empty cup of coffee down on the porch, took a deep breath, got up, and walked toward the shed. 
 
 
I found an old pair of stiff, leather gloves and stuck them into the waistband of my pants. I put the file and hand clippers into my back pocket, grabbed the shovel and sickle, then headed for the two rhododendrons I found yesterday. 
 
 
The sickle was dull and covered in rust, providing me with the perfect stall-tactic I was secretly looking for. I sat on the hard ground and using the file, began to sharpen the large curved blade. Thirty minutes later, I stood staring at the thick, dry grass surrounding me wondering where to start. Firmly holding the sickle in both hands, I began to swing it like a golf club. Within a few minutes, I cleared a large patch of ground that exposed nothing more than a few small rocks and dry dirt. 
 
 
Just as I began to feel a sense of relief, the sickle came to an abrupt stop, crashing into what looked like an old, dead rose bush. I knelt down, removed the clippers from my pocket, and began cutting the grass around the dead plant. I put on the gloves and gently rocked the dried, brittle stump back and forth several times to loosen the dirt. Then, using the shovel as a lever, with little effort I removed the dead plant, roots and all, from the ground. I knelt down and shaking nervously I poked and prodded the dirt with my hands, but I found nothing. 
 
 
Just as I was about to admit my imagination had gotten the best of me, I noticed another rose bush a few feet behind the first. As I moved closer, I noticed a third, and then a fourth, each placed in a neat row no more than two-feet apart. I cut the grass around three remaining roses, and just as I had done with the first, I pulled each out of the ground. With my heart pounding, I sifted through the dirt of the second rose and again, found nothing. However, when I stuck my hand into the hole where the third rose had been, my heart stopped beating when I pulled out a small white cylindrical object buried a few inches below the surface. To my horror, it looked frighteningly like a human bone. I screamed, dropped the bone, and fell backward landing on my back. My entire body began to shake. I tried to get up, but my legs wouldn't move. I stared at the bone beside me as my mind raced through dozens of different scenarios that all lead back to the same conclusion; I may have found a human body. 
 
 
Suddenly realizing I was at a possible crime scene, I decided to get the hell out of there. Still shaking, I stood up. As I turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of a large, spindly azalea fighting its way through the thick grass trying to reach the sunlight. I cautiously walked over to the sickly looking plant and with my bare hand, pushed the grass aside. I immediately saw a perfectly shaped skull lying a few inches from my feet. 

My knees buckled, and I fell to the ground. I felt sick to my stomach, and for a brief moment, I thought I would pass out. With my hands clenched into tight fists, I began pounding the ground.  As tears welled up in my eyes, I looked up at the clear blue sky and screamed loud enough for the entire world to hear, "Dear Sweet Jesus, will this ever end?" 
 
Barely able to stand, I stumbled and fell several times as I ran back to the cabin to get my cell phone. I immediately dialed Mac’s number.  My heart was pounding so hard I couldn't hear. I tried to speak but the words stuck in my throat. 
 
 
"Mac, I found ….  I think I found one of Dad's victims.  I’m not sure but there…  There may be more."







 

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 22
Quid Pro Quo Part 2

By Sasha

Mr. Hurley's comment, "There are some things your father told me I am not permitted to repeat", flashed like a red neon sign inside my head demanding my full attention. Mac's continued silence bordered on rude causing me to wonder what, if anything, he knew.
 
Not ready to implicate Mom or Aunt Em in something that I knew in my heart would lead me down a path of no return, I decided to broach the subject from a different angle.
 
"Other than vague references about an abusive father, a mother that died when he was a baby, and a sister no one talks about, Dad's life before he married Mom is a well kept secret."
 
Mac acknowledged my comment with a blank expression.  He casually caught Betty's attention with a wave of his hand, signaling he wanted more coffee. Unable to contain my frustration a moment longer, I abruptly slammed my fist onto the table.  Despite getting the attention of everyone in the room, Mac didn't flinch.  He leaned back in his chair and shook his head.  "James, some things are best left alone."
 
Without hesitating, I snapped, "I'll be the judge of that!"
 
"James, let it go. We've got him.  He's never getting out of prison. Connecting him to a murder in Snohomish County could blow his plea bargain out of the water. Don't you think it's time for you to move on?"
 
Mac released a long, thoughtful breath.  "James, this is still an ongoing investigation.  I shouldn't even be talking to you."
 
I wasn't interested in hearing Mac's speech on politically correct police procedures.  My frustration was quickly turning into anger.  "You just don't get it do you?  Dad didn't wake up one day and say, 'Gee, I think I'll go out and kill someone'.  I need to know what made him into the monster he is.  I don't need you, Mr. Hurley, Mom, or Aunt Em protecting me from the truth."
 
I didn't give Mack a chance to respond.  "The choice is yours.  But, one way or another, with or without you, I am going to get the answers."
 
To my surprise, Mac smiled.  "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, James."
 
* * * * *  
 
Casual conversation was not my forte.  Years of experience gave Mac his own special way of getting people to relax and open up to him.  It was suddenly very clear that tonight he was the teacher and I was the student.
 
Always the consummate professional, Mac spoke in a noticeably precise tone, choosing each word carefully.  "Tell me exactly what you know about your dad's childhood.  Don't leave anything out."
 
"That's the problem, I don't know anything."
 
Mac repeated the question.
 
"What little I know is mostly hearsay; conversations I've overheard between Mom and Dad, stuff like that."
 
"Fine, tell me what you think you know."
 
"Grandma and Grandpa owned a small farm in rural Bellingham where Dad and his older sister grew up.  Apparently Grandpa kept to himself, ruled the family with a heavy hand, and a big stick.  Grandma died when Dad was still very young and his sister raised him.  I guess Dad was a pretty good student and earned a scholarship to Washington State University where he met Mom. They got married, moved to Seattle, and from what I know, he never went back to Bellingham, not even when his dad died.  I know nothing about my Aunt.  I don't even know her name."
 
 
"Didn't you find it odd that your dad never talked about his family?  Weren't you curious?"
 
I tried not to laugh.  "It's one of those you had to be there to understand situations.  When you grow up in a family with a father that makes all the rules and controls the amount of air you breathe, you'd be surprised how you accept the odd as normal.  Of course I was curious but curiosity was something we learned at a very young age to keep in check."
 
Realizing again that my entire life was based on a lie, I paused to catch my breath.  I suddenly felt tears well up in my eyes thinking about Mom.  Knowing she was the product of more than twenty-years of meticulous brain washing caused me to wonder if I would ever know the person she was before Dad got hold of her.
 
I wiped the tears from my face, took a sip of cold coffee, and then said, "Okay, Mac, now it's your turn. Tell me what YOU know."

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 22
Mac Makes a Deal with James

By Sasha







Although my phone conversation with Mac was short, the concern in his voice added to the already high level of anxiety I was experiencing.  His insistence I stay in the car until Snohomish County Police got there didn't sit well with me.  Fortunately, in less than ten-minutes, more than twelve Snohomish County police officers were cordoning off the area around the cabin with yellow tape. 
 
A short, stumpy man dressed in blue jeans, a brown corduroy jacket, and a faded green flannel shirt, identified himself as Detective Reilly, the lead investigator.  He was nothing at all like Mac.  His breath smelled of garlic and his pock marked cherry red, bulbous nose screamed alcoholic in capital letters.  The giant mole in the middle of his forehead was distracting and made it difficult to envision a brain inside his oversized head.  After introducing himself, Detective Reilly abruptly walked away but not before telling me in an unusually loud voice, "Stay put, kid."
 
The forensics experts arrived a few minutes later.  Not knowing what they would or would not find, I was quite content to stay on this side of the fence and let them do their job undisturbed.  Apparently, Detective Reilly had other plans.  Standing in front of the car, he signaled with a jerk of his hand that he wanted me to follow him.  Before getting out of the car, I took a deep breath in the hope of calming down before finding out what Barney Fife wanted.
 
It was only 4:30 in the afternoon, but it was already starting to get cold. I leaned over the seat and grabbed my jacket before getting out of the car.  Detective Reilly did not waste any time getting to the point. "Why didn't King County Police contact us about the cabin when they arrested your dad?"  He grinned and then added, "I bet someone's head is going on the chopping block for this."

His tone of voice and cocky know-it-all attitude did nothing to instill me with confidence in his ability as an investigator.  I did not try to hide my irritation.  "I bet if your check your inbox, you’ll find a message from Detective MacKinnon informing you of his intent to obtain a search warrant for this property."

Having to get in the last word, Detective Reilly smiled and said in an inappropriately sarcastic tone, "Doubt that's how my boss will see it."

I could see the wheels turning inside his head.  The turf war had already begun.  I hated to admit it, but he was right.  I also knew it would not be long before the press found out about the cabin and the feeding frenzy would begin all again.
 
Although not allowed inside the cabin, Detective Reilly asked me to take him to where I found the first bone.  I then pointed to where I found the skull. After instructing me not to talk to the media, I was finally allowed to leave. During the ride home, I took advantage of the silence and tried to figure out what to do, talk to Mom and Aunt Em about Dad's parents, or wait and talk to Mac first.  When I pulled into the hotel garage, I still had no idea what I was going to do.

 
* * * *

 
Not expecting me back for two days, Mom and Aunt Em were surprised to see me.  The giggling, happy Mom I had seen the night before was gone, and in her place was a tired, emotionally beaten woman.  I doubted she knew what happened at the cabin, and could only assume her meeting with Susan had gone badly.  I knew I should ask, but I didn't feel I could take more than one crisis at a time.  I felt guilty, but for now, Susan would have to wait.
 
We all sat staring at each other for several minutes.  Over the years, I learned that turning her head slightly to avoid eye contact, biting her bottom lip, or feigning a smile meant Mom was at the breaking point.  When I saw her right eyelid began to flutter, I feared telling her about what I found at the cabin was a dreadful idea.  However, I knew learning about it on the eleven o'clock news would be worse.  I glanced at Aunt Em before blurting out the distressing news.  "It appears that someone has been at the cabin.  A bone and skull have been found."

Mom's expression turned from concern to fear.  I immediately tried to reassure her. "Don't get ahead of yourself.  We don't know anything yet, just that someone put up a no trespass sign and a gate to keep people out."

Neither Mom nor Aunt Em took their eyes off me.

"I called Mac and he contacted Snohomish County Police.  Until they finish looking for whatever they are looking for, we have no choice but to wait.”


Mom reached over and took Aunt Em's hand.  "Do you think that's where John took those poor girls?"

Aunt Em remained silent.

"Mom, for now it is just a couple of bones, a gate and a sign. That's all."

My nonchalant attempt to downplay the potential seriousness of the situation failed.  Even I had a sick feeling about what else the police might find.  No one said anything.  The silence was painful, giving our imaginations far too much freedom to fill in the empty spaces and unanswered questions with ugly images of what we all feared.

After giving Aunt Em a let's talk look, I got up and walked over to the sink. In a voice barely above a whisper, I said, "I think it is best I talk to Mac about Dad’s father.  It is obvious you and Mom are hiding something.  Maybe you can give me some answers before I talk to him."

Aunt Em’s face turned pale.  She began to shake as she walked away.  I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Mac's number.  Although it was after nine, I was surprised he answered after the first ring.  "Hi, James, I've been waiting for your call."

 
 
* * * * * * * * *

 
Although it was almost ten, Betty was still working.  Nodding toward Betty, I asked Mac, “Does she live here?”
Clearly not in the mood for idle chitchat, Mac snapped, “How the hell should I know?”
“Damn it Mac.  Lighten up.”
I decided to change the subject.  “What are you not telling me about Dad?”

Mac set his cup down on the table and leaned back in his chair. I wasn't particularly skilled at reading people, and not knowing what he was thinking only added to my already high level of anxiety. He leaned forward and still staring at me, grinned. "Shouldn’t the question be, why the hell did you go there knowing we were planning to get a search warrant?"

“C'mon Mac.  You would never have let me go if I told you what I was going to do.”

“Damn right!  You messed with potential evidence.”

Angry, I snapped back.  “No, I found evidence and because of what I found I bet the warrants have all been signed and delivered.  As far as I’m concerned, you owe me a thank you.”

I wasn't in the mood for an interrogation but knew he wasn't going to let up. "As far as the cabin goes, I doubt Barney Fife could find his way out of a room with three walls and two open doors. Right now, I just want to know what you know about Dad."

Mac laughed. "Don't underestimate Detective Reilly. Arlington may be a small town, but Reilly's a darn good homicide detective. If there is anything to be found, he'll find it."

That was the second time Mac avoided answering my question.

The sound of the door opening momentarily distracted me. Several obviously cold, wet, and disheveled people came into the restaurant, each stomping their feet. I glanced out the window as thick pellets of rain slammed against the glass, blurring the yellow headlights of cars passing by.

Thoughts bottled up in the darkest recesses of my brain fought frantically for their rightful place at the top of my growing list of questions. Although the cabin remained somewhere in the middle, it was clear Mac had his own agenda, and if I wanted his help, I'd have to play by his rules. For now, he was the one controlling the direction the conversation was taking. I silently acquiesced, telling myself, "Let the game begin."

The sound of Mac snapping his fingers caught my attention. I pushed my thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand.

I smiled and said, "If I recall correctly, you're the one who told me you couldn't discuss an ongoing investigation."

Mac grinned again. "Under the current circumstances, I think we have progressed beyond casual conversation. Besides, you look like someone carrying a heavy load. I thought a little give and take might just be the incentive you need to loosen up."

It was my turn to grin. "Okay. You go first; what did they find at the cabin?"

Mac sat back and, appearing to weigh his words carefully, spoke in a deliberate and monotone voice. "Although it is still too early in the investigation to determine precisely what took place, there is evidence a violent altercation occurred inside the cabin. Despite an apparent attempt to clean up, the perpetrator was sloppy, leaving significant blood spatter on the walls and ceiling. This tells me that he is either very confident, planned to come back at a later time to finish cleaning up or, he is just downright stupid."

"Dad's not stupid."

"James, of course, your dad is a suspect, but we can only go on the evidence. We have to keep all options open."

Not in the mood to play word games, I rolled my eyes and in a voice not intended to please, said. "You and I both know who we are talking about, and we both know he is not stupid, arrogant, yes, but not stupid. What else did they find?"

"Aside from a bone and skull, what makes you think they found anything else?"

"C'mon, Mac. Just answer the question,"

The expression on his face turned serious. "They found partially burned clothing in the fireplace belonging to a female. A plastic bag containing a ring, silver chain, and a St. Christopher medal was found under a floorboard in the kitchen." He paused, and then added, "I won't be surprised if your father's prints are identified as those on the plastic bag."

He took a sip of coffee before continuing. "James, this is all circumstantial, and without identifying the body it is going to be difficult to make a case against your dad."

That sick feeling I had earlier was back. It was strange how things that once meant nothing suddenly took on importance when looked at from a different view. Call it gut instinct, bad vibes, or just basic common sense, but I already suspected I knew who the victim might be. My heart began to race, and that damn knot in my stomach felt like someone had poured gasoline on it and set it on fire. "You might want to look into an old missing person case."

I had Mac's full attention. "Five years ago, a neighborhood girl, Alicia Campbell, disappeared. After a less than stellar investigation, she was declared a runaway."

"What makes you think her disappearance has anything to do with this case?"

"She often babysat for Charlie and Susan.  She disappeared the night Dad drove her home.  When the police canvassed the neighborhood, Dad went out of his way to avoid them for three days until they finally caught up to him at work. I thought his behavior was strange, but after he claimed to drop her off at her house and never seeing her again, he was no longer a suspect and they moved on."

Realizing what I just said, I abruptly stopped talking.  A wave of sadness settled over me.  Mac was practically a stranger, and the circumstances under which we met were bizarre, to say the least.  I felt more comfortable talking to him than I ever did with Dad. I didn't understand why I felt so at ease with the tough cop sitting across from me. I quickly pushed the strange and unfamiliar emotions swelling up inside me aside. I had more important things to think about.

"Like I already said, call it whatever you want, gut instinct or bad vibes, but you need to take a closer look at Alicia's case file. She also fits the profile of all Dad's victims: seventeen, good student, pretty, and long brown hair."

That sick feeling was getting worse.  For all I knew, the evidence they found pointed to more than one victim.  Dad already had twelve murders to his credit.  It wouldn't surprise me if there were a dozen more.

Again, Mac snapped his fingers bringing me back to the moment.

"I'll certainly check her out."

"C'mon, I'm not stupid. You and I know Arlington has some of the best cadaver dogs in the state, and getting use of ground penetrating radar is just a phone call away."

Mac burst into laughter. I didn't see the humor.

"James, have you considered going into law enforcement? Got any other helpful suggestions on how to proceed with this investigation?"

"Yes, in fact I do. The first thing you need to do is determine if you can obtain DNA from the blood spatter and bone fragments and then compare it to Alicia. I am sure if you can't find a toothbrush, or hair follicle her mother would be more than willing to allow you to do a mitochondrial DNA for comparison. Maybe I'm wrong, and it isn't Alicia, but my gut tells me it is."

"Well, who am I to ignore your gut?"

Again, I wasn't amused.

Mac's nonchalant attitude told me that he was way ahead of me. I hated to admit it, but he was the pro. I was just an annoying kid.

Mac tapped his fingers on the table. "Now let’s move on.  It’s my turn. Why do you want to know about your dad's life in Arlington? What are you not telling me?”

I didn’t feel at all comfortable telling Mac what Uncle Terry told me.  However, if I was going to get to the bottom of this mess, I didn’t have a choice. 

“Apparently, Uncle Terry believes Mom and Aunt Em know something about Dad’s family but they refuse to talk about it.  That’s all I know.”

Mac leaned back and said nothing.  He took another sip of his coffee and after a few seconds of silence, spoke.  “James, this is no time for secrets.  You have to talk to your mother and find out what she’s hiding.  If you can’t get her to talk, I’ll have no choice but to bring her in for questioning.”

“First, you get mad because I get involved in the case and now you want me to interrogate Mom.  You can’t have it both ways.”

Mac covered his face with his hands.  “James, you are the most annoying kid I have ever met.  Let’s make a deal.  No more secrets.  Okay?”

I grinned.  “Just remember the deal works both ways.”



Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 23
More Questions

By Sasha



Mac released a long, loud breath.  "James, this is still an ongoing investigation.  I shouldn't even be talking to you."
 
I wasn't interested in hearing Mac's speech on politically correct police procedures.  My frustration was quickly turning into anger.  "You just don't get it do you?  Dad didn't wake up one day and say, Gee, I think I'll go out and kill someone.  I need to know what made him into the monster he is.  I don't need you, Mr. Hurley, Mom, or Aunt Em protecting me from the truth."
 
I didn't give Mac a chance to respond.  "The choice is yours.  But, one way or another, with or without you, I am going to get the answers."
 
To my surprise, Mac smiled.  "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, James."
 

* * * * *  

 
Casual conversation was not my forte.  Years of experience have given Mac his own unique way of getting people to relax and open up to him.  It was suddenly very clear that tonight he was the teacher, and I was the student.
 
Always the consummate professional, Mac spoke in a noticeably precise tone, choosing each word carefully.  "Tell me exactly what you know about your dad's childhood. Don't leave anything out."
 
"You can keep asking me the same question, but I’ve already told you everything I know.”

Mac repeated the question.

Knowing he wasn’t going to quit until I said something, I told him what I knew.
 
"What little I know is mostly hearsay; conversations I've overheard between Mom and Dad, stuff like that."
 
"Fine, tell me what you think you know."
 
"Dad’s parents owned a small farm in Arlington where he and his older sister grew up. Apparently his dad kept to himself, ruled the family with a heavy hand, and a big stick. His mother died when Dad was still very young, and his sister raised him.  I guess Dad was a pretty good student and earned a scholarship to Washington State University where he met Mom. They got married, moved to Seattle, and from what I know, he never went back to Arlington until after his dad died. I know nothing about my aunt.  I don't even know her name."
 
 
"Didn't you find it odd that your father never talked about his family?  Weren't you curious?"
 
I tried not to laugh.  "It's one of those you had to be there to understand situations.  When you grow up in a family with a father that makes all the rules and controls the amount of air you breathe, you'd be surprised how you accept the odd as normal.  Of course I was curious, but curiosity was something we learned at an extremely young age to keep in check."
 
I suddenly remembered something I hadn’t thought about in years.  “Mac, I don’t know if it’s important or not, but when Dad got drunk, he occasionally blurted things out in a foreign language.  It sounded like Eastern European.  I once asked Mom about it, but she refused to tell me why he did that.”
Realizing again that my entire life was based on a lie, I paused to catch my breath.  I suddenly felt tears well up in my eyes thinking about Mom.  Knowing she was the product of more than twenty-years of meticulous brain washing caused me to wonder if I would ever know the person she was before Dad got hold of her.
 
I wiped the tears from my face, took a sip of cold coffee, and then said, "Okay, Mac, now it's your turn. Tell me what YOU know."

Looking as though I had just asked him the location of the original Ark of the Covenant, Mac sighed, placed his left elbow on the table, and rested his chin against the palm of his hand.  His response was not what I expected. 
 
"James, what I am about to tell you stays between us.  I'm putting my career in jeopardy just talking to you.  Do you understand what I'm saying?"
 
Leave it to Mac to hand me a large plate of piping hot pressure peppered with enough guilt to give someone with a cast-iron stomach a permanent case of heartburn.  I did the only thing I could do, I nodded and then, despite my desperate need to hear what he had to say about Dad, I followed my newfound curiosity and asked, "If you are so worried about your career, why are you talking to me?"
 
Mac smiled and shrugged.  "I like you."
 
I laughed. "That is so sweet.  I like you too."
 
"James, I've been a homicide detective for more than fifteen-years, and I've seen more death than you could imagine. I've worked cases where the victim was a twelve-year-old killed for his shoes, a drug deal gone badly, a wife having an affair with the mailman, or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But, no matter how difficult it is to deal with death, dealing with the living, the survivors, the family of the victim is the hardest."
 
This was a side of Mac I had never seen before.  The big, tough, burly cop was pouring his heart out to me. I felt like I was treading on sacred ground meant only to be shared with him and God; a God I had yet to decide even existed. Not knowing where he was headed, and even less sure if I wanted him to continue, I remained silent, keeping my thoughts to myself.
 
"I was assigned to the Belltown Murder case before we knew it was the work of a serial killer.  As time passed and the number of victims grew, I honestly feared we would never catch him.  Then, you walked into the station. A tall, gangly, red haired freckle-faced nerd, with the social skills of a warthog, an IQ that made everyone in the room feel like a kindergarten dropout and handed us the killer on a silver platter."
 
Mac paused to regain his composure.  "The most amazing thing about you is your undeniable innocence. Your motivation was not anger, revenge, hatred, or even simple curiosity.  You came to us because it was the right thing to do. You gave me back something I lost a long time ago, faith in the goodness of mankind."
 
Not knowing what to say, I reverted to my only familiar emotion, sarcasm. "Okay, now that you've established I qualify for sainthood, could we move on to what you know about Dad?"
 
Mac burst into laughter and I followed like a puppy trailing its master. When the laughter finally stopped, we sat staring at each other, as though waiting for the other to speak first.  I had nothing more to say.
 
Mac leaned back in his chair, chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip for a moment, and then released a second long even louder breath.
 
"The day you walked into the police station, we began compiling information on your father, starting with his birth up until the day we arrested him. Although we don't have all the answers yet, we have learned he was not who he claimed to be."
 
So far, Mac wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know.  Anyone with as many secrets as Dad had, clearly had a lot to hide.
 
"First of all, there is very little information on your grandfather’s life in Bellingham.  At some point, the family moved to Arlington.  Your dad doesn’t even have a birth certificate.  He was registered in school under the name Alexandru Popescu. Your grandfather’s name is Adian Popescu.  Your grandmother’s name is Alfina.  Each are of Romanian origin.  Popescu is a common Romanian last name.  We have been unsuccessful in learning your aunt’s name. It’s as though she never existed.


 
Your grandfather didn't have a small farm, just a rundown, two-room shack on six acres of land outside of Arlington. Your grandfather was a mean drunk, had no friends, but plenty of enemies. He apparently ruled over the family with an iron hand and had a reputation for physical violence. No one remembers much about your grandmother other than to say she died the year your dad was born."
 
 
Mac paused to take another sip of coffee.  "We have not been able to find a death certificate or place of burial for your grandmother and are not ruling out the possibility of foul play as the cause of death.  Without much more than some ninety-year old geezer, wearing bifocals, and in desperate need of a hearing aid saying he vaguely recalled hearing she died, we don't have much to go on."
 
Hearing Mac talk about people I didn't know seemed surreal.   I wasn't sure how to feel.  I found it hard to picture Dad, the well-educated, handsome, neighborhood hero living in a place that belonged in the movie Deliverance.  I fought the urge to laugh, remembering Mac was talking about a person guilty of killing twelve—possibly thirteen—young girls.  It was obvious the why I was looking for was to be found somewhere in those missing years he spent in Arlington.
 
"We have run into a brick wall trying to find any information about your aunt. We spoke with a few neighbors that vaguely recall meeting her.  However, we have not been able to find a birth certificate, any school records, marriage certificate, no death certificate, nothing."
 
My head was spinning.  What the hell was I supposed to do with this jumbled pile of unanswered questions? "Damn it Mac, what DO you know?"
 
"Sorry kid, we are still trying to put all the pieces together.  For what it's worth, we've been going over the shack and property, but so far we've come up with nothing."

My gut told me Mac was holding back, but I decided it best, for the moment, not to push him. 
 
In a voice trying to sound upbeat, Mac said, "Got any brilliant ideas, my little genius?"
 
"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do.  I think it is time I had a serious talk with Mom and Aunt Em."



Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 23
Be Careful What You Ask For

By Sasha

Looking as though I had just asked him the location of the original Ark of the Covenant, Mac sighed, placed his left elbow on the table, and rested his head against the palm of his hand.  His response was not what I expected. 
 
"James, what I am about to tell you stays between us.  I'm putting my career in jeopardy just talking to you.  Do you understand what I'm saying?"
 
Leave it to Mac to hand me a large plate of piping hot pressure peppered with enough guilt to give someone with a cast-iron stomach a permanent case of heartburn.  I did the only thing I could do, I nodded and then, despite my desperate need to hear what he had to say about Dad, I followed my newfound curiosity and asked, "If you are so worried about your career, why are you talking to me?"
 
Mac smiled and shrugged.  "I like you."
 
I laughed. "I like you too."
 
"James, I've been a homicide detective for more than fifteen-years and I've seen more death than you could imagine. I've worked cases where the victim was a twelve-year-old killed for his shoes, a drug deal gone bad, having an affair with the mailman, or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But, no matter how difficult it is to deal with death, dealing with the living, the survivors, the family of the victim is the hardest."
 
This was a side of Mac I had never seen before.  The big, tough, burly cop was pouring his heart out to me. I felt like I was treading on sacred ground meant only to be shared with him and God; a God I had yet to decide even existed. Not knowing where he was headed, and even less sure if I wanted him to continue, I remained silent, keeping my thoughts to myself.
 
"I was assigned to the Belltown Murder case before we knew it was the work of a serial killer.  As time passed and the number of victims grew, I honestly feared we would never catch him.  Then, you walked into the station. A tall, gangly, freckle-faced nerd, with the social skills of a wart hog, an IQ that made everyone in the room feel like a kindergarten dropout, and handed us your father on a silver platter."
 
Mac paused to regain his composure.  "The most amazing thing about you is your undeniable innocence. Your motivation was not anger, revenge, hatred, or even simple curiosity.  You came to us because it was the right thing to do. You gave me back something I lost a long time ago, faith in the goodness of mankind."
 
Not knowing what to say, I reverted to my only familiar emotion, sarcasm. "Okay, now that you've established I qualify for sainthood, could we move on to what you know about Dad?"
 
Mac burst into laughter and I followed like a puppy trailing its master. When the laughter finally stopped, we sat staring at each other, as though waiting for the other to speak first.  I had nothing more to say.
 
Mac leaned back in his chair, chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip for a moment, and then released a second long, thoughtful breath.
 
"The day you walked into the police station, we began compiling information on your father, starting with his birth up until the day we arrested him. Although we don't have all the answers yet, we have learned he was not who he claimed to be."
 
So far, Mac wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know.  Anyone with as many secrets as Dad had, clearly had a lot to hide.
 
"First of all, he was not born or raised in Bellingham.  Your grandfather didn't have a small farm, just a rundown, two-bedroom shack on an acre of land outside of Blaine, a few miles from the Canadian border. Your grandfather was a mean drunk, had no friends, but plenty of enemies.  He apparently ruled over the family with an iron hand and had a reputation for physical violence. No one remembers much about your grandmother other than to say she died the year your dad was born."
 
 
Mac paused to take a sip of coffee.  "We have not been able to find a death certificate or place of burial for your grandmother and are not ruling out the possibility of foul play as cause of death.  But without much more than some ninety-year old geezer saying he vaguely recalled hearing she died, we really don't have much to go on."
 
Hearing Mac talk about people I didn't know seemed surreal.   I wasn't sure how to feel.  I found it hard to picture Dad, the well-educated, handsome, neighborhood hero living in a place that belonged in the movie Deliverance.  I fought the urge to laugh, remembering Mac was talking about a guy guilty of killing twelve young girls.  It was obvious the 'why' I was looking for was to be found somewhere in those missing years he spent in Blaine.
 
"We have run into a brick wall trying to find any information about your Aunt. Other than a birth certificate telling us her name was Mary Louise and that she was thirteen years older than your dad, it is as though she never existed.  We have not been able to find any school records, marriage certificate, no death certificate, nothing."
 
My head was spinning.  What the hell was I supposed to do with this jumbled pile of unanswered questions?  "Damn it Mac, what do you know?"
 
"Sorry kid, we are still trying to put all the pieces together.  For what it's worth, we've been going over the house and property with ground penetrating radar and those well-trained cadaver dogs you recommended, but so far we've come up with nothing."

My gut told me Mac was holding back, but I decided it best, for the moment, not to push him. 
 
In a voice trying to sound humorous, Mac said, "Got any brilliant ideas?"
 
"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do.  I think it is time I had a serious talk with Mom."


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 24
A Talk With Mom

By Sasha


I slid the keycard through the slot and when I opened the door, I was surprised to see everyone sitting at the table waiting for me.  Mom immediately stood up and yelled, "Where the hell have you been? We've been worried sick."
 
I glanced at my watch; it was twelve-forty-five.  I was emotionally exhausted. Realizing my hope of getting a good night's sleep before confronting Mom was not going to happen only added to my already fragile mental state.
 
"Damn it, James, I asked you a question."
 
I ignored Mom. I looked at Charlie, Aunt Em, and Uncle Martin and politely, but firmly, asked them to leave.  Confused, they looked over at Mom then back at me.  Again, I asked them to leave.
 
Angry, Mom yelled at me again.  "James…."
 
In a voice loud enough to wake the people in the room next door, I interrupted, "Get the hell out of here now!  I need to talk to Mom alone."
 
Shocked, Mom sat down and every one else got up and left the room without saying a word.  I sat across from Mom and after a few seconds of silence said, "I'm going to ask you some questions and it is really important you tell me the truth, the whole truth."
 
Mom got up, walked over to the refrigerator, opened the door and took out two cans of beer.  Mom seldom drank.  She had the occasional glass of white wine but I had no memory of ever seeing her drink beer.  She didn't bother to get a glass but popped the metal tab, tipped her head back, and in four or five large, loud gulps, emptied the can.  She then opened the second can and holding it with both hands in a vise-like grip, casually said, "What do you want to know?"
 
My brain felt like the inside of a metal rock tumbler packed with a hundred questions, each slamming violently against the other turning my usually well organized thoughts into a jumbled pile of chaotic debris.  Where do I begin?  Dear God, where do I begin?  Unable to sort through the cluttered mess inside my head, I decided the best place to start was at the beginning.
 
"When you first met Dad, what did he tell you about his childhood?"
 
Mom shrugged and said, "It never came up."
 
Clearly, Mom was not going to make this easy for me.  "We can play this game all night, but neither of us is leaving this room until I get a straight answer from you."
 
Releasing her grip on the beer can, Mom rested her elbow on the table and rhythmically rubbed her lower lip with her index finger.  She was visibly shaken.
 
"Mom, please talk to me.  Tell me what you know."
 
In an unexpected shaky voice, Mom asked, "James, why are you pursuing this?  Why is this so important?"
 
"Isn't it obvious? I am tired of all the secrets.  Everything about Dad is a lie and I need to know the truth about him.  I know you know more than you admit.  Why are you protecting him?" 
 
"I'm not protecting him."
 
"Then why won't you tell me what you know?"
 
"James, some things are best left alone."
 
Mac had said the exact same thing to me a few hours earlier.   What the hell were they hiding?
 
"I don't know why or even how, but Dad turned you into a frightened well-trained robot. You have never finished a single thought without his critical, abrasive input.  Every sentence you've ever spoken has ended with the sound of his voice.  But Dad is gone.  He's not coming back.  For God's sake, Mom, it's over.  Do you honestly think telling me some things are best left alone is going to keep me from getting to the truth?"
 
Mom's eyes appeared empty.  The dazed expression on her face and noticeably dilated pupils told me the space she was staring at was not empty. Although only sitting inches away, she was clearly somewhere else. Concerned, I reached over and softly caressed her shoulder.
 
She leaned back in her chair.  Her eyes continued to focus on a single spot on the wall behind me. I didn't know what to do. Unaware of where she had gone or if she was coming back, I worried if my abrupt and demanding questions had pushed her too far. 

Still staring past me, she suddenly began to speak. However, her words were not directed at me. Wherever Mom was, I knew we were not in the same room.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.

Yes, this is a short chapter but actually longer than it seems...756 words. Sometimes short is necessary.


Chapter 24
The Journal

By Sasha










I waved goodbye to Mac, and headed back toward what I hoped was the right direction. After walking several blocks, I could see the two, tall towers of the Sheraton off in the distance. The closer I got to the hotel, the more nervous I became. Although I was still angry with Mac for asking me to interrogate Mom, I hated to admit it, but I knew he was right. He took a big chance talking to me.  I didn't know how much trouble he could get into talking to me about the case, but I knew he wouldn't have done it if he didn't think it was his only option.  Mom and Aunt Em had to talk to me and tell me everything they knew.
 
 
I swiped the key card and the door to the room opened. I took a deep breath and walked inside. Mom, Charlie, Aunt Em, and Uncle Terry were all sitting at the table. As soon as Mom saw me, she stood up and began to yell at me. "Where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick."
 

I ignored Mom's question. I looked at Charlie and Uncle Terry, and politely asked them to leave. They looked over at Mom and then back at me. Confused, Mom said, "James, what's wrong with you?"
 
 
I looked at Charlie and Uncle Terry, and again told them to leave.
 
 
Angry, Mom yelled at me. "James…!"
 
 
I slammed my fist down on the table and in a voice loud enough for the people in the next room to hear, I yelled, "Get the hell out of here now! I need to talk to Mom and Aunt Em alone!"
 
 
Shocked, Mom and Aunt Em sat down. Charlie and Uncle Terry got up and left the room without saying a word. 
 
 
The look of shock and confusion on Mom's face filled me with guilt.  The anger, sympathy, and fear I also felt, surfaced in the form of sarcasm. 
 "Mac and I had just had a very interesting conversation."

I didn't know who was shaking more, Mom, Aunt Em, or me. Mom sat silently staring at me with her large brown eyes. I had seen her sad, upset, nervous, even angry. However, this was the first time I had ever seen Mom scared. I wanted to give her a hug and tell her everything would be fine, but I couldn't. There was too much at stake. I was still furious with Mac for putting me in this position, but I was angry with Mom for not telling me what she knew. At that moment, I realized I was angry with everyone and everything in the whole world. I just wanted to close my eyes for a few seconds so I could open them and find out this was all just a terrible dream. However, I tried that once before, and it didn't work then either.
I sat across from Mom and Aunt Em, who were holding hands. After a few moments of silence, I took a deep breath. "I'm going to ask you some questions, but this time you are going to tell the truth; the whole truth."

The loud pounding of my heart was the only sound that broke the painful silence in the room. Mom sat nervously staring down at the floor. She and Aunt Em tried to hide their shaking hands and knees by pulling their skirts down over her legs. It didn't work. Apparently stunned by my outburst, Mom didn't seem to notice my legs were also shaking. The only comfort I found came from knowing I, not Mac or the Snohomish County police, was the first person to talk to Mom. Those conversations were inevitable, but Mom needed to tell the truth before she dug herself into a bigger hole with more lies. 


I felt that familiar knot in my stomach twist, sending a burning pain up into my esophagus. I had no doubt the pain I was feeling was the first sign of either a serious case of acid reflux or my ulcer had come back. I chuckled silently. No one wants an ulcer, but if anyone had earned one, it certainly was me. 
 
Although only a few seconds had passed since Charlie and Uncle Terry left the room, hundreds of thoughts had already raced through my mind. Susan had made so much progress, but I feared learning Mom was somehow involved would set her back, or worse, cause a full relapse. Then there was Charlie; sweet, innocent Charlie who worshiped Mom. What would learning the truth, whatever it was, do to him? 
 
 
Mom looked so pale and frightened. Why was this happening to us?  If only I had ignored my stupid curiosity. Why didn't I leave well enough alone? Why did I go to the cabin and dig in the garden? Why do I always have to know the answer to questions best left alone? My thoughts suddenly shifted to Alicia.

I recalled the last time I saw her.  She had long brown hair, green eyes and was wearing a red sweatshirt, baggy jeans and a pair of beige hushpuppy shoes. She was happy, carefree and eager to go home.  Dad walked her out the door and to the car.  That was that last time anyone saw her.
 
Choosing my words carefully, I leaned over and took Mom’s hand.  “Tell me what you know about Alicia.”

Mom looked confused.  “Why in the world do you want to know about her?  What does she have to do with your dad?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. The police are looking into her disappearance.  They don’t believe she was a runaway and neither do I.”

“James, that’s crazy.  Your dad wouldn’t hurt her. She was a sweet girl.”
 
“For God’s sake, Mom, they were all sweet girls.”
Mom buried her face into her hands and began to cry.
 
Aunt Em glared at me.  “What are you trying to prove, James?  What is the point of all this?”
 
“You and Mom know something about Dad and the time for secrets is over. Uncle Terry is tired of your secrets too.  It is time to come clean and tell me everything you know.”
 
Mom had regained her composure, and after wiping the tears from her face, she took Aunt Em’s hand and simply nodded.  “What do you want to know?”
 
“What do you know about Dad’s family?”
 
“We met in College.  I thought he was handsome, charming, and I was flattered he liked me.”
 
Aunt Em shook her head.  “I didn’t like him from the start.  I found him pompous, arrogant, and there was something phony about him.  I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I just didn’t like him.”

Both Mom and Em stopped talking.  Then, Mom took a deep breath and began to speak.  “Your Dad has always been a controlling person.  Everything has to be done his way.  I never dared complain because we always ended up fighting and you know who always won the fight.”
 
"The criticisms began as subtle, helpful suggestions.  Little things like, I looked prettier with less makeup, younger with short hair, or dresses accented my feminine beauty.  Before I knew it, he was telling me how to walk, what to say, and how to say it." 

The expression on Mom's face changed from pride to one of shame. Her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly as tears streamed down her cheeks. "John never loved me; he loved the woman he created."
 
Unable to remain silent any longer, I asked as gently as I could, hoping I didn't sound judgmental, "Why did you stay with him?  Why didn't you leave?"
 
For the first time Mom looked at me.  She smiled weakly and ignoring the tears still streaming down her cheeks, said, "Silly boy, you've never been in love, have you?"
 
I wanted to ask her if she still loved him, but decided to leave that question for another time.
 
With a little prompting, Mom slowly revealed the deep emotional scars caused from years of psychological cruelty at the hands of a tyrant.  Dad methodically stripped her of what little self-esteem she had by convincing her she was ugly, stupid, worthless, and without him to guide her she would fade into oblivion, destined to be a forgotten nobody.  Despite listening to Mom say the words out loud, I could tell she still believed him. It would take a lot more than a hug from me to convince her he was wrong.  I feared the damage he had done was beyond fixing.
 
Mom continued to fade in and out of consciousness, sometimes talking to me but most of the time over me. When I asked her a question, I felt as though I was talking into an empty hole; not even a faint echo came back. Frustrated and feeling as though I was running out of time, I reached over and with both hands, gently turned Mom's face toward me. "Please, Mom, tell me about Dad's childhood. It's important."
 
Mom just looked at me with her familiar dazed expression and empty eyes.  Unable to hide my frustration, I raised my voice and mimicking Dad's demanding tone, said, "Damn it, I asked you a question.  Answer it?"
 
Mom snapped to attention like an obedient soldier.  She blinked several times, sat up straight, and began to speak.
 
"John only talked about his parents when he was drunk.  His hatred of his father was so consuming it frightened me.  Your grandfather was a sick, demented, cruel man who enjoyed tormenting his family. When John was only six-years-old, his Dad forced him to shoot the family dog, saying it would make a man out of him. John never knew his mother; she died when he was a baby.  He was raised by his older sister."
 
Mentioning Dad's mother obviously upset Mom.  She abruptly stopped talking and turned away, intentionally avoiding eye contact. Whatever she was thinking about, it appeared to be something she did not want me to know.
 
I took a deep breath and ignoring the fear I may be pushing too hard, said, "Mac told me no one recalls much about Grandma.  Other than general hearsay, there is no official record of her death or where she was buried."
 
I paused long enough for my comment to sink in before continuing. "What troubles me most, there is even less information on his sister. It is as though she never existed."
 
Mom began to shake violently.  I reached over and placed my hand on her shoulder in the hope of calming her down.  She abruptly shoved it away and stood up so quickly she knocked over the chair. In a voice drowning in a mixture of rage, fear, and desperation she screamed, "James, please let this go!  This is not something you need or want to know!"
 
Seeing Mom so terrified frightened me, but my need to know what she was hiding prevented me from backing down.  I shook my head, and said, "No, the time for secrets is over." 
 
My words struck like a knife in her chest.  Mom's knees buckled, and before I could catch her, she collapsed onto the floor.  I knelt down and put my arms around her.  "Please tell me what you know."
 
Mom buried her head into my lap and sobbed uncontrollably.  I cradled her in my arms, gently stroked her cheek, and let her cry until there were no more tears.  Still trembling, she looked up at me and nodded.
 
Barely able to speak above a whisper, Mom closed her eyes and said, "Your Aunt is your father's sister, but she's…she's…she's also…."
 
I wanted to scream but forced myself to speak softly.  I begged Mom to continue.
 
She took a deep breath and with her eyes still closed blurted out the terrible secret she had been hiding all these years.  "Your dad's sister is also his mother."
 
Mom's entire body went limp.  I slumped, nearly falling on top of her. I could hardly breathe.  At that instant, my brain exploded with a thousand questions all demanding answers.  Mom put her arms around me and in a voice riddled with guilt and shame begged me not to tell anyone.
 
For the first time I understood the meaning behind the words some things are best left alone.  However, I also knew that with so many people digging into Dad's past, it was only a matter of time before the world, including Charlie and Susan, would know his dark secret.  I felt sick to my stomach.
 
We held each other for a long time pretending to soothe the other's pain.  I had one question that couldn't wait.  "Mom, where is Dad's sister, mother, whoever she is? Why can't anyone find her?"

Mom didn't answer.

I paused a moment then asked Mom a second question.  "There is more isn't there?"
 
Aunt Em got up, opened the door and went down the hall.  She returned a few minutes later carrying a small book in her hands. She handed it to me then sat down beside Mom.
 
The book looked like an ordinary journal, something a child would buy at a drug store.  On the first page were the handwritten words.

Adian Popescu familia
Bata   Luminita
Bato  Lucian Propescu

I immediately recognized the language.  “This is written in Romanian.  We need to have it translated.”  I thumbed through the book.  Every page was full.
 
 
I looked at Aunt Em.  “Where did you get this?”
 
Mom answered.  “I found it under the passenger seat of your father’s car few days after he learned about his father’s death.  It also came with a handwritten note stating your father’s real name is Alexandru Popescu and means defender of humanity.  Your grandfather’s name is Adian, which means dark.  Your grandmother’s name is, Alfina, which means unknown.  All are of Romani origin.

It seems the more questions I ask the less I learned.  I needed to get the journal to Mac as soon as possible.  First, I had to find out what was in it.  I had no doubt he would want to know what was in it too. More important, why was it hidden in Dad’s car?

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory* has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 25
More Questions for Mom

By Sasha










Resting her elbow on the table, Mom rhythmically rubbed her lower lip with her index finger while staring off into space. The dazed expression on her face and noticeably dilated pupils told me the space she was staring at was not empty. Although only sitting inches away, Aunt Em and I were clearly not in the room with her. Concerned, I reached over and softly caressed her shoulder. She did not respond.
 
"Mom, please talk to me. Tell me what you are thinking." 

She remained silent. Her eyes continued to focus on a single spot on the wall behind me. I didn't know what to do. Unaware of where she had gone or if she was coming back, I worried if my abrupt and demanding questions had pushed her too far. 
 
Suddenly, Mom leaned back in her chair. Still staring past me, she began to speak. However, her words were not directed at me. Wherever Mom was, I knew it was not here with me. 
 

"Alicia had the most beautiful green eyes. She was very sweet, and I thought it was charming that her youth prevented her from seeing her own amazing beauty. I genuinely liked her." 

Mom paused to wipe the tears from her eyes. "I don't know why she ran away.  She came from a good family that loved her immensely much. Even after all these years, I still feel sad when I think about her." 
 
Mom wasn't making any sense.  Her strange behavior hinted she knew more than she was telling. Dad was the last person to see Alicia. As far as I was concerned, knowing what I found at the cabin proved Dad was a murderer and made it impossible not to suspect he had harmed her. It would be foolish not to consider him the number one suspect in her disappearance. 
 
"Mom, tell me what happened the night Dad drove Alicia home." 
 
Mom closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, she looked directly at me. "I'm sorry, James. Did you say something?" 
 
Fear gripped me by the throat. Was I pushing Mom too hard? However, my need to know the truth weighed heavily on my shoulders. I knew the police would be much harder on her. They had a case to solve. They had no time or interest in being gentle. Mom's mental state would take a backseat in their pursuit of the facts. Mom was in the middle of this and the only way I could help her was to find out what she knew before the police got their hands on her. 
 
"Mom, pay attention, this is important. You have to tell me about the night Alicia disappeared." 
 
Mom sat up and shook her head. "I don't remember anything other than your Dad drove her home and came right back, just as he said." 

"Are you sure he came right back?" 
 
Mom nodded. "Yes. I am sure he did." 
 
Her eyes moved back and forth as though searching for more memory of that night. 
 
"At least, I think he came right back. After he left, I was tired and went to bed." 
 
Again, Mom paused. "When he climbed into bed beside me, it seemed as though only a few minutes had passed. But, to be honest, I cannot be absolutely sure. It could have been an hour, or it could have been five hours. I honestly don't know." 
 
Mom began to tremble. Her expression changed from one of confusion to horror as the realization of that night became clearer. Afraid that at any moment she would slip back into denial. 

I was too late. The expression on Mom's face immediately told me she had no idea what I was talking about. It was as though the events of that night had never happened. Without saying a word, Mom got up and walked toward the bedroom. Concerned, I asked, "Where are you going?" 
 
Not bothering to turn around, Mom just said, "I'm tired. I think I'll take a short nap. Your father will be home for dinner soon, and I want to be rested when he arrives." 
 
The bedroom door shut with a bang that reverberated like a gunshot off the walls before slamming into my chest. The rage I felt toward Dad at that moment was only surpassed by the anger I directed at my own stupidity. Mom was handling what happened to Alicia the only way she knew. Forcing her to remember what she convinced herself for so many years did not occur was dangerous. I still had questions, but I didn't dare press any harder. Watching Mom slip in and out of reality terrified me. 
 
My whole world was crumbling around me and I knew it was only going to get worse. Mac was a nice guy, but first and foremost, he was a cop. He and the Snohomish County Police still wanted to talk to Mom, and I wasn't about to let that happen; at least not before talking to Mr. Hurley. Although he was one of the best criminal attorneys in Seattle, I wasn't convinced even he could save Mom. 

I noticed tears streaming down my cheeks. My stomach was on fire. I fought back the urge to scream. Instead, I took a deep breath, reached for the phone, and dialed Mr. Hurley's number.

I entirely forgot about Aunt Em.  She sat silently staring at me.  “Who are you calling?”
 
“Mr. Hurley.  I think Mom needs an attorney.”
 
Aunt Em nodded.
 
I was still trying to comprehend what I had just learned.  Dad wasn’t who he claimed to be.  His father was an evil and cruel man, and his mother was also his sister. Not knowing if the skull found at the cabin belonged to Alicia only added to my anxiety.  All I could do was hope Mr. Hurley could make sense out of all of this and Mac could somehow speed up the forensics.  

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.

The painting is one I did of my father several years ago.


Chapter 25
Some Things Are Best Left Alone

By Sasha

"Did I ever tell you I never went to my high school senior prom?" 
 
Mom's voice trailed off into the awkward silence that filled the room.  My heart skipped a beat and the knot in my gut exploded into a raging inferno sending stomach acid up into my throat.  Have I pushed Mom over the edge?  Have I gone too far?  Overwhelmed with guilt and concern, I reached over and gently placed my hand on top of hers. I wasn't sure where this was leading, but I didn't dare interrupt.
 
"I had plenty of offers, but unlike Em, I was terribly shy and even more insecure."
 
Mom continued to stare past me.  I wasn't even sure she was talking to me. She casually pulled her hand from beneath mine and placed it on her lap.
 
"I met John in my second year at college.  For me it was love at first sight. He was so handsome and charming.  He could have had any girl he wanted but he chose me.  He showered me with affection and made me feel as though I was the luckiest woman on earth."
 
Mom suddenly began to tremble.  She pressed her hand against her leg in an attempt to stop it from shaking. It didn't work.  
 
"The criticisms began as subtle, helpful suggestions.  Little things like, I looked prettier with less makeup, younger with short hair, or dresses accented my feminine beauty.  Before I knew it, he was telling me how to walk, what to say, and how to say it." 

The expression on Mom's face changed from pride to one of shame. Her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly as tears streamed down her cheeks. "John never loved me; he loved the woman he created."
 
Unable to remain silent any longer,  I asked as gently as I could,
hoping I didn't sound judgmental, "Why did you stay with him?  Why didn't you leave?"
 
For the first time Mom looked at me.  She smiled weakly and ignoring the tears still streaming down her cheeks, said, "Silly boy, you've never been in love, have you?"
 
I wanted to ask her if she still loved him, but decided to leave that question for another time.
 
With a little prompting, Mom slowly revealed her deep emotional scars caused from years of psychological cruelty at the hands of a tyrant.  Dad methodically stripped her of what little self-esteem she had by convincing her she was ugly, stupid, worthless, and without him to guide her she would fade into oblivion, destined to be a forgotten nobody.  Despite listening to Mom say the words out loud, I could tell she still believed him. It would take a lot more than a hug from me to convince her he was wrong.  I feared the damage he had done was beyond fixing.
 
Mom continued to fade in and out of consciousness, sometimes talking to me but most of the time over me.  When I asked her a question, I felt as though I was talking into an empty hole; not even a faint echo came back. Frustrated and feeling as though I was running out of time, I reached over and with both hands, gently turned Mom's face toward me. "Please, Mom, tell me about Dad's childhood. It's important."
 
Mom just looked at me with her familiar dazed expression and empty eyes.  Unable to hide my frustration, I raised my voice and mimicking Dad's demanding tone, said, "Damn it, I asked you a question.  Answer it?"
 
Mom snapped to attention like an obedient soldier.  She blinked several times, sat up straight, and began to speak.
 
"John only talked about his parents when he was drunk.  His hatred of his father was so consuming it frightened me.  Your grandfather was a sick, demented, cruel man who enjoyed tormenting his family. When John was only six-years-old, his Dad forced him to shoot the family dog, saying it would make a man out of him. John never knew his mother; she died when he was a baby."
 
Mentioning Dad's mother obviously upset Mom.  She abruptly stopped talking and turned away, intentionally avoiding eye contact. Whatever she was thinking about, it appeared to be something she did not want me to know.
 
I took a deep breath and ignoring the fear I may be pushing too hard, said, "Mac told me no one recalls much about Grandma.  Other than general hearsay, there is no official record of her death or where she was buried."
 
I paused long enough for my comment to sink in before continuing. "What troubles me most, there is even less information on his sister. It is as though she never existed."
 
Mom began to shake violently.  I reached over and placed my hand on her shoulder in the hope of calming her down.  She abruptly shoved it away and stood up so quickly she knocked over the chair.  In a voice drowning in a mixture of rage, fear, and desperation she screamed, "James, please let this go!  This is not something you need or want to know!"
 
Seeing Mom so terrified frightened me, but my need to know what she was hiding prevented me from backing down.  I shook my head, and said, "No, the time for secrets is over." 
 
My words struck like a knife in her chest.  Mom's knees buckled and before I could catch her, she collapsed onto the floor.  I knelt down and put my arms around her.  "Please tell me what you know."
 
Mom buried her head into my lap and sobbed uncontrollably.  I cradled her in my arms, gently stroked her cheek, and let her cry until there were no more tears.  Still trembling, she looked up at me and nodded.
 
Barely able to speak above a whisper, Mom closed her eyes and said, "Your Aunt is your father's sister, but she's…she's…she's also…."
 
I wanted to scream but forced myself to speak softly.  I begged Mom to continue.
 
She took a deep breath and with her eyes still closed blurted out the terrible secret she had been hiding all these years.  "Your dad's sister is also his mother."
 
Mom's entire body went limp.  I slumped, nearly falling on top of her. I could hardly breathe.  At that instant, my brain exploded with a thousand questions all demanding answers.  Mom put her arms around me and in a voice riddled with guilt and shame begged me not to tell anyone.
 
For the first time I understood the meaning behind the words 'some things are best left alone'.  But I also knew with so manypeople digging into Dad's past, it was only a matter of time before the world, including Charlie and Susan, would know his 's dark secret.  I felt sick to my stomach.
 
We held each other for a long time pretending to soothe the other's pain.  I had one question that couldn't wait.  "Mom, where is Dad's sister, mother, whoever she is?  Why can't anyone find her?"

Mom didn't answer.

I paused a moment then asked Mom a second question.  "There is more isn't there?"

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 26
What Is The Next Step?

By Sasha

DO NOT READ ...THIS CHAPTER AND NONE OF THOSE FOLLOWING HAVE BEEN UPDATED YET.



Mom lay curled up on the couch sound asleep.  I bent down and gently kissed her on the cheek.  We were both physically and emotionally exhausted, but for me, sleep was not on my list of things to do.  Covering her with a blanket, I tiptoed across the room, opened the sliding glass door, and stepped out onto the veranda.
 
Hundreds of jumbled, loosely connected thoughts, each a giant iron ping-pong ball, ricocheted violently inside my head.  I sat down on the large wicker chair and with my feet pressed against the white, cast-iron railing, tipped the chair back allowing me to rest my head against the wall.  The cold night air sent a chill up my spine.  I closed my eyes, hoping the silence would help me process everything Mom had told me. But my fluctuating emotions blocked my ability to concentrate.
 
Normally a cool-headed and logical person, I suddenly found myself in unfamiliar territory. I felt like a small, frightened child, sitting alone in the dark, forced to face very real demons with no means of defending myself.
 
My heart beat frantically as it bounced from anger at Mom for being so weak to guilt for being judgmental, to rage at Mac for not telling me everything, and a hatred of Dad so consuming, I wished he were dead.
 
The throbbing pain inside my head was excruciating. I rubbed my temples with my fingertips while dismissing the foolish idea of taking an aspirin.  This wasn't something a couple of pills were going to fix. The only way I could see out of this hellish nightmare was to get the answers to my growing list of questions.
 
As much as I wanted—no needed—answers, my gut told me once I stepped into Dad's world, there would be no turning back.  It didn't take a genius to know the deeper I dug, the worse it was likely to get.  My curiosity had always been my strong point, but I feared it was about to become my undoing.
 
** * * * * *
 
I woke to the sound of Mom, Charlie, and Aunt Em laughing.  I sighed in relief, realizing my headache was gone.  Mom came out onto the veranda and acting as though it was just another ordinary day, smiled, and patted me affectionately on the head.  "Good morning, sleepy head."
 
She then handed me my ulcer medication and a large glass of milk.  In a voice only intended for me to hear, she whispered, "James, please don't say anything to Charlie. He doesn't need to know about this."
 
Mom's brief acknowledgement of reality immediately disappeared, leaving me no time to respond.  June Cleaver smiled, patted me on the head again, and went back inside.
 
Psychology irritated me. In my world, psychology is not based on logic, just a compilation of random, unscientific observations open to individual interpretation. True science is something that is transferable by theories and hypotheses into the language of mathematics or logic.  Human behavior is insanely complex and human beings are nearly impossible to study in the same ways that rocks, heavenly bodies, blue birds, and nucleotide base pairs are.  The mind, on the other hand, is not measureable. I look at the mind's activity as behavior and even then, there are only two ways of doing that: either by observing it, or asking people by a method called 'self-reporting'.  Unfortunately, behavior changes, people forget, and often lie when you ask them about it. If you bypass self-reporting and rely on observation, how does anyone make sense of it?  Does that guy look angry to you?  Is he nervous or upset?  Until valid and reliable self-reporting measures are created, psychology will remain a mystery to me.
 
A strong feeling of frustration pulled me from the depth of my thoughts.  I understood how years of grooming erased Mom's personal identity, but I did not understand how, knowing she knew the truth, Dad continued to exert control over her.  Listening to everyone laugh and joke, pretending life was good, was more than I could tolerate.  I got up, grabbed my jacket from the back of the living room chair, and walked toward the door.  Mom rushed over and again, speaking in a whisper said, "James, where are you going?"
 
"I need some air and time to myself.  I have a lot to sort out."
 
"James, can't you just leave this alone?"
 
I shook my head, kissed her on the cheek, and whispered into her ear, "No, and when I get back, we need to finish the conversation we started last night."
 
Pretending she had not heard me, she said, "Don't be late."  I opened the door and without saying goodbye, walked down the hall toward the elevator.  My first stop would be the library.  Time to look up the statistics on children of incest; a subject I was unfamiliar with.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.

Short, technical chapter, possibly a little boring, but necessary, poor James and Mom need a break.


Chapter 26
Mom is Hospitalized

By Sasha










Mr. Hurley immediately contacted Dr. Williams, a close friend and top rate psychiatrist at Harborview Medical Center.  There were obviously advantages to being one of the best criminal attorneys in town.  One being access to first class specialists.  Dr. Williams advised Mom not be admitted to University Hospital. Putting her and Susan together was not wise.
 
Aunt Em, Uncle Terry and Charlie sat in the waiting room while Mr. Hurley and I spoke privately.  Filled with guilt, I poured my heart out to him.  “I pushed her too hard. It’s all my fault.”

“No, Charlie, your mother has been on the verge of a break down for a long time.  Living under your dad’s heavy thumb has to have caused considerable psychological damage.  It was just a matter of time.”

Mom gave no indication she knew where she was.  Dr. Williams took hold of her arm and guided her toward a wheelchair.  I watched silently as Mom, a nurse, and Dr. Williams disappeared down the hallway.
 
Mr. Hurley patted me on the shoulder.  “I need to be with your mother while Dr. Williams admits her.”

“There is no way I’m staying out here.  I’m going with you.”

“No, James, you need to say here.  Dr. Williams won’t be evaluating her until tomorrow.  They have to do a complete physical examination first to eliminate any possibility of head trauma.  From what you’ve told me, it sounds like your mother is suffering from what is called functional amnesia, specifically dissociative amnesia.  That is when a person loses the memory of an important personal experience.  This gap or series of gaps is usually related to a traumatic or extremely stressful situation.  For example, a rape victim may lose her memory of the event or a soldier may not be able to recall a battle.”

 
I was impressed with Mr. Hurley’s knowledge of the subject. “So you think the police will back off?”

“James, the police only want to speak with your mother. She is not suspected of any complicity in any crime.  As her attorney, it is my job to protect her and see that she is treated fairly.  As long as she is in the hospital, they cannot talk with her.”

Mr. Hurley knew about the journal.  I was surprised he hadn’t mentioned it. The first thing I had to do was get it translated.  I did not speak Romanian and didn’t know anyone who did.  I knew I should give it to Mac, but I had to find out what was in it first.
 
Mr. Hurley smiled and said, "You have to be patient. Go back to the hotel. Get some rest, and, whatever you do, do not talk to anyone about your mother.

 
"That's going to be difficult. Charlie and Uncle Terry will want to know what happened between Mom and me. They saw how angry I was when I made them leave the room. I doubt a 'gee I don't remember', or 'Mr. Hurley told me not to talk about it' is going to sit well with them.  Besides, Aunt Em was in the room the whole time." 
 
Mr. Hurley nodded. "I'll talk to them before I go in."
 
"Does this include Mac?" I had the eerie feeling he was lurking somewhere just waiting for the right moment to pounce on me again.
 
Mr. Hurley smiled. "No, you can trust Mac.”
 
I hated all this cloak and dagger shit. Mr. Hurley patted me on the shoulder. He walked over to Charlie, Aunt Em, and Uncle Terry, who were looking at me with a combined expression of anger and confusion. I felt a desperate need to apologize but I knew that would only add to their frustration over being left out of the loop.  Not eager to face a family firing squad, I walked out the door without saying a word.
 
As I walked down the hill toward the city center, I thought about Mom, Dad, Susan, Charlie, and how everything I said and did seemed to make an already terrible situation worse for all of them.
 
 
I thought about Dad sitting in a cell somewhere waiting to be sentenced to life in prison. I wondered if he knew about what I found at the cabin. As far as I knew, he still didn't know about the journal or that he was being investigated in connection to another murder. He thought he was so clever. I had no doubt he took pride in thinking he had manipulated the system into avoiding the death penalty.
 
My thoughts shifted. Around this time last year, Dad, Charlie and I were probably on our boat on Lake Washington fishing. Susan was most likely shopping for new shoes at the mall. I suddenly laughed out loud. Susan had more shoes than anyone could wear in a lifetime, but she always found another pair she couldn't live without. I remembered criticizing her for being frivolous and often called her a spoiled rich kid. God, I would give anything to take back those words and have our lives return to the way it was. I'd even take Susan to the mall myself and buy her a pair of shoes with my own money.



Chapter 26
Mom's in the Hospital

By Sasha








Mr. Hurley immediately contacted Dr. Williams, a close friend and a top rate psychiatrist at Harborview Medical Center.  There were advantages to being one of the best criminal attorneys in town.  One being access to first class specialists.  Dr. Williams advised Mom not be admitted to University Hospital. Putting her and Susan together was not wise.
 
Aunt Em, Uncle Terry and Charlie sat in the waiting room while Mr. Hurley and I spoke privately.  Filled with guilt, I poured my heart out to him.  “I pushed her too hard. It’s all my fault.”

“No, Charlie, your mother has been on the verge of a break down for a long time.  Living under your father’s heavy thumb has to have caused considerable psychological damage.  It was just a matter of time.”

Mom gave no indication she knew where she was.  Dr. Williams took hold of her arm and guided her to a wheelchair.  I watched silently as Mom, a nurse, and Dr. Williams disappeared down the hallway.
 
Mr. Hurley patted me on the shoulder.  “I need to be with your mother while Dr. Williams admits her.”

“There is no way I’m staying out here.  I’m going with you.”

“No, James, you need to say here.  Dr. Williams won’t be evaluating her until tomorrow.  They have to do a complete physical examination first to eliminate any possibility of head trauma.  From what you’ve told me, it sounds like your mother is suffering from what is called functional amnesia, specifically dissociative amnesia. That is when a person loses the memory of a significant personal experience.  This gap or series of gaps is usually related to a traumatic or extremely stressful situation.  For example, a rape victim may lose her memory of the event or a soldier may not be able to recall a battle.”
 
I was impressed with Mr. Hurley’s knowledge of the subject. “So you think the police will back off?”

“James, the police only want to speak with your mother. She is not suspected of any complicity in any crime.  As her attorney, it is my job to protect her and see that she is treated fairly.  As long as she is in the hospital, they cannot talk with her.”

I told Mr. Hurley about the journal.  I was surprised he didn’t show more interest in it. The first thing I had to do was get it translated.  I did not speak Romanian and didn’t know anyone who did.  I knew I should give it to Mac, but I had to find out what was in it first.
 
Mr. Hurley smiled and said, "You have to be patient. Go back to the hotel. Get some rest, and, whatever you do, do not talk to anyone about your mother.
 
"That's going to be difficult. Charlie and Uncle Terry will want to know what happened between Mom and me. They saw how angry I was when I made them leave the room. I doubt a gee I don't remember, or Mr. Hurley told me not to talk about it is going to sit well with them.  Besides, Aunt Em was in the room the whole time." 
 
Mr. Hurley nodded. "I'll talk to them before I go in."
 
"Does this include Mac?" I had the eerie feeling he was lurking somewhere just waiting for the right moment to pounce on me again.
 
Mr. Hurley smiled. "No, you can trust Mac.”
 
I hated all this cloak and dagger shit. Mr. Hurley patted me on the shoulder. He walked over to Charlie, Aunt Em, and Uncle Terry, who were looking at me with a combined expression of anger and confusion. I felt a desperate need to apologize but I knew that would only add to their frustration over being left out of the loop.  Not eager to face a family firing squad, I walked out the door without saying a word.
 
As I walked down the hill toward the city center, I thought about Mom, Dad, Susan, Charlie, and how everything I said and did seemed to make an already terrible situation worse for all of them.
  
I thought about Dad sitting in a cell somewhere waiting to be sentenced to life in prison. I wondered if he knew about what I found at the cabin. As far as I knew, he still didn't know about the journal or that he was being investigated in connection to another murder. He thought he was so brilliant. I had no doubt he took pride in thinking he had manipulated the system into avoiding the death penalty.
 
My thoughts shifted. Around this time last year, Dad, Charlie and I were probably on our boat on Lake Washington fishing. Susan was most likely shopping for new shoes at the mall. I suddenly laughed out loud. Susan had more shoes than anyone could wear in a lifetime, but she always found another pair she couldn't live without. I remembered criticizing her for being frivolous and often called her a spoiled rich kid. God, I would give anything to take back those words and have our lives return to the way it was. I'd even take Susan to the mall myself and buy her a pair of shoes with my own money.





 







 


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


There are many unsubstantiated Romani superstitions. Bride kidnapping is one of them. Some believe the bride is kidnapped before the age of 10 for the sole purpose of marrying one of the sons. She is raised in the Romani culture and when her son comes of age, she assists in kidnapping a wife for him. There are stories of this going on for generations. It is not a part of the Romani culture. It is simply one of the many unfounded superstitions associated with the
Romani. They, obviously, deny any truth to these superstitions.


Chapter 27
A Duel At Thirty Paces or a Truce?

By Sasha

Reading the words, incest doesn't cause birth defects, it just increases the likelihood of a child getting a double-dose of one or more recessive genetic problems set my mind at ease.  The bottom line was although ethically and socially unacceptable, there was little proof that incestuous relationships produced a higher rate of genetically flawed offspring.  Problems arise when families continue to interbreed, causing the mistakes to multiply, definitely NOT something I anticipated as a potential problem for Charlie, Susan, or me.
 
Knowing at some point I would have to explain this to my brother and sister, only added to my already high anxiety.  The public saw us as freaks because they believed we carried the non-existent 'killer gene'.  The assumption our children would be genetically predisposed to a myriad of maladies would certainly become fodder for the tabloids.  God I despised ignorance!
 
The sound of my cell phone ringing startled me. Seeing Mac's name on the screen caused the knot in my stomach to tighten wondering why he was calling me.  Intentionally hiding my curiosity, I answered with a casual, "Hi, what's up?"
 
"Hi, James, what are you doing?"
 
Not in the mood for a game of questions and answers, I resorted to sarcasm.  "I'm debunking the myth my children are destined to be born with two heads and twelve toes."
 
Obviously confused, Mac asked, "What the hell are you talking about?"
 
Not waiting for me to respond, he quickly added, "We need to talk.  Can you meet me at the Starbucks down the street from your hotel in twenty minutes?"
 
Although the sound of Mac's voice revived my anger with him, I forced myself to ignore the urge to hang up on him.  "Sure, I have a few questions for you too."
 
Although it only took me five minutes to walk the short distance from the library to Starbucks, I was surprised to see Mac seated at a booth in the corner.  As I walked over to the table, I felt a temper tantrum growing with each step.  I sat across from Mac and just glared at him.
 
Paying no attention to my obvious displeasure, he smiled and asked, "What did your mom tell you?"
 
I wasn't ready to let him off the hook just yet.  I changed the subject. "You used me, didn't you?  Wouldn't it have been a lot easier if you just talked to her yourself?"
 
Mac shook his head.  "No, you are the only one who could reach her.  Your mother would never open up to me, and you know it."
 
"So, I'm just a means to an end, nothing more."
 
"James, you know better than that.  I care about you and your family but I also have a job to do.  I want answers to the same questions you have."
 
"So, now we are a team, right?"
 
Mac grinned, "You're more like a secret agent."
 
I was not amused.  "So, you expect me to interrogate Mom and like a trusted informant, report everything she says back to you."
 
Mac sat back and stared at me several seconds before responding.  "James, I don't know what is bothering you, but if you are looking for someone to knock that giant chip off your shoulder, you're going to have to look elsewhere."
 
Mac was right.  I was mad at him, but I was also mad at the whole damn world.  I wanted to scream, I wanted to punch someone—anyone. I really didn't know how much more I could take.
 
"James, do you want to tell me what's going on inside that big brain of yours, or would you prefer I go first?"
 
Knowing I had already passed the point of no return, I reluctantly accepted defeat and in a voice filled with dread said, "My day is already ruined, how much worse can it possibly get?"
 
Mac placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his tightly clasped fists.  "The jewelry found at the cabin has been positively identified as belonging to Mary Ellen, the girl missing from your neighborhood.  The finger prints on the jewelry and plastic bag belong to your father."
 
Dad was either a bigger arrogant son-of-a-bitch than I originally believed, or he was an idiot.  "Why in hell did he leave behind so much evidence that he had to know would lead directly back to him?"
 
Mac dismissed my question and continued.  "He also did a sloppy job cleaning up.  After removing the floorboards in the kitchen and living room, they found enough blood to indicate whomever it belonged to could not have survived. Preliminary tests indicate it came from the same person.  We will have to wait a few more days for the DNA results to determine if it belongs to Mary Ellen."
 
Being able to put a face and name to one of Dad's victims instantly transformed my nightmare into reality. "Any luck finding a body?"
 
Mac shook his head.
 
"All twelve of the Belltown Murders have been identified.  Why is this murder different from the others?  Serial killers don’t usually change a proven method unless there is a good reason."
 
Mac nodded. "No, they don't.  All we know is Mary Ellen disappeared around the same time your grandfather died.  If there is a connection, we haven't figured it out yet."
 
I know Mac wanted to know what I had learned from Mom.  He wasn't leaving me much wiggle room. As much as I didn't want to talk about it, I knew I no longer had a choice.  "As far as I can tell, Mom never met Grandpa.  Everything she knows about Dad and his crazy family came from Dad.  She did say she suspects Grandpa killed Grandma but I didn't feel comfortable pressing her about why she believes this."

"James, we already suspect foul play but without more to go on, that's where it's going to stay."

"Mac, how much of what I tell you goes into the file?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You and I know a reporter would pay a hefty price to get a look at it."

"James, the file is confidential."

"Grow up, Watson.  This is the real world.  Besides, Dad's attorney has a right to see all the evidence against him."

"Okay, you lost me, Sherlock.  Where are you going with this?"

"Do me a favor and hold off putting anything Mom told me into the file."

"Why?"

"Call it gut instinct, a sixth sense, or whatever you want, but I believe the less Dad knows, the better chance I—we—have of getting to the truth."

Mac leaned back, crossed his arms, and grinned, "What are you up to, James?"

"You'll just have to trust me."

Mac Nodded.  'You really haven't given me anything concrete to work with so I don't see a problem with waiting."

Mac paused then added, "I sure hope you know what you are doing."

So did I.

I paused a moment before continuing.  I felt my throat tighten around the words as I tried to speak.  "It seems my grandmother is not my grandmother."  Again, I paused, this time to clear my throat.  "Dad's sister is his mother."
 
Saying the words out loud felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. I could hardly breathe.  Terrified the words would hang like a flashing red light forever in front of me, I forced myself to move on. "I have no doubt this has everything to do with Dad's warped opinion of women.  Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine."
 
I could tell from Mac's silence that he was as surprised as I was to learn about Dad and his sister.  We both sat staring at each other a long time before I finally spoke.
 
"It took nearly two hours for me to get this much from Mom.  I am sure she knows more, but Dad's grip on her is still very real.  I'm afraid if I push her too hard, I'll lose her."
 
"James, if we are going to get to the bottom of this, you have to try. Somehow this is all connected; we just don't have enough pieces to put the puzzle together."
 
Knowing Mac was right didn't lessen the fact I felt lost and alone in a world I didn't want any part of.  For me, there would be no village to hold my hand or guide me through this, all I had was Mac.
 
He reached over and patted my hand.  "Snohomish is on top of the investigation at the cabin.  I have full confidence that if there is anything there, they will find it.  However, if Whatcom County and the Blaine police don't find something soon, I fear they are going to close up shop.  James, you have to find out what your mother knows before it's too late."
 
* * * * *
 
I left Mac at Starbucks and intentionally took the long route back to the hotel. I needed time to think.
 
I went over the evidence a hundred times, but kept coming back to one fact. None of the twelve Belltown murders was sexually motivated.  Knowing Dad kept them alive for a significant period of time to torture them led me to only one conclusion; the motivation was anger, but anger at what or whom?  His father, his sister, or both?  Mac was right.  Everything was connected to Dad's past.  I could only pray Mom would provide the answer, or at least point me in the right direction.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.

My reference to no village to hold my hand is from Hillary Clinton's book "It takes a village to raise a child"...let me know if you think I need to clarify this....


Chapter 27
Translating the Journal

By Sasha



 I already spoke fluent French, German, Russian, and Spanish. However, Romani was not on my list. It would have been faster and a whole lot easier if I went to the University and spoke with someone in the linguistics department but that would be breaking the rules.  I certainly didn’t want a stranger reading the journal.
 
After several hours, I still couldn’t translate the journal.  It apparently was written in a Gypsy form called Romani.  To my disappointment, there were few known historical documents about the early phases of the Romani language. I did discover several Romani superstitions, one of which is bride kidnapping.  Bride kidnapping still occurs in countries spanning Central Asia, the Caucasus region, and parts of Africa. In most countries, bride kidnapping is considered a sex crime. However, even when the practice is against the law, judicial enforcement remains lax, particularly in Bulgaria, Turkey, Moldova, Kyrgyzstan and Chechnya.  None of this helped me understand the journal.  I took a deep breath, settled in and began studying the language. By the time the library closed, I was able to translate the first three pages of the journal. 
 



* * * * * * *
 
Translation of the first three pages of the journal:
Adian Popescu Family
Mother      Luminita
Father      Lucian Propescu
 
I am Adian Popescu, son of Lucian Propescu, (Light).  Lucian emigrated from Europe in the early 20th century. He was from a subgroup of the Romani people.  They were traditionally smiths and metalworkers. At the age of 16, Lucian married a gaje (outsider) without permission of the vista (clan). Lucian defied Romani law by teaching his wife spells and necromancy (conjuration of the spirits of the dead for purposes of magically revealing the future or influencing the course of events) and was eventually brought before the Kris (court) for breaking the laws against teaching gaje spells.  He was judged guilty and received a sentence of marime’ (permanent banishment from the Gypsy community).  Marime’ stigmatizes all wrongdoers and their immediate family as polluted and justifies their expulsion from the community.  Permanent marime’ means that the person’s blood is changed to gaje blood and they are outcast or exiled forever from the tribe.  They are no longer part of the Gypsy natsia (nation), receive no protection and hospitality, and lose their accent and their ability to cast the Gypsy curse.
 
Lucian refused to abide by the marime’ and continued to consider himself a full-blooded Romani.  He blamed his wife for ruining his life and put her to death before I was born.  Determined to create his own vista, Lucian began searching for a new wife.  No longer able to have contact with other gypsies, yet unfamiliar with gaje ways, he found the task difficult.  Finally, he took a young bride against her will, had to hide from the police after she ran away, and reported him.  Lucian travelled to many cities and small towns in search of a wife, but his social ineptness in gaje ways made his search unsuccessful.  Unable to attract a mate with his charm, Lucian decided to find a younger girl and raise her to be his wife.  After several failed attempts, he found my mother in a campground near his house in Bellingham.  She was no older than four were and he named her Luminita, Little Light.  Lucian was strict, taught her to be a good Romani, and when she was eleven or twelve she gave birth to a me; he named me Adian, meaning Dark.  Luminita was no longer of use to Lucian, and like his first wife, he killed her and buried her on the property.  It was then that he decided it was time to move.  He sold the small farm in Bellingham, and we moved to Arlington.
 
I was raised to be a strict believer in Romani ways.  Lucian also prepared me for when and how I would take a wife.  I was ten years old when we went to a different campground in Bellingham in search of my bride.  This plan worked once and Lucian was certain it would work again.
June 6, 1935
It was after ten o’clock at night, and there was a full moon to light the way.  The family was still awake when I spotted her.  She had long blonde hair, dark eyes and was no more than six years old.  She seemed a happy child, laughing and giggling while her older brother made silly faces.  My heart beat with excitement as Lucian and I waited for them to go to sleep.  It seemed like hours before we dare enter the small tent the children slept in.  Lucian placed his hand over the child’s mouth to silence her scream.  Within a few minutes, we were far enough away that we knew no one would miss her until morning.  By then we would be gone, and she would be mine forever.  I named her Alfina, a name with no known meaning.
 
June 1937
Alfina was a beautiful child but didn’t take to me.  Lucian was determined to teach her to be a good Gypsy, but her temperament was not one of obedience.  Eventually he wore her down, and she began to forget her parents and brother.  When she was ten, Lucian performed the marriage ritual.  I was fourteen.



July 8, 1939

Alfina died giving birth to a stillborn girl child.  Lucian and I were angry. We buried them in the woods where no one would find them. So much time wasted. I knew I would have to find another wife.  I told myself I would get a stronger girl and one who would obey.

 
After reading the first three pages, I wasn’t sure if I could read any more.  However, as always, my curiosity told me to keep going.  Tomorrow I would spend the entire day in the library and translate as much as time would allow.  I didn't know how much longer I had before Mac would ask me for the journal.

 

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory and eidetic memory turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 27
A Quick Lesson in Romani Culture

By Sasha

This is a completely new chapter that alters the direction of the book.  The importance is not obvious now, but will come into play later in the story.  I have updated following chapters to reflect the contents of this chapter.







I knew Mom and Charlie had mixed feelings about the death penalty. I wasn't sure where Aunt Em stood on the subject, but I had no doubt Uncle Terry would have no problem volunteering to put the needle in his arm. I knew I should feel guilty about handing the police the evidence they needed to keep the case open, but I didn't. Dad was already dead to me. The only emotions I felt for him were anger and hatred. I made a left at the bottom of the hill and headed straight for the library.

 
I already spoke fluent French, Spanish, and German but had no background in Rumanian.  The smartest and quickest things to do would be to go to the Linguistics Department at the University and have someone there translate the journal.  But the idea of a stranger reading the journal was not an option I wanted to take.  This was something I had to do on my own.


I immediately learned that the journal was not in traditional Rumanian but in Romani, a Gypsy form, making it more difficult to translate.  After several hours, I was finally able to make sense of the first three pages.




The first entry was written on a separate sheet of paper inserted into the front of the journal.  There was no date to indicate when it was written.

 
Translation:

 
I am Adrian Popescu son of Lucian Propescu.  I do not know where or when I was born.  My father, Lucian emigrated from Europe to North America after the war in 1918 or 1919. He came from a subgroup of the Romani (Gypsy) people.  They were traditionally smiths and metal workers. At the age of 16 Lucian married a gaje (outsider) without permission of the vista (clan). Lucian then defied Romani law by teaching his gaje wife spells and necromancy (conjuration of the spirits of the dead for purposes of magically revealing the future or influencing the course of events) and was eventually brought before the Kris (high court).  Lucian received a sentence of marime’ (permanent banishment from the Gypsy community).  Marime’ stigmatizes all wrongdoers and their immediate family as polluted and justifies their expulsion from the community.  Permanent marime’ means that the person’s blood is changed to gaje blood and they are outcast/exiled forever from the tribe.  They are no longer part of the Gypsy nation, receive no protection or hospitality, and lose their accent and their ability to cast the Gypsy curse.

Although no longer living with the tribe, Lucian refused to abide by the marime’ and continue to consider himself a full blooded Romani.  He blamed his gaje wife for ruining his life  and left her in Europe before moving to the United States.  Determined to create his own vista, he began searching for a new wife.  Unable to have contact with other gypsies, yet unfamiliar with gaje ways, he found the task difficult.  He attempted to take a young gaje girl against her will but when she got away, he had to hide from the police.

Lucian travelled to many cities and small towns to avoid arrest.  He continued his search for a wife, but his unfamiliarity of gaje ways made his search unsuccessful.  He decided to find a young girl and raise her to be his wife.  After several failed attempts, he found a child to his liking in a remote campground near his house in Bellingham.  She was no older than four and he named her Luminita, Little Light.  He was strict, taught her to be a good Romani woman and when she was eleven or twelve she gave birth to me, Adrian Propescu, also known as Dark.  Luminita became pregnant soon after the birth of Adrian but both died in childbirth.  He buried her on the property.  It was then that Lucian decided it was time to move.  He sold the small farm in Bellingham and we moved south to the small town of Arlington.
 
Lucian raised me to be a strict believer in Romani ways.  He also prepared me for the time when I would take a wife.  I was ten years old when we went to a campground in Bellingham in search of a bride. 


June 6, 1935

It was after ten o’clock at night and there was a full moon to light our way.  The family was still awake sitting by the camp fire when we spotted her.  She had long blonde hair, dark eyes, and was no more than six years old.  She seemed a happy child, laughing and giggling while her older brother made silly faces.  My heart beat with excitement as Lucian and I waited for them to go to sleep.  It seemed like hours before we dare enter the small tent the children slept in.  Lucian placed his hand over her mouth so the child could not scream.  Within a few minutes, we were far enough away that I knew no one would miss her until morning.  By then, we would be gone and she would be mine forever.  I named her Alfina; a name with no known meaning.

Alfina was a beautiful child but didn’t take to me. Lucian was determined to teach her to be a good Gypsy but her temperament was not one of obedience.  Eventually he wore her down, and she began to forget her parents and brother.  When she was ten, Lucian performed the marriage ceremony.  I was fourteen.
 


July 8, 1939

Alfina died giving birth to a stillborn girl child.  I was furious. Lucian and I buried them in the woods where no one would find them. So much time wasted. Now I have to find another wife.  I will do better next time.  I will find a stronger girl and one who will obey.

 
* * * * * * * * * *


 
After reading the first three pages, I wasn’t sure if I could read any more.  But as always, my curiosity told me to keep going.  Tomorrow, I will spend the entire day in the library and translate as much as I can.  I don't have much time before Mac will me for the journal.

As I walked back to the hotel, I went over what I had read, word for word.  I knew very little about the Romani people, but I was sure that Adrian’s descriptions were distorted and perverted.  Romanis are a gentle people with strict laws to allow the tribes to co-exist with the gaje.  They do not like outsiders to invade their privacy.  Men are respectful of women.  The gaje view the Romani as thieves, practicers of magic and untrustworthy.  The Romani women are known to be fortune tellers—primarily for the gaje—a good way for the women to earn money.  Because they roam freely and live very close to nature, they develop heightened senses about certain things.  They are very observant in other ways as well.  They know about natural cures found in the woods and hedgerows, all of this is not just myth it is fact passed from adult to child and through living so close to Mother Nature. If Gypsies seem to have more sixth sense than others, it is because they understand acutely how much we are part of nature.

Romani people are very spiritual, they believe that we are always surrounded by spirits, good and bad and the use of charms and spells are needed to keep a balance, protect them from harm, and bring them luck.

They listen to nature; they are children of nature at one with the creatures and fauna.

The belief that the Romani steal brides is a myth built from the practice of the male providing the dowry.  When two Romanis love each, other it is not uncommon for them to run away and get married to avoid having to provide a dowry.  History has reported stories of woman being taken during war but this is not just limited to the Romani people.
 
I realized I needed to do more research on the Romani to fully understand Grandfather’s journal.  From the little I had read so far, it seemed obvious he had no respect for the true traditions of the Romani and broke their laws when it suited him.  I understood why the Kris felt he deserved marime’.




 


* * * * * * * * * *
 
List of Characters:

Please note age of the Alfina 1 and 2 at the time they were kidnapped is not known.
Lucian Propescu - James great grandfather/John Mathews grandfather
Luminiti - Adrian's Mother
Adian Propescu - aka Dark/James' grandfather/John Mathews father
James Mathews  -  18 year old genius
John Martin Mathews  AKA Alexandru Popescu – Father and Serial Killer

Martha Mathews - Mom
Charlie Mathews – Brother 13
Susan Mathews -  Sister 16
Detective MacKinnon  ‘Mac’ – Head of Belltown Killer Task Force
Thomas Hurley – Criminal Attorney representing the family and Alfina
Dr. Perez – Susan’s Psychiatrist
Marcy – James’s ex-girlfriend
Marilyn- Susan’s Day Nurse
Dr. Williams – Mom’s Psychiatrist also Alfina 3’s doctor
Dr. Gunzel – Alfina’s orthopedic surgeon
Alfina 1 – Kidnapped June 6, 1935  died in childbirth in 1940 –female child stillborn
Alfina 2-  Kidnapped August 15, 1940 age 8 gave birth to Alfina 3 June 21,  1945
                 Alfina 2 died giving birth to stillborn male child in 1948
Alfina 3-  aka Bunica – child of Alfina 2 born in 1945.  In 1957 at age 12 gave birth to Alexandru (Mother of John Mathews)
Alicia Campbell – Babysitter missing for nearly 5 years found buried at the cabin
Angela Campbell- Alicia’s Grandmother
Rachael – Mr. Hurley’s assistant

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory and eidetic memory turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 28
When is Too Much Too Much?

By Sasha

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong language.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong sexual content.

Author's Note:  I made a change in the previous chapter.  James asks Mac to hold off putting anything his mother tells him into the official file.  He does not want his father or his attorney who has access to all evidence, to know what they know.  Mac agrees.
 

* * * * *

I hesitated before opening the door.  Anticipating an unfriendly welcome, I was surprised to find Mom sitting on the couch drinking a cup of coffee.  I glanced around the room and seeing no one else, I realized she was alone.  Curious, I asked, "Where is everyone?"
 
Mom took a sip of coffee and not looking at me, said, "Em and Martin are at the house overseeing the movers.  Charlie's helping them."
 
As though reading my mind, Mom added, "I decided to wait here for you so we could finish our conversation."
 
I couldn't tell if she was serious or being sarcastic.  Dressed in her familiar sophisticated Barbie attire, something Dad would have chosen, I wondered who was sitting there, Mom or the robot.  I chuckled silently, realizing other than a few rare moments since Dad's arrest, the robot was the only Mom I knew.
 
I dropped my backpack onto the floor and slumped down in the chair across from Mom. Not knowing where to begin, I closed my eyes, buried my face in my hands, and tried to focus.  Like a kid playing a game of grab bag, I blurted out the one question lying on top of all the others.  "When and how did you learn about Dad and his sister?"
 
Mom placed her cup on the coffee table, sat up straight, and with her delicate hands folded in her lap, began to tell me what I needed but didn't want to know.
 
"A few months before your grandfather died, your father began acting strange—stranger than usual."

Mom paused as though distracted by the sound of traffic passing on the street below.
 
"For several weeks, he came home every night drunk, angry, and looking for a fight.  The change in his behavior began the day he received two letters."

Again Mom paused, this time stopping when she heard someone walking down the hall outside the room.  She continued when the voices faded.  

"One had no return address and the other was from Mary Louise Mathews; both had a postal stamp indicating they were from Blaine, Washington."
 
"Mom, Mac mentioned Dad's sister's name was Mary Louise, was the letter from her?"
 
"That's what I assumed.  I knew better than to open the letters but couldn't help noticing the one from Mary Louise appeared to be printed by a child.  Foolishly, I asked your father why his sister would be writing to him after so many years of silence.  My question infuriated him.  As you know, he has always been a difficult and demanding man, but until that day, he was never physically violent.  Enraged, he struck me across the face with a closed fist, knocking me to the floor, and began kicking me like a crazed animal.  All the while, screaming 'that bitch was my mother!'  Without any warning, he suddenly started ranting about your grandmother—the woman we thought was your grandmother, saying 'Dad was right to kill her. She was a stupid, weak coward.  She couldn't even protect her own daughter! She got what she deserved.'  Then with a frightening grin he said, 'She's rotting under the outhouse along with the first baby my pathetic sister gave birth to'." 
 
Mom was talking so fast I could hardly keep up.  If I didn't know her better, I would swear she was on speed.  Finally, she paused to catch her breath. 
 
Although hearing the words, I found it difficult to comprehend what she was saying.  Knowing Mom saw a side of Dad none of us had ever seen, I couldn't help asking her why she stayed with him. 
 
Mom looked at me with eyes pleading for forgiveness.  "Fear."
 
"Fear of him beating you again?"
 
"Yes, and also fear of the unknown.  You need to understand, the man standing in front of me was a complete stranger, telling me horrific, unbelievable things about the family that raised him. He terrified me."
 
Unable to wait any longer, I finally asked what I felt was a logical question, "Why did Grandpa kill Grandma—or whoever she was?"

"Your grandmother—sorry, I don't know what else to call her—died before your father was born.  She had to have known he was having an incestuous relationship with Mary Louise.  I can only assume fear of his violent nature prevented her from stopping it.  When Mary Louise became pregnant, your grandfather was thrilled.  He believed his daughter would finally give him the son your grandmother could not. However, the baby was a girl.  He was so angry he immediately took the baby away and no one ever saw her again. When she became pregnant again, he made it very clear this was her last chance to give him the son he wanted. Apparently, convinced he would kill them both, your grandmother finally found the courage to run away with Mary Louise.  But your grandfather caught them.  He killed your grandmother and kept Mary Louise locked in the house until your father was born".
 
Mom took a deep breath. "James, I know this sounds disjointed, but I don't know all the details, just what your dad told me in a drunken stupor."
 
I believed what Mom was telling me but at the same time, it sounded more like a poorly written soap opera destined to gather dust on an out of work writer's stack of rejections.
 
"Mom, when did Dad learn grandpa killed grandma? And, when did he find out his sister was his mother?"
 
"James, you have to remember that your father only spoke about this when he was drunk, which, over the years, became more and more frequent. However, it took a long time for me to put together all the bits and pieces and even now, I fear there is so much more I don't know."
 
Despite wanting to scream, I forced myself to remain outwardly calm. "Just tell me what you know."
 
Mom nodded.  "Whatever your dad knows about his mother—your grandfather's wife—came from his dad. He never knew her. He always thought she had died when he was a baby.  Your grandfather and your dad's sister lived like husband and wife.  She never went to school, wasn't allowed out of his sight, and had no contact with anyone other than your grandfather and your dad.  He beat her daily and carefully groomed your father into believing that women were ignorant and good for only one thing, perpetuating the species.  He raised your dad to view his relationship with his daughter as normal."
 
"But Dad got away.  He went to school and then to college.  At some point he broke free."
 
"That was the one thing your grandfather hadn't counted on.  By allowing your dad to be exposed to the outside world, he realized what everything his father taught him was a lie.  The world wasn't the dark, ugly place your grandfather described, but a place where you could become whatever you wanted."

Although I wasn't so sure about the world not being dark and ugly, I kept my opinion to myself.
 
"One day he confronted his dad and they had a violent argument. That is when his father told him he murdered the woman supposed to be his mother and that his sister was his mother.  I don't know why he told him, maybe he thought he could frighten or shame your dad into staying.  It had the opposite effect.
 
However, despite walking away and never going back, the damage had been done.  Just like his father, your dad viewed women as weak and pathetic. What little compassion he felt for his sister completely disappeared.  Women were stupid and needed constant guidance to prevent them from getting into what he called 'trouble'."
 
Mom's face suddenly turned pale and her bottom lip began to quiver. She opened her purse, pulled out two slightly yellowed envelopes and handed them to me.  "Your father tossed these into the garbage the day they arrived.  He doesn't know I kept them."
 
Holding the envelopes in my hands, I felt my heart begin to race.  I was the one that insisted on knowing everything.  I demanded to know the truth.  There was no turning back now.  As I opened the letter from Mary Louise, Mom and Mac's words echoed inside my head, "Some things are best left alone…."


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.

This may be a bit confusing, any and all suggestions will be greatly appreciated.


Chapter 28
Two Days of Hell

By Sasha







I woke early, skipped breakfast, and headed to the hospital to see Mom.  I spoke with Dr. Williams, who informed me Mom could not have visitors until tomorrow.  Frustrated, I stomped out of the hospital.  I called Mr. Hurley and told him I was on my way to the library to finish translating the journal.  He wasn’t happy.

“James, you are messing with evidence and could get in a lot of trouble.”

“It was given to me, and I haven’t turned it over to Mac, so as far as I’m concerned, it hasn’t been logged in yet, so it’s not evidence.”

“James, don’t play games.  This is serious.”

No one knew more than me how serious this was.  I said goodbye and hung up the phone.

The fact that Dad’s father and grandfather wrote in Romani and not in Romanian made my job much more difficult than expected; but not impossible.  By two o’clock I was able to translate more than three-quarters of the journal.  I was physically and emotionally exhausted.
 
A continuation of Adian Propescu’s journal:

Aug 15, 1940

I found my second wife in Bellingham in 1940.  Just like the first, she was camping with her family.  She was older, maybe seven.  Beautiful red hair and sky blue eyes.  Despite being feisty, she was a quick learner.  She did her chores, kept the house clean, and was a decent cook.  I named her Alfina 2.

 
I paused a moment and quickly thumbed through a book lying at the bottom of the pile on the table.  I read the section on Romani names and learned that it was not a custom for Gypsies to name children after someone that had died.  They would seldom even speak the person’s name.  I wondered why, if Grandfather’s dad was so strict, he would disregard this fundamental rule.  I closed the book and returned to translating the journal.
 


June 21, 1945

Early in the morning Alfina 2 went into labor.  To my disappointment, she gave birth to a girl.  I tried to take the baby from her but Alfina put up a fight.  She knew I wanted a boy; I had no need of a girl.  She begged me to let her keep the baby and promised the next one would be a boy.  Despite Lucian’s insistence I kill the child, I reluctantly agreed to let the girl child live.
 
July 2, 1948

Alfina 2 gave birth to a boy early this morning.  He was a sickly child and died a few hours later.  Unable to contain my anger I beat her until she was unconscious.  I buried the boy child in the woods.   When I returned Alfina, two and the girl child were gone.  I searched the property and found them hiding in a small cave near the river.  They were both weak, hungry, and in no condition to put up a fight.  I found a large heavy stick and beat her again.  Alfina 2 promised never to run away again.  I told her if she did, I would punish her by killing the girl child. 
 


April 7, 1946

Alfina 2 gave birth to a second baby boy.  I named him Flavius Popescu.  Alfina had a difficult delivery, and she and the baby died several hours later.  I buried them in the woods with the others.  Because the girl child was now seven years old, there was no need to find a new wife.  I decided she could become my wife and when old enough give me a healthy boy.  I named the girl child Alfina 3.

Again, I paused.  It seemed that Great-Grandfather and Grandfather changed the rules to suit their needs.  I found this strange for a people that valued the rules as much as the Romani Gypsies did.

 
September 2, 1957


Alfina 3 gave birth to a healthy baby boy. I named him Alexandru Popescu. 
 

The rest of the journal covers multiple beatings of both Alfina 3 and Alexandru.  Adian was a cruel man who cared for no one except himself.  At age six, Adian made Alexandru shoot his dog.  This was Adian’s way of teaching his son to be strong. In 1964, the school district learned of Alexandru and insisted he go to school.  Adian was not pleased but had no choice.  Lucian kept Alfina 3 hidden so she would not have to go to school too. 
 
Lucian and Alfina 3 continued living as recluses living off the land.  He never went into town to purchase supplies.  He knew very few people and he discouraged anyone from coming around.  He had a reputation for being a crazy old man and people were happy to leave him alone.
 
Alexandru did exceptionally well in school.  He didn’t like his name and told everyone to call him John.  He and his father fought constantly.  Adian had plans for his son, but my father refused to listen.  He graduated with honors and won a scholarship to Washington State University.  He left his mother/sister and never returned.  After Adian’s death, James’s father inherited the property.

Despite his horrific upbringing, nowhere in the journal did I find an explanation of what happened to Lucian, how my father learned of his death, or why my father became a serial killer.  Dad left Arlington after graduating from high school and started a new life with the gaje.  It was as though when he walked away from his father, he left his Romani heritage behind. The answers I was looking for were not in the journal.

It was five-thirty, and I was finally finished.  I called Mr. Hurley and told him I was ready to give Mac the journal.  Mr. Hurley was amazed that I was able to learn a new language in such a short period of time.

I just laughed.  “Having a photographic memory has its plusses.”
Mr. Hurley instructed me to meet Mac at the restaurant on Fifth Avenue in twenty minutes.

 
* * * * * * * * *
 

I arrived at the restaurant at six o’clock.  Mac and Mr. Hurley were sitting at a table in the back waiting for me.  My heart was racing so fast I felt light headed.  I sat across from Mac, who had an angry expression on his face.  Obviously, Mr. Hurley told him about the journal and what I had been doing.  Without saying a word, I slid the journal across the table and with my hands shaking, I handed him a copy of the translation.

Mac, still looking angry, asked, “James, is this the only copy of the translation?”

‘Yes, Mac, it is the only copy other than the one I have in my head.  Sorry, but it’s there forever.  That’s how an eidetic memory works.”

Betty set a cup of coffee on the table.  I waited patiently while Mac read the translation.  When he was finished, he handed it to Mr. Hurley.

“James, it is obvious your grandfather was insane.  Unfortunately, nothing in this journal implicates your father or explains why he killed all those girls.”

“Mac, do you think he knew his sister was his mother?  Maybe that’s what triggered his anger toward women.”

“That’s a question I need to ask your mother and your aunt.  The only other person that could tell us is your dad, and I doubt he’d be willing to talk to us.”

“What about the cabin?  The journal lists all the bodies Dad’s father buried there.  Maybe one is Alfina 3, Dad’s mother.  Have you received any information on the DNA of the skull and bone I found?”

Mac’s expression softened.  “Yes.  The bones have been identified as belonging to Alicia.”

My heart sank.  As much as I wanted to know what happened to her, I was still hoping she was alive.

“Have you informed her family?”

“Alicia’s parents were killed in a car accident three years ago.  The only family member left is her grandmother.  I spoke to her yesterday.  She was devastated but relieved to finally know her granddaughter can now be buried beside her parents.”

 
“Have they found the other bodies?  Alfina 1, Alfina 2 and the babies?”

Mac shook his head.  “What difference would that make?  According to the journal, they died in childbirth.”

Feeling myself on the verge of screaming, I took a deep breath before asking, “Have you found any information on Lucian, Dad’s father’s death?  Why is there no death certificate or a burial record?  Is there a possibility he may still be alive?”

Mac nodded.  “Yes, but unlikely.  He would be extremely old.”
Under my breath I mumbled, “Damn it.”

Mac leaned back and in a tone vibrating with frustration said, “What are you up to?  Why is this so important to you?”

"Damn it, Mac.  I just need to know everything."

Mac leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table.  "I did learn that your father took the name of a student in the class ahead of him.  The student's name was John Mathews.  He died in a strange accident.  He fell out of a tree.  Apparently, your father just took his name.  For some reason, no one caught on, and he has been John Mathews ever since."

I wanted to ask about the real John Mathews death but my head was spinning and I honestly didn't think I could handle one more unexplained death.

Mr. Hurley interrupted.  “Before you guys come to blows, I have some information.  James, your father is scheduled to appear in court in two days for sentencing.  I have no idea what he is up to, but he has asked that you speak in his behalf at the sentencing.”

My head began to race at the speed of light.  I looked at Mr. Hurley and asked, “Does the press know about Alicia yet?”

Mac answered.  “No.  The prosecutor hasn’t released that information yet.”

I grinned.  “Whatever you do, don’t let anyone know about her until after the sentencing.”
 
Mac looked at me curiously.  “What are you up to?”
 
“Does Snohomish County have to honor Dad’s plea agreement in King County?”

Both Mac and Mr. Hurley laughed, and then Mr. Hurley said, “No.  If he killed Alicia in Snohomish County, they can try him for murder there and this time they can ask for the death penalty.”

Mr. Hurley grinned again.  "Part of the deal was he tells the truth about ALL the murders he committed.  If he killed her in King County the plea agreement won't stand, and if he killed her in Snohomish County, either way, he's screwed."

“Tell Dad’s attorney, I’d be more than happy to speak at his sentencing.”

It took all the energy I had to keep from jumping up on the table and dancing.  I wasn't happy Dad might get the death penalty; I was thrilled he would finally face the system he worked so hard to manipulate.



Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 29
Time For The Truth

By Sasha








I left Mac and Mr. Hurley at the restaurant.  As I walked back to the hotel, the high I was riding slowly descended into hell.  I realized that Mom and Aunt Em knew part of Dad’s dirty little secret, but not the whole story.  Clearly, Uncle Terry didn’t know anything.  The idea of telling Charlie and Susan made me sick to my stomach.  Susan was in no condition to deal with something so horrific, and I doubted Charlie was strong enough to hear his father’s mother was also his sister and that his grandfather was a sick, pathetic lunatic capable of kidnapping, murder, and rape.
 
I suddenly noticed it had begun to rain.  It started as a light mist then large, heavy pellets began to dance as they bounced off the cars, sidewalk and the street.  I sat on a bench in front of the hotel.  The water felt soothing, like a long overdue cleansing.  I don’t know how long I sat there before finally getting up and going inside the hotel.  I entered the elevator, pressed the button to my floor, and when the doors finally opened, I stepped out leaving a large puddle of water inside the elevator.  As I slid the key card through the slot, I realized it would be better if Charlie and Uncle Terry learned about Dad’s father and the journal from me than from the media. 
 
 
* * * * * * * * *
 
Charlie took the news far better than I expected.  His primary concern was whether his children would be born with six fingers and webbed feet.  I assured him that only repeated inbreeding caused birth defects, and none of us has anything to worry about.
Knowing Mom did not speak Romani, I asked Aunt Em how Mom knew about Dad’s mother being his sister.  Aunt Em stammered and stuttered for several seconds before answering my question.
“Your father was drunk, as usual, and he told Martha about his mother just to upset her.  To be honest, I thought he was just being cruel, but Martha knew he was telling her the truth.  After he died and the journal mysteriously appeared, we both knew it had to contain information about your Dad’s mother and his father.”
“Aunt Em, why didn’t you tell anyone about the journal after Dad was arrested?”
“Neither Martha nor I wanted anyone to know about his mother.  You can’t imagine… Knowing John was a murderer was distressing enough.  We just figured no one needed to know about his mother.  I’m sorry, James.  I know we should have said something sooner.”
I was too tired to be angry.  Tomorrow was going to be a big day.  I still couldn’t figure out why Dad would ask me to speak on his behalf.  I planned to go to the sentencing, but I doubted he would like what I had to say.
* * * * * * * * *
 
Aunt Em and Charlie went to bed early.  I was exhausted but knew I wasn’t going to get much sleep.  Uncle Terry stayed up with me.  We sat on the balcony and watched the sunset in silence.  Uncle Terry looked at me with concern in his eyes. "James, I'm worried about you. You are so focused on making things right, I'm afraid you are going to end up in the hospital along with Susan and your mother. I wish you would reconsider going to the sentencing."
 
I understood Uncle Terry's concern, but I had made my decision, and there was nothing he or anyone could say to talk me out of it. "I don't know how to explain it, but this is something I have to do."
 
Uncle Terry shook his head. "I am worried about the families' reaction to seeing you there. Some of them are not going to like you getting any attention, no matter what you have to say. This is their day. It is the only time they get to speak for the victim."
 
"Of course it is their day. I'm sure I'm the last person they want to see or listen to. However, it is my day too. I am not planning to speak for Mom, Susan, Charlie, Aunt Em, or you. I'm still not sure what I am going to say, but I have to face him. I want him to see me there, and I want him to know how I feel."
 
I didn't know how to put into words the desperate need I had to speak my mind. I felt if I didn't say something I was going to explode into a million tiny pieces and no one would ever be able to put me back together again.
 
Uncle Terry nodded. I doubted he understood, but he appeared to accept this was something that I had to do. He patted me on the knee then said, "When all this is over, whenever that is, would you, Martha, Susan, and Charlie consider moving to Miami and live with your Aunt Em and me?"
 
I couldn't speak for Mom, Susan or Charlie, but I knew at some point leaving Seattle was inevitable. I couldn't imagine continuing to live here with the legacy the man I once called Dad had left us. I smiled at Uncle Terry. "Let's cross that bridge when we come to it."


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 29
James Pauses To Take a Breath

By Sasha

DO NOT READ.  CHAPTERS 29 THROUGH 33 HAVE NOT BEEN REWRITTEN YET.

A slimy, wet blanket of nauseating disgust clung to me like a horrific nightmare too heavy to remove.  Not ready to delve deeper into the sick, depraved world of the Mathews' family, I placed the letters on the coffee table.  I glanced at Mom who, to my relief, had drifted off into La la Land, the place she often hid when reality overwhelmed her.  I needed time, lots of time, to sort out and absorb what she had just told me. I didn't know what to feel; I was numb.
 
I tried to tell myself Mom was mistaken and Dad's drunken ramblings were nothing more than the sick delusions of an alcoholic.  But knowing he was sitting in prison guilty of brutally murdering twelve innocent girls, and the very real possibility there was a thirteenth victim, erased the one glimmer of hope I was grasping for.
 
Without faces, the people Mom was talking about seemed unreal, just a story, a horrible, ugly story.  On the surface, Dad appeared to everyone who knew him, as perfectly normal.  However, reality proved he was his father's creation. Years of meticulous grooming turned him into a monster.  Comprehending the horrors his sister, my grandmother, was subjected to, was way beyond my capability.
 
I desperately wanted to understand. I searched for the sympathy and compassion my brain told me he deserved, but my heart wanted none of it.  There was nothing in Dad's past that could ever excuse what he did.  I doubted the families of his victims would shed a single tear for him or his pathetic childhood.
 
I got up and walked past Mom, still safely ensconced in her private world, and went into the bathroom.  As I removed my clothes, I looked at myself in the mirror.  Shocked by what I saw, I asked out loud, "When did I get so old?"
 
I stepped into the shower, placed both hands against the wall beneath the showerhead, and closed my eyes.  I felt a lump begin to swell in my throat.  I tipped my head up and back, letting the water wash away the tears now streaming down my cheeks.  I reached for the bar of soap lying on the edge of the bathtub.  As I held it under the water, I doubted I would ever be able to wash away the thick layer of filth that was choking the life out of me.  I couldn't imagine ever again smiling at a beautiful sunset, appreciating the fresh, clean smell of the ocean, or laughing at a silly joke.
 
As my hatred for Dad grew, so did my fear that my life would never be the same.  I realized for the first time the word normal had never been, and probably never would be a word I could relate to.

I dropped the soap, sat down, and buried my head in my hands.  The lump in my throat made it difficult to breathe.  Slowly, the sobs I tried to ignore erupted in the form of a loud wail.  I don't know how long I cried, but I stayed in the shower long after the water turned cold.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 30
Confidentiality or Conscience

By Sasha

Not yet ready to read the letters, my hand trembled ever so slightly as I placed them into my backpack. The gentle rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance.  Huge, dark clouds hovered ominously over the horizon signaling the approaching storm.  I grabbed my parka and quickly slipped it on.
 
Mom lay asleep on the couch curled up like a baby.  Careful not to wake her, I bent down, kissed her gently on the cheek, and whispered, "I'll be back later."   At moments like this I envied her ability to shut down after a stressful experience, something I had never mastered.
 
As the elevator descended, I glanced at my watch; it was three-fifteen, plenty of time before my meeting with Mr. Hurley. He knew something but the attorney client privilege he was bound to prevented him from telling me anything.  It was not going to be easy, but I had to find a way to get him to talk to me.
 
I arrived at his office twenty minutes early.  A wave of relief swept over me finding the door locked and the light inside his office turned off.  I sat on the floor, my knees touching my chest, and my head resting against the wall.  My brain, always in fourth gear, raced from thought to thought searching for what I could say to make Mr. Hurley open up to me.  Forty-five minutes later, I heard the elevator door open and a grey-haired, chunky man stepped into the hallway.  I stood up and watched as he waddled toward me holding his brief case in one hand and a large stack of manila folders in the other.  Without bothering to say hello, he handed me the folders in order to free up his hand so he could insert the key into the lock.
 
Inside, he plopped his briefcase onto the desk and I did the same with the folders.  He pointed to a chair silently telling me to have a seat. After removing his coat he sat down, and with his arms crossed, smiled and said, "James, I can tell just by looking at you, you are a man on a mission. Let's dispense with pointless chit chat and get directly to why you are here."
 
I chuckled; in one fell swoop, he eliminated three-quarters of my carefully planned speech.  I liked Mr. Hurley and his no nonsense approach eased the anxiety I felt over what I was going to say.
 
"I assume you heard about the cabin?"
 
Mr. Hurly nodded.  "Who hasn't?"
 
"You're a criminal attorney; can you tell me why Dad would be so stupid to leave so much evidence at the cabin?  He had to know he would be the number one suspect.  Even if they never find the body, it is obvious to the forensic specialists a homicide occurred."
 
"James, murder is committed for a variety of reasons.  The most common are jealousy fueled by anger and revenge.  Panic and fear are often the motivation as well as simply overreaction to what most view as a situation out of control. The people who fall into these categories are usually the ones who allow their emotions to override common sense.  Men like your father are complicated but all have one thing in common—arrogance.  They do not believe they will ever get caught. Their reasons for killing are not viewed by the public as logical.  Some can relate to a moment of uncontrollable rage but serial killers are beyond the understanding of  the average person.  To kill for the sake of killing is incomprehensible to people like you and me."

"So you are saying that arrogance is why he was so sloppy?"

Mr. Hurley smiled, but did not answer.
 
"If you have any information that would help find any yet unidentified victims of  Dad, you have an obligation to tell the authorities."
 
"James, you know I am bound by attorney client privilege and cannot tell anyone anything I know about this case prior to becoming your family's attorney."
 
"Just tell me what you know.  I won't tell anyone I got the information from you."
 
Mr. Hurley shook his head.  "Sorry, but that just isn't how it works."
 
Not ready to give up, I reached into my backpack, removed the two letters, and placed them on the desk in front of Mr. Hurley. "How about a trade, I show you the letters my dad didn't want anyone to see and you tell me what you know?" 
 
Mr. Hurley stared at the letters but despite his obvious curiosity, he again shook his head.
 
"Has it occurred to you that I may well already know what you are hiding?  If I do, then you aren't breaking any laws, right?"
 
Mr. Hurley smiled.  "It doesn't matter what you know, I still cannot confirm or deny it if it contains information I obtained prior to becoming your attorney."
 
I was losing my patience.  "Would you consider lying?"
 
Not sure what I was proposing, Mr. Hurley scratched his head then asked, "You want me to lie about what your father said?"
 
I burst into laughter.  "No, I want you to lie about telling me what he said.  I find it hard to believe that being a lawyer you have never lied before."
 
Mr. Hurley smiled. "You really know how to sweet talk a guy, don't you?  Tell me what you know and I'll consider your proposal."
 
I wasn't completely convinced he was going along with my proposition, but I really didn't have much choice. "Did you know Dad claims his father killed my supposed grandmother?  Did you know my aunt, Dad's sister was or is my real grandmother?"
 
Mr. Hurley didn't flinch.  The unchanged expression on his face told me what he wouldn't or couldn't say out loud. "Apparently, Dad's childhood was horrific.  His father was a monster.  Dad told Mom Aunt Louise gave birth to a daughter and grandpa buried the baby either under or near the outhouse. Sometime after, he is supposed to have killed Grandma when she tried to run away with Aunt Louise.  Dad said she's buried in the same place."
 
Mr. Hurley didn't question anything I said.  It was clear, he already knew.  However, hearing it from me opened up a door that until now had been locked to him.   In a voice filled with obvious relief, he asked, "Have you told any of this to Mac?"
 
"No, I thought you could earn the hefty fee Mom's paying you and tell him for me.  And you won't even have to lie when you say you got the information from me."
 
Mr. Hurley smiled.  He looked like the weight of the world had just been lifted off his shoulders. 
 
"I do have one question that I want you to answer.  Why did Dad tell his attorney about Grandpa and Aunt Louise?"
 
Apparently, the attorney client privilege no longer mattered.  "Shame.  He would rather be known as a sick serial killer than have anyone find out that his mother was really his sister."
 
"But Mom knew, he told her."
 
"Your father is convinced she is still under his control."
 
Mr. Hurley reached over and picked up the letters.  "Have your read these?"
 
I shook my head. 
 
"Well, I guess it's time we find out what your father didn't want anyone to know."

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 30
Court Part 1

By Sasha











Choosing to wear a new pair of black slacks, a white shirt, and no tie seemed more appropriate than the formality of a suit. I hugged Charlie and Aunt Em and waved goodbye to Uncle Terry. I was relieved neither felt the need to remind me of their desire that I not go to the sentencing.
 

 
The walk from the hotel to the courthouse took less than ten minutes. I paused at the corner across the street when I saw the large crowd of spectators and television reporters gathered on the front steps. The knot in my stomach tightened knowing someone in the crowd might recognize me turning what I hoped to be a quiet, unnoticed entry into a reporter's wet dream. For a brief moment, I considered leaving, but my determination to be strong despite my growing anxiety outweighed my fear. I took a deep breath, stepped off the curb, and crossed the street.
 
Before I reached the first step, "There he is!" rang out from the center of the crowd. The feeding frenzy had begun. Questions flew at me like well-aimed bullets as cameras flashed and reporters shoved microphones into my face.
 
"Are you here to support your father?" "How does it feel to be the son of a murderer?" "Do you think he should have gotten the death penalty?" And, "Where is the rest of your family?"
 
I ignored the questions and pushed my way through the unruly crowd. As I entered the front door, I felt a terrible and frightening sense of being alone. I emptied my pockets into the plastic container placed on the conveyor belt that sat directly in front of the door, and patiently waited for the officer to tell me to pass through the metal detector. Although no bells went off, another officer asked me to step to the side as she scanned me with a hand-held wand. Finally, allowed to continue, I walked down the wide hallway toward the elevators where I found another large crowd gathered. I looked at each face, wondering if he or she was a family member of one of the victims or just someone here to pay a parking ticket.
 
Suddenly a loud voice silenced the crowd. "If you are here for the John Mathews case, please show me your official court notice to appear and proper identification. You will not be allowed to enter the courtroom without these items."
 
Angry moans echoed around me as at least thirty people turned and walked away, approximately twenty remained.  I pulled out my wallet and found my driver's license and permission slip.  One by one, we entered the elevator as the officer meticulously scrutinized everyone's identification, comparing the name to the one on the court order, and finally checking the name off a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard. No one spoke as the elevator rose, nonstop, to the eleventh floor. When the doors opened, I was surprised to see an even larger crowd in the hallway waiting to enter the courtroom. 
 
I glanced to my left and noticed a silver-haired gentleman staring at me.  He whispered into a woman's ear at his side.  She turned to her neighbor and pointed in my direction.  Her lips were pulled into a sneer of red across her flawless skin.  "Look, it's the murderer's son". 
A collective gasp rose from the crowd as they shuffled to the opposite side of the hall. My heart pounded frantically against my rib cage.  My greatest wish at that moment was to become invisible.
 
While scanning the crowd, my eyes came to rest on an older woman standing off to the side. I immediately recognize her, but unlike so many around her, she did not look at me with either hatred or anger. There was deep sadness in her gray-blue eyes. Dressed in a soft pastel blue suit combined with her silver-white hair, pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck gave her an air of quiet elegance. She stared at me for a moment, and then slowly walked toward me.
 
Not knowing what to expect, my heart began to race. Anticipating an angry outburst, I told myself to remain calm and no matter what she said, to say nothing that would upset her further.
 
With a forced smile, the woman took hold of my hand and gently stroked it. "Hello James. I am sure you don't remember me, I am Alicia’s grandmother."
 
My heart sank. I wanted to fall to my knees and beg her to forgive me for what happened to Alicia. Suddenly I realized she probably did not know her body had been identified, or that the prosecutor was going to announce the indictment immediately after the sentencing. Confused, I wondered why she was here. I was under the impression that only the victims' family members were permitted to attend the sentencing.
 
As though she had read my mind, she leaned forward and whispered into my ear, "He thinks he got away with it. But we know better, don't we. Because Alicia’s mother and father couldn't face the man who killed her, I felt I needed to represent her here today."
 
She gave me a soft kiss on the cheek, wiped the tears from her eyes, and turned and walked away. I realized the prosecutor wanted her here when he spoke to the media. He needed to put a face to the victim, who better than a grieving grandmother.
 
A firm tap on my shoulder startled me. I turned abruptly, expecting to face an angry family member, but I was relieved to see Mac and Mr. Hurley standing next to me.
 
Mac smiled. "We thought you could use a little moral support."
 
Unable to contain my relief seeing two friendly faces, I gave Mac and Mr. Hurley a gigantic hug. "Thank you. You don't know how much it means to me to have you here."
 
Suddenly two King County Sheriff's officers opened the double doors to the courtroom. Once again, each person was asked to show identification, his or her notice to appear, and scanned a second time with a hand wand. They were clearly serious about safeguarding their prisoner.
 
Mac, Mr. Hurley and I intentionally waited until last to enter the courtroom. All the seats were taken causing a large number of people, including us, to stand against the back wall. The prosecutor was standing at the front, in the center of the room, talking to the clerk. Behind him was a small wooden podium with a microphone attached to the side. I presumed that was where those choosing to speak would stand. Lining both sides of the room were several television cameras pointed at the closed door on the left side of the room hoping to get a clear, unobstructed view of the prisoner when he entered. Mr. Ross, the defense attorney, sat staring forward, with his hands resting in his lap, a large yellow pad of paper, and two pens lay on the table in front of him.
 
Without warning, the door opened, and a man I barely recognized entered the room. Two Sheriffs' deputies firmly holding each arm walked him over to the table before removing his handcuffs.  I couldn't take my eyes off him. Despite wearing an expensive suit, sporting a clean shave, and recent haircut, he looked ten years older. I closed my eyes and tried to remember him the way he looked just a few months ago, but my mind was blank. Everything about him reeked of evil.  His dead eyes, his smug facial expression, his arrogant posture, even his large, ugly hands made me sick to my stomach knowing what they had done.
 
The door to the Judge's chamber opened. The bailiff stood and facing the audience, said in a loud voice, “All rise, court is now in session."


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.

Free to pass go card is a card used in the game Monopoly...sort of a free pass.

I'm off sightseeing today...a long overdue break. Won't be able to correct any spags &and sadly, there are always some) until I get back.


Chapter 31
Court Part 2

By Sasha











The adrenaline raging throughout my entire body prevented me from hearing Judge Simmons address the spectators. The pounding of my heart inside my chest was so loud his words became unintelligible mumbling. Only when the defendant stood up was I able to calm down enough to focus on what was happening.
 
From where I stood, I could only see his profile. Despite trying, I was still not able to recognize the man I was sure every eye in the room was fixed on. He stood silently staring at the floor. The blank expression on his face hid any sign of remorse or guilt. I had seen storefront mannequins that showed more emotion than he did. Only when the Judge spoke did he finally lift his eyes.
 
"John Martin Mathews, you are charged with twelve counts of murder in the first degree. Are you aware that by pleading guilty, you are bound by the court's ruling today and forfeit all rights to appeal?"
 
Although the defendant remained expressionless, his voice trembled with the sound of unexpected fear when he said, "Yes, your honor."

The prosecutor stood up and walked over to a large aluminum easel positioned in the front of the court. On the floor, leaning against the easel I could see what appeared to be a large stack of white cardboard. When Judge Simmons began to speak, Mr. Douglas picked up the top sheet of cardboard, turned it over, and placed it on the easel. It was a photograph one of the victims.
 
"Mr. Mathews, count one reads as follows: In King County, Washington, sometime between June 5, 2007 and June 7, 2007, with premeditated intent to cause her death, You, John Martin Mathews stabbed and strangled Elsa May Loft, age sixteen, to death. You picked her up on her way home from school, planning to kill her. After killing her, you placed her body in the trunk of your car and drove to Belltown where you left her body next to a dumpster located behind a convenience store on Southeast Brighton Street around two p.m."
 
The silence in the courtroom was unnerving. Unable to take my eyes off the photograph staring at me, I felt her hand reach into my chest and squeeze my heart. The Judge stared at the defendant for several seconds before asking, "Mr. Mathews, is that a true statement?"
 
His voice still trembling, the defendant responded.  "Yes, your honor."
 
"How do you plead to charge one, murder in the first degree of Elsa May Loft?"
 
Staring down at his feet, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "Guilty, your honor."
 
The heartbreaking sound of sobbing floated up over the courtroom.
 
Mr. Douglas picked up another photograph and placed it on the easel.
 
"Mr. Mathews, count two reads as follows: In King County, Washington, sometime between August 9, 2007 and August 12, 2007 with premeditated intent to cause her death, You, John Martin Mathews stabbed and strangled Sharon Allison Evens, age fifteen, to death. You picked her up on her way home from church, planning to kill her."
 
Desperately fighting the urge to cry, I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and silently said the Lord's Prayer, hoping the words in my head would block out the sound of the Judge's voice.
 
When asked if this statement was true, the answer was again yes.
 
"How do you plead to charge two, murder in the first degree of Sharon Allison Evens?"
 
"Guilty, your honor."
 
The sight of tears streaming down his face angered me. I knew in my heart that they were not tears of remorse. I had no doubt they were nothing more than self-pity. How pathetic. What was it about people like him? They can commit the most horrendous crimes then, when facing judgment, have the audacity to cry.
 
As the Judge read each count of the ten remaining charges, the prosecutor placed the victim's photograph on the easel. The questions, "Is this statement true?" and "How do you plead?" received ten tearful yes and guilty responses. I wondered if I was the only one who noticed that he refused to look at a single photograph. Although the process seemed to take hours, time also flew by so quickly that I was not prepared when the Judge asked the defendant if he had anything to say before pronouncing sentence.
 
Glancing over at Mr. Ross then back to the Judge the defendant nodded. "Yes, your honor. I have a prepared statement I would like to read."
 
I felt a cold shiver run up my spine. Mac must have sensed my nervousness. He placed his hand on my shoulder and whispered into my ear, "Do you think anyone would care if I pulled my gun and shot him in the foot?"
 
Completely unprepared for Mac's absurd comment, I found myself choking on the giant, inappropriate ball of laughter suddenly stuck in my throat. 
 
I leaned back against the wall and returned my focus to what was going on in front of the court. Mr. Rosshanded his client a folded sheet of paper. With both hands shaking, he opened the paper and began to read it aloud.
 
"I know there is nothing I can say that will ever take the pain I have caused away.”
 
In an unsympathetic and sarcastic tone, Judge Simmons abruptly interrupted, "Mr. Mathews, It would be more appropriate if you turned to face the families your cruel and sadistic actions have affected."
 
With his hands still shaking and tears staining his face, he turned to face the courtroom, and began again. "I know there is nothing I can say that will ever erase the pain I have caused all of you. I hope…" He paused again as he tried to swallow the sobs preventing him from speaking. Mr. Ross handed him a handkerchief. After wiping the tears from his face, he took a deep breath and continued, "I hope you believe me when I say I am sorry for what I have done."
 
He paused a third time to catch his breath and wipe more tears from his face. "I also hope someday you can find it in your hearts to forgive me."
 
He dropped the paper, buried his face in his hands, and began to sob uncontrollably. I was shocked. Was that all he had to say?  Did he actually think those few pathetic sentences would console the families he had devastated? Saying nothing would have been kinder. 
 
Obviously unmoved by his feeble excuse for an apology, the judge tapped his gavel several times, and in a voice filled with disdain said, "Save your tears for someone else, Mr. Mathews."

Pausing to pick up a piece of paper, he stared at the spectators for a moment, and then turned to look at the defendant.   
 
"In my twenty years as a judge, I have never had a more despicable man stand before me in this court. Mr. Mathews, you are beyond evil. It is my opinion you are the devil incarnate. Were it within my power, I would not hesitate to sentence you to death for your crimes. However, I am bound by law to honor your plea agreement."
 
Judge Simmons cleared his throat before proceeding, "John Martin Mathews, this court finds you guilty of twelve counts of premeditated murder of Elsa May Loft, Sharon Allison Evens, Ursula Teresa Young, Catherine Tori O'Brien, Holly Evelyn Uhlman, Georgia Rita Anderson, Rosa Tatiana Romero, Ellen Holly Everest, Angel Antonia Anderson, Tonya Nancy Holden, Francis Yolanda Eden, and Una Olga Aasland."
 
Judge Simmons stopped abruptly after speaking the last name.  He looked at the defendant with nothing less than hatred he continued. "Despite how disturbing this may be to me as well as hundreds of angry citizens, who sent this court letters expressing their displeasure over someone like you, and I am quoting here, "getting away with murder", I sentence you to twelve consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole. You will immediately begin serving your sentence at the conclusion of today's proceeding at the Washington State Prison located in Walla Walla, Washington."

The defendant's entire body trembled violently as he stood with his head bowed. The heart wrenching sobs coming from the spectators, Mac, Mr. Hurley and me drowned out the sound of his pathetic blubbering.   


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.

When a plea agreement is agreed upon, the District Attorney, Defense Attorney, Defendant and the Judge must sign off on it. This is often done in chambers prior to the sentencing. There are rare occasions when even after signing off on the agreement, a judge can and has decided to void the agreement. Example: Daniel Keyser plea agreement denied by judge, Pacific County Courthouse, South Bend, Wa. 2011. Reasons vary, but the most common is that the defendant did not comply with his portion of the agreement. Despite knowing the defendant, John Mathews did not comply with his agreement, the District Attorney chose not to ask the judge to void the agreement. The reason will be explained later.


Chapter 31
Getting to Know Mr. Hurley

By Sasha

Mr. Hurley hung up the phone and wearing a 'we're in this together' grin said, "Mac will be here in twenty minutes.  He told us to wait before reading the letters."
 
I knew Mac would have to be told everything, but I had not anticipated being in the room when Mr. Hurley told him.  I hadn't thought about it before, but Mac and Mr. Hurley's relationship seemed to go beyond the professional.  With a few minutes to kill, I decided to pursue my curiosity.  "Mac told me you two go back a long way.  How did you meet?"
 
Mr. Hurley leaned back in his chair, bowed his head, and hesitated several very long, uncomfortable seconds before finally answering.  I knew immediately I had touched on a subject probably best left alone and regretted my foolish attempt at small talk.
 
"Mac and I met under awkward circumstances.  I was representing a young boy he arrested for murdering his girlfriend and her entire family; including their nine-month old baby.  The case against him was shaky, no weapon, no witnesses, just a lot of circumstantial evidence.  Jurors have grown up on CSI and forensic science. They like solid evidence they can neatly fit together like a puzzle, leaving no room for doubt."
 
Mr. Hurley's voice faded into silence.  Clearly deep into his thoughts, I waited a few moments before disturbing him.  "Did you win the case?"
 
He took a deep breath then slowly exhaled before responding.  "That depends on your definition of winning."
 
Not sure where this was leading, I pushed a little harder.  "Don't you mean it depends on 'your' definition of winning?"
 
Mr. Hurley smiled.  "The boy was your age.  However, unlike you, he was a crack addict, drug dealer, and had a long history of violence.  Knowing I could not repeat anything he told me, he found it amusing to brag about the two other murders he committed and even told me where he hid the gun.  He wasn't too smart.  Instead of tossing the gun, the fool kept it, claiming it brought him good luck."
 
Mr. Hurley stood up and walked over to the small refrigerator next to the row of four large file cabinets against the wall. He looked at me and asked, "Do you want a beer?"
 
I shook my head. " No thanks, I have an ulcer."
 
He laughed.  "Me too."
 
Holding the can in one hand, he sat down and as though there had been no pause in the conversation, he continued.  "A good attorney always puts his client's interest first.  Innocence or guilt only determines courtroom tactics. A smart attorney never asks his client if he or she is innocent or guilty because he knows it could lead to subordination of  perjury; an attorney cannot knowingly allow a witness or client to lie on the stand.  Ignorance provides us the necessary means to a clear conscience when presenting our clients as innocent.
 
"My client was an idiot.  He placed me in an unbearable position.  Knowing his propensity for violence I was convinced if found not guilty, it would only be a matter of time before he killed again."
 
Although I felt I knew the answer, I had to ask, "What did you do?"
 
"Mac is an excellent detective and he covered my potentially career ending indiscretion flawlessly.  No one ever knew the part I played in how he located the gun.  They not only matched it to the bullets used to kill my client's girlfriend and family, they were also able to match it to two unsolved murders."

He paused a moment, then added, "Did I win the case?  Yeah, I won it."
 
I doubted my opinion mattered, but I felt the need to say, "You did the right thing."
 
"That's exactly what Mac said."
 
The expression on Mr. Hurley's face was a combination of shame and guilt. Curious, I asked, "Why did you tell me this?"
 
He smiled again.  "James, you and I have a lot in common.  We both believe in the law and want justice to be served.  We also believe that sometimes the only way to achieve this is to occasionally bend the law."

I agreed completely.
 
Without warning, the door opened and Mac walked in with a big smile on his face. "I hope neither of you have plans for dinner, because you may have a lot to tell me, but I also have a lot to tell you."

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.

Yes, this is a short chapter. But I promise, you will learn what is in the letters in the next chapter!


Chapter 32
An Unexpected U-Turn

By Sasha

 
Please note I have made a few changes in previous chapters.   Because of her husband's violent reaction when questioned about the letter from his father, James's mother never gave him the letter from Louise.  Although she kept both letters, she never read them.
 
* * * * * * *
 
Mr. Hurley offered Mac a beer.  I settled for a glass of ice water hoping it would put out the anxiety-induced fire raging in my stomach; it didn't.  I impatiently waited to get down to the business of reading the letters but was forced to watch two grown men exchange pleasantries like long-lost friends that hadn't seen each other for years.
 
Convinced both had forgotten I was in the room, I tapped Mac on the shoulder and in an intentionally sarcastic tone, asked, "If I figure out the secret hand shake, can I join your little club?"
 
Mac laughed.  "Sorry, James, it's been a long day and I'm afraid it's going to get a whole lot longer."
 
I assumed he was referring to the letters but the serious expression on his face told me he had more on his mind than the two envelopes lying on the desk.
 
He sat down beside me and spoke in a noticeably official voice.  "James, I cannot emphasize enough how important it is that you understand that what I am about to tell you must stay here in this room."
 
"You mean like what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?"  My attempt at humor was not well received.
 
"Damn it, James.  I am serious.  If anyone and I do mean anyone, knew I was discussing classified information with you, it could potentially blow the case we are trying to build against your father, out of the water."
 
Clearly the time for jokes and sarcasm had passed.  I nodded, indicating I understood.  For the first time, I noticed Mac's disheveled appearance.  The circles under his eyes, his unshaven face, and his rumpled suit told me he either slept in his clothes or had been up all night.  Realizing the letters would have to wait, I sat annoyed, but quietly waiting to hear what Mac had to say.
 
"Whatcom County Police discovered three skeletons on your grandfather's property in Blaine.  Although they have not yet been identified, we are fairly confident one is your grandmother and the other is your aunt.  The third skeleton is that of an infant, most likely a newborn."
 
Hearing his words, my heart began to race, pumping so much adrenaline throughout my body I thought I would pass out.  I gripped the armrest on my chair so hard, my fingers tuned white.  Knowing I wanted to tell Mac what I knew, Mr. Hurley placed his hand on mine and shook his head.
 
Beginning to sound like a robot, Mac continued.  "They are running DNA tests on all three skeletons, but we have requested a forensic anthropologist from the FBI to determine the cause of death and hopefully help with the identifications.
 
"We have also obtained a court order to exhume your grandfather.  While we have no evidence to suggest foul play, we learned he was buried without the required autopsy.  I don't know what light this will shed on the case, but we can't leave any stone unturned."
 
Mac stood up and walked over to the refrigerator.  He grabbed a second beer. "Tom, do you want one?"  Mr. Hurley shook his head.
 
Mac sat down and placed his unopened beer on the desk.  "Last but not least, Snohomish County has officially confirmed through DNA that the blood in the cabin belongs to Mary Ellen."
 
No longer able to remain silent, I ignored Mr. Hurley and asked, "Is that enough to charge Dad with murder?"
 
Mack shrugged.  "Charging anyone with murder without a body is usually impossible.  However, with his fingerprints on the plastic bag containing jewelry positively identified as belonging to Mary Ellen combined with the DNA evidence, they have a pretty strong circumstantial case.  The prosecutor hasn't made an official statement, but he plans to file charges, probably the day your Dad is sentenced in King County for the Belltown murders."
 
"Will they go for the death penalty?"
 
"Under normal circumstances, I'd have to say no. However, because they will be allowed to use your father's guilty plea in King County as evidence of a continuous pattern of criminal activity, I am sure they will ask for the death penalty."
 
I knew I should feel sad hearing Dad could be put to death, but I didn't.  In theory, I had always been against the death penalty.  But what angered me the most was knowing he manipulated the system by using six of his victims to avoid facing a jury.  I seriously doubted Snohomish County would take the chance of incurring the wrath of an angry public by offering him a plea bargain. Even if he decided to plead guilty to the murder of Mary Ellen, the death penalty would surely stay on the table.
 
Mac looked exhausted.  He pulled out two surgical gloves from his coat pocket and put them on.  As much as I wanted to know what the letters said, I felt it was important to tell Mac what I knew first.  Again, reading my mind, Mr. Hurley finally nodded.
 
Taking my time and making sure not to leave anything out, I filled Mac in on what Mom had told me.  As I spoke, I watched intensely as the expression on Mac's face changed from surprise, to curiosity, to 'I already knew that', and back again to surprise.  What Mac said next knocked the wind out of me.
 
"That may explain who the three skeletons belong to, but I doubt anything your father told your mother can be used as evidence in a court of law."
 
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What the hell are you talking about?"
 
Mr. Hurley leaned forward and placed his hand on my shoulder. "Spousal privilege cannot be violated.  Not only that, his attorney could claim everything he said was just the ramblings of a man under the influence of alcohol."
 
"That's absurd."
 
Mr. Hurley shook his head.  "No, James, that's the law."
 
Angry, dumbfounded, and speechless, I sat silently as Mac placed two large plastic bags on the desk next to the two envelopes.  He picked up the envelope from Grandpa first. Holding it in his hands, he read the date and origin of the postal stamp out loud.  "Blaine, Washington, April 3, 2002."
 
An icy shiver raced up my spine knowing I was only nine years old in 2002. The Belltown Murders began five years ago and the homicide at the cabin was less than two years ago.  My burning gut told me Dad's killing spree did not begin in Belltown.  I prayed I was wrong.
 
Mac carefully removed the crudely folded sheet of paper from the envelope, laid it on the desk so we could all see it.  My heart was racing again as Mac began to read the letter out loud.
 

My Dear Son,
 
Over the past twenty years, I have written you several letters, but you have chosen not to answer any of them.  This has both hurt and angered me.
 
I am sure this letter will finally get your long overdue attention.
 
When you left, I told you it wouldn't matter how far you ran or how hard you tried to hide, I would always find you.  I also told you the day would come when I would make sure you regretted turning your back on me.
 
I am so pleased to tell you, your day of reckoning has arrived.
 
Do you remember those fun weekend hunting trips we went on?  Do you remember how much you liked to take your time with the pretty, young ones with long hair?  In case you have forgotten, you will be happy to know I kept a written record, meticulously documenting every luscious and tantalizing detail of each and every one of our kills. I've included a detailed map of where we buried every skeleton.
 
Do I have your attention now?
 
I have instructed your dear, sweet, obedient, but stupid sister and mother, to give this information to the police should anything happen to me.
 
Why don't you come home for a visit and we can reminisce over the good old days.
 
Just remember, I brought you into this world, and I will decide how you will be remembered when you leave it.  I never believed in God or Heaven, but I have made damn sure you and I will meet again in Hell.
 
Your loving father,
 
XXX
 
P.S.  Give my love to Martha and the kids.  By the way, it is amazing how much Susan looks like Louise when she was seven.  I am sure she will be a knockout in ten years.
 
 
Mac folded the letter, placed it back into the envelope, opened the plastic bag, and dropped it inside.  He put the bag on the desk, slumped in his chair, closed his eyes, and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.  "Why in the name of God would your grandfather send this to your dad?  Why would he intentionally provoke him?"
 
All I could think of to say was, "Arrogance breeds arrogance.  I think he planned to kill Dad.  I'll lay ten-to-one odds that Dad killed him."
 
I paused, and then added, "I bet he killed Aunt Louise too."
 
The three of us sat stunned for several minutes.  Finally, Mac broke the silence.  "Do you honestly believe your mother never read this?"
 
I understood Mac's doubt.  But I knew Mom.  She was the Queen of denial. She believed that if you ignore something long enough, it would eventually go away.  "You'll just have to take my word for it, Mac.  Mom never read the letter."
 
I pointed to the letter from Aunt Louise.  "As you can see, that one has not been opened."
 
Mac picked up the unopened letter and placed it into the second plastic bag.
 
Shocked, I yelled, "What the hell are you doing?  Aren't you going to read it?"
 
Mac shook his head.  "Not before forensics goes over it. Both letters need to be tested for fingerprints, looked at by a handwriting specialist, and hopefully they'll find some DNA."
 
Mac could see my frustration. "Listen, James, this is more than a smoking gun.  Just your grandfather's letter alone changes the direction of this entire case.  I know how you feel.  You feel you're in a car moving at a hundred miles an hour and suddenly forced to make a u-turn without slowing down."
 
Mac was wrong.  I felt like I had just slammed into a brick wall
.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.

I know what I am trying to say but I am not sure if I have conveyed it clearly. Any and all suggestions are welcome.


Chapter 32
Court Part 3

By Sasha







The closure I hoped today's proceeding would provide had not yet appeared. I stood staring at the pathetic little man who destroyed the lives of those left to mourn the death of their loved ones. The realization there was nothing I could say that would ever take away their pain was heartbreaking. The feeling of helplessness fueled the anger raging through my body.
 

Judge Simmons banged his gavel, and in a voice filled with both sadness and compassion, he spoke directly to everyone in the courtroom. "We have reached the most difficult part of today's proceeding. Several members of the victims' families have requested to address the court. I ask that those wishing to speak line up in an orderly fashion behind the podium. You may speak directly to the defendant. However, at no time are you permitted to approach him. I am sympathetic and understand how difficult this is for all of you, but I must ask that you refrain from the use of foul language and that you keep your statements to a maximum of five minutes."
 

The judge then turned and pointed at the cameramen standing on the right side of the courtroom. "Prior to each person speaking, they will signal you with a nod or a shake of their head indicating whether they wish to be filmed or not. You will abide by their wishes. If I later discover you disregarded this request, I will not hesitate to hold you in contempt of court and, I promise, the punishment will be severe."
 

Once again, Mac placed his hand on my shoulder. "Are you going to be alright? Are you still up for this?"
 

I nodded. I looked into Mac's eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "Yes, I'll be fine." However, the truth was I still didn't know what I was going to say, and my fear that the families would not appreciate my intruding on their moment frightened me.

 
After a few seconds of silence, a young girl, not much older than Susan, stood up and slowly made her way up to the podium. Then, one by one, several more stood, and the line quickly turned into six, then finally eight extremely nervous, frightened looking people stood waiting for their turn to speak. My heart was beating frantically. I looked up at Mac, whose eyes were riveted on the young girl. The prosecutor shook her hand then walked over to the stack of photographs lying on the floor.  He shuffled through them, found the one he was looking for, and then placed it on the easel.
 
I immediately noticed the resemblance of the young girl and that of the victim. They both had long brown hair, large brown eyes, and faces of angels. She looked at the cameramen and shook her head indicating she did not want to be filmed. Turning to face the defendant, she paused a few seconds before speaking. "Mr. Mathews, I am Sharon MacDonald, Margaret Mary MacDonald's younger sister. I was eight years old when you murdered her. Every day since the police found her body, tossed like a piece of garbage, onto a dark, cold, wet slab of cement behind a bar in Belltown, I have cried myself to sleep. The last time I saw my sister was Sunday August 10, 2003, when she waved goodbye to me after church. She wanted to walk home alone. I was angry with her because she told me I could not come with her. Every day I wonder if she would be alive today if I had gone with her or, if I had gone with her, would my picture also be among those on display in this courtroom today. God tells me I should forgive you, but I cannot. What I can tell you is that when I walk out of this room today, I will never think of you again. You may have been sentenced to life in prison, and you may think you got a terrific deal. But to me you are already dead."
 
Wiping the tears from her face, Sharon MacDonald turned and walked back to her seat. The defendant sat motionless, staring at the floor. Only he and God knew what he was thinking.
 
A tall, tired looking, gray-haired man stepped up to the microphone. He cleared his throat several times before finally being able to speak. He glanced at the men holding the cameras and gave them a quick nod. Like the young girl before him, he did not read a prepared statement. Also like Sharon, he turned to face the defendant.
 
"My daughter Monica Anderson was my only child. Her mother died of cancer when Monica was five years old, leaving me alone to love, care for, and protect her. After my wife's death, Monica gave me the will to go on.  The day you murdered my daughter, you took away my reason for living. I have come here today to tell you that I hate you with every fiber in my body. I wish you misery, pain, and a slow death. I pray you get the punishment in prison that this court was prevented from giving you today. And when you do die, know that an eternity in hell awaits you."
 
With tears in my eyes, I watched the frail old man slowly walk down the aisle and out of the courtroom. The pain in my stomach was intense, but I knew it was nothing compared to the pain experienced by everyone in the room.
 
One by one each person in line spoke. The prosecutor placed the photograph of each victim onto the easel; giving an eerie sense of watching as their mother, father, sister, or brother spoke. Some agreed to be filmed, while others chose to remain just a name. My heart ached for all of them. Some forgave him, but most chose not to. Despite the heart wrenching words each family member spoke, the defendant remained stoic. From where I stood, I didn't see a single tear, any sign of emotion on his face, or in his body language. He just sat quietly staring at the floor.
 
Suddenly Mac tapped me on the shoulder. He winked at me and said, "Show time, kid."
 

I looked around the room before slowly walking up the aisle toward the podium. I could hear the buzzing sound of whispers as I passed each row of spectators. By the time I reached the podium, the room sounded like a beehive. Between the bees buzzing and my heart pounding, I could barely hear myself think. I looked over at the cameras and nodded.
 
I gripped the edges of the podium, hoping to hide my trembling hands. I closed my eyes for a moment, tried to slow my breathing, then looked at the judge. "Would it be alright for me to address the spectators before making my statement?"
 
The Judge nodded as he said, “Yes.”
Staring at the room full of strangers, I wondered if I was making the biggest mistake of my life but also knew it was too late to change my mind. I silently counted to ten then leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. "Some of you may already know my name is James Martin Mathews.  I am the son of John Mathews, the defendant."
 
I glanced over at the table beside me and saw the defendant looking at me with an expression of fear on his face.
 
"I have spent the past twelve weeks trying to understand how someone I thought I knew could do something so horrific. I finally concluded the answer is in the question. I cannot understand because I do not know the person who did this. That man does not exist. He is not the father, husband, son, brother-in-law, neighbor, coworker, or friend he claimed to be. That man was nothing more than a facade to everyone who thought they knew him. The real John Mathews is an empty, unfeeling, selfish, cruel man incapable of caring for anyone except himself. Some call him a sociopath; others say he is a psychopath. Personally, I prefer to describe him as a cruel, sick, pathetic, sadistic loser." 
 
I paused to catch my breath.
 
"I came here today hoping to say something that would help you deal with what he has done. I realize that is impossible, and for that, I apologize. No matter what I say, I know when some of you look at me you can only see him, and because you can only see him, my words will mean nothing. This is something I will have to live with for the rest of my life."
 
I turned to face my father. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his bottom lip was quivering and his hands lay trembling in his lap. I was unmoved. "I disagree with Judge Simmons' statement that you are evil. You are worse.  How is it possible for a person to murder someone then use that horrific murder to avoid facing the justice your actions demand?  Yes, you are a sick, pathetic, sadistic, loser but worst of all, you are a coward.  The shame I feel for you and because of you is beyond words.  You are no longer my father and more important, I am no longer your son."
 
I felt tears well up in my eyes, and a lump start to swell in my throat. I tried to swallow, but the lump continued to grow. I had so much more I wanted to say to him, but I couldn't speak. My heart pounded like a sledgehammer in my chest. My stomach was on fire, and I felt lightheaded. I suddenly realized I was sobbing uncontrollably. I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder, and I turned to see the beautiful, sweet face of Alicia’s grandmother. She put her arms around me and whispered into my ear, "I am so proud of you James. I know Alicia is proud of you too."
 
After handing me a handkerchief, she looped her tiny arm through mine and gently guided me toward the back of the room. As we passed the first row, I felt a hand pat me on the shoulder. As we moved further down the aisle, people continued to stand and pat me on the shoulder. Suddenly, Sharon MacDonald stepped in front of me. With tears streaming down both our faces, she smiled, put her arms around my neck, and gave me a hug. "James, you are the bravest person I have ever met. I don't blame you for what your father did and I don't think anyone else does either."
 
Hearing her words lifted the weight of the world off my shoulders. I rested my head on her shoulder and began to sob. Somewhere in the background, I could hear Judge Simmons' gavel banging as he tried to bring order back to the court.  However, everyone in the room was once again too busy crying to pay any attention.


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 33
James Asks Mac for Help

By Sasha












Knowing a crowd of reporters, television cameras, and spectators awaited me outside on the steps of the courthouse, filled me with dread. Mac sensed my apprehension.  "Follow me, James; I know a back way out of the courthouse." 

 
Mr. Hurley nodded. "You guys go ahead. I'll speak to the reporters." He gave me a hug and before walking away said, "I am proud of you, James. I don't know many people who would have walked into a lion's den and been able to come out of it still in one piece." 

 
I knew Mr. Hurley meant well, but I didn't feel like a winner. Despite finally saying publicly what I needed to say, the peace I had hoped for eluded me. Even knowing the prosecutor was about to announce Dad would be charged with the kidnapping and murder of Alicia, I still didn't feel justice had been served. My heart ached for all the victims of the Belltown Murderer. I was pleased the police had been able to identify the victims of Dad’s heinous crimes. However, I knew I would never be able to rest until all the bodies were found at the cabin.  
 “Mac, is Snohomish County still looking for the bodies of the three Alfina’s, the three babies, and Dad’s father?”

“James, they haven’t been able to find anything.  The property covers a large area.  It could take months of searching and even then, there is no guarantee they will find anything.”

“Mac, that is not acceptable.  Two young girls were kidnapped.  The families had to make a police report.  There has to be something to go on. Where were they camped when their daughter went missing?  The journal tells us the day of the first abduction was June 6, 1935 and the second abduction was on August 15, 1940.  It also states that both were taken in Bellingham.

Mac and I walked in silence. My head was reeled trying to imagine where to start. I knew no one expected me to have the answer, but I felt a painful, self-imposed need to find a way of discovering who and where they were.
 
 
Mac finally broke the silence. "You want to get a cup of coffee before going back to the hotel? You look like you need a shoulder to lean on."

“No, Mac, I don’t need a shoulder, I need a cop with the desire to find the young girls that were taken from their families.  Don’t you think the families have a right to know what happened?”
 
“James, I am certain the parents deceased.  What point would it serve to pursue this after so much time has passed?”
 
“If your sister, cousin, or niece had disappeared, wouldn’t you want to know what happened to them? Wouldn’t you want to give them a proper burial?”
Mac shook his head. “You’re not going to quit until they are found, are you?”

“No, Mac, I am not.”
 
We walked a while in silence.  Finally Mac spoke.  “How about that cup of coffee and maybe some lunch before we formulate a plan to find your Dad’s father, the three Alfinas and the babies.” 



* * * * * * * * *



Before getting out of the car, Mac reached over and patted me on the shoulder. "I'll do what I can, but I can't make any promises."

I had no idea what Mac could do.  Without the bodies, I knew I would never sleep again.  All my life everything came easy for me.  I always had the answer to all the hard questions.  Now, facing the prospect of failure terrified me.

I forced myself to concentrate on what was awaiting me in the hotel room. My gut told me I was not going to be welcomed with open arms. No one, not even Uncle Terry, wanted me to go to the sentencing. I had no doubt they watched it all on television. I walked up to the elevator, pressed the button, and took a deep breath before stepping inside. I received small comfort being the only one on the elevator. I chuckled to myself. Even if it were packed, I was sure I would still feel completely alone.

I swiped the card through the slot, waited for the green light to flash, and then opened the door. Aunt Em, Uncle Terry, and Charlie sat on the couch as though expecting me. Their faces were void of any expression whatsoever. Feeling as though I was facing a firing squad, I sat on the chair across from them impatiently waiting for someone to pull the trigger. After several long minutes of painful silence, I finally spoke. "Okay, spit it out. After this morning, I'm pretty sure I can take just about anything."

Uncle Terry stared at me a moment before saying, "James, I am proud of you."

I know he meant well, but the words stung like a slap on the face. What had I done to warrant such praise? The word proud' seemed so inappropriate. Not knowing what to say, I forced a smile of acknowledgment.

Charlie continued to stare at me as tears welled up in his eyes. He leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and rested his chin in his cupped hands. "I have tried to convince myself this whole thing was just a terrible nightmare and any moment I would wake up. We'd all be waiting for Dad to come home from work. Mom would be in the kitchen fixing dinner, Susan would be boring me to death telling me how much she loved Billy, and you would be pissing me off again bragging about how you just aced another exam."

Charlie paused to wipe the tears from his face. "Funny, isn't it? You never appreciate what you have until it is gone." Charlie paused again. "And, it is gone, isn't it, James?"
I got up, walked over to Charlie, and put my arms around him. Still crying, Charlie hugged me back. I wanted to cry too, but I knew I had to be the strong one. The job of holding the family together had fallen onto my shoulders. It was a job I didn't want, and one I wasn't at all prepared for.

To my surprise, the prosecutor did not announce the new indictment and only commented on Dad’s conviction.
 Aunt Em, who had remained silent until now, stood up and said, "James, what's next?"

When I didn't immediately respond, she asked again, "You guys can't stay in this hotel forever. We can move into the rental until Martha and Susan are better.   Then we need to figure out what to do. Terry and I want you to consider staying with us for a while in Miami. God knows you need to get away from this mess. You need time to relax and sort everything out."

I nodded. "I agree. We have a conference with Susan's doctor tomorrow to discuss her release from the hospital.  That will be an appropriate time to talk about what we should do next."

To my surprise, Charlie agreed. "My only concern is Mom. She isn't doing much better and I doubt taking her to Miami would be a good idea at this time. James, you can talk to Dr. Martin, but I'm sure he will want her to stay here longer."

Aunt Em and Uncle Terry nodded.

"I think it would be best if both Charlie and Susan spend some time with you, away from all this. I will stay here with Mom."

Uncle Terry looked at me suspiciously. "James, what are you not telling us?"

Charlie stared at me a moment and then added, "You are still playing cops and robbers, aren't you?"

I sighed in frustration. My promise not to keep anything from them stuck in my throat. "Listen, this isn't over yet. I know you don't approve, but I have something I need to do before I can finally close the book on this."

Uncle Terry shook his head. "James, you are going to make yourself sick. What is it that's so important? Why can't you just let this go?"

The knot in my stomach tightened, sending a sharp pain up into my chest.  I knew Uncle Terry was right, but the ache in my heart prevented me from listening to him.

"There’re still victims unaccounted for.  Where is Dad’s dad? Is he still alive? Where are the bodies of the young girls he abducted?  Where are their babies buried?

How can I possibly walk away from that?"

Obviously frustrated, Uncle Terry placed both hands on my shoulders. "James, let the police handle it. It's their job, not yours."

The sound of the phone startled me. 


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 33
James In Charge

By Sasha

The tension in the room was so thick it left little room for air, I was surprised we could still breathe. Mac and Mr. Hurley sat in silence staring at the floor. I had no idea what they were thinking about but common sense told me they were still trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. However, knowing so many pieces were still missing, I found it a waste of time playing silly guessing games. Facts were all that mattered to me. Until I knew what was in Aunt Louise's letter, if Grandpa died of natural causes, and most important, the identity of the three skeletons, it was pointless to focus on anything other than what I already knew.

Triggered by an unfamiliar flash of emotion, my mind drifted into a different direction. Confirmed by Mom and then Grandpa's letter, it seemed more than likely Aunt Louise was my Grandmother. With nothing to go on, no birth certificate, marriage certificate, school records, not even a death certificate, I wondered if we would ever know the true identity of the woman I had always assumed was Grandma. DNA would determine Aunt Louise's relationship to Dad, her connection, if any to Grandma, and determine if the infant was in fact Grandpa's and Aunt Louise's. But knowing the question of who Grandma was could possibly remain a mystery forever sent waves of sadness through my entire body.

A strange and unexpected anger came over me as I thought about the woman who had never been anything more than a word to me, a woman who, in reality, wasn't even related to me. Tossed away like a piece of garbage, as far as I could tell, no one knew her, came looking for her, and except possibly Aunt Louise, grieved for her. At that moment, I decided she would always be Grandma and Aunt Louise would continue to be Aunt Louise.

Feeling Mr. Hurley's hand on my shoulder startled me. "James, you're crying. What's wrong?"

Embarrassed, I wiped the tears from my face with my shirtsleeve, and feeling an uncontrollable rage building inside me, I slammed my fists onto the desk and yelled, "This is all just so damn wrong!"

Mac tried to comfort me. "I know it is hard to wait, but we have to follow proper
police procedure..."

"No, Mac, that's not what's upsetting me. How is it possible that one man can cause so much pain?"

"James, I understand. Your father..."

"I'm talking about Grandpa, not Dad. How could he spend so many years on that shitty little piece of property and no one notice anything strange about him?"

As soon as I spoke the words, I realized the absurdity of what I had said. I laughed and then shook my head. "Mac, you told me everyone gave him a wide berth because they thought he was a strange and scary guy.  That's how he kept people away."

I paused to catch my breath. "He was obviously a smart guy, too. He certainly wasn't the illiterate bumpkin we thought he was. But where did he come from? Where did he grow up? Who were his parents? Who was Grandma? Where the hell did she come from? She was someone's daughter, someone's friend; she didn't just magically appear one day."

Unable to keep up, Mac finally raised his hands and said, "Whoa, James, slow down. You're making me dizzy."

I ignored him and continued to follow my train of thought. "That's it, don't you see? She didn't just magically appear; think about it."

Mac shook is head. "Think about what, James?"

"It's in Grandpa's letter. He said, 'You weren't a collector like me'. What that meant Grandpa took his victims home?   What if Grandma was one of his victims? That would explain why no one knew her and why there was no record of her."

I could see the wheels turning inside Mac's head.

"We know Grandma died before Dad was born in 1966 and Aunt Louise was at least thirteen when he was born. This would mean that Grandma had to be with Grandpa at least thirteen years. There has to be a way of looking for young girls
missing between 1950 and 1953."

"For God's sake, James, that's a long time ago and we don't even know where to start. I'm not sure records go back that far in some cities."

"I don't care. It's worth a try. What the hell have you got to lose?"

"James, it's a long shot. Don't get your hopes up. Even if she was kidnapped, it is unlikely she has any family still alive. Even if we find a name, it is doubtful we can ever make a positive identification."

"Mac, we owe it to her to at least try."

Clearly knowing it was pointless to argue, Mac agreed.

My heart was racing again. I fought desperately to keep up with the thoughts popping up in my head like wild mushrooms after a rainstorm. I turned to face Mr. Hurley. "You said that Mom's conversation couldn't be used in court, but we have Grandpa's letter confirming most of what she said."

Mr. Hurley shook his head. "If your Dad did kill your grandfather and your aunt, I feel it is safe to assume he destroyed the list too, leaving us with nothing more than the ramblings of a lunatic."

Mac added,  "Even though we found the remains of three victims, and it is determined all three were murdered, it is doubtful we can prove your grandfather killed them. I also doubt there was a list. For all we know it never existed and was just a ruse to bait your dad."

I was getting frustrated. "Don't you see, it doesn't matter as long as Dad thinks there is a list?"

Mac sat forward and with 'I don't get it' written on his face, said, "You lost me on that one, James."

"Okay, I will try to speak in words less than three syllables."

Both Mac and Mr. Hurley laughed.

"Mr. Hurley, when I asked you why Dad told his attorney about his father's relationship with his sister, you said it was motivated by 'fear and arrogance."

Mr. Hurley nodded.

Feeling a little smug, I smiled and in a voice filled with a touch of my own arrogance said, "Dad never found the list. If he did, he would have destroyed it, leaving him with nothing to be afraid of. Maybe you're right, Mac, and the list doesn't exist. But tell the Whatcom County police to go back over every inch of the house and look for it even if they have to tear it apart board by board."

Mac started to speak but I interrupted. "How long do you think we have before they identify the skeletons and determine Grandpa's cause of death?"

I could tell Mac had no idea where I was going with this. He shrugged and said, "This is the biggest case in the State and it is receiving top priority. The FBI is fast tracking it so I can only presume we'll know something in less than a week.  They may be able to determine the cause of death but
I doubt they will ever identify your Grandmother."

"When is Dad scheduled to be sentenced for the Belltown Murders?"

Both Mac and Mr. Hurley sat up straight and unable to contain their curiosity any longer, spoke in unison. "Why?"

"Please, just answer the question."

Mr. Hurley responded with, "In four days, next Tuesday. Why?"

I ignored his question and turned to face Mac. "Are you certain that Snohomish is going to charge Dad with Mary Ellen's murder the same day?"

Mac nodded. "Yes, they are going to charge him immediately after the sentencing.

Clearly confused and frustrated, Mac raised his voice to get my attention. "Damn it, James, where the hell is all this going?"

Mr. Hurley added his two cents too, "Yeah, what's going on in that oversized brain of yours?"

I laughed. "Don't take this personally, but your little brain would explode if it tried to comprehend what's rattling around in mine."

Not giving either a chance to respond, I continued. "Is there any chance Snohomish County will find Mary Ellen's body before Whatcom County identifies the skeletons?"

Mac leaned back in his chair. "I wish I could say yes, but to be honest I think it is unlikely they will ever find her body. I don't believe she is buried on the property."

Mac paused a moment then added, "You're not going to tell us where this is going, are you?"

"No, not yet. I do have one last question. What are the chances of keeping Dad and his attorney in the dark about the letters or anything Whatcom County has found on Grandpa's property?"

Mac was quick to answer. "Actually, pretty good. This is the biggest case they've ever had and they are keeping a tight lid on it."

"Good, because I just may have figured out a way to get him to tell me where he buried Mary Ellen."

Mac looked at me in disbelief. "And, just how do you plan to accomplish that?"

I grinned at Mac and winked at Mr. Hurley. "Mr. Hurley gave me the answer. I think I can use Dad's fear to my advantage."

I could tell neither had the slightest idea of what I was talking about.

"Mr. Hurley, can you get me in to see Dad after Snohomish charges him with Mary Ellen's murder?"

"He'll have to be arraigned in Snohomish County, so you'll probably have to drive up there, and that is only if he agrees to see you."
 
I laughed.  "Work your magic, Mr. Hurley, I know you can do it."

I picked up my backpack, stood up, and walked toward the door.

Mac took hold of my arm then asked, "Where are you going?"

"

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.


Chapter 34
Very Busy Day

By Sasha







 I listened to Mac but found it hard to believe what he was telling me.  The Snohomish County Police finally found the gravesites.  It contained Alfina 1, Alfina 2, the three babies, and Dad’s Dad.  A second gravesite contained Alicia.

“What about Alfina 3?  Where is she?”

Mac paused before responding.

“Meet me after the conference with Susan’s doctor.  I have a lot to tell you and we need to talk in person, not on the phone.”

Confused, but unable to argue, I agreed to meet him at 3 o’clock at the restaurant.
 

* * * * * * * * *

 
Unable to sleep, I climbed out of bed and tiptoed over to the door. As I reached for the doorknob, I glanced over at Charlie's bed and realized it was empty. Apparently, he couldn't sleep either.
 
The living room was empty, but I could see Charlie's silhouette on the balcony. I poured myself a glass of milk and debated whether to join him or leave him alone with his thoughts. I took a sip of milk and stepped out onto the balcony. "Hi, kiddo, I guess you can't sleep either."
 
Charlie turned to look at me. In the moonlight, I could see his eyes were red and swollen. I sat beside him and waited for him to speak first.
 
"James, sometimes I wonder if I will ever get a decent night's sleep again."

Charlie sighed, leaned forward, and with his elbows resting on his thighs said, "Why do I still love him? I desperately want to hate him but I can't. God knows I hate what he did, but I cannot forget he is still my father. I wish I could be like you. Does hating him make this more bearable?"
 
It broke my heart to see the sadness and confusion on Charlie's face. I wanted to say something profound, something that would lift the painful burden he was carrying. But we were two different people, each searching for our own way to survive this. I reached over and placed my hand on Charlie's shoulder.

"There is no right or wrong way to feel. Yes, I admit I hate him, but that doesn't take away the pain he has caused. All I can tell you is hatred is not the answer. For me, I pray for the day when I can say I feel nothing."
 
Charlie sighed. "I feel as though the world hates us. People still blame us for not knowing what he was. Sometimes I get so angry I want to scream. Yet other times, all I can do is cry. I miss my friends. I miss my life."

Charlie wiped the tears from his eyes. "James, I am terrified I am going to feel like this forever. Please tell me we will get through this."

Ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks again, Charlie looked at me with eyes pleading for an answer.
 
"Charlie, we will get through this. However, it is going to take time, and we have to do it as a family. The best thing you and Susan can do is get away from here. Go to Miami with Uncle Terry and Aunt Em."
 
Charlie nodded. We sat silently staring at the beautiful skyline. I had no idea what Charlie was thinking, but I wondered, is there anyone out there in the vast darkness of this city that understands the hell we are going through? Does anyone even care?
 
Charlie abruptly changed the subject.

"What have you and Mac cooked up? That was him on the phone wasn't it?"
 
I didn't feel comfortable telling Charlie the details of what the police found. "After the meeting in the morning with Dr. Perez and Susan, Mac and I are getting together to talk."


Charlie chuckled. "James, you didn't answer my question."
 
"I'll tell you more after Mac and I talk. Right now, I honestly don't know what's going to happen."
 

 
* * *
 

 
Marilyn greeted us at the front desk. Although we were a few minutes early, she quickly ushered us into the large conference room at the end of the hall. After she left the room, the silence was awkward. During breakfast, we avoided talking about Susan, the case, or Mom, focusing instead on mundane subjects such as the weather and taking another one-day ferry trip to Victoria. Although no one said anything, it felt as though talking about Susan was suddenly taboo.
 
The door opened, and Susan walked in with a big smile on her face. Before today, I hadn't given it much thought, but I was suddenly struck with awe at how pretty she looked. Her sky blue eyes sparkled, and her thick, long blonde hair bounced with each step as she rushed across the room. Wearing a pink blouse with ruffles down the front, and what appeared to be a new pair of blue jeans, Susan looked much younger than her sixteen years. Obviously excited over her impending release, she hugged all of us enthusiastically. The joy she projected was infectious. It felt good to see her so happy.
 

When Dr. Perez, Marilyn, and Dr. Martin entered the room, we all quickly sat down. Dr. Martin sat at the head of the table with Marilyn on one side and Dr. Perez on the other. Susan sat beside Marilyn. She continued to smile but I couldn't help noticing she was holding Marilyn's hand in a viselike grip.
 
Dr. Martin cleared his throat before speaking. "You are all aware that Dr. Holden was originally Susan's attending physician assigned to oversee her treatment here. However, because your mother and Susan's cases overlap, we felt it best I take over. Dr. Perez, Marilyn, and I have discussed Susan's progress at considerable length, and we feel she has made significant progress."
 
Susan smiled and giggled much like a child receiving a good conduct award. Dr. Martin spent a few minutes discussing the importance of Susan continuing to take her prescribed antidepressants.  He emphasized her need to participate in outpatient therapy at least twice a week, and encouraged her to verbalize any frustrations of the difficulties she may experience. Looking directly at Susan, Dr. Martin said, "You have made remarkable progress in the month you've been with us. But I caution you to be aware that once you leave the security of the hospital, the outside world will present many challenging situations."
 

Susan nodded. "Yes, I know that. I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared. But this is something Marilyn and I have talked about at great length, and we both think I am ready."
 

Marilyn smiled and gave Susan an affectionate hug. Looking around the room, Dr. Martin asked, "Do any of you have any questions or concerns you want to talk about?"
 

I glanced at Uncle Terry and Aunt Em. I knew they had questions and was surprised they chose to remain silent. I definitely had concerns, but not sure where to begin, I waited a few seconds before speaking.
 
"I don't want to be the one to burst anyone's bubble, but I feel it is necessary to ask Susan how much she knows about Mom's hospitalization and if she is aware of the events at the court yesterday."
All eyes suddenly focused on Susan. She shifted in her chair, leaned forward, and placed both hands on the table. "James, I think I know as much as everyone here does about Mom and Dad."
 

Susan sounded defensive, and I made a point to allow her continue speaking without interrupting her.
 

"I know a body was found at the cabin. I also know that Mom is having difficulty dealing with what Dad did and is in the hospital at Harborview.” 

 
Tears streamed down Susan's face. Had my questions opened a wound she might not be ready to talk about?I knew this was difficult, but I also knew once Susan left the hospital, it was important she know what to expect. Pretending nothing happened and hiding the truth from her would be impossible. If she was going to have a hard time with the truth, I had to know now and so did everyone else.
 
Susan wiped the tears from her face. "I know Dad will spend the rest of his life in prison. I also know he has been charged with another murder and this time he could get the death penalty."
 
Susan paused briefly to regain her composure. "Am I able to handle this? All I can say is I don't have much of a choice, do I? I will not pretend it isn't hard, nor will I pretend this doesn't make me both angry and sad. However, staying here isn't the answer. I don't want any of you to think you have to talk in whispers around me. The worst thing you can do is to treat me like a child. If something is bothering me, I promise to tell you. I will take my medication and continue outpatient therapy with Dr. Martin."
 

Susan leaned back in her chair. "I honestly don't know what else I can say to reassure you that I am ready to be released."
 
I smiled at Susan. "That's good enough for me."
 

However, in the back of my mind I felt a nagging itch. I wondered how Susan would feel about learning what Dad’s dad did, and the grave the police found. Although not sure I was making the right choice, I decided not to bring up the subject.
 

The meeting ended with Uncle Terry and Aunt Em asking about the possibility of taking Charlie and Susan back to Miami with them.  Both Dr. Perez and Dr. Martin agreed a change of scenery would be good but advised that it would be best to wait a few weeks to see how well Susan adjusted to the pressures of the outside world.
 

To my surprise, no one asked Dr. Martin about Mom.  I made a mental note to schedule an appointment with him to discuss Mom's progress.  I glanced at my watch.  I was relieved to see I still had an hour before my meeting with Mac.

* * * * * * * * *
 
I arrived early at the restaurant, and to my surprise Mac was already there, but not alone.  Sitting across from him was Alicia’s grandmother.  When he saw me, Mac stood up and said, “I know you’ve met Angela, Alicia’s mother.  I hope you don’t mind, but I asked her to join us.”

Angela stood and gave me a warm hug.  “Hello, James, it is so delightful to see you again.”

I wanted to ask why she was there, but words totally failed me. 

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 35
Alfina 3

By Sasha








I stood frozen a moment, not sure which side of the booth to sit on.  Mac tapped the seat beside him and solved my dilemma.

With Angela, Alicia’s grandmother sitting across from me, I felt painfully uncomfortable.  Why is she here?

Seeing my nervous behavior, she spoke first.  “I’m sure you are wondering why I’m here.  Mac is the one who told me you found Alicia.”

She paused, took a sip of water, and then continued.  “I knew she was dead for a long time.  However, hearing the words did not bring the closure I anticipated.  The hatred I felt for your father is beyond my ability to describe.  Yet, when I saw you in court, I realize the extent of his cruelty had reached so much further than I could imagine.  When Mac came to me and asked for a favor, I was happy and eager to assist.
 
“You must know Mac thinks quite highly of you.  He describes you as a strong, intelligent, determined young man with an amazing sense of right and wrong.  He also told me how your father’s heinous behavior has nearly torn your family apart.  Susan’s attempted suicide, your mother’s hospitalization, and Charlie’s anger problems.  James, tell me, how do you cope with all this? How do you keep your sanity?”

I had no idea where all this was leading and my patience was wearing thin.  What favor was she talking about?  Why did Mac ask her here?  If one of them didn’t explain soon, I would certainly explode.
 
Mac finally spoke.  “As you know we found your grandfather…”

“Don’t call him my grandfather!”
 
“Okay, James, calm down.  We found your dad’s father, what appears to be Alfina 1, Alfina 2, and three infants. We obviously have to wait for the autopsy and forensics to confirm your dad’s father’s identity.  However, we can say it appears he died from blunt force trauma to the head.”

“Mac, I don’t want to be rude, or offend anyone.  Why is Alicia’s grandmother here?  What does she have to do with any of this?”
 
“James, I have to tell you this in my way.  You will just have to be patient.  We have been able to locate two missing person reports.  One made in 1935 and the other in 1940.  Both were young girls taken in the middle of the night while on a camping trip with their family in Bellingham.  We are currently trying to find living members of the families to obtain DNA for comparison.  I’m going to be honest, James, with the amount of time that has passed, finding members of either child’s family is not going to be easy.”

Mac glanced at Alicia’s grandmother who had remained perfectly silent while Mac spoke.  She sat with her elbows on the table and her chin resting on her clasps hands.  She ignored the tears streaming down her cheeks as Mac continued to speak.

“Yesterday a woman walked into the Snohomish County Police Station.  She was an old, poorly dressed, badly beaten woman.  She confessed to killing your father’s dad.  She showed the police where she buried the body.  Then she told the most unbelievable story about being severely beaten when she was a little girl and forced to have two babies.  She told the police that a man she called Adain beat her again and she hit him with a piece of wood and killed him.  The police are having a difficult time figuring out who the woman is.  The only name she gave them was Alfina.  She barely speaks English, just enough to get by.

 “She must have been out in the woods for months hiding and living off the land.  Exhaustion and starvation are the only reason she turned herself in. James, I think she’s your father’s mother.”
 
Angela took hold of my hand.  “James, this woman has been through hell.  She has never been to school, never associated with anyone other than your dad and his father and can barely speak English.  You’re the only one we know that can communicate with her.  She needs your help.”
 
Mac interrupted again, “The Snohomish Police wants to put her in jail.  I’ve contacted Mr. Hurley and he is working on getting her released to Angela’s custody while we try to get the mess sorted out.”
 
My head was spinning so fast I thought I was going to pass out.  This was just too much to absorb.  I honestly didn’t know if I could meet my father’s mother.  She was part of a world I didn’t want anything to do with.
 
I buried my face into my hands and began to cry.  Mac patted me on the back and Angela gently stroked my head.
 
Dear God tell me what to do.  Please tell me what to do!


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 36
James Meets his Grandmother

By Sasha








Angela did her best to comfort me.  “James, you can’t blame her.  She’s as much a victim as the others.”

Betty gave Mac a harsh verbal lashing followed by a well-placed swat to the head with a wet towel.  “Damn it, Mac, I warned you to be nice to this kid.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I couldn’t help but burst into laughter hearing Mac exclaim in an extremely loud voice, “Ouch!  That really hurt.”

Betty grinned, ruffled his hair, and said, “Good, you deserved it.”

Betty then handed me a dry, clean towel to wipe the tears from my face.

She returned a few minutes later with a large glass of milk.  “No coffee for you.  You have enough on your mind without your ulcer throwing a temper tantrum.”
 
I pushed the glass aside, sat back, and closed my eyes.  Thinking about Alfina as a frightened little girl at the mercy of Dad and his dad made me sick to my stomach.  I couldn’t begin to imagine what she must have gone through.  I felt tears welling up in my eyes again.  Ignoring them, I turned to Mac and asked, “Do you think Mr. Hurley will be able to get Alfina released?”
 
Mac smiled.  “Yes, if anyone can, it’s Mr. Hurley.”

Angela, remained silent, but her smile told me she knew I would meet with Alfina.

 
* * * * * * * * *

 
As if by magic, Mac’s phone rang.  It was Mr. Hurley.  After speaking for a few minutes, he hung up the phone and signaled Betty for the check.
 
“Mr. Hurley just checked Alfina into Harborview Medical Center for a complete physical.  James, are you ready to meet your grandmother?”

Unable to speak, I feigned a smile and nodded.

Angela, Mac and I drove to the hospital in complete silence.  We met Mr. Hurley in the lobby.

Angela could tell how nervous I was and kept telling me, “James, you are doing the right thing.  She needs you now.  You are the only person that can communicate with her.  Can you imagine how frightened and confused she must be?”

Mac immediately asked Mr. Hurley, “Did you have much trouble getting Snohomish to release her into your custody?”

“No.  Once I confirmed her story about being held captive, the DA declined to press charges.  They will need her for the court case, which makes James our only means of talking to her.”
 
Mr. Hurley walked over to me and placed his hands on my shoulders.  “I know how hard this must be for you, but we need your help.  Alfina is terrified and doesn’t understand what is happening.  We need you to talk to her and get as much information you can about what she remembers.  Can you do that?”
 
Knowing I had no choice, I said, “Yes.”

Mr. Hurley went on to say, “She’s in pretty poor shape.  Forensics is with Alfina right now.  They are collecting whatever evidence she may have on her.  She is so frightened she has had to be restrained.  This is only adding to her fear.”
 
Dad’s father died or disappeared five years ago.  Where has Alfina been hiding all that time?  It is possible she stayed in the cabin for a while but must have moved out when Dad started using it.  Every question I came up with brought another.  Mr. Hurley and Mac were right.  I had to talk with Alfina directly to get the answers we needed.

 
* * * * * * * * *
 
 
Mac, Mr. Hurley, Angela, and I stood outside Alfina’s room.  We waited until the forensics crew was finished collecting evidence.  The nurse came out and told us we could go in.  I looked at Mac and asked him to let me go in alone.  He agreed.
 
My heart pounded as I entered the room.  The thin, frail woman lying in bed had long fire red hair in desperate need of washing.  She stared at me with eyes filled with terror.  Her arms and legs were strapped to the bed, preventing her from moving.  I turned and asked the nurse for two bowls of warm water, two washcloths and some soap.  She left the room and returned immediately with the items.  She placed them on the table beside the bed.

After a few seconds, Alfina stopped shaking and in a soft voice said in Romani, “Cine esti tu?

I smiled, and in Rumanian said, “I’m James, your grandson.”

Her bottom lip quivered and tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Am un nepot?"

“Yes, you are a grandmother.  You have two grandsons and a granddaughter.”

I picked up the washcloth, dipped in the warm water, lathered it with the bar of soap and began to wash the dirt from her face. I dipped the other cloth into the second bowl of water and gently rinsed off the soap.
 
In Romani, I began to talk to her.  “You are not in any trouble.  No one is going to arrest you.  You will not be punished for what you did.  We just need to know what happened.  Would you be willing to answer a few questions?”


“Da.”
 
“First, would you like me to have them remove the straps on your arms and legs?”
 
Again, Alfina said, “Da.”

“Would you like something to drink?”

She smiled and said, “Da.”
 
I asked the nurse for a glass of water.
 
I couldn’t believe how frail she was. I could tell she had numerous healed broken bones, scars, and several injuries that looked like they had been caused by a knife.  Her arms and legs were like thin sticks.   There was no muscle.  I continued to wash her arms and legs, all the while, terrified I might break them.  Speaking in Romani, she told me Adain, always called Dark, my dad’s father, was a cruel and spiteful man.  He beat her every day.  She was often punished by not being allowed to eat for as many as three days.  It was her job to chop wood, sew clothing from scraps of material Dark brought home, cook and wash clothes.  She told me about Dad.  He was beaten every day and taught to kill animals for food.  He was forbidden to show any affection for Alfina.
 
At this point, Alfina paused. Tears welled up in her eyes and she turned to face the wall.  “You see, I am your father’s sister too.  All his life he thought I was his sister because that what Dark tell him.  Tears still streaming down her cheeks, she went on to say, “Yes, I be his sister, but I also be his mother.  I love him as a mother.  I made the mistake of telling him the truth, and your father never forgave me. Dark was so angry he nearly beat me to death.  Your father never spoke to me again.  When you father leave, Dark blame me.”
 
I could tell she was getting tired and needed to rest.
 
When I told her I had to leave, she asked if I was coming back.  I smiled and said, “Da.”

I paused before leaving.  I had one more question. "Would it be alright if I called you grandmother?"

Alfina smiled and with tears in her eyes said, "Da!"




Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy.
Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns Jamess life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 37
Getting to Know Grandmother

By Sasha






After leaving Alfina’s room, Mac, Angela, Mr. Hurley and I walked slowly and silently down the hall toward the nurses’ station.  I introduced myself as Alfina’s grandson and asked to speak with her doctor.  A few minutes later, a Young man, not much older than me, introduced himself.  “Hello, I am Doctor Smyth, Alfina’s doctor.”

I immediately began firing questions at him like an angry Gatling gun. “How much experience have you had? Are you qualified to treat my grandmother? What is her current medical condition?”

Mack interrupted.  “James, give the doctor a break.  I am sure he is more than qualified, and if you give him a chance to speak, he will be a happy to answer all your questions."

Dr. Smyth smiled and said, “Your grandmother was brought in with multiple medical issues.  Her inability to speak much English has hindered our progress significantly.  That aside, x-rays show multiple broken bones that over time have healed without medical attention. She is blind in her right eye most likely from a severe blow from a fist or heavy object.  Her left foot has been repeatedly placed in what I believe to be a vise.  She will always require a cane to be able to walk.  She has permanent scars around her ankles and wrists indicating long-term restraint.  Most likely they are from a chain. When she arrived, her blood pressure was dangerously high and she suffers from malnutrition and long-term exposure.  My greatest concern is the terror she exhibits.  Unless this is addressed, I can almost guarantee she is a candidate for a stroke.

“The good news is she has a strong heart.  We plan to run a full series of tests to get a better picture of her health.  This, I am sorry to say, will not be cheap.”

I immediately informed the doctor that money was not an issue.  “Just send the bill to me.”

Mac laughed.  “I bet you've wanted to say that your whole life.”

Without answering, I turned to speak to Mr. Hurley.  “Can you contact Dr. Williams and schedule a family meeting? I think it would be best if he is there when we tell Mom, Susan and Charlie about Grandmother.”

Mr. Hurley nodded.  He then looked at Dr. Williams.  "James speaks Romani and can translate for you when necessary.”

Suddenly, a loud scream came from Grandmother’s room.  I ran down the hall and found her on the floor crying.  “Grandmother, what happened?”

”They want to put me in that chair.”

“Grandmother, it is called a wheelchair.  It will help you get around so you won’t have to walk on your injured foot.”

I helped her into the chair.  I told Angela, Mac and Mr. Hurley that it was probably best if I stayed with Grandmother until she felt less confused.  They all agreed.
* * * * * * * * * *

 
Everything frightened grandmother.  The catscan, even the scale frightened her.  When the nurse tried to use the stethoscope to listen to her heart and lungs she refused to cooperate.  My ability to speak Romani was severely challenged and limited to standard conversations.  My pronunciation was not the best and occasionally grandmother would smile and correct me.

The entire afternoon was spent taking grandmother from one test to another.  By the time we were finished we both were exhausted.  I knew Mac and Mr. Hurley wanted me to question her about Dad and his father, but I had to wait until after dinner to find the time to talk.

At first she was the one with all the questions.  She wanted to know about Charlie and Susan, what I was studying in school and what type of woman Dad married.  It took a while before she asked about Dad.  I dreaded the question but felt honesty was the only way to go.  When I told her he had been arrested for murdering twelve women and sentenced to life in prison, she didn’t react the way I had expected.

”Dark be a cruel man.  He taught Alexandru to kill small animals when he still be a child.  When you raise a child to be cruel, why be surprised he grow up and go after bigger game?”

I was unprepared for grandmother’s calm response to learning her son was a murderer.  I stopped asking her about Dad and focused on his father.

“Do you remember anything about Dark?”

"Da.”

“What do you remember?”

”He be a mean man.  He treat me like an animal.  I sleep in the shed with a heavy chain around my neck.   Sometimes he forget to give me a blanket.  He beat me if I speak to Alexandru.”

“I am so sorry you had to go through that.”



The question I dreaded asking still had to be asked.

“What happened the day Dark died?”

Switching back and forth from English to Romani, Grandmother answered.

“We have terrible fight.  I pick up a large piece of wood and hit him in the head.  When I see he be dead, I plant him where all the others be planted."

But that was almost five years ago.  How did you survive?”

Grandmother smiled.  “Dark taught me well.  I stay in cabin after Dark be dead.  When Alexandru come back, I hide in cave near the river.  I live off the land. I catch fish, eat wild berries and fruit, and after I sure Alexandru no come back, I move back into the cabin. Then I move back to the cave when you and the police come to the cabin.”
I had one more question.

“Why did you go to the police?”

“There be no food to eat and I afeard of dying.”
 
“Grandmother I think it is time you get some sleep.  Don’t worry; I will stay here with you all night.”

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.

Evil Eddie doesn't like Romanian so just ignore the funny symbles...... As in the previous chapter, I am not translating the Romanian and hope James's responses are enough to convey what grandmother is saying.


Chapter 38
Dad's Secret

By Sasha












 
Unable to sleep, I lay awake all night in the chair beside Grandmother’s bed.  Even asleep, the sounds of car horns honking, doors opening and shutting, phones ringing and nurses talking in the hallway frightened Grandmother.  Every unfamiliar sound woke her with a startled response. It was difficult for me to imagine a life living entirely alone.  Never seeing a kind face, hearing a kind word, working from sun up to sun down and forced to eat God knows what.  Behind the cabin, there was an old, filthy outhouse that smelled so foul it made me gag.  There was no running water in the cabin.  All washing and bathing were done in the river that was freezing no matter what time of year it was. Even sleeping in a bed was a new experience for Grandmother.

Looking at the woman lying in the bed next to me, it was hard to believe she was seventy-one years old. Grandmother was born on August 15, 1940 but looked like she was in her middle nineties. She spent her entire life hidden from the world. It seems her only purpose in life was to give Dark a son.  Once she fulfilled her duty, he had no use for her.  I knew we would never know how old Dark was, but he had to be at least 20 years older than Grandmother, which would make him in his early nineties. 
I suddenly realized Grandmother was awake and looking at me.

“James, go home and get some sleep.  You no need to stay here with me.”

“I am fine, Grandmother.  Don’t worry about me.  Besides, you’re not getting much sleep yourself.”

I paused before asking, “Why are you speaking in English and not Romani?”

Grandmother smiled.  “Not many here speak Romani. I need to practice my English.”

“If Dark only spoke Romani and you never went to school, how did you learn English?”

“Alexandu learn English when he go to school.  He and Dark argue all the time about Alexandu no speaking English at home. He was a strong boy and he refused to listen to Dark.  Dark get very angry when he hear Alexandu speak English to me.  It make him mad and he punish me.  But Alexandu no care.  He keep talking to me in English.”

“Grandmother, your English is very good. My Romani isn’t very good.  My pronunciation is terrible.”

“No, James, you speak it good.”  Grandmother started to laugh.  “Okay, maybe not so good but still I understand.” 

We both laughed.

“Grandmother, I notice you are nervous here.  I know you are seeing and hearing things that must seem terribly strange.  Seattle is a big city, not like the small farm where you lived.  There are many things that will seem strange to you.  It will take time for you to get used to everything.  But I will help you.”

Grandmother looked at me curiously. She shook her head and said, “Why I no go back and live in the cabin?  It always be my home.”

I didn’t know what to say.  Her request caught me off guard. I thought about it for a moment and then reminded her,” You must know why the police are searching the cabin and the land around it.”
 
Grandmother nodded. 

“Dark did some terrible things and they are looking for more bodies.  Alexandru did some terrible things too, and they are looking for evidence of what he may have done.”
 
“I know Alexandru hurt that girl, the one you call Alicia.  He no know I be there.  I see him hurt her.”
 
This was something Mac needed to know right away.  It is one thing to find Alicia’s bones but to have a witness to her murder is a major breakthrough.  I wondered if Dad’s attorney would try to discredit Grandmother by convincing the court she was crazy.  I quickly put that thought aside.  I knew Mr. Hurley would know what to do.
 
“What did Dad do after he hurt Alicia?”

"He dig a hole near the rose garden and put her into it.  I remembered Dark planting Alfina 2 and her baby.  When Alexandru plant that young girl, I feel the same sadness.  I wait a long time after Dark die and plant a wild purple rhododendron to remember Alfina 2 and her baby.  I plant a yellow rose bush to remember Alicia.  I think they would have liked that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I am sure they were very pleased you did that for them.”

The thought of Grandmother living at the cabin made me sick to my stomach.  I know it was the only place she ever called home, but somehow, I knew I would have to convince her that living with us was a much better idea.  I also knew Mom, Susan, and Charlie would have to agree but I didn’t think that would be a problem once they met Grandmother.
 
I looked over at Grandmother and she was sound asleep.  I still wasn’t tired.  My mind was racing.  I still had so much to do.  I needed to talk with Mac and Mr. Hurley.  I wanted to talk to Grandmother’s doctor about the results of the tests.  I wanted to visit with Mom, and Friday, Susan was coming home and I wanted to be there when she arrived.  Aunt Em and Uncle Terry were busy moving everything into the rental house.  Just thinking about everything I had to do made me sleepy.  I closed my eyes and fell fast asleep.

* * * * * * * * *

I woke to the sound of Grandmother screaming my name.  “James, help me!”

There were several nurses and an equal number of aides surrounding the bed, trying to get Grandmother to sit up.  I immediately pushed my way through the crowd and discovered they were trying to change her sheets and yelled, “Everyone back away!”

I took hold of Grandmother’s hand and tried to explain what they were doing.  She interrupted and said, “No, they want to wash my hair too.  No one allowed to wash my hair.”
 
Pointing to the large sink in the corner, she said, “That not Gypsy way.  No use water from container that be tainted.  I see them wash their hands there.  I no use that water.  It be marime’!!”
Most Gypsy society relies heavily on distinctions between behavior that is pure, vujo, or wuzho, and polluted, or marime'. Marime' has a duel meaning to the Gypsy. It refers both to a state of pollution or defilement as well as to the sentence of expulsion imposed for violation of purity rules or any behavior disruptive to the Gypsy community. Pollution and rejection are thus closely associated with one another. Gypsies define themselves in part by their adherence to these cleanliness rituals.
Many of the traditional laws of hygiene deal with water. For example, Gypsies must wash only in running water. A shower would be acceptable, but a bath would not be, for the person would be sitting or lying in dirty stagnant water. Dishes cannot be rinsed in the same sink or basin that is used for washing personal clothing. The kitchen sink is used only for washing one's dishes and therefore, cannot be used for washing one's hands.


I looked at her hair and agreed it needed to be washed.  Washing it in the sink was out of the question.   I suggested she get a haircut.  Grandmother tipped her head to the side then back again.  “Yes, cut it off.  Cut it all off.”


One of the aides left the room and returned with a pair of scissors. They cut it very short and after several minutes of convincing, I was able to talk Grandmother into letting them wash her hair in the shower.  She agreed.  After looking at herself in the mirror, she smiled.  She didn’t say anything, but I knew she liked how she looked.


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 39
Grandmother Meets Angela

By Sasha









I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for Angela to meet Grandmother, considering the reason for their connection.  However, Angela was insistent, and I knew there was nothing I could say to change her mind.

In just a few days, Grandmother had improved significantly.  Noise frightened her less.  She was sleeping much better, and her English was improving daily.  She loved her new haircut and continually looked at herself in the mirror, always smiling.

It was almost 9:00 and I impatiently waited for Dr. Smith to do his morning rounds.  I wanted to know the results of the multitude of tests they had done on Grandmother.  I was surprised to see Angela enter the room.  I wasn’t expecting her until 10:00.  I hadn’t had a chance to tell Grandmother she was going to have a visitor.

Not sure where to start or what to say, I simply blurted out, “Grandmother, I would like you to meet a dear friend of mine.  Her name is Angela.”

I stepped back giving both some space to talk with a little privacy.  Grandmother smiled, extended her hand, and said, “How nice to meet one of James’s friends.”

Angela took her hand and said, “I am so pleased to meet you too.”

I silently prayed Alicia’s name would not be mentioned.

Grandmother seemed sincerely happy to meet Angela.  Maybe it was the similarity in their ages.  Grandmother giggled and asked, “How do you like my hair?  Yesterday James had them cut it all off.”

Angela gently stroked Grandmother’s hair.  ”I think you look lovely.”

Grandmother smiled and asked, “How did you and James become friends?”

I could feel my heart race frantically, not knowing what Angela would say.

Angela sat on the side of Grandmother’s bed and held both of her hands gently in hers.  With tears streaming down her cheeks she said, “James is your grandson.  He is the one who found Alicia grave.  Alicia was my granddaughter.”

Grandmother’s bottom lip began to quiver as she searched for what to say.

Obviously aware of the shock and shame Grandmother felt knowing who she was, Angela took the lead.  “Please don’t cry, and please don’t apologize.  I am here to thank you.”

Grandmother wiped the tears from her eyes.  She looked confused. “Why would you want to thank me?”

“Because you cared for her when she was all alone.  Did you know yellow was her favorite color?  I am sure the yellow roses gave her hope that she would be found.”

Grandmother continued to cry.  “Thank you for not hating me. Alexandru was a stranger to me. Dark taught him to hate me.  He was never allowed to show me any affection, and if I showed Alexandru any, Dark would beat me.”

Angela put her arms around Grandmother and whispered into her ear, “How could I possibly hate the person who cared for my granddaughter?” God answered my prayers and blessed you with a kind and generous heart.”

Again, Grandmother looked confused.  “Who is God?  Is he your grandson like James is mine?”

The reality of the dark empty world Grandmother lived in became too much to bear.  With tears in my eyes, I turned, and left the room to allow them privacy to talk.
 
 
* * * * * * * * *
 
 
Fortunately, Dr. Smyth was late, giving Angela and Grandmother a few precious minutes to talk.  He entered the room followed by a large group of residents, interns, and medical students.  Harborview is a teaching hospital and is known to be one of the best in the country.  Many patients do not like being seen by so many at one time.  Grandmother liked the attention.

“Good morning, Alfina.  How are you feeling today?”

“I feel very good.  I have a new friend, her name is Angela, and she is the grandmother of Alicia, the young girl my son Alexandru killed.”

The bluntness of Grandmother caught Dr. Smyth off guard.  Not sure what to say, he stuttered and simply said, “Hello, Angela, it is nice to meet you.”

Eager to move past the awkwardness of the situation, Dr. Smyth began telling her about the results of the tests they ran.

“Your foot has been seriously damaged. The orthopedic surgeon that looked at your foot says it can be partially repaired with surgery.  You will be able to walk, but a cane will always be necessary.  The dietitian has prepared a special diet for you, which should get your weight back up where it belongs.  You will require physical therapy every day to build up your muscles and physical strength.”

I could tell Grandmother didn’t understand anything Dr. Smyth said.  Angela patted Grandmother on the shoulder and said, “I’ll explain it all to you later.”

With a sigh of relief, Grandmother said, “Thank you.”

I decided to leave Grandmother in the hands of Angela.  I still had to meet with Mom and figure out how to tell Susan and Charlie about Grandmother. I still planned to meet with Mac and Mr. Hurley this afternoon.  It was going to be another long and tedious day.

 

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 40
Why Did Alfina Lie?

By Sasha









Before leaving, I made a quick trip up to the ninth floor to speak with Dr. Williams. I abruptly asked him, “When do you think Mom will be ready to come home?”
 
“Assuming the meeting with Alfina goes well, I think both Susan and your mother can go home on Saturday.”
 
“So, you think Susan will want to see her grandmother?  Do you remember telling her she was going home on Friday?  Does Susan know she has to wait one more day?”
 
Dr. Williams sighed softly and then shook his head. “Dr. Perez and I have spoken with Susan and informed her it would be best if she stayed here one more day.”
 
“I’m sure she wasn’t happy hearing that.  Did you tell her why?”
 
Again, Dr. Williams shook his head.  “James, Susan is extremely angry with your father, but she is also terribly defensive of him.  She hates what he did, but her love for him has not diminished.  I am concerned about how she will react to hearing about her father’s cruel childhood and that his mother is alive.”
 
I agreed.  Susan was Dad’s little princess.  He may have been over protective, but he worshiped her as much as she worshiped him.  “Dr. Williams, can I ask you a question?”
 
“Sure, James, ask me anything.”
 
“Dad is a narcissistic sociopath and is incapable of caring for anyone other than himself. If this is true, can you explain his obsession with Susan?”

“James, the term antisocial is over used and completely misunderstood.  Not all persons with antisocial disorder have all the criteria listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.  Some, including myself, feel that, in the attempt to rely only on objective criteria, the DSM has been broadened to include too many individuals.  The antisocial personality disorder category includes people who commit illegal, immoral or self-serving acts for a variety of reasons and are not necessarily psychopaths.”

 
While Dr. Williams’s response didn’t really answer my question, I wasn’t in the mood to pursue it any further.  I said, “Goodbye” and headed to Mr. Hurley’s office for my meeting with him and Mac.

 
* * * * * * * * * *
Mr. Hurley looked pleased with himself when I entered his office.  He sat in his high back leather chair, puffing on a smelly cigar, and sipping his coffee like it was 200 year-old cognac.  “Good afternoon, James.  How are you on this fine summer afternoon?”

Before I could answer, the door swung open, and Mac entered carrying a large stack of manila folders.  His mood was the opposite of Mr. Hurley’s.  “For God’s sake, Tom, put that foul smelling thing out before I choke to death.”
 
Mac dropped the files onto Mr. Hurley’s desk with a loud thud.  He stumbled over to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup.  Only after he sat down did he acknowledge I was in the room.  “Hello, James, hope your day is going better than mine.”
 
Feeling as if I was in a Laurel and Hardy movie, I laughed and said, “I’d like to say it is, but something tells me it’s going to get worse.”
 
Mr. Hurley did as instructed and put out his smelly cigar.  His it’s a perfect day expression disappeared too.  “Mac, what’s wrong with you?”
 
Mac took a big gulp of coffee.  He placed the cup on the edge of Mr. Hurley’s desk, and slumped back into his chair.  “We have a tremendous problem, guys.”
 
I had no idea what Mac was talking about.  Mr. Hurley leaned forward, patted Mac on the shoulder, and said, “Take a deep breath, relax, and start at the beginning.”
 
Mac let out a loud moan and looking at me, said, “I just finished talking to the medical examiner, and Alfina’s story doesn’t match his findings.  It seems Dark WAS hit on the head, but that's not what killed him. The medical examiner found a stab wound to the chest was the fatal wound.”
 
Mac paused to catch his breath.  “Do you know what this means?  If Alfina murdered Dark, she is in a shit load of trouble.  Her credibility is down the drain if she lied about how he died.  The defense can claim she is unreliable, a liar, possibly a murderer and any testimony against your dad about Alicia’s death will be worthless.”
 
I was unprepared for what Mac was saying.  If Grandmother lied, I was sure there was a reason.  But my opinion didn't matter.  I looked at Mr. Hurley in the hope he would have something to say that would help.  Unfortunately, he looked as shocked as I felt.
 
“Okay, Mac, what’s next?”
 
“Snohomish County is going to want to talk to her again.”
 
Suddenly, Mr. Hurley spoke up.  “Have you forgotten that I am the family attorney and no one interrogates Alfina until I talk to her first?”
 
With his elbows resting on his knees, Mac rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.  “Let’s hope you can get the right answers from her…  Otherwise, we’re screwed.”
 
Mr. Hurley started barking orders. “Mac, you need to get me copies of the Medical Examiner’s Report, Alfina’s statement to the police and any other information on Dark and Alexandru you can. I don’t care how you do it I need it yesterday.  I can’t talk to Alfina blind.  I need to know exactly what she said before I talk to her.”
 
Mr. Hurley turned and pointed at me.  “James, you need to talk to her psychiatrist and find out if she’s nuts, in shock, especially what he considers her mental age level?  After being on her own for so long with that lunatic, I doubt she’s had any education, or experience interacting with society.  But most important, you need to be there with me when I talk to her.”
 
Mac got up and left without saying a word.  I told Mr. Hurley all that I knew about Alfina and that I didn’t think she was crazy, just socially inept.
 
“James, do you know why she would lie about Dark’s death?”
 
“The only thing I can think of is fear of punishment.  If it’s something else, I couldn’t say what it is.”
 
Mr. Hurley obviously had his work cut out for him. Watching the chubby little man ruffle through law books and all while writing frantically on a yellow pad of paper, impressed me.  He seemed to know what he was doing, even if I didn’t.

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory* has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 41
Family Meeting

By Sasha










Mom was in the psychiatric ward two floors up.  Just like Susan’s ward, it was locked.  I pressed the button and was let in by a young nurse who asked for my identification and the name of the person I was there to see.  When I told her I was there for a family conference with Mom, I was quickly ushered into the conference room at the end of the hall. 
 
Aunt Em, Uncle Terry and Charlie were already seated at the table.  Uncle Terry, not one to avoid confrontation, didn’t wait for me to sit down before asking, “James, we haven’t heard from you for nearly thirty-six hours.  Where have you been and what have you been doing?”
 
Charlie, in an apparent sarcastic mood, didn’t wait for me to answer before adding, “You’ve been playing detective with Mac, haven’t you?”
 
Despite feeling defensive, I simply smiled and nodded.  “Can’t fool you, can I, little brother?”
 
Not seeing the humor in my response, Uncle Terry snapped his fingers to get my attention.  “Why did Mr. Hurley ask for this meeting?  James, just tell us what the hell is going on.”
 
Knowing Mom and Dr. Williams would be arriving at any moment, I began to speak as fast as I could about the police identifying Alicia’s body and that Alfina, our grandmother, was also found living on the property.  All three just stared at me in complete shock.   Finally, after several very long seconds, Charlie said, in a soft voice, “Dad’s mother has been living on Dad’s father’s property all this time?  How is that possible?”
 
I looked at Aunt Em and then at Charlie.  “Charlie, it’s a long story that began with a journal Aunt Em and Mom had that belonged to Dad’s father.  The journal is written in Romani an ancient form of Romanian.  Romani is the language of the gypsies, related to Sanskrit, which is an Indo-European language that came from India with the gypsies when they started their westward trek…  Sorry, I know I am starting to ramble.  It took me two days to translate it.  It is written by Dad’s father, Adain Popescu better known as Dark.  He tells about kidnapping a young girl in 1935, so he could raise her to be the mother of his children.  But she died in 1939 in childbirth.  Her name was Alfina.  Alfina 2 was kidnapped in 1940, as a replacement for Alfina 1 and gave birth to a baby girl in 1945.  The baby was later named Alfina 3.  Alfina 2 died in 1948 in childbirth.  Alfina 3 is our grandmother.  She gave birth to Dad in 1957.  Dad’s real name is Alexandru Popescu.”
 
Charlie rolled his eyes and released a painful sounding moan.  “James this is all just too confusing.  When did Dad become John Mathews?  Who gave Mom the journal? And, where is grandmother?”
 
I ignored the first two questions and told Charlie, “Grandmother is here at Harborview.  I just left her with Angela Campbell, Alicia’s grandmother.  Dr. Williams is also her psychiatrist.”
 
Charlie just shook his head. “Why would Alicia’s grandmother want anything to do with the wife of the man who killed her granddaughter?”
 
I knew this was not the time to tell Charlie that Dad killed Alicia.  This was a lot of information to digest, and I knew a thousand questions were lining up in his head, each fighting for first place on the list of what to ask next.

“Angela Campbell is a remarkable woman.  She does not hate Grandmother.  She knows about Dark’s cruelty and the terrible life Grandmother was forced to live.  We could all take a lesson from her compassion.  Charlie, let’s just take it one day at a time.  Grandmother has been through a living hell and the fact that she survived is nothing less than a miracle.  I promise all your questions will be answered, but I can’t handle all of them right now.”
 
As if suddenly roused from a deep sleep, Aunt Em spoke.  “Martha and I knew about John’s ugly childhood, his cruel father but nothing about his mother.  Neither of us could read the journal, and to be honest we didn’t want to know what was in it—and for that I am so, so sorry.”

Aunt Em burst into tears.  Uncle Terry cradled her and reassured her.  “Sweetheart, you didn’t do anything wrong.”



Charlie sat slumped in his chair, staring off into space.  The door suddenly opened and Mom and Dr. Williams entered the room.

 
* * * * * * * * *
 
Mom looked a lot better than she did the last time I saw her.  She looked rested, relaxed and had an enormous smile on her face.  She gave Aunt Em, Charlie, Uncle Terry and me a hug before sitting down.  I didn’t know what Dr. Williams had told Mom about Grandmother.  I decided it was best to be direct.
 
“Dr. Williams, have you had a chance to speak with Mom about recent events?”

Mom answered.  “Yes, James.  He has told me all about Alfina.  That poor woman has been living out there alone all this time.”

I felt a wave of relief softly sweep over me knowing I didn’t have to go through the whole story again.  I was also pleased to hear Mom’s compassionate words.
 
“Dr. Williams.  When do you think Grandmother would be up for a family visit?”
 
Dr. Williams smiled. “Alfina is pretty weak right now. Give her a few days to build her strength.  I’m sure meeting her grandchildren will do a lot for her mental health.  Just remember, she has been alone most of her life, and I don’t want to overwhelm her with too much too soon.”
 

“Dr. Williams, one last thing.  What about Susan.  I think it would be best if you and Dr. Perez told her about Grandmother while she is still in the hospital.”
 
Dr. Williams agreed. 

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.

This is a complicated chapter. I would appreciate any suggestions on how to make it less complicated.


Chapter 42
Preparing Grandmother

By Sasha



The office door opened with a loud bang as it slammed against the wall.  Mac entered, red-faced, and panting.  He handed Mr. Hurley several folders before sitting down to catch his breath.  “You really have to get someone to fix that damn elevator, Tom.”
 
Mr. Hurley ignored Mac’s comment and immediately began reading the first folder.  I didn’t know what he was reading but could see the label on the edge read, “Adain Popescu AKA Dark”.  He quickly flipped through several pages before speaking. “This is interesting.  The ME describes several deep knife wounds to the chest, in addition to the blow to the head.  The person wielding the knife would have to be pretty strong to penetrate the ribcage.”
 
Mac seemed to know what Mr. Hurley was talking about.  “That could only mean he was unconscious when she stabbed him.”
 
Mr. Hurley nodded.  “But why did Alfina lie about stabbing him?  I find it unlikely that anyone else was there…”
 
Mr. Hurley slid into silence as he thought about Dark’s death.  “Is it possible that someone else killed him?”
 
Mac quickly responded, “Only someone that he knew could get that close to him.  Possibly someone that Alfina would want to protect.”
 
Both Mac and Mr. Hurley looked at me.   I knew what they were thinking, and they were right.  Dad was the only other person that could have gotten close enough to Dark to attack him.  “But why would Grandmother try to protect Dad?”
 
Mr. Hurley rubbed his forehead with his pudgy hand.  “Only Alfina can answer that question.”

Mac bowed his head and said, “James, you may be the only person that can get your grandmother to tell you what really happened, and you need to get to her before the Snohomish Police do.
 
Mr. Hurley agreed.  “We also have to prove she is not crazy.  The defense will do its best to prove that she is nothing more than a wild animal after spending a lifetime in captivity.  With no education and no contact with the outside world, it will be difficult to prove she has the mental capacity to understand right from wrong. Her credibility is shaky at best.”  Mr. Hurley paused briefly to collect his thoughts.  “We have to be careful.  Although I am sure the defense will challenge her sanity, we don’t want to open a can of worms.”
 
He paused again, weighing his words carefully.  “I know Dr. Williams.  He is a top rated and well-respected psychiatrist.  The defense will want to use one of their psychiatrists, but Dr. Williams’s evaluation will be hard to refute.”
 
I couldn’t remain silent any longer.  “What if Dr. Williams says Grandmother is crazy?”
 
The look on Mr. Hurley’s face told me he disagreed.  “James, do you think she’s crazy?”
 
“No, I don’t.  But no one cares what I think.”
 
Mac laughed.  “That would be a first for you, wouldn’t it?”
 
Mr. Hurley laughed too, but I didn’t find the comment amusing.  “Very funny, guys, very funny.”
 
I quickly brought the subject back to Dad.  “What motive would Dad have to kill Dark?”
 
Mr. Hurley sighed and said, “The ME’s report estimates the time of death as between three and five years and Alfina told the police that she witnessed your Dad kill Alicia…  Alicia went missing five years ago.  There is no way John would take her to the cabin unless he already knew Dark wouldn’t be there.  What we need to find out is, whether or not John knew that his mother was still living there.”
 
“I don’t think Dad knew she was there.  There is no way he would leave behind a witness, even if it was his mother.”
 
Mac agreed.  “If Alicia died five years ago, Dark had to already be dead.  That means Alfina has been living in the shadows for a long time. It is definitely possible your Dad did not know she was still there.”
 
“Mac, Dad left more than twenty-five years ago.  I doubt he would recognize Alfina after so long.”
 
Mac nodded.  “All the more reason to believe she was hiding, even from him.”
 
Mr. Hurley chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds.  “If we can pin Dark’s murder, as well as Alicia, on your Dad, the Snohomish County DA will go for the maximum.”
 
In a concerned voice, Mac asked, “James, can you live with that?”
 
I was getting tired of everyone placing Dad’s punishment on my shoulders.  “Listen, guys, I am not trying to get Dad executed.  I just want him to face the legal system.  The system can decide what the punishment should be. No more plea bargains.   That’s all I want.”
 
Still concerned, Mac asked, “Will your family see it the same way?  If he gets the death penalty, will they blame you?”
 
“The person they need to blame is, Dad.  He’s the murderer, not me.  I’ll deal with my family when the time comes.”
 
I turned and looked at Mr. Hurley, “Shouldn’t we get over to the hospital before the Snohomish Police gets to her?  They’ll scare the shit out of her.”
 
“Yes, I need to speak with Dr. Williams too.  Mac, I want you to go back over all these files and see what you can find.”
 
“Sure thing, Tom.

 
I turned and followed Mr. Hurley out the door.  When we walked past the elevators and toward the stairs, I couldn’t resist saying, “You know you do need to get that damn thing fixed.”


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Sorry for the delay in posting this. I've had the flu.


Chapter 43
Time to Talk to Grandmother

By Sasha

Author Note:James asks the tough questions










Mr. Hurley told me to go on ahead to Grandmother’s room while he found Dr. Williams and Dr. Smyth.  Still unsure of what I was going to say to Grandmother, the giant knot in my stomach did a back flip sending a sharp, stabbing pain up into my throat.  As I entered Grandmother’s room, I could see she was sleeping with her tiny body curled into a fetal position.  Angela sat snoozing loudly in the chair beside her.  I couldn’t help but smile, seeing the two most unlikely friends sleeping soundly with smiles on their faces.  They looked so content I didn’t want to wake them.  I turned to leave when Angela’s gentle voice startled me.
 
“Just where do you think you’re going, young man?”
 
I placed my finger against my lips and softly whispered, “Shush.  Don’t wake Grandmother, she needs her sleep.”  I signaled with a wave of my hand for her to follow me into the hallway.  Just like Grandmother, I didn’t handle social situations particularly well.  But until Dad’s arrest, stress had never been a problem.  I leaned against the wall, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.
 
“James, what’s wrong?  You look terrible.”
 
“I have to talk to Grandmother.  The police have questions about her statement that don’t agree with the evidence.  That makes her testimony about seeing Dad kill Alicia, shaky, to say the least.  In addition to casting doubt on her credibility, her sanity may become an issue.  I honestly don’t know how to talk to her without upsetting her.  I am concerned that her English isn't that great, and she just won't understand.”
 
I paused, took another deep breath and then blurted out, “There is a real possibility she may not have killed Dark.  Mac and Mr. Hurley now think Dad may have killed him.  Dark didn’t die from a blow to the head.  He was stabbed in the chest.  That takes a lot of strength; strength Grandmother just doesn’t have.”
 
Angela put her arms around me and whispered into my ear, “James, Alfina isn’t crazy.  She’s just overwhelmed and frightened.  And don't worry about her English.  We've been talking non-stop and her English is just a little rusty.”
 
I stared into Angela’s big blue eyes and wondered where her remarkable strength came from.  My father brutally killed her granddaughter, yet she felt no animosity or hatred toward my family or me.  Her concern for Grandmother was sincere.  She has remained by her side since meeting her yesterday.  Now she is defending her.
 
I felt tears well up in my eyes.  The weight of the horrific damage Dad and Dark’s evil caused everyone they touched was crushing me.  I slowly slid down the wall and sat on the floor, desperately fighting the need to scream. However, all I could do was cry.  Cry for the victims, the families of the victims, Angela, Grandmother, Mom, Susan, and Charlie.  None of us would ever be the same.  I buried my face in my hands and sobbed silently.
 
Angela sat down beside me.  She laid my head onto her lap and gently stroked my brow.  “James, you can’t do everything.  I know it has only been a day, but Alfina and I have become friends.  She trusts me.  Let me help.”
 
Angela handed me a handkerchief and told me, “Now blow your nose and wipe those tears off your face, young man.  You don’t want to scare your grandmother, do you?”
 
I did as I was told.  Angela ran her fingers through my hair then took my hand, and we walked back into the room.  I was surprised to see Grandmother sitting up.  When she saw me, she began waving her hands wildly with excitement.  “Hello, James, hoping I was to see you today.”
 
I pushed passed the fear telling me to run away and forced myself to smile.  “Hello, Grandmother, how are you feeling today?”
 
“I sleep good.  I cannot count the number of plantings that passed since I sleep in bed.  And the food here is… ...is...  James, cumspun, delicioase?
 
I couldn’t help but smile.  “Grandmother, you think hospital food is delicious?”
 
Grandmother giggled, “Da, the food is delicioase. All people here so kind to me. Mai alesprietenul meunou, Angela.”
 
“I am pleased you have a new friend too, Grandmother.”

Grandmother leaned over and gave Angela a hug, then patted the bed several times.  “James, sit, sit.  Cândpoatem-am întâlnitderestulfamiliei?"

I wasn’t prepared for her question.  Again, I just smiled.  “Soon, Grandmother, I promise you will meet the rest of the family soon.”
 
At least that was what I hoped.  Despite Dr. Williams’s assurance, I hadn’t heard a definite yes from Susan yet.  A nurse entered the room, she replaced the empty IV’s with new ones, took Grandmother’s temperature, and told her dinner would be served soon.
 
Just like a little child at Christmas, Grandmother giggled.
 
Without warning, Angela took hold of Alfina’s hand and said, “James has some questions for you.  Don’t be alarmed by them, he has been terribly busy working with the police and that lovely man I told you about, Mr. Hurley.  Just remember, it is extremely important you answer them as honestly as you can.  Do you understand what I mean when I say honest?”
 
“Da.  My English speaking no good, but I understand.  I understand honest.  Dark become with me very, very angry when he think I not be honest.  It be okay, James, ask me questions.”
 
“Grandmother, before I ask them, I need to explain a few things to you.  If you don’t understand what I am saying, just tell me and I will try to be clearer, or speak in Romani.  Okay?”
 
Grandmother nodded.

As I spoke to Grandmother, I switched from English to Romani when the confused expression on her face told me she did not understand.  When answering, she did the same.
 
“There are laws to protect people.  The police rely on the truth to do their job.  Laws are a lot like rules.  I am sure Dark had lots of rules.”
 
Grandmother stopped smiling and just nodded.
 
“Well Dark’s rules are different than real laws.  Laws are rules that all the people must obey.  There are laws against stealing, or taking something that does not belong to you.  There are laws against hurting someone.  Many things Dark did may have been his rules, but he was breaking the law.  When he hurt you, he was breaking the law.  Do you understand what I am saying?”
 
“Da.”
 
“Killing someone is against the law, and lying to a police officer is against the law.  It is always important to tell the truth, no matter how hard it may be.”
 
Grandmother’s bottom lip began to quiver.  She pulled her knees up to her chest.  “I be sorry.  I no want to lie, but the policeman make me afeard.  I afeard to tell them too much.”
 
“It’s okay, Grandmother.  We all get scared and confused.  I want to ask you some questions and hope you will trust me and tell me the truth.  Is that okay?”
 
Grandmother relaxed her grip on her legs and nodded.
 
“How did Dark die and when did he die?”
 
“James, I can count but time is hard for me.  Dark taught me the seasons, but I no read one of your fancy clocks and have no need for a watch.  I only know when it be morning, afternoon, or night.  I know when it be time to plant garden, time to pick the fruit, time to prepare the garden for the next planting, and when it be too cold to go outside.  It was five plantings past, that Alexandru came back.  He and Dark have terrible fight.  I hear loud screaming, punching, and even broken furniture.  I hide in the shed behind the house, but I still hear them yelling.  Then quiet it suddenly become.  Alexandru no know I was in the shed, and when he come out to the backyard, I am afeard.  That is when I knew something mighty bad happened.  He washed much blood off his hands and face at the pump and then go back into the house.  I stay in shed for a long, long time, way past dark before I go inside to go see what happened.”
 
“Grandmother, how do you know it was Alexandru?”
 
Grandmother’s lip began to quiver again.  “James, a mother always know her child.”
 
“What did you find when you went back inside the cabin?”
 
“It was tore up something terrible.  Dark he be on the floor, he be dead.  There be blood everywhere.  I think Alexandru hit him on the head with a piece of broken chair.”
 
“Why do you say that?”
 
“There be a chair leg on the floor beside his head and it covered in blood.”
 
“How did you manage burying him?  You’re so small and he was so much bigger.”
 
Grandmother shrugged. “I no plant him.  Alexandru came back the next morning to plant him and clean up cabin.  I hear him coming and I hide inside shed again.”
 
“Why didn’t you tell this to the police?”
 
“It be a long time since Dark allow me to speak English.  I afeard.  I know if I tell police Alexandru killed Dark, he would come after me.  I afeard he hurt me.  I know not until I talk to you, Alexandru be in jail and no can hurt me. James, I sorry I lie, I just afeard.”
 
“It’s okay, Grandmother.  I understand.  Now, I have some more questions for you about the girl Alexandru killed.”
 
Grandmother looked at Angela and in a voice shaking with shame said, “I afeard of him. I can no stop him.  I want to help, I really do, but Alexandru kill me too if he know I be watching.”
 
Grandmother paused a few seconds and then continued.  “Alexandru planted her in the rose garden.  I plant yellow rose so the child know someone care she be there.  I no know her name until yesterday.”
 
Angela patted Grandmother’s hand and said, “Alfina, no one blames you.  I know there was nothing you could do.”
 
“Was that the first time Dad brought someone to the cabin?”
 
“Da.  That be the only time he come back after killing Dark.”
 
“When was that, do you remember?”
 
Grandmother closed her eyes for a few seconds to think.  “Dark die when the snow begin to melt.  So it be near the time of planting Alexandru bring poor young girl to the cabin.”
 
Alicia went missing in May 2006 so that meant Dark died around February 2006.  The snow lasted through the middle of February.  I planned to double check the weather reports, but I distinctly remember it snowing until mid February 2006.
 
Grandmother looked very tired, and I thought it best to let her eat her dinner and get some rest.  I wanted to talk to Mr. Hurley and Dr. Williams before I left.  I kissed Grandmother on the cheek and promised to come back in the morning.  Angela walked me to the door.
 
“Angela, I know that had to be hard for you, I am so sorry.”
 
“James, I’ve waited five long years to know what happened to my granddaughter.  Believe me when I say I am stronger than you think."



Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.

Let me know if you feel the dialogue between James and his grandmother needs improvement.


Chapter 44
Putting The Puzzle Together

By Sasha

Author Note:Alfina has a friend













Angela gave me a hug and then returned to be with Grandmother.  I could see Mr. Hurley standing at the nurse’s station down the hall, talking with Dr. Williams.  As I approached, Dr. Williams extended his hand and said, “Hello, James, how’d it go with Alfina?”
 
Unsure of what I should or should not say, I responded with, “Pretty good.  She looks a lot better today than she did yesterday.”
 
“We have Angela to thank for most of her amazing progress.  Alfina was nothing more than a hungry, frightened little mouse when she arrived.  Angela is an angel.  She and Alfina bonded instantly.  Under ordinary circumstances, I would insist visitors leave when visiting hours are over, but it seems Angela has become the one and only stable relationship Alfina has ever had.  It is quite amazing to watch them talk and laugh.  They are like a couple of teenagers on a sleepover.”

Dr. Williams suddenly laughed.  "Do you know what Mrs. Campbell did last night?  I walked into the room after dinner and found her reading The Three Little Pigs to Alfina.  Alfina's eyes were as big as saucers as she flipped through the pages.  As soon as Angela was finished, Alfina begged her to read it again. She is like an eager child ready to soak up everything she comes in contact with.  I can't wait to find out what Angela is going to read to her tonight."

Knowing Grandmother was in such capable hands gave me hope that she would get through this.
 
“Dr. Williams, what is my grandmother’s prognosis?  Will she ever adapt to living in today’s world?”
 
Dr. Williams smiled reassuringly.  “Yesterday I would have said that is doubtful.  But your grandmother is incredibly intelligent, and I believe in a year she will be well adjusted, and with intensive therapy, she should be on her way to a full recovery from the emotional scars from living like an animal all her life.  The brutality of Dark has left many physical scars too.  Only time can tell us how long it will take for them to heal.”
 
“When will she have surgery on her foot?”
 
“Not until she is physically stronger; probably in a week of two.”
 

“Will she be able to testify against my father, in a court, in front of a room full of strangers?”
 
Again, Dr. Williams smiled.  “Alfina is easily frightened and it doesn’t take much to overwhelm her.  As long as the process is thoroughly explained to her and you and Angela are in the front row, I am comfortable in predicting she will do fine.”
 
Mr. Hurley signaled with a subtle jerk of his head that he wanted to speak with me privately.  We said goodbye to Dr. Williams and walked toward the elevator.  I was a little irritated with Mr. Hurley.  “I wasn’t done talking with Dr. Williams.  I had questions about Mom and Susan.”
 
“James, you can do that later. Right now, I need to know what she told you.  We don’t have much time.  Dr. Williams has agreed not to allow the Snohomish police to speak with Alfina unless you and I are present.
 
I had to laugh.  “You better include Angela.  Without her, I doubt Grandmother will cooperate.  They are like two peas in a pod; neither goes anywhere without the other.”
 
Mr. Hurley grinned.  “That could work to our advantage.  Let’s get a cup of coffee, and you can fill me in on what she told you.”

 
* * * * * * * * * *

 
My stomach wasn’t in the mood for coffee, so I got a large glass of milk instead.  Mr. Hurley and I went outside of the cafeteria and sat on a bench on the patio.
 
I took a sip of milk, and then told Mr. Hurley what I learned.  “You and Mac were right.  Grandmother didn’t kill Dark, Dad did.  He was killed around mid-February 2006.  Grandmother was hiding in the shed, but she heard the fight.  Dad left, and then came back the next morning and cleaned up the cabin and buried Dark.  Alicia disappeared in May 2006, which coincides with what Grandmother said.  Dad didn’t know Grandmother was there.  She was out back in the shed and heard the murder.  She says she lied to the police about killing Dark because she was afraid Dad would come back and kill her.”
 
I paused to take another sip of milk.  “I honestly think Dad thinks Grandmother is dead.  I also think that Alicia was Dad’s first victim and the only one he knew.  He couldn’t chance leaving her body in Belltown because of his connection to her.  Grandmother says she never saw Dad again, so it is unlikely he took any of the other twelve victims to the cabin.  Of course, six acres covers a lot of property, and it is possible, he found another secluded spot to kill them.”
 
Mr. Hurley shook his head.  “He could have buried them anywhere on the property. Why dump them in a public place?”
 
“Dad has an enormous ego.  I am sure he thought he was too smart to get caught.  Playing a game with the police was just his way of toying with them.”
 
“Did Alfina say why your dad went to the cabin the first time?  There had to be a reason.  I am sure he didn’t show up out of curiosity.”
 
I looked at Mr. Hurley and grinned.  “Maybe he was searching for the journal.”
 
Mr. Hurley nodded.  “That’s a piece of evidence he wouldn’t want anyone to read.”
 
 “Have you talked to Mac?  Maybe he has found something that will give us another piece of the puzzle.”
 
Mr. Hurley said, “No.  I’ll meet with him later tonight.”
 
I looked at Mr. Hurley and asked, "What did Dr. Williams say about the defense trying to say Grandmother is crazy?"

Mr. Hurley smiled, "He says that will not be a problem.  In fact, he said, in his opinion the jury will not only find her credible, but fall in love with her."

Mr. Hurley and I climbed into a taxi in front of the hospital.  We sat silently for several minutes.  I thought about Grandmother and suddenly started to laugh.  “You know, Mr. Hurley, I've always wondered where my red hair came from, now I know."
 
Mr. Hurley gave me a friendly punch in the arm.  “James, something tells me that’s not all you got from your grandmother.”

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory* has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 45
Mom Fesses Up

By Sasha










Mac and I stepped into the elevator, and after the doors closed, I turned to face him before asking, “Why do you think people lie?  I’m not referring to the bank robber caught with the money, or the kid at the 7-11 seen on video with his hand in the till. I’m talking about the little white lies that, on the surface, seem pointless.”
 
Unsure why I asked the question, Mac raised his eyebrows and asked, “Why?  Do you have something to tell me?"
 
I laughed out loud.  “No, I’m not trying to confess anything.  I just wonder why people tell so many transparent and unnecessary lies.”
 
 
Still not sure where I was heading, Mac did his best to answer.   “People usually lie for the obvious reason, to hide the truth.  But the seemingly pointless lies are often based on fear, shame and concern they will be judged or misunderstood.”
 
I paused to gather my thoughts.  “Mac, I believe Gradmother is hiding something.  I am concerned about pushing her too hard but I need to know everything she knows.”
 
“James, the only way to find out the answer is to speak to her directly.”
 
“I really hate the idea of doing that.  I’m just beginning to build trust with her and am afraid she’ll see me as the bad guy; everyone sees me as the bad guy.”
 
“James, you’ve just proven my point. Your fear of being perceived as the bad guy is causing you to lie to yourself and to your grandmother by allowing her to think you believe what she is telling you is the whole truth. Take my word for it, false presumption has been the downfall of many a man, and woman.  Don’t let yourself become one of them.”
 
When the elevator door opened, Mac and I stepped off and walked down the hall in silence.  I pressed the button beside the door.  A few seconds later a nurse opened the door and I told her, “We are here to see Martha Mathews.”
 
Mom was sitting in the Day Room waiting for us.  We entered the room, and she immediately stood and said, “Hello.”
 
We hugged and I told her, “How are you doing today? You look great.”
 
Mom smiled.  ''I’m doing fine.  Dr. Williams is marvelous and the nurses have been so kind.  He told me I can go home tomorrow.”
 
Dr. Williams suddenly appeared in the doorway.  “Good morning, James.  Who's your friend?”
 
Mac extended his hand and said, "I’m Detective Mackinnon, but everyone just calls me Mac.”
 
Dr. Williams shook Mac’s hand and before releasing it, he reminded him, “You do know you cannot interrogate Martha as long as she is a patient under psychiatric care.”
 
Mac nodded.  “Yes, I am well aware of the rules.  However, there are no rules preventing her son, James, from asking a few questions.”
 
Dr. Williams smiled. “Would you mind if I stay while he asks his questions?”
 
Mom shook her head. “I don’t really think that’s…”
 
I quickly injected, ''Yes, as a matter of fact, I think that would be a good idea.”
 
My concern over how Mom would react when I asked about Dad worried me.  Having Dr. Williams present to help her deal with the inevitable stress was a must, as far as I was concerned.
 
Looking a little nervous, Mom asked, “James, would you and Mac like a cup of tea or coffee before we begin?”
 
We both declined.  Dr. Williams sat in the large chair next to the door, Mom sat on the couch, and Mac and I sat on the couch by the window.  I felt there was no reason to put off the unavoidable and began to speak.
 
“Mom, are you aware I was able to translate Dad’s father’s journal?”
 
Mom nodded.
 
“Were you told what was in the journal?”
 
Again Mom nodded.  “Yes, Mr. Hurley told me.”
 
“Did he tell you about Alfina, Dad’s mother and sister?”
 
Mom bowed her head as if to hide some unexplained shame. “Yes, he told me she is here and that she told the police that Dad’s father is dead.  She claims to have killed him.  He also told me he didn’t believe she did it, but he believes she is hiding something.”
 
“Did he tell you about Alicia and that Dad killed her?”
 
Mom took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and still refusing to look at me, said, “No, but I believe he did.”
 
“Mac, Mr. Hurley and I suspect Dad went to the cabin to get the journal.  He had to know its contents would make him a suspect.”
 
Mom didn’t respond.
 
“Mom, when you found the journal and confronted Dad with it.  Is that what happened?”
 
Mom sighed again, leaned back, and asked, “James, why is this so important?  What difference does it make?”
 
“Mom, it could explain why Dad went to the cabin and why they fought. Please, tell us where you found the journal.”
 
“Okay, okay.  I found it under the passenger seat of your Dad’s car a few weeks after his father died.  It was in a foreign language and I couldn’t read it.  I was curious so I foolishly asked your dad what it was.  He was drunk, as usual, and he told me it belonged to his father.  That’s when he told me his mother Alfina was also his sister.”
 
Tears began to stream down her cheeks.  “I will never forget the sound of his voice when he told me.  It reeked of cruelty and sarcasm.  He only told me because he knew how I would react.  I was disgusted and horrified.  All he did was laugh.”
 
“Why didn’t he destroy it?  Why did he let you keep it?”
 
“He tossed it into the garbage. I don’t know why, but after he went to bed, I removed it from the garbage and hid it where he couldn’t find it.”
 
Mom looked at me with sad mournful eyes. “When you told me you knew Em and I were keeping a secret, I became frightened.  I didn’t want you, Charlie or Susan to ever learn the truth.”
 
“Why?”
 
Mom hesitated before responding, “You already know he killed those twelve girls. I was afraid you would think he did something to his father to get it.”
 
At that point, Mac joined the conversation.  “So you suspected that John might have killed his father.”
 
Poor Mom looked like a beaten puppy.  “Yes, but only for a few seconds.  I knew he hated his father, but not enough to kill him.”
 
Mac had one last question.  “Did he mention seeing anyone else at the cabin?”
 
“He didn’t talk about anything but the journal.  He didn’t even mention his father.”
 
Dr. Williams stood up and walked over to Mom.  “Would you like to take a break, Martha?”
 
“No, I’m fine.”
 
I got up and walked over and sat beside Mom.  “Other than Aunt Em, did you tell anyone else about the journal?”
 
“No.  There was no reason to.  Then when he was arrested, I just thought it was best to keep that part of his life a secret from you, Charlie and Susan.  Telling you his mother was also his sister seemed pointless.”
 
Mom looked tired but I had one last question.  “Would you like to meet Alfina?  She would like to meet all of the family.
 
"I’m not really sure.  What is she like? I hear she has been living like a wild animal.”
 
I hugged Mom.  “Believe me, you’ll love her.  Everyone who has met her just adores her.  Even Angela, Alicia’s grandmother, has become friends with her.  All I ask is that you at least think about it.  Okay?”

Dr. Williams added, "I am also treating Alfina.  She is delightful, charming, and very, very sweet.  I think it would be a good idea for you to meet her.

 
Mom nodded.

Now, all I had to do was convince Charlie and Susan it was in their best interest to meet Grandmother.


* * * * * * * * * *

Luminiti - Adrian's Mother
Adian Propescu - aka Dark/James' grandfather/John Mathews father
James Mathews  -  18 year old genius
John Martin Mathews  AKA Alexandru Popescu – Father and Serial Killer

Martha Mathews - Mom
Charlie Mathews – Brother 13
Susan Mathews -  Sister 16
Detective MacKinnon  ‘Mac’ – Head of Belltown Killer Task Force
Thomas Hurley – Criminal Attorney representing the family and Alfina
Dr. Perez – Susan’s Psychiatrist
Marcy – James’s ex-girlfriend
Marilyn- Susan’s Day Nurse
Dr. Williams – Mom’s Psychiatrist also Alfina 3’s doctor
Alfina 1 – Kidnapped June 6, 1935  died in childbirth in 1940 –female child stillborn
Alfina 2-  Kidnapped August 15, 1940 age 8 gave birth to Alfina 3 June 21,  1945
                 Alfina 2 died giving birth to stillborn male child in 1948
Alfina 3-  aka Bunica – child of Alfina 2 born in 1945.  In 1957 at age 12 gave birth to Alexandru (Mother of John Mathews)
Alicia Campbell – Babysitter missing for nearly 5 years found buried at the cabin
Angela Campbell- Alicia’s Grandmother
Rachael – Mr. Hurley’s assistant


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 45
Grandmother Tells a Joke

By Sasha











Saturday morning came all too soon.  Mom and Susan were scheduled to be released after a mandatory family meeting with Dr. Williams at Harborview.  Marilyn and Susan were already sitting at the table in the conference room when I arrived.  As expected, Susan looked great.  She wore a yellow dress with tiny daisies.  Her hair was neatly pulled back into a ponytail at her neck.  Anxious to go home, she sat fidgeting with a pencil.  She looked like a nervous canary sitting in an open window ready to take flight.
 
Before I had an opportunity to say hello, the door opened and Dr. Williams, Mom, Charlie, and to my surprise, Angela and Alfina, sitting in a wheelchair, also entered the room.  Unprepared for either Angela or Alfina, I remained silent as I tried to understand what Dr. Williams was up to.  I didn’t have long to wait.  Dr. Williams immediately began to speak.
 
“After talking with Mrs. Campbell and Angela, we decided it was best to conduct the first family reunion here, under my guidance.  All of you have been through a horrific experience.  One that few are experienced to deal with.  This is why one of my stipulations for discharge is that you all participate in therapy as a group, twice a week.  I will leave it up to you to decide whether or not to include Angela.  However, I personally encourage you to do so.”
 
Dr. Williams paused long enough for everyone to absorb what he just said.  Susan looked confused, and Charlie had his usual I am pissed expression on his face.  Mom was smiling and holding Grandmother's hand.  Grandmother looked terrified.
 
Aware of the tension in the room, Dr. Williams continued.  ”The connection between each of you is directly linked to John Mathews, also known as Alexandru Propescu. Martha, you are John’s wife; James, Charlie and Susan you are his children.  Angela, you are the grandmother of Alicia, one of the young girls John murdered. And lastly, Alfina you are Aleksandru’s mother and sister, Martha's mother-in-law and sister-in-law, and James, Charlie, and Susan's Aunt and Grandmother.”
 
Alfina feigned a brief smile.  Dr. Williams stared at all of us before continuing. 

“Your grandfather, Adian Propescu, also known as Dark, was a mysterious and evil man.  Almost nothing is known about him; where he came from or who his parents are.  However, his cruelty knew no limits.  Susan, I noticed you wince when I said Alfina was your grandmother.  Charlie, your face showed anger.  I must ask, is your anger directed toward your grandfather or toward Alfina?”
 
Both Charlie and Susan blushed.  Charlie said, “It is embarrassing that my grandfather had sex with his daughter.”  Susan nodded agreement with Charles’s comment.
 
Your grandfather was mentally deranged.  He kidnapped the first potential mother of his children in 1935.  He named her Alfina.  Alfina died in childbirth in 1940.  The baby was stillborn.  Dark kidnapped the second child in 1940 and it is assumed she was about eight years old.  He named her Alfina 2.  Alfina 2 gave birth to a baby girl on June 21, 1945.  Dark wanted to kill the child but Alfina 2 talked him out of it by promising a boy child the next time she became pregnant.  She kept her promise and in 1948 gave birth to a boy, but he and his mother died a few hours after he was born.  Dark decided to use the girl child that was now three years old as the mother of his next child.  He named her Alfina 3, your grandmother.  We do not know why he named all three Alfina.
 
Alfina 3 was forced to live in a small shed behind the cabin.  Her job was to cook, hunt, clean, and feed Dark.  She was not allowed to speak English and learned Romani, a not well-known gypsy form of Romanian.  Alfina never went to school.  She never had other children to play or communicate with and never received any form of kindness or affection from Dark.  In 1957, Alfina gave birth to a healthy baby boy, named Alexandru Propescu, your father. 
 
The day he was born, Dark took him from Alfina.  She was not allowed to care for him.  Dark raised Alexandru to believe Alfina was his sister and told him his mother died in childbirth.  He was not allowed to speak with Alfina, show her any affection and if he did, they both were severely punished.  Your father was told his sister was a crazy, filthy animal and to be avoided.

Detective Mac is currently looking for information on locating the living relative of Alfinas 1 and 2.  To blame her for giving birth to your father is wrong.  What choice did she have?  Who was she supposed to turn to for help?  I ask that you take all this into consideration when deciding whether to include Alfina into your family.”
 
Aside from the barely audible sobs, the room was silent.  Dr. Williams sat down and patiently waited to see what we would do.
 
Mom hugged Alfina; Charlie stood and extended his hand.  “Hello, Grandma.  I am Charlie, James’s brother and your grandson.
 
Susan got up and walked around the table to where Grandmother was sitting.  She gave Angela a gentle hug, and then turned to face Alfina.  “Hello.  My name is Susan.  I am so proud to be your granddaughter.”
 
Grandmother put her arms around Susan’s neck and gave her a long, and affectionate hug.  Everyone in the room was crying.  Although he tried to maintain his professionalism, I noticed Dr. Williams wipe tears from his eyes.  I was crying too.  For the first time since the day I found the evidence against Dad in the garage, I felt that the family would survive.  We were destined for years of therapy, but we would survive.
 
Angela interrupted to announce, “I’ve been teaching Alfina some nursery rhymes.  I am hoping to teach her how to read too.”
 
Alfina blushed and said, “Da.  My friend teach me many ‘sery rhymes.”
 
Angela looked at Alfina with pride and said, “Why don’t you recite one of your favorites?  I am sure they would love to hear it.”
 
Alfina's cheeks turned bright crimson.  “I no speak good English.  I make many mistakes.”
 
“Alfina, your English is fine.  Don’t be shy; you know you can do it.”
 
“Okay, I try.”
 
Alfina stood and leaning on the table for support began to recite the following:
 
“Humpity Dumpity he sit on a wall
 Humpity Dumpity had a big fall.
All the King’s horses and all the King’s men
Not able to put Humpity Dumpity gether again”
 
Alfina quickly sat down but not before everyone in the room clapped until their hands were tired.
 

Alfina smiled and looked at Dr. Williams.  “Too bad Humpity Dumpity didn’t have Dr. Williams cause he surely wouda fix him up just fine.”
 
Now it was time for Dr. Williams to blush.  We all laughed at Alfina’s amusing joke.
 
I watched everyone laugh and hug as a dark cloud slowly entered the room and hung over me.  The Snohomish County Prosecutor was going to announce the charges against Dad on Monday.  I had no doubt he was also going to announce he would be seeking the death penalty.  I felt certain the family would once again look at me as the bad guy.  I wanted to believe it was over, but reality told me it was not.

 

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 46
Making Vegetable Soup

By Sasha








The sound of the phone ringing woke me from a long overdue deep sleep.  Not happy about being disturbed at 7:30 in the morning, I didn’t hide my displeasure when answering.  “Whoever you are you better have something important to say, or I am hanging up.”
 
“Good morning, James.  Time to get up.  I’m taking Alfina’s deposition today and want you, Mac, and Angela to be there.”
 
“Mr. Hurley, I thought because Grandmother was under psychiatric care no one could interrogate her.”
 
Mr. Hurley laughed.  “James, that’s the beauty of playing the game.  Dr. Williams is a psychiatrist, but Alfina is under the care of Dr. Smyth, an orthopedic surgeon and on the orthopedic ward.”
 
“Doesn’t that mean that Snohomish County Police can also talk to her?”
 
“Yes, but they are under the assumption she is under psychiatric care and haven’t asked to speak with her yet.  Now get up, get dressed and meet me, Mac, and Angela in Alfina’s room at 9:30.”
 
Mr. Hurley hung up the phone without waiting for my answer. Of course, I would be there. Mac and Mr. Hurley were going to ask her some tough questions, and I knew she needed my support.
 
 
* * * * ** * * * *
 
 
I arrived at Grandmother’s room at 9:00.  Mr. Hurley, Mac and Rachael, Mr. Hurley’s assistant were already setting up the video camera and recorder.  I hadn’t seen Rachael since our wild escape from the media at the Holiday Inn.  She was even prettier than I remembered.  My heart skipped a beat when she smiled and said, “Hello, James, how have you been?”
 
Unable to speak, I just smiled.
 
Grandmother was sitting up in her bed enjoying all the attention.  Rachael sat on the bed, held Alfina’s hand, and said, “Mr. Hurley and Mac are going to ask you some questions.  All you have to do is answer them honestly.  If you do not know the answer, just say you don’t know.  Mac or Mr. Hurley will try to make this simple.  Do you understand?”
 
“Da…I mean yes, I understand.”
 
Suddenly, Grandmother saw me standing beside Mac.  “James, how good to see you.  I’m so happy you be here with me.”
 
“It’s good to see you too, Grandmother.”
 
At that moment, Angela appeared with two cups of coffee.  Seeing the room full of people, she grinned and said, “Sorry, guys, these are for me and Alfina. If you want any, you’ll have to get your own.”
 
I tapped Mr. Hurley on the shoulder.  “Have you explained to Grandmother what you are doing and why you are doing it?  More important, does she know what all that equipment is?”
 
“James, don’t worry.  I think she understands what is going on.”
 
“I hate to burst your bubble, but I doubt she has the slightest idea what you are doing and why.  Give me and Angela a few minutes alone with her before you ask your questions.”
 
Mr. Hurley looked at Mac who reluctantly nodded. “Okay, do your magic.”
 
Mac, Rachael, and Mr. Hurley excused themselves saying they were going to the cafeteria for some coffee.
 
Angela sat on the bed beside Grandmother, and I sat on the chair.  “Grandmother, how much of the world outside this room have you seen?”
 
Grandmother looked at Angela then bowing her head, said, “Not much, James.”
 
“Aside from the ambulance ride here to the hospital, what have you seen?”
 
Grandmother looked at Angela and said, “We’ve watched some television that’s all.”
 
“All this must be very confusing to you.”
 
“Da, it is, James.”
 
“Do you remember when I talked to you about the law, police and being honest?”
 
 “Da, I remember.”
 
“Do you know why Mac and Mr. Hurley want to ask you some questions?”
 
“Mr. Hurley say he want me to tell him what I know about Dark and Alexandru.”
 
“Yes, that’s right.  But do you know why?”
 
“I think maybe because Dark and Alexandru both be very bad men.”
 
“Yes, that is correct.  However, the law says before they can be punished, there must be proof that they are bad men.  Dark is dead.  So there is nothing anyone can do about him.”
 
Grandmother interrupted to say, “Angela, tell me about God and the Devil. She say to me, God is good, and the Devil be bad.  Good people go to a place called Heaven and bad people go to a place called Hell.  I think Dark be in Hell.  He do many, many bad things.  Angela say she going to teach me to read a book called the Bible.”
 
“You mean the Bible. I think that would be a wonderful book to read.”  Considering I hadn’t decided myself if God was real, I felt like a hypocrite saying that.  But if anyone could find comfort in God, it certainly was Grandmother.
 
“Grandmother, think of the law as making vegetable soup.  There are many steps needed to make soup.  First you must pick the vegetables, wash them, cut them up, put them into a pan of hot water and cook them.”
 
 “Don’t forget the spices.” Grandmother enthusiastically added.
 
Both Angela and I laughed.  “Of course, we won’t forget the spices.”
 
I paused to allow my analogy to sink in before proceeding. “Just like soup, the law has many steps that must be followed.  First, there must be a crime.  Do you know what a crime is?”

“Da, that be when you do something bad.”
 
“That’s correct.  When a crime is committed, it is the job of the police to collect evidence.  Evidence is proof of the crime.  Evidence can be anything.  A dead body, fingerprints, stolen property found in someone’s house, pocket, or car.  Another form of evidence is witness testimony.  If a person witnesses a crime, they tell the police and what they say is written down or taped on a special machine that records their voice.  That is what Mr. Hurley and Mac want to do today.  They want to talk to you about what you saw and heard at the cabin on the days Dark and Alicia died.  This is called a deposition.  It is just a fancy word for talking to a lawyer.  This can be used in court.  Do you understand what I am saying?”
 
“Da, James, I understand.”
 
There are two types of lawyers.  One for the defendant, the person accused of a crime.  The other is the District Attorney, or Prosecutor, who tries to prove the defendant, is guilty of the crime by using the evidence the police has collected.”
 
Grandmother nodded that she understood.
 
“Dad killed twelve young girls and dumped their bodies in a part of town called Belltown.  Everyone referred to him as the Belltown Killer.  I found evidence that proved he was guilty of killing six.  Dad knew going to court would mean he might get the death penalty.  His lawyer told him that if he confessed to all twelve that he could talk the prosecutor into not asking for the death penalty by sending him to jail for life instead.   But that crime was in King County.  He killed Dark and Alicia in Snohomish County.  They can try Dad in court and charge him with murder and sentence him to death.”
 
Grandmother sighed and looked extremely sad.  “James, I know Alexandru think for a long time that I am his sister.  I always think I be his mother.  Dark take that away from me.  I do not know Alexandru as a brother or a son.  I do not know him at all.”
 
Grandmother covered her face with her hands and began to cry.  Angela put her arms around her and together they cried.  I felt tears well up in my eyes because I knew exactly how Grandmother felt.  He was my father and I didn’t know him either.

 

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 47
The Meaning of Forgiveness

By Sasha

Author Note:There's always time for love












We each took a moment to regain our composure.  Angela kissed Alfina’s hand and in a soft voice, asked, “Do you understand what James means by the death penalty?”
 
Alfina nodded.  “Da.  I understand death very well.  Dark tell Alexandru and me many times he kill us if we no do what he say.”
 
“Grandmother, Dark was talking about murder.  Murder is not the same as the death penalty.  Murder is intentionally causing the death of someone. The death penalty is only used to punish someone who is found guilty of murder.  This does not include a death by accident. I am telling you this because Dad admitted to intentionally killing twelve girls.  With your testimony about him killing Dark and Alicia, that brings the total to fourteen intentional murders.  The punishment for this may be death.  Can you live with that?”
 
Grandmother’s expression changed to one of curiosity.  She turned to Angela and said, “You tell me God is good. You say He forgive all sins.  If God forgive all sins, then why does man need to punish the sinner?”
 
I couldn’t help but be impressed by Grandmother’s question.  Behind those big green eyes, and beneath her thick red hair, was a brain more capable of reasoning than any of us gave her credit for.
 
Angela smiled. “A person must be repentant or sorry for what they have done and promise to never do it again, to receive God’s forgiveness.  Man’s law and God’s law are similar.  Man can forgive, and God can forgive, but God’s forgiveness determines if you go to heaven or hell.
 
Grandmother put her arms around Angela and in a voice trembling with fear and sadness, and tears in her eyes, asked, “Do you forgive Alexandru for murdering your granddaughter?”
 
Angela placed her hands on Grandmother’s cheeks, looked her directly in the eyes, and softly said, “No, Alfina, I cannot forgive him yet.  The pain of her loss is still too strong.”
 
Once again, tears flowed freely. Mac, Rachael and Mr. Hurley came back into the room and our tears quickly disappeared.  Dr. Williams and Smith, Alfina’s orthopedic surgeon, followed a few steps behind.
 
“Good morning, Alfina.  How are you today?’ Dr. Williams smiled and softly patted Alfina on the head.
 
“I no be too good. Mr. Hurley want me help him put Alexandru to death for killing Dark and Alicia.  That make me sad, but it also make me angry with Alexandru.  He be my son, but he also be a bad man like his father.”
 
At a complete loss at what to say to Alfina, Dr. Williams gave Mr. Hurley a very strong look of disapproval for upsetting his patient, and said, “Well, I certainly hope the rest of your day goes much better.”
 
Grandmother smiled.  “Me too.”
 
Speaking to Mr. Hurley, Dr. Williams said, I won’t take up much of your time, but I just wanted Dr. Smyth to explain to Alfina the surgery he will be performing on her foot tomorrow.”
 
Without introducing himself, Dr. Smyth began speaking.  "In most cases, a broken ankle or broken foot is a common injury. The seriousness of a broken ankle or broken foot varies. Fractures can range from tiny cracks in your bones to shattering breaks that pierce your skin.
 
“Alfina, treatment for a broken ankle or broken foot depends on the exact site and severity of the fracture. A severely broken ankle or broken foot may require surgery to implant wires, plates, rods or screws into the broken bone to maintain proper position during healing. Your foot has been repeatedly broken by impact from a heavy weight.  My primary concern is the nerve and blood vessel damage to your foot.  Lack of blood flow can cause a bone to die and collapse.  I am hoping the surgery can correct this condition.”
 
Alfina listened intently to Dr. Smyth, but obviously did not understand what he was saying.  “Do all them fancy words mean I can go for walks with Angela and my grandchildren after the surgery?”
 
Dr. Smyth smiled and said, “Yes, with the help of a cane you should be almost as good as new.  But I must tell you that recovery will take several months.”
 
Grandmother looked at me, “What do that mean?”
 
“You will have to be very careful not to injure your foot again and do everything the doctor tells you to do.”
 
Alfina grinned.  “I always be good at doing what people tell me to do.”
 
Drs. Williams and Gunzel said goodbye and left the room.  Mac and Mr. Hurley set their chairs beside Alfina’s bed.  Rachael handed them two manila folders containing the list of questions they were going to ask Alfina.  I felt uncomfortable.  I knew Grandmother needed me there for support, but I was not looking forward to listening to the details of Dark or Alicia’s death.  I glanced over at Angela, and could tell she felt the same way.
 
Without warning, Rachael tapped me on the shoulder.  She leaned close and whispered into my ear, “Don’t worry, James, Tom has taken hundreds of depositions, and he is always gentle.  He knows what he’s doing.”
 
The smell of Rachael’s perfume distracted me. 

 


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 48
The Deposition Part 1

By Sasha










“Alfina, just remember to relax.  I am going to ask you a list of questions.  If you don’t know the answer, just tell me.  Some of the questions may seem strange, some confusing, and a few may be embarrassing.  Just do the best you can.”
 
Mr. Hurley smiled, stepped back behind the camera, while Alfina looked at me with eyes pleading for everyone to go away.  My heart told me to put a stop to her torture, but common sense reminded me this was necessary if justice was to be served.  Dad had already manipulated the system, and this was the only way to set it right.
 
Angela stood beside me doing her best to reassure Alfina with a big smile that everything would be fine.
 
However, seeing the fear in Grandmother’s eyes, all I could think of was what an idiot I was to believe my own foolish bravado.
 
Mr. Hurley adjusted the camera, tested the microphone, and then proceeded to say, “This is a deposition of Alfina Propescu in the case against John Mathews.  It is Monday, June 21, 2011 and we are in Alfina’s hospital room at Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, Washington.”
 
Mr. Hurley then asked his first question.
 
 
“Please tell us your name.”
 
Grandmother hesitated for a moment then said, “Dark named me Alfina 3.”
 
Mr. Hurley asked, “Does that mean there was an Alfina 1 and 2?”
 
“I think so.”
 
“Do you remember Alfina 1?”
 
“No.  She die before I be born.”
 
“Do you know Alfina 2?”
 
“Dark tell me she be my mother.  He tell me she die birthing a baby boy.”
 
“Alfina, who is Dark?”
 
“Dark be the man that tell me what to do.”
 
“What relation is he to you?”
 
“Dark be my father.”
 
“Alfina, how old are you?”
 
“James, my grandson, tell me I be seventy-one. But numbers have little meaning to me.”
 
“Alfina, can you read?”
 
“No, Dark say reading be wrong, and he tell me I too stupid to learn.”
 

“Alfina, can you tell time?”
 
“Yes, but not in the way you do.  I know when it be morning, afternoon, and night.  I know when to prepare the ground for planting.  I know when to plant, and when it time to…  James, what is the word I look for?”
 
I looked at Mr. Hurley who nodded. 
 
“The word is harvest, Grandmother.”
 
“Yes, yes, that is the word.  I know when to harvest the garden. Dark tell me there is no reason to know more about time.”
 
Mr. Hurley paused, turned off the camera and told Alfina, “Now, I am going to ask you some questions about Alexandru.  We—pointing to me and Angela—know him as John Mathews.  When I ask you about John, I am actually asking you about Alexandru.  Do you understand?”
 
“I only know him as Alexandru.  You want me to call him Alexandru or John?”
 
Mr. Hurley patted Grandmother on the shoulder.  “You call him what you want.”
 
Mr. Hurley turned the camera back on.  “Alfina, do you know a man named John Mathews?”
 
Alfina nodded.  Mr. Hurley said, “You have to answer out loud.”
 
Alfina blushed and said, “Yes, I know John Mathews.  His father, Dark, name him Alexandru Propescu.  I call him Alexandru.”
 
“Did you and Dark live as husband and wife?”
 
Alfina didn’t answer.  Mr. Hurley asked her again, “Did you and Dark live as husband and wife?”
 
“I do not know the words husband or wife.  What do husband and wife mean?”
 
I could tell this was going to be an unusually long day. There was so much Grandmother did not know or understand; things we all took for granted.
 
Mr. Hurley immediately tried to explain what husband and wife meant. “When a man and woman get married, they become husband and wife.”
 
Grandmother’s blank expression told me she did not understand.
 
“James, what does married mean?”
 
Without waiting for Mr. Hurley’s approval, I told Grandmother, “When a man and a woman meet, sometimes they like each other.  In time, like becomes love and they decide to spend their lives together.  They get married.  Married is an official proceeding done performed by a preacher, or official of the state.  The woman becomes the wife and the man becomes the husband.  They then live together and start to have babies.”
 
I knew my explanation was oversimplified, but Grandmother was easily confused and with her, simple was always better.
 
“Oh, I understand.  No, Dark not be my husband.  He be my father, but he called me his woman.  It be my job to clean the cabin, make breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Work in the garden.  Catch and kill rabbits or squirrels and make babies.  But, we never be married.”
 
“In the time you lived with Dark, did you ever meet other people?”
 
“No.  Dark no like anyone to visit the cabin.  He put up signs telling people he shoot anyone who come on his property. He told me to always hide in the shed behind the cabin if anyone come to the cabin.  He told me he beat me if I no obey.  I always obey. But, not many people ever come to the cabin.”
 
“When you and Dark talked, did you speak in English?”
 
“No.  Dark say English be the Devil’s language.  He never tell me who the Devil be.  He only say that he be very, very bad.  I was ascared of him, especially at night.”
 
“What language did you speak when talking to Dark?”
 
“I think he call it Gypsy speak.”
 
“If you only spoke Gypsy, how did you learn English?”
 
 
“I learn English from Alexandru.  He go to school and learn it there.”
 
“Who is Alexandru?”
 
Grandmother’s expression changed to one of shame.  Her faced was flushed and she turned her eyes away when she spoke.
 
“Alexandru be my son.  But Dark tell him I be his sister and say he beat me if I tell Alexandru I be his mother.”
 
Grandmother seemed to drift into another world.  She continued to talk.  “Dark very, very angry when the man come to the cabin and tell him Alexandru had to go to school.  He say it be the law.  They argue but the man tell Dark he have no choice.  Alexandru go school or Dark go to jail. So, Alexandru go to schoolhouse.  Dark very, very angry.  When Alexandru speak in English, he beat him with a belt.  Alexandru and Dark not like each other.  They fight all the time.  When school end, Alexandru tell Dark he leaving the cabin to go to a bigger schoolhouse to learn to be a doctor.  He also tell Dark he change his name to John.   Dark not happy.  They have a terrible fight.  Alexandru leave the cabin and I no see him again for maybe twenty or twenty five plantings.”
 
“What happened when you saw John again?”
 
“When he come to the cabin, I hear the car.  I be in the garden.  I do what Dark tell me; I run to hide in the shed behind the cabin.  I hear loud shouting and then furniture breaking. I be very ascared.  I leave the shed and go to the back of the cabin and look in the window.  I see a tall man.  I know he be Alexandru.  He and Dark fight like mad dogs.  Alexandru hit Dark many times with a piece of wood.  When Dark stop moving, Alexandru sit down beside him.  I no see him, but Alexandru make a loud noise and I hear Dark scream.  Alexandru get up, run out the front door and leave.  I be very ascared and go back into the shed.  I stay in the shed a long, long time.  It be very dark when I finally go inside the cabin.  There be blood everywhere.  The table upside-down, the chair in many pieces on the floor, and Dark be dead.  I not know what to do.  
 
“I sit on floor a long time then I hear a car.  I ascared and run and hide in the shed again.  I wait a long time, and then I see Alexandru go into the woods with a shovel.  He come back and then leave again with Dark over his shoulder.  He plant Dark in same place Dark plant Alfina 1, Alfina 2 and their dead babies.”
 
“Did Alexandru see you?”

“No.  He no see me.”
 
“How do you know he didn’t see you?”
 
“If Alexandru see me, I no be here.  I be dead.”
 
“What did you do after John left?”
 
“I stay in the shed all night and all next day before I come out.  I go into the cabin, and it be clean.  The table is upside, the chair be gone, and there be no more blood.  Alexandru clean everything very good.”
 
“What did you do then?”
 
“I afeard Alexandru come back, so I sleep in the shed every night for a long time.
 
“When he no come back, I go back into cabin and sleep.  But one night I hear a car.  I run to hide in the shed.  I no see who go into the cabin.  When I hear a girl scream, I want to be strong and help the girl but I so ascared I no can move.  The scream go on all night.  It be terrible.  I can still hear the girl scream when I sleep.”
 
Alfina’s voice began to tremble and it was obvious this was an opportune time to stop and take a break.  Mr. Hurley felt the same and told Alfina to take an hour to rest, and he would continue after lunch.  As we left the room, I looked back and saw Angela and Grandmother hugging each other.  They were both crying.



 

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 49
The Deposion Part 2

By Sasha






Mr. Hurley and I went downstairs to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee and a stale ham and cheese sandwich.  Neither of us spoke until Angela appeared with red eyes and a runny nose.  I couldn’t think of anything to say, so a hug was all I could offer in the way of comfort. Mr. Hurley pulled out a chair, and Angela sat down.  He handed her his handkerchief and said, “Let me get you a cup of coffee.”
 
In a shaky voice, she said, “Thanks, but I’d prefer a cup of tea; green tea if possible.”
 
I knew it must have been very difficult to listen to Grandmother talk about Alicia.  I also knew Mr. Hurley wasn’t done questioning Grandmother about what she witnessed.
 
“Angela, it really isn’t necessary for you to be there when Mr. Hurley questions Grandmother. I think it is too hard for you to hear the details of what happened to Alicia.”
 
Sounding a little less shaky, Angela shook her head.  “Yes, it is hard, but I have to be there for both Alfina and Alicia.  Your grandmother told me she feels guilty for how John turned out.  She believes that because Dark wouldn’t allow her to show any affection that she is now responsible for what he became.  I’ve told her she is not the cause of what happened, but she doesn’t believe me.  It is going to take a long time for her to understand that the blame belongs to Dark.
 
 
Angela paused to put some sugar into her tea.  Mr. Hurley sat in the chair beside her.  “James, your grandmother has lived her entire life without any contact with the outside world.  Dark controlled her every move.  She couldn’t do anything without his approval.  Television and radio confuse and frighten her.  After she has her surgery, I want to take her out and show her the waterfront, a trip to Mt. Rainier, and take her to a grocery store; something she has never seen.  I want to teach her how to read and write.  She is really very smart, a lot smarter than you or anyone else thinks.”
 
“No, Angela, I know she is very smart.  Just look at how fast she has learned English.  But I still don’t think you need to hear all the ugly details.  It just isn’t good for you.
 
Angela smiled and patted my hand affectionately. “Sorry, there is nothing you can say to change my mind.”
 
Mr. Hurley leaned back in his chair with a look of concern on his face.  “Snohomish County plans to convene a grand jury in two weeks, so we don’t have much time to get this deposition to them.  They will need it if they are going to call Alfina as a witness.”
 
“What grand jury?  Dad didn’t have a grand jury?”
 
“James, that’s because he pleaded guilty, there was no need for a grand jury.”
 
Obviously confused, Angela asked, “What exactly is a grand jury.  Why isn’t Alfina’s taped deposition enough?  Why does she still have to testify?”
 
Mr. Hurley sat forward and looked directly at Angela.  “A grand jury usually includes sixteen to twenty three people.  The prosecutor presents evidence against a person suspected of committing a crime.  The defendant can appear in his own defense, but neither witnesses nor defendants are allowed to have their attorney present.  After listening to the evidence, the grand jury votes to decide if there is enough evidence to require a trial.  It is not their job to decide guilt or innocence. And with what we’ve got on James’s father, I have no doubt they will vote for a trial.”
 
“Why can’t they just use the taped deposition?”
 
“Angela that is only done in rare instances.  Taped evidence of the person actually committing the crime can be presented, but if there is a witness the jury, and in court, the defense must have the opportunity to cross-examine them.  You cannot cross examine a tape.”
 
The idea of Grandmother having to sit in a courtroom filled with strangers being cross examined by a man trying to make her look like a liar or worse, a crazy woman who can’t be trusted terrified me.  “Does she know she will have to testify at the grand jury and at Dad’s trial?”
 
Mr. Hurley shook his head.  “No, that is something I was hoping you’d help me with.”
 
“It is going to take a lot more than a pat on the back and a vote of confidence to prepare her for this.  She’s going to fall apart on the stand.  I won’t be there to help her with the words she doesn’t understand.  In addition, Angela won’t be allowed to hold her hand.  Damn it, Mr. Hurley, we need more time to prepare her.”
 
“I can speak to the prosecutor and see if I can talk him into calling Alfina as a witness last.  That’s the best I can do, James.”
 
 
I didn’t feel the least bit confident that Grandmother could hold up to an interrogation by the Grand Jury.  I was going to have to work with her every day and even play devil’s advocate.  She had to know what to expect before she walked into that courtroom.
 
 
* * * * * * * * * *
 
 
Grandmother was just finishing her lunch when we entered the room.  I laughed out loud when I saw her tray filled with several plastic cups of red Jell-O and even more cups of what had to be tapioca pudding.
 
 
Holding a plastic cup of pudding in her hand, Grandmother said, “James, you have to try this.  It be so good.  I like the red Jell-O too but this be my favorite.”  She ate the pudding and licked the spoon.  “Oh yes, I like this the best.”  She immediately picked up another cup and consumed the contents in a matter of seconds.
 
Mr. Hurley was busy setting up the camera and testing the microphone.  He then turned to Alfina and said, “We need to finish with our questions.”
 
Grandmother nodded and grabbed a third cup of pudding downing it as fast as she could.  “Okay, I be ready.”
 
Angela giggled and carefully moved the tray to the side.
 
Suddenly Grandmother sat up and with a big grin on her face said, “James, Dark was wrong when he say the world be a bad place where the devil live.  Dark be wrong, the devil live in the cabin, not out here with you.
 
Grandmother’s smile disappeared and large tears raced down her cheeks.  Looking away from me, Grandmother said, “James, I think Dark be the Devil and he take Alexandru and make him a devil too.  Her bottom lip began to quiver.  “James, if they be devils, what do that make me?”
 
“Grandmother, that makes you a victim and a survivor.  Do you understand what I am saying?
 
She nodded, wiped the tears from her face and looked at Mr. Hurley.  “You can ask me your questions now.”
 
He turned on the camera and repositioned the microphone.  After tapping it several times to make sure it was working, he said, “Okay we’re ready.
 
 “This is part 2 of the deposition of Alfina Propescu in the case against John Mathews.  I am Thomas Hurley, Ms. Alfina Propescu’s attorney.  It is Monday, June 21, 2011 and we are in Alfina’s hospital room at Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, Washington.
 
“Alfina, I would like to pick up where we left off.  You were telling us about the night someone came to the cabin with a girl.  You were hiding in the shed when you heard her scream.”
 
Alfina bowed her head.  “Yes, I still hear her scream today.”
 
“What happened when the screaming stopped?”
 
“The scream stopped and I wait long time before the back door open and a man come out.  He picked up the shovel lying against the cabin, walked past the small shed, and begin to dig a hole in the rose garden.  He dig a big hole.  He go back into the house and come out with the girl over his shoulder.  He put her in the hole and cover her with dirt.”
 
“Did you recognize the man?”
 
Grandmother took a deep breath and with tears in her eyes said, “Yes, it was Alexandru, my son.  You know him as John Mathews.”
 
“Are you sure it was John?”
 
Sounding defensive, she said, “Yes, I tell you before, a mother always know her son.  It was Alexandru that I see.”
 
“What happened next?”
 
“Alexandru go back into the cabin.  He stay there a long time.  He finally leave, I hear the car drive away.  I still ascared and I stay in the shed until the sun come up.  I go into the cabin and it was clean.  There was no blood, no broken furniture.  Everything be exactly where it should.  My heart be pounding hard.  I still ascared.  I go outside to the rose garden.  I look at the place he plant the body.  I no know her name.  I call her ‘Little Flower’.  When Alexandru dig the hole, he dig up a rose bush that lay beside ‘Little Flower’.  I plant the rose over the body and close my eyes and tell ‘Little Flower’ I be sorry my son, Alexandru hurt her.  I light a small fire near the rose bush.  I start the fire with one light and no add more fuel.  I place thyme, sage, and rosemary into the fire.  I no know the little girl’s name so I repeat ‘Little Flower’ seven times, while walking backwards around the fire.  I sit by the fire until it burn out.
 
Mr. Hurley asked, “Why did you do that?”
“The dead person be caught between the world of the living and the world of the dead.  They stay there until planted. In order to ease their stay there, and to prepare them for the journey to the world of the dead, there is a ritual that is performed by the shuvani.  There be no shuvani, so I perform the ritual for ‘Little Flower’.”  I help her go to the world of the dead.  So she no longer be trapped in between.  I no perform this ritual for Dark.
“What is the significant of saying Little Flower seven times?”
Grandmother smiled.  “Seven is a powerful number.  All rituals be said seven times to make sure they work.  Seven is very special number.”
I looked around the room and everyone, including myself, was looking at her with expressions of admiration.  Dark broke my father but not Grandmother.  She had a heart full of compassion and love.  And at the worst moments in time, it was that love that got her through it all.  I no longer saw her as a victim.  She was most definitely a survivor and best of all, she was MY Grandmother.
 
Mr. Hurley gave us all a few minutes to compose ourselves and continued with the deposition.
 
“Did you see John again?”
 
“No, he no come back to the cabin.”
 
“Did anyone come to the cabin?”
 
“Yes.  A young boy come.  He look around the cabin, in the workshop and then in the garden.  He find the bones of ‘Little Flower’.  He be ascared and run away.

“Then many people come.  They look in the cabin and everywhere.  I hide in the woods.  They dig up ‘Little Flower’ and take her away.”
 
“Did you know who that young boy was?”
 
“I no learn until later that he be my grandson, James.
 
“How long did you stay at the cabin after John buried ‘Little Flower’?”
 
Grandmother paused to count on her fingers.  “I think it be at least five plantings that I stay there.”
 
“You were alone the whole time?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Weren’t you afraid?”
 
“I no be ascared until all the food and seeds be gone and I no can plant food.  Sometimes I ascared of staying in the cabin because I know terrible things happen there.  I go to the cave by the stream.  But it be very cold and finally I know it be time to leave.  I no know where to go.  I walk to the road and watch the cars.  I watch the cars and walk in the direction that most go.  I walk a long time until I see a town.  When I walk down the street many people look at me and some run away.  I finally walk by a building that have a big star in the window.  It be the same star on the cars that came to the cabin and take away ‘Little Flower’s’ bones.  I open the door and go inside.
 
“The man inside ask me my name, but he speak English and he be hard to understand.  I speak Gypsy but he look at me funny.  He no understand.  I try to remember the English Alexandru teach me and I finally able to tell them about Dark.  I afeard that Alexandru come kill me if I tell them about him so I tell the man I kill Dark.”
 
“Later when you could speak English better you told the truth.  Alexandru killed Dark, and he killed Alicia, Little Flower, too.”
 
 
“Yes, that be the truth.”

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns Jaames's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 50
James and Angela

By Sasha






Although Grandmother and Angela lived totally different lives, I found it fascinating and heartwarming how close they had become.  From the day Angela met Grandmother she had not left her side.  It was obvious to everyone how much they loved each other.  The worst set of circumstances imaginable brought them together, yet neither felt anger or hatred toward the other.
 
We all knew it would take considerable time for Grandmother to recover fully, but we all planned to be there for her every step of the way.  Unlike me, she handled pain well.  She never complained when doing her physical therapy.
 
I was pleased to learn she would be staying with Angela.  Grandmother was eager to learn, and Angela was equally eager to teach.  Grandmother was learning so quickly it amazed everyone.  Angela read her "Little House on the Prairie" then immediately Grandmother would read the story herself, not making a single mistake.  Within a week, they had read almost all of Mother Goose. Grandmother’s ability with numbers was equally impressive.  Everyone noticed we shared the same ability to remember. 

When Grandmother was sleeping, Angela and I often walked across the overpass to upper campus to Drumheller Fountain. In the area around the beautiful fountain, there is a beautiful rose garden. In the spring, the rhododendron bushes put on quite a show for the visitor.  The University of Washington campus displays impressive architecture blended with majestic landscaping.  Both Angela and I could not wait until Grandmother was well enough to make the daily trip with us.
 
Our daily trips to upper campus often resulted in moments of sadness reminding me of the time I spent away from Dad while my family was subjected to his obnoxious and cruel behavior.  Angela always seemed to read my mind and did her best to reassure me. “James, you have to stop blaming yourself for escaping your father’s wrath. If you want my opinion, which I am sure you don’t, I think he was afraid of you.”

“Why would he be afraid of me?”

“Your father was successful at pretty much everything he did, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never match your intellect.  James, you are destined for great things. You are the one who will be remembered.  In time he will fade into dust like so many sick killers before him.”
 
I took Angela’s hand in mine and stroked it gently.  “I would settle for a normal, quiet life where no one knew I was the son of a serial killer, yet I feel that is going to be a difficult challenge to accomplish."
 
“James, you feel that way now, but give it time and things will settle down sooner than you think.”
 
“Mom, Susan and Charlie are moving to Miami, and I think the change will be a good one for them.”
 
“What about you?  James, what are your plans?

 “I plan to change my PhD.  I feel the need to pursue a different path.”

“And what’s that?”

“Criminology and Behavioral Science.”

Angela laughed.  “That’s one way of improving your social skills. But what happened to that normal life you were talking about?”

“I want to understand why people do what they do.  Why they make the choices they make.  Why a person becomes a sociopath. And, most important of all, why so many feel the need to kill.”
 
“I understand your need to know the answers to your questions but do you really think it is healthy for you to pursue this?”
 
I laughed. “I think it would be unhealthy for me not to.”
 
Angela smiled then nodded.
 
“The doctor is so pleased with Grandmother’s progress he says she can go home on Sunday.  Are you sure you are up to taking care of her?”
 
“I can’t think of anything I would rather do.  Alfina is such a dear, and I feel honored to call myself her friend.”
 
“She is blessed to have you as a friend too.”




Author Notes I have have had some complaints about the size of my font and the bold. I apologize but I am blind in one eye and the momement the good one isn't doing so well. I need large bold print to be able to see.

James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His eidetic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 50
Deposition Part 2

By Sasha

Mr. Hurley and I went downstairs to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee and a stale ham and cheese sandwich.  Neither of us spoke until Angela appeared with red eyes and a runny nose.  I couldn’t think of anything to say, so a hug was all I could offer in the way of comfort. Mr. Hurley pulled out a chair and Angela sat down.  He handed her his handkerchief and said, “Let me get you a cup of coffee.”
 
In a shaky voice she said, “Thanks, but I’d prefer a cup of tea; green tea if possible.”
 
I knew it must have been very difficult to listen to Grandmother talk about Alicia.  I also knew Mr. Hurley wasn’t done questioning Grandmother about what else happened.
 
“Angela, it really isn’t necessary for you to be there when Mr. Hurley questions Grandmother. I think it is too hard on you to hear the details of what happened to her.”
 
Sounding a little less shaky, Angela shook her head.  “Yes, it is hard, but I have to be there for both Alfina and Alicia.  Your grandmother told me she feels guilty for how John turned out.  She believes that because Dark wouldn’t allow her to show any affection that she is now responsible for what he became.  I’ve told her she is not the cause of what happened, but she doesn’t believe me.  It is going to take a long time for her to understand that the blame belongs to Dark.
 
 
Angela paused to put some sugar into her tea.  Mr. Hurley sat in the chair beside her.  “James, your grandmother has lived her entire life without any contact with the outside world.  Dark controlled her every move.  She couldn’t do anything without his approval.  Television and radio confuse and frighten her.  After she is released, I want to take her out and show her the waterfront, a trip to Mt. Rainier, and take her to a grocery store; show her things she has never seen.  I want to teach her how to read and write.  She is really very smart, a lot smarter than you or anyone else thinks.”
 
“No, Angela, I know she is very smart.  Just look at how fast she has learned English.  But I still don’t think you need to hear all the ugly details.  It just isn’t good for you.
 
Angela smiled and patted my hand affectionately. “Sorry, there is nothing you can say to change my mind.”
 
Mr. Hurley leaned back in his chair with a look of concern on his face.  “Snohomish County plans to convene a grand jury in two weeks, so we don’t have much time to get this deposition to them.  They will need it if they are going to call Alfina as a witness.”
 
“What grand jury?  Dad didn’t have a grand jury?”
 
“James, that’s because he pleaded guilty, there was no need for grand jury.”
 
Obviously confused, Angela asked, “What exactly is a grand jury.  Why isn’t Alfina’s taped deposition enough?  Why does she still have to testify?”
 
Mr. Hurley sat forward and looked directly at Angela.  “A grand jury usually includes sixteen to twenty three people.  The prosecutor presents evidence against a person suspected of committing a crime.  The defendant can appear in his own defense, but neither witnesses nor defendants are allowed to have their attorney present.  After listening to the evidence the grand jury votes to decide if there is enough evidence to require a trial.  It is not their job to decide guilt or innocence. And with what we’ve got on James’s father, I have no doubt they will vote for a trial.”
 
“Why can’t they just use the taped deposition?”
 
“Angela, that is only done in rare instances.  Taped evidence of the person actually committing the crime can be presented, but if there is a witness the defense must have the opportunity to cross examine them.  You cannot cross examine a tape.”
 
The idea of Grandmother having to sit in a courtroom filled with strangers being cross examined by a man trying to make her look like a liar or worse, a crazy woman who can’t be trusted terrified me.  “Does she know she will have to testify at the grand jury and at Dad’s trial?”
 
Mr. Hurley shook his head.  “No, that is something I was hoping you’d help me with.”
 
“It is going to take a lot more than a pat on the back and a vote of confidence to prepare her for this.  She’s going to fall apart on the stand.  I won’t be there to help her with the words she doesn’t understand.  And, Angela won’t be allowed to hold her hand.  Damn it, Mr. Hurley, we need more time to prepare her.”
 
“I can speak to the prosecutor and see if I can talk him into calling Alfina as a witness last.  That’s the best I can do, James.”
 
 
I didn’t feel the least bit confident that Grandmother could hold up to an attack by the defense.  I was going to have to work with her every day and even play devil’s advocate.  She had to know what to expect before she walked into that courtroom.
 
 
* * * * * * * * * *
 
 
Grandmother was just finishing her lunch when we entered the room.  I laughed out loud when I saw her tray filled with several plastic cups of red Jell-O and even more cups of what had to be tapioca pudding.
 
 
Holding a plastic cup of pudding in her hand, Grandmother said, “James, you have to try this.  It be so good.  I like the red Jell-O too but this be my favorite.”  She ate the pudding and licked the spoon.  “Oh yes, I like this the best.”  She immediately picked up another cup and consumed the contents in a matter of seconds.
 
Mr. Hurley was busy setting up the camera and testing the microphone.  He then turned to Alfina and said, “We need to finish with our questions.”
 
Grandmother nodded and grabbed a third cup of pudding downing it as fast as she could.  “Okay, I be ready.”
 
Angela giggled and carefully moved the tray to the side.  Suddenly Grandmother sat up and with a big grin on her face said, “James, isn’t it amazing they can see inside my body with their machines?  Dark was wrong when he say the world be a bad place where the devil live.  Dark was wrong, the devil live in the cabin, not out here with you.
 
Grandmother’s smile disappeared and large tears raced down her cheeks.  Looking away from me, Grandmother said, “James, I think Dark be the Devil and he take Alexandru and make him a devil too.  Her bottom lip began to quiver.  “James, if they be devils, what do that make me?”
 
“Grandmother, that makes you a victim and a survivor.  Do you understand what I am saying?
 
She nodded, wiped the tears from her face and looked at Mr. Hurley.  “You can ask me your questions now.”
 
He turned on the camera and repositioned the microphone.  After tapping it several times to make sure it was working, he said, “Okay we’re ready.
 
 “This is part 2 of the deposition of Alfina Propescu in the case against John Mathews.  I am Thomas Hurley, Ms. Alfina Propescu’s attorney.  It is Monday, June 21, 2011 and we are in Alfina’s hospital room at Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, Washington.
 
“Alfina, I would like to pick up where we left off.  You were telling us about the night someone came to the cabin with a girl.  You were hiding in the shed when you heard her scream.”
 
Alfina bowed her head.  “Yes, I still hear her scream today.”
 
“What happened when the screaming stopped?”
 
“The scream stopped and I wait long time before the back door open and a man come out.  He picked up the shovel leaning against the cabin and walked past the shed and begin to dig a hole in the rose garden.  He dig a big hole.  He go back into the house and come out with the girl over his shoulder.  He put her in the hole and cover her with dirt.”
 
“Did you recognize the man?”
 
Grandmother took a deep breath and with tears in her eyes said, “Yes, it was Alexandru, my son.  You know him as John Mathews.”
 
“Are you sure it was John?”
 
Sounding defensive, she said, “Yes, a mother always know her son.  It was Alexandru that I see.”
 
“What happened next?”
 
Grandmother’s eyes stared off into nothingness.  She remained silent for several minutes before Mr. Hurley asked her again, “Alfina, what happened next?”
 
 
“Alexandru go back into the cabin.  He stay there a long time.  He finally leave, I hear the car drive away.  I still ascared and I stay in the shed until the sun come up.  I go into the cabin and it was clean.  There was no blood, no broken furniture.  Everything exactly where it should be.  My heart be pounding hard.  I still ascared.  I go outside to the rose garden.  I look at the place he bury the body of the young girl.  I no know her name.  I call her ‘Little Flower’.  When Alexandru dig the hold he dig up a rose bush that lay beside ‘Little Flower’.  I plant the rose over the body and close my eyes and tell ‘Little Flower’ I be sorry my son, Alexandru hurt her.  I light a small fire near the rose bush.  I start the fire with one match and no add more fuel.  I place thyme, sage, and rosemary into the fire.  I no know the little girl’s name so I repeat ‘Little Flower’ seven times, while walking backwards around the fire.  I sit by the fire until it burn out.”
 
Mr. Hurley asked,”Why did you do that?”
“The dead person is caught between the world of the living and the world of the dead.  They stay there until buried. In order to ease their stay there, and to prepare them for the transition to the world of the dead, there is a ritual that is performed by the shuvani.  There be no shuvani, so I perform the ritual for ‘Little Flower’.”  I help her go to the world of the dead.  So no longer traped in between.  I no perform this ritual for Dark. 
 

I looked around the room and everyone, including myself, was crying.  Dark broke my father but not Grandmother.  She had a heart full of compassion and love.  And at the worst moments in time, it was love that got her through it all.  I no longer saw her as a victim.  She was most definitely a survivor and best of all, she was MY Grandmother.
 
Mr. Hurley gave us all a few minutes to compose ourselves and continued with the deposition.
 
“Did you see John again?”
 
“No, he no come back to the cabin.”
 
“Did anyone come to the cabin?”
 
“Yes.  A young boy come.  He look around the cabin, in the workshop and then in the garden.  He find the bones of ‘Little Flower’.  He be ascared and run away.”

Then many people come.  They look in the cabin and everywhere.  I hide in the woods.  They dig up ‘Little Flower’ and take her away.
 
“Did you know who that young boy was?”
 
“I no learn until later that he be my grandson, James.
 
“How long did you stay at the cabin after John buried ‘Little Flower’?”
 
Grandmother paused to count on her fingers.  “I think it be at least five plantings that I stay there.”
 
“You were alone the whole time?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Weren’t you afraid?”
 
“I no be ascared until all the seeds be gone and I no can plant food.  Sometimes I ascared of staying in the cabin because I know terrible things happen there.  I go to the cave by the stream.  But it be very cold and finally I know it be time to leave.  I no know where to go.  I walk to the road and watch the cars.  I watch the cars and walk in the direction that most go.  I walk a long time until I see a town.  When I walk down the street many people look at me and some run away.  I finally walk by a building that have a big star in the window.  It be the same star on the cars that came to the cabin and take away ‘Little Flower’s’ bones.  I open the door and go inside.
 
The man inside ask me my name, but he speak English and he be hard to understand.  I speak Gypsy but he look at me funny.  He no understand.  I try to remember the English Alexandru teach me and I finally able to tell them about Dark.  I afeard that Alexandru come kill me if I tell them about him so I tell the man I kill Dark.”
 
“Later when you could speak English better you told the truth.  Alexandru killed Dark and he killed Alicia, ‘Little Flower’, too.”
 
 
“Yes, that be the truth.”


* * * * * * * * * *

 
List of Characters:
Please note age of the Alfina 1 and 2 at the time they were kidnapped is not known.

James Mathews  -  18 year old genius
John Martin Mathews  AKA Alexandru Popescu – Father and Serial Killer

Martha Mathews - Mom
Adain Popescu AKA Dark – John Mathew’s father

Charlie Mathews – Brother 13
Susan Mathews -  Sister 16
Detective MacKinnon  ‘Mac’ – Head of Belltown Task Force
Thomas Hurley – Criminal Attorney representing the family and Alfina
Dr. Perez – Susan’s Psychiatrist
Marcy – James’s ex-girlfriend
Marilyn- Susan’s Day Nurse
Dr. Williams – Mom’s Psychiatrist also Alfina 3’s doctor
Alfina 1 – Kidnapped June 6, 1935  died in childbirth in 1940 –child stillborn
Alfina 2-  Kidnapped August 15, 1940 age 8  gave  birth to Alfina 3 June 21,  1945
                 Alfina 2 died giving birth to stillborn child in 1948
Alfina 3-  in 1957 at age 12 gave birth to Alexandru (John Mathews)
Alicia Campbell – Babysitter missing for nearly 5 years found buried at the cabin
Angela Campbell- Alicia’s grandmother
Rachael – Mr. Hurley’s assistant

Author Notes James voices concern over how facing a grand jury will effect Grandmother.


Chapter 51
Grandmother Goes Home with Angela

By Sasha


As I sat on the balcony staring out over the city covered in yellow, red, blue, and green lights, I noticed faint wisps of transparent clouds streak across the night sky hinting rain was on its way.  It had been a long day and tomorrow promised to be even longer.  Grandmother was being released and Mom, Angela, and Susan spent the entire day shopping for new sheets, blankets, and even curtains for Grandmother’s bedroom. 
 
After spending the morning at the hospital with Grandmother, I left her for a few hours to look at an apartment on Capitol Hill.  Mom is not pleased about my decision to move, but I need time to myself.  Charlie is angry and feels abandoned despite my promise to find a place with two bedrooms, so he can spend the night.  Susan and Uncle Terry are the only ones that agree it is time for me to move on.
 
Grandmother is excited about leaving the hospital.  I have no choice but to put aside my concern over how she will adjust to life in the real world.  No matter how hard I try to prepare her for what to expect, I know there are so many things that she is not ready for.  I am tired, but I can’t sleep.  My stomach is tied into knots sending waves of burning acid up into my throat.  My medication does nothing to alleviate the pain.
 
* * * * * * * * * *
 
I woke still sitting on the balcony.  The rain I anticipated had come and gone leaving me cold, wet, and shivering.  I felt an eerie sense that something was wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.  After taking a hot shower and changing into dry clothes, I grabbed my cell phone, keys and headed to the hospital.  I glanced at my watch; it was 9:30, only thirty minutes to get there in time to meet with Dr. Williams.

Grandmother was dressed and ready to go when I arrived.  Mom, Angela, Susan, and Charlie gave me a look of disapproval at my late arrival.  I ignored them.  Dr. Williams entered the room and handed Angela a typewritten list of Grandmother’s schedule:  Occupational therapy every Tuesday and Thursday and group therapy Monday and Friday with Dr. Williams.  As the attendant wheeled Grandmother out of the room, the nurse placed a large plastic bag of medication on her lap and handed me a list of her medications and when she was to take them.
 
Before leaving the room, Dr. Williams took hold of my arm and pulled me aside.  “James, this is a monumental step for Alfina.  I know she is excited about getting to know her family, but I am concerned that she not be overwhelmed.  Please, take it slow with her.”

I assured Dr. Williams I took his concern seriously and thanked him for all his help.  The ride to Angela’s house was uneventful other than Grandmother’s shock when we drove over the Evergreen floating bridge.  I honestly believe she held her breath the entire length of the bridge.  She gasped in awe when she saw the top of Mt. Rainier resting on a cloud above the southern horizon.  “Oh my, dat be so beautiful!”

We pulled into Angela’s driveway fifteen minutes later.  Her house is a lovely three-bedroom cottage nestled on a small lot in an older section of Kirkland.  A tall, very old Weeping Willow tree hovers over two ponds filled with Koi.  The small pond is connected to a larger pond several feet lower with a pump to assist in water circulation.  Two large bird nets cover both ponds to prevent leaves from falling into the water.  The S shaped sidewalk leading to the front porch is lined with gladiolas, irises and lilies.  As we approached the house, Angela pointed to the side of the house and announced, “My vegetable and herb garden is over there.  It’s my pride and joy.”

Grandmother smiled.  “Maybe you let me help you in the garden.  I be a good gardener.”
Angela nodded enthusiastically.  “What a great idea.  James tells me you are an avid gardener, I could certainly use help from someone that knows what they are doing.”

Angela opened the front door and invited us inside.  We sat in the living room while she went into the kitchen and prepared a pot of tea.  Grandmother sat quietly staring out the window.  No one spoke.  After we drank the tea, Grandmother announced she was tired and wanted to take a nap.  Angela showed her to her bedroom and then returned to the living room.  “We need to give Alfina some time to adjust.”

I agreed.  “I think it is best we let the two of you develop your own routine.  Find out what Grandmother feels most comfortable doing.  She doesn’t need us hovering over her, she needs her space.”

 * * * * * * * * *

The sound of my phone ringing woke me.  A wave of guilt swept over me when I saw Angela’s name displayed on the screen.  Moving into my new apartment took up more of my time than anticipated making phone calls my only communication with Angela and Grandmother over the past three days.
“Hello, Angela. I am so sorry I haven’t been over to see you.”  I quickly looked at the large stack of unpacked boxes lined up against the wall.  “But now that I’m settled in, I promise to come over this afternoon.”

“James, I know you’re busy, and I hate to bother you, but I am worried about Alfina.  She refuses to take her medication, and she continually complains about something she calls mokkadi. James, I am at my wit’s end.  I need your help.”

“Don’t worry.  I’ll catch the next bus and be there in an hour.”

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. After discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, James's life is turned into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.



Chapter 52
Mokkadi

By Sasha

I arrived at Angela’s forty-five minutes later.  As I walked up the sidewalk, I saw Grandmother on her knees in the garden.  She paused long enough to wave hello, and then quickly returned to digging amongst the vegetables.  Angela stood on the porch waiting for me.  We went inside and I followed her into the kitchen where she proceeded to make a pot of tea.
 
“James, I am so sorry if I upset you when I called.  But, Alfina has been acting quite defiant when it comes to following Dr. Williams’s instructions.  She simply will not take her medication.  She insists she can heal herself with special herbs from the garden.  Believe it or not, we have also had a few minor arguments about some of her strange beliefs.  She won’t let me bring Dotty, my dog, into the house.  She says to do so is against the mokkadi code; whatever that is.  She had a fit when I washed the dishes in the kitchen sink after I washed a pair of socks in the sink—apparently, also against the mokkadi code.   I tried to get her to explain mokkadi to me, but she said because I was gaje, I wouldn’t understand.”
 
I understood Angela’s frustration.  It was obvious to me that Grandmother considered herself a Gypsy herbalist healer, a partragria.  What I found odd was Dark was never raised by true Gypsies like his father Lucian, who had been banned from the clan years earlier. Whatever Grandmother was taught had to be diluted information passed down from Lucian to Dark, who supposedly taught Grandmother everything he knew. Only Grandmother could tell me what she knew about herbal healing and who taught her.
 
Angela poured me a cup of tea and then sat across from me at the table, anxiously waiting for me to explain Grandmother’s behavior.

“Angela, you know Grandmother believes she is a Romani Gypsy.  The Romani have many laws.  Dark’s father, Lucian, was sentenced to marime’ after breaking one of the most important Romani laws.  Marime’ has dual meaning to the Gypsy.  It refers both to a state of pollution or defilement as well as to the sentence of expulsion imposed for violation of purity rules.  Pollution taboos and their names vary from group to group.  Gypsies define themselves in part by their adherence to cleanliness rituals called mokkadi or code of cleanliness.
 
“Many of the Gypsy traditional laws of hygiene deal with water.  Gypsies must wash only in running water.  A shower is acceptable, but a bath would not be.  Dishes cannot be rinsed in the same sink or basin that is used for washing clothing.  The kitchen sink is only used for washing dishes and cannot be used for washing your hands.  The mokkadi has strict rules for washing clothes, self, and for food preparation.

“Romani standards of hygiene are high, and cleanliness is an important issue in their culture.  The code also states that some animals are considered impure, for instance cats because they lick themselves. Dogs, although part of families in the past when they lived in wagons, were never allowed inside. Dogs are tolerated outside the house because of their value as watchdogs.  Grandmother is not trying to be difficult. You just need to understand that this is how she was raised.”
 
Angela took a sip of her tea then burst into laughter.  “The Romani certainly have a lot of rules.  Maybe you could write them down for me so I don’t upset poor Alfina any more than I already have.”
 
I smiled.  “I don’t know all of them, but I’ll do the best I can.  I’ll have a talk with Grandmother too.  She was taught not to discuss Romani ways with gaje, and since you are friends, I think she can be convinced to open up to you about the culture.”
 
“James, can you explain the difference between Gypsy, Romani, and Travelers; or are they all the same?”
 
“The term Gypsy, based on a mistaken belief that they came from Egypt, and sometimes used derogatorily, is used to refer to several ethnic groups of which the Romani are one. Others are the Jevgjit in Albania, the Rudari in Hungary and the Sinti in Germany. Roma, which in the Romani language means people, originate from northern India.

"The Romani language is of Indo-Aryan origin and has many spoken dialects, but the root language is ancient Punjabi, or Hindi. The words Roma and Romani have nothing to do with the country Romania in which the Roma are called Tisane, which means Gypsy.

“Irish Travelers and Scottish Travelers are a distinct group and do not refer to themselves as Gypsies. Irish Travelers have been known as a distinct group since 400AD.  They have their own language called Cant, Gammon or Shelta.  I believe the confusion comes from the fact that they were all originally wanderers or spent their lives travelling.”
 
Angela grinned and poured me a second cup of tea. “Okay, James, that’s more information than my little brain can hold for one day.”
 
The kitchen door slammed shut.  Grandmother smiled and said, “Can I have some tea?”
 
Angela retrieved a clean cup from the cupboard.  “Of course, dear, I’ll pour you a cup while you wash up in the bathroom.”
 
Angela looked over at me to make sure she had not stepped on Grandmother’s toes.  I grinned.  She was a quick study.  She did just fine.


While Grandmother was in the bathroom, I whispered to Angela, “I’ll try to talk to Grandmother about taking her medicine.  I’m not sure if she will listen.  I’ll discuss it with Dr. Williams the next time we meet.”

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. After discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, James's life is turned into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.



Chapter 53
Grandmother Shows Her Stuborn Side

By Sasha








Grandmother appeared tired.  It was hot outside and at her age, working in the garden had to be exhausting.  I could hear her feet shuffling as she walked slowly down the hallway.  Angela refilled the kettle and placed it on the stove.   She leaned against the counter, and with a look of distress on her face, said, “I feel like I’ve entered the twilight zone.  I consider myself an educated woman, but I just find it hard to believe people like Lucian, Dark, and your father exist.  How are such horrid creatures able to live among us without anyone noticing them?”
 
“That’s a question my family has been asking since the day I turned Dad into the police.”
 
“James, if Alfina continues to cling to living her life as a Romani, she may never fully adjust to our ways.  Can you explain how your father was able to escape so easily and live what appeared to be such a normal life?  Wouldn’t Dark have been as demanding of him as he was of Alfina?”
 
“According to Grandmother, he was.  Everything seemed to change when he was forced to go to school.  He and Dark fought constantly, and when he got the chance to go to college, Dad took it.  It is possible Dad was ashamed of his family and worked very hard to hide his past.  That’s probably why he went back and got the journal.  He didn’t want anyone to read it.
 
“I’m not sure how much Dad knows about Grandmother.  The King County Prosecutor already announced Dad was to be charged with Alicia’s murder, but Dad and his attorney have remained silent on the subject. To my knowledge, there has been no mention of what the police found at the cabin.  Although Snohomish County will be calling a Grand Jury, I have serious doubts Dad will be willing to testify.  As far as I know, he doesn’t know that Grandmother will be testifying against him.  With Grandmother’s testimony and the journal, I am sure Dad will be found guilty of Dark and Alicia’s murder. In my opinion, it will be a very short trial.”
 
 Before Angela had a chance to respond, Grandmother entered the room.
 
“James.  You no need to worry.  There be no trial, and I no need to testify.”

“I am sorry, Grandmother, but you WILL have to testify.  Mr. Hurley is the best.  He will help you prepare.”
 
Grandmother smiled again.  “No, James.  There be no trial.  I make sure of that. You also be wrong about Alexandru.  He be Romani, just like me.  He no change into gaje.”
 
“Grandmother, you haven’t seen or spoken to Dad for nearly twenty-five years.  Believe me when I tell you he never showed any evidence of being Romani.”
 
Angela poured Grandmother a cup of tea and placed it on the table.  Grandmother drank the tea, then got up and without saying another word, went back outside.
 
Angela picked up the teacup and placed it into the sink.  She shook her head and with a confused look on her face said, “James, what the hell was that all about?”
 
“Sorry, I don’t have the damnedest idea what Grandmother is talking about.”
 
* * * * * * * * * *
 
I followed Grandmother outside where she was back on her knees digging in the garden.  I was pleased she had found something to occupy her time but was concerned with her unexpected comments about not testifying.  I knelt beside her. 
 
“Grandmother, we need to talk.”
 
“James, they be nothing to talk about.”
 
“No, we have a lot to talk about.  What do you mean when you said there will not be a trial?”
 
Grandmother didn’t bother to look at me when she spoke.  “Everyone know Alexandru be guilty and he will pay for everything he do.  He no need a trial for that.”
 
“No, Grandmother.  That is not how it works.  He has to have a trial before he can be punished.”
 
“James, you no know the power I have over Alexandru.  When I say there be no trial, there be NO trial.”
 
Grandmother turned her back to me and continued working in the garden.
 
Determined to make her understand, I tapped Grandmother on the shoulder to get her attention.  “Please, you have to listen to me…”
 
“James, I no want to talk about this anymore.  I have important work to do."

It was obvious Grandmother wasn't in the mood to talk and pressing her further wasn't going to work.  I went back into the house and not expecting an answer, asked Angela a question.

"What does Grandmother mean, she has power over Dad?"

Angela shrugged and gave me her your guess is as good as mine look.


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. After discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, James's life is turned into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.

Short, but necessary chapter. When I do the final edit, I will probably combine it with the previous chapter.





Chapter 54
Why Dad's Shoes?

By Sasha








Before leaving, Angela assured me she was not upset with Grandmother.  She was just worried.  “James, Alfina is so vulnerable right now.  I can’t imagine being in her shoes.  She is just taking shelter in what she knows best.  I suggest you let her be.  She has a lot to deal with and doesn’t need you or me dragging her kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century.”
 
Once again, Grandmother appeared in the kitchen without warning.  “James, you no need to worry about me.  I be fine.  Angela not used to Romani ways.  We both have much to learn.  Soon Alexandru no be a problem.  I already take care of everything.”
 
I didn’t know what to say about Grandmother’s cryptic comment.  She stood with her hands in tight fists pressed against her hips.  I knew immediately, questioning her about what she meant was pointless.  I hugged them both and then left, feeling more confused than before I arrived.
 
* * * * * * * * * *
 
I got off the bus a block from my apartment.  As I walked up to the front door, I saw Charlie sitting on the steps.
 
“James, where have you been?  I’ve been waiting here for more than an hour.”
 
“Sorry, Charlie, but I wasn’t expecting you.  Why didn’t you call me on my cell?”
 
Charlie laughed.  “You obviously forgot to turn on your perfect memory today; I don’t have a cell phone.”
 
“Sorry, I forgot.  I’ve had a lot on my mind today.”
 
“What’s so important?  You and Mac playing detective again?”
 
I didn’t find Charlie’s sarcasm amusing.  “No, I spent the morning at Angela’s with Grandmother.  I’m worried about her.”
 
“She seemed fine yesterday when Mom and I saw her.”
 
“Grandmother didn’t say anything about you or Mom visiting.”
 
“We didn’t actually visit.  She asked us to take her to our old house so she could see where Dad lived.”
 
“Damn it, Charlie, why didn’t you tell me this?”
 
“What difference does it make?  You don’t tell me what you do most of the time.”
 
“Come on, Charlie, that’s not fair.  Why did she want to see where Dad lived?”
 
“She didn’t say.  I think she was just curious.”

It was obvious to me that when God passed out curiosity, Charlie was in the bathroom.

 
“Curious about what?”
 
“James, it’s hot out here.  Can we at least go inside and have this conversation?”
 
I removed my keys from my pocket and unlocked the door.  Without waiting, Charlie pushed past me and headed down the hallway.  He stopped in front of the door to my apartment and impatiently waited for me to open it.  Inside, he tossed his backpack onto the couch and plopped himself down on the chair.
 
“James, what’s the big deal about Grandmother going to see where Dad lived?”
 
I picked up Charlie’s backpack and placed it on the floor before sitting on the couch.  “Grandmother is acting strange and talking about Dad not going to trial.  She said she has some sort of power over him and only added that she had already taken care of everything.  Neither Angela nor I have any idea of what she is talking about.”
 
Charlie shrugged.  “Don’t ask me.  She didn’t say anything to me about Dad.”
 
“She had to say something.  What did she and Mom talk about in the car?”
 
“Nothing important.”
 
“Damn it, Charlie.  Important or not, I want to know what they talked about.”
 
“Stupid stuff.  Grandmother wanted to see a pair of Dad’s shoes; and no, I don’t know why she wanted to see them.”
 
“Did Mom show them to her?”
 
“Yes, Mom took her into the bedroom and gave her a pair of his dress shoes.”
 
“Grandmother then sat on the bed, mumbled something in her strange language, and then asked to go back to Angela’s.  She took the shoes with her… That’s all that happened.  Like I said, she didn’t explain why she wanted the shoes and neither Mom nor I asked.”

 
Nothing Charlie said made sense, but I knew it meant something to Grandmother.  Why the hell would she want a pair of Dad’s shoes?  I knew going directly to Grandmother was what I should do, but she wasn’t in a talkative mood.  I was afraid if I pushed too hard, she might clam up completely.  All I could think of to do was go back to the library and see what I could find out about Romani culture and shoes.  Something told me that there wouldn't be much on the subject other than a brief discussion on Romani fashion.  Figuring out Grandmother was turning out to be far more difficult than any quantum physics class I’d taken.
 
* * * * * * * * * *
 
I called Mom and asked her to come and pick up Charlie.  While I had her on the phone, I asked, “What does Grandmother want with Dad’s shoes?”
 
Mom responded defensively.  “I don’t know.  She just said she wanted a pair of his shoes.”

Mom and Charlie's lack of curiosity amazed and irritated me.
 
“Mom, did she call you or did you call her?”
 
“What difference does that make?”
 
“Please, just answer the question.”
 
“Angela called and told me Alfina wanted to visit the house.  I asked her why, and she said something strange.  She said, “To make things right.  It didn’t make much sense, but Alfina has strange ways and I didn’t feel right questioning her reasons.  I picked her up and we drove over to the house.”
 
“When you gave her the shoes, what did she do next?”
 
“Nothing.  She said something in Romani, and then asked for a paper bag to put them in.  We drove back to Angela’s, had lunch, and then went home.  She didn’t mention the shoes again.”
 
“What did she do with them after you got to Angela’s?”
 
“Before going inside, she walked around to the side of the house and placed them in the garden.  I thought that was odd, but I didn’t want to embarrass her by asking her what she was doing.
 
“James, what is going on?  Why are you asking me about this?  Is something wrong?”
 
“I don’t know, but I have to find out before something terrible happens.”
 
I rely on facts not gut instinct, but my stomach was in a turmoil and screaming for my attention.  Grandmother was up to something, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what it was.  Whether I liked it or not, I had no choice but to talk to Grandmother.


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. After discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, James's life is turned into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


Chapter 55
The Power of Belief

By Sasha





Charlie and I waited on the front steps for Mom.  She agreed to lend me the car after I drove them home.  Charlie asked if he could go with me, but became angry when I said no.
 
“Damn it, James.  I never get to spend time with you anymore.”
 
“Charlie, try to understand that this is not a social visit.  I need to ask Grandmother some questions that might upset her.”
 
“I don’t see what’s so damn important about a stupid pair of Dad’s shoes.”
 
“Charlie, that’s what I’m trying to find out.”
 
Charlie snickered.  “Well, what happens if Grandmother refuses to tell you?  What are you going to do—sick Mac on her?”
 
Charlie’s sarcasm was beginning to irritate me.
 
 * * * * * * * *
 
The drive from the rental house to Angela’s was only ten minutes.  I pulled into the driveway and parked behind her green Subaru.  As I walked up the sidewalk, the front door opened and Angela greeted me with a smile.  “Alfina told me you’d be coming over.  I should know better than to doubt her.  Come in.  I’ll put the kettle on for a pot of tea.”
 
Angela took a few steps then paused. “Alfina’s in the backyard waiting for you.  I’m worried about her.  She was fine earlier but about an hour ago complained about a headache.  James, please try not to upset her.”
 
“Has she been taking her medication?”
 
Angela shook her head.  “No.  She insists everything she requires can be found in the garden.  I’ve tried, but she just won’t listen to me.  Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”
 
I doubted I could say anything to Grandmother that would make her do something she didn’t want to do.  Until a few weeks ago, she hadn’t seen another human being for five years, learned to live off the land, and never seen a doctor.  Before that, Dark ruled over her with an iron fist.  I found it amazing she had come as far as she had. Now, as far as she was concerned, there was only one way to do things, and that was her way.
 
Grandmother was curled up on the lawn chair in the backyard.  As I approached, she opened her eyes and smiled.  “Hello, James.  I no surprised you be back again.  You talk to your mother, now you have questions, yes?”

Grandmother looked tired; her skin was pale, and her hands trembled.  “Grandmother, you look terrible.  Are you feeling ill?”

“James, you no come here to ask foolish question.  I be fine.  Ask what you must ask.”

Grandmother wasn’t going to make this easy.  “Okay.  Are you a drabarni or drabengi?”

“Yes, I be a healer and I also make protection against bad luck, or bibaxt, and supernatural spirits or ghosts, called muló.”

“Is that why you wanted Dad’s shoes?”

Grandmother’s smile disappeared.  “Ah little one, you want to know the curse and how it work.  No, I think that now is not the time for there are ears everywhere, and the curse is my secret.  If you, a gaje, wish to learn of the curse you can ask. I might tell, and then again I might not.”
 
“Please, Grandmother, I have to know what you have done.”
 
“Do you believe?   Curse only work on those who believe.”
 
I knew about voodoo death, a term invented by a physiologist named Walter Cannon whose main work was on the body's fight or flight response. Later studies showed that psychosomatic death is entirely possible and does occur in certain situations. The basic idea behind voodoo death is that a person can be so afraid of something that he causes himself to die from the stress of encountering that fear. Even though voodoo is used in the name, any fear or shock from any culture, including Romani, can cause this condition.
 
“Does Dad believe?”
 
Grandmother stared at me for several seconds before responding.  “Yes, Alexandru believe.  He be the one who teach me the ways.  He learn from Dark who learn from Lucian.  Now Alexandru have reason to be afeard of me.  What goes around comes around.  It be done.  Our days be numbered.”
 
I tried to tell myself Grandmother was talking foolishness, but I knew the power of belief. It has been proven many times.  In a sense, a person who experiences voodoo death wills himself or herself to die. This is why this type of death is so often called psychosomatic, as it is utterly real to the individual to such a degree that he or she actually causes the symptoms.
 
“But if Dad does not know you placed a curse on him, it won’t work.”
 
“No worry.  I be sure Alexandru know about the curse.  Angela help me, she write the words.”

I heard the sound of glass breaking behind me.  I turned to see Angela gasping in shock.  A shattered teapot and three teacups lay on the ground. “Alfina, how could you involve me in such an evil scheme?”
  
“Alexandru be evil.  If I no stop Alexandru, I be evil too.”
 
“No, Alfina, I cannot be a part of this.”
 
I grabbed Angela before she collapsed.  I carefully helped her to a chair.  “What did Grandmother ask you to do?”
 
Angela buried her face into her hands. “I wrote the words Alfina asked me to write.  I saw no harm in doing that.  It was a letter to your father.  I sent it to the prison the day I wrote it.”
 
“What did it say?  When did you send it?”
 
Grandmother interrupted.  “James, stop!  You make Angela afeard. I make sure the curse no come back to her; only me.”
 
I suddenly realized what Grandmother meant when she said ourdays be numbered.  Gypsies cannot be desecrated and they do not condone necromancy, death, or undeath. They cannot be Dark Knights. To a Romani, a death spell means certain death to the person the spell is cast upon as well as the person that casts the spell.  “Grandmother, please, tell me what you wrote in the letter to Dad.”
 
“James, it no important.  It be done.  It cannot be undone.”
 
“No, there must be a way to stop this.”

Angela gripped my hand.  “I remember what it said.  I thought it was just a mother’s reprimand to her son, a lesson in Karma.  I think it was something like this:

Before the night is over
Before the night is through
Whatever you have done to me and others
will come right back at you

Alfina signed it with seven X's and said Alexandru would know it was from her.”
 
“Grandmother, why do you need his shoes?  Why did you need them?”
 
Grandmother laughed.  Neither Angela nor I saw the humor.  “I make sure I no fail.  I put poison in the shoes, speak the special words, and then plant them under my bedroom window in case Alexandru no receive my letter.”
 
Grandmother looked at me with sadness in her eyes.  “James, I believe and Alexandru believe.  It no important if you or Angela believe.”
 
What terrified me was the reality that I did believe.  I didn’t care about Dad, but I could see Grandmother slowly dying in front of me as each second passed. When I tried to put my arms around her she insisted I not touch her.
 
“No, it bad to touch the dead or dying.  That be why I outside.  I cause mareme' for Angela by dying in her house.  James, you must promise to have someone burn my clothes when I be gone.  I no want you to touch them.  That also be mareme'.”
 
Listening to Grandmother felt unreal.  My world consisted of logic, science, and facts, not voodoo, mareme’, and spells.  But I could not deny what was happening. 
 
The sound of my phone ringing startled all of us.  I looked at the screen and my heart skipped a beat.  It was Mac.  I didn’t answer.  A few minutes later, the phone rang again.  This time Mac left a message:  James, call me immediately. Again, I ignored the call.  The third time it rang I finally answered.
 
“Mac, this really isn’t a good time to talk.”
 
“James, this is important. I was just notified by Walla Walla that your father is dead.”
 
I dropped the phone and looked over at Grandmother.  She smiled at me, took a deep breath, and exhaled for the last time. 

Tears streamed down my cheeks.   Angela was also crying.  I stood up, walked over to Grandmother and in an extremely loud voice yelled, "Screw Mareme'." I gently closed her eyes, put my arms around her, and kissed her on the forehead.  "Rest in Peace, dear Grandmother.  God knows you have earned it."


Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. After discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, James's life is turned into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


There is one more chapter...The Funeral. I hope to post it by Friday.


Chapter 56
The Heir Apparent

By Sasha


“How you doing, kid?”

The sound of Mac’s voice reminded me of how much I liked the guy.  “I’m doing fine.  How about you?  I bet you are relieved the case is over, and you no longer have to put up with me.”

Mac laughed.  “Don’t tell anyone, but I actually miss your wise ass mouth.  You may be a pain in the ass, but a damn smart one.”

Mac leaned over the railing and gazed out over the Sound.  A cool breeze blew through his thick gray hair, causing it to flap against his forehead.  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an envelope.  “This was found in your Dad’s cell.  You know anything about it?”

I opened the envelope, and as I removed the single sheet of paper inside, I immediately recognized the seven X’s at the bottom.  Seeing them brought tears to my eyes.  “Sorry, Mac, I don’t know what this is.”

Mac laughed again.  “You’re a lousy liar, James.  Did you forget I’m a detective?  I did my own research.  Besides, Angela told me about what Alfina did.”

I didn’t respond.

“James, there is no way I would ever put this into the file.  My captain would force me into early retirement if I suggested that your Dad died of a curse your grandmother put on him.  Personally, I’m going with the coroner’s finding.  Your dad died of a massive heart attack.  End of story.”

Mac pulled a yellow lighter out of his pants pocket and handed it to me.  I lit the corner of the paper and watched it as it turned to ash before dropping it into the water.  “Thanks, Mac.”

When I walked into the station six months ago and handed Mac the evidence against Dad, becoming friends with the lead detective was the furthest thing from my mind.  I suddenly laughed out loud.

“What’s so funny?”

“Do you think you’ll ever have another case as crazy as this one?”


“Do you mean one with serial killers, bodies buried in backyard gardens, kidnappers, gypsies, curses, and a smart ass kid genius taking over and solving the case?  No, a homicide detective only gets one of those in a career.”

Mac cleared his throat, hoping to hide the emotion in his voice.  “You miss Alfina, don’t you? I never told you but she called you the Heir Apparent.  I think she saw you as the new head of the family; the end of the old ways and the beginning of the new.”

I didn’t know what to say.  I could only hope I lived up to her expectations

“How is your family?”

“They are still mad at me for not going to Dad’s funeral, but other than that, they are doing pretty good.  They are moving to Miami to be near Aunt Em and Uncle Terry as soon as Mom transfers the property in Arlington to the State.”

“She could have made a small fortune on that property.”

“Mac, I know it’s hard for you to relate, but our family is already rich—very rich.  Besides, anyone that would want to buy that property with its history is sick.”

“Angela tells me you are going to move in with her.”

“Yes, I think Grandmother would have liked that. Mac, thanks for coming to her funeral.  That meant a lot to me.”

“I think it was a marvelous idea to bury Alicia and Alfina next to each other.”

“That was Angela’s idea.  She thought of her as Alicia’s guardian angel.  I know Grandmother would have been pleased, don’t you?”

Mac put his arm around my shoulder. “How about a cup of coffee, kid?  I know a great place with a sexy waitress with fire engine red hair.”

I grinned.  “Only if you promise to stop calling me kid’.”


The End

Author Notes James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 175 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. After discovering his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, James's life is turned into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye as he watches his entire family disintegrate in front of him.


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