Gitchie Girl: The Survivor's Inside Story of the Mass Murders that Shocked the Heartland (16 page)

When Debbie called a few days later, Sandra went with her to a party.

“I don’t know a lot of these people,” Sandra said, looking around at the crowd after they’d arrived at the house where one of Debbie’s co-workers lived. The house was a sprawling ranch style, every room packed elbow-to-elbow with partygoers, and music pulsed through the house from oversized speakers. It wasn’t long before a clean-cut boy in a button-down shirt handed Sandra and Debbie each a beer. In the kitchen, people crowded around a Formica table telling stories and roaring with laughter. The door to the gold-colored refrigerator was working overtime with people helping themselves to the well-stocked shelves of beer.

Sandra gravitated to the living room and settled onto a long, armless couch. “Let’s sit here. I don’t feel so claustrophobic,” she told Debbie. Sandra liked this atmosphere where no one made the connection she was
that girl
. The “Gitchie Girl.” She still heard the reference occasionally. She knew her brothers did, too, though they never let on to Sandra about it. A friend had told her this after too many beers one night. Sandra tried not to worry much about what others thought of her. There was nothing she could do now to change that night. The beer she’d been sipping had gone warm, but she didn’t want to give up her coveted spot on the couch

“Sandra!” The person yelled her name with such enthusiasm she thought it must be an old friend. It wasn’t. It was a boy she didn’t recognize but remembered meeting through a friend after he said his name.

“Remember me? That was quite the night,” he said as if there were a period between each word. He seemed vaguely familiar. Memories of that night had been fuzzy at the time and even more so now. She was reluctant to admit to herself that it had been harder to concentrate and focus since the whole ordeal with the murders, especially when it came to meeting new people. It was as if her mind had formed a protective barrier between itself and anything unknown. This boy had lively eyes and an engaging smile. Did he seem trustworthy or was it just that she missed her old life? The one where she’d attracted friends so easily that she’d broken through to the popular crowds with practically no effort. Perhaps it just felt good to hear someone shouting her name, seeking her out as if she were the life of the party. For whatever reason, Sandra nodded and smiled. He was friendly and there was no one else to talk to. Before the night was over, the new friend had given her a handful of pills, “white cross” he called them, along with his phone number in case she wanted more.

She never did call him. However, Sandra began regularly drinking beer with a group of people who liked to party. She acquired a daily routine that passed for a normal life to the casual observer. But then the depression would descend without warning, and her balance would sink away as if it had been resting on quicksand the whole time. One day she was thankful to God for saving her life at Gitchie and the next wishing He wouldn’t have.

Sandra’s life remained derailed. The tragedy at Gitchie Manitou had thrown her into a world foreign to most teenagers. She’d dropped out of school, was working full-time, and had moved into an apartment in Sioux Falls with her brother Bill. She was basically a sixteen-year-old adult. A new job came her way at Raven Industries, a factory where she sewed clothes, something she’d always loved doing in home economics class at school. Sandra liked the simple things in life: sewing, spending time with family, and music. Her life was simple but predictable. She occupied her mind with work during the day and often numbed her mind with beer and partying during the night. It kept all the bad stuff at bay temporarily.

She didn’t want to start drinking alone, so she and some friends would gather at one of their houses in the evenings to drink and listen to rock music. Always the music. Sandra loved music and dancing, and one night found herself dancing with a young man who soon became her boyfriend. Neither of them wanted to admit that they fueled each other in a bad way. Somehow they each ended up with a bag of white cross pills. Sandra hadn’t even thought of the pills since that party months ago when she’d been given her first one. There were a hundred pills, and she took them regularly, washing down a couple in the morning with a glass of juice and then not needing to eat again until evening. It was speed, someone had told her, and the energy kept her going all day, but she crashed at night. She lost ten pounds she didn’t need to lose, but it was nothing that made her feel fantastic. When the pills ran out, she never felt the desire to take them again. The days of pills were over.

But when the Gitchie Manitou demons came back to haunt her, she still had the comfort of her drinking buddies. There were times when she thought life was getting back to normal and mornings when she could hardly muster the energy to get out of bed. It felt as if all the joy had been sucked out of her life and there was no point in moving on. She dreaded the month of November as the calendar steadily crept toward the seventeenth, the anniversary of the murders. She wanted to talk about what had happened so desperately, but it seemed that even her family avoided the topic, not knowing what to say. She never received a card or phone call. She wanted to know that someone understood her pain, but she’d inevitably spend that day alone, and it seemed as if time stood still. She wanted someone to love her despair away. She wanted a normal life. She wanted...someone.

A series of on-again, off-again relationships followed. She came home after work one evening to find that a neighbor’s party had spilled onto the back porch. Sandra joined them and before the night was over had met a strong, good-looking man with long, dark hair who would first become her boyfriend and later a lifelong friend. They just couldn’t get on the same wavelength, and when they were together they drank too much. He eventually moved away.

With a strong sense of loyalty, Sandra rarely parted ways harshly with anyone. Over the next few years she would meet several boyfriends who would stay in touch with her. The relationships were often toxic and short-lived. Sandra’s desire for love and stability was intense. She latched onto others for support, but that one person who could not only give but accept love and accept her past eluded her. If only she could find that person, she knew she could rebuild her life. More time passed, however, and the security she desperately craved seemed as though it would never happen.

She couldn’t find the key to letting go and moving on, though it seemed she tried everything to make the pain go away. One evening Bill returned to the apartment and found her perched on the edge of the couch with India ink and a needle. She’d tattooed a large “RO” on her upper arm and was preparing to add the “GER.” It was the only way she could think of to show that she hadn’t forgotten Roger. It would tie a piece of him to her forever. Bill threw the ink in the garbage and returned to console Sandra. “No, sis, you don’t want to do that.”

Just before turning eighteen, Sandra moved to a small town in Minnesota with Bill’s girlfriend, who was attending an interior design school there. The two girls lived in a cozy loft-style apartment above the design school, and Sandra got a job in a retail store downtown. It was a relief living in this town where no one knew of her past. There were no sideways glances followed by the look of
aha
when they realized who she was. The “Gitchie Girl.” It was a fresh start in this new town, but she missed her family and everything that was familiar.

Toward the end of the school year, the two of them went back to Sioux Falls to find places to live since their stint in Minnesota was nearly over. Sandra went out with two of her brothers to a popular pub downtown. While there, she was introduced to her brother’s boss, Carroll Chrans, who owned a pawnshop next to the pub. Carroll offered Sandra a job but needed her to start immediately. Sandra hadn’t moved back from Minnesota yet, so she had to decline the job offer. She didn’t realize how fateful that night would become.

Upon Sandra’s return, she and Bill moved into a dingy apartment on the outskirts of Sioux Falls that was conveniently just down the street from her old friend Debbie. The apartment was so bare that in December her brother Jim showed up with a Christmas tree because he felt horrible about their living conditions and thought everyone should at least have a tree. The greenery brought cheer to the otherwise dismal furnishings, yet she was simply relieved to have a steady job, a place to live, and a family who cared so much about her.

She worked at a retail store for a while and later at the mall. All around her, friends and relatives were getting married and building happy lives. Sandra continued to search for someone to love, but all she found was disappointment. A series of failed and dysfunctional relationships filled the years with their empty promises taunting her with the prospect of affection which remained just beyond her grasp.

After one frenzied relationship fizzled out, she refused to mope in her apartment and decided to visit a friend. On the way there, she cranked the music and roared down the interstate, hoping her junker car wouldn’t give out. Dusk was approaching, so she flipped on the headlights and spotted a small mound on the road just ahead. She hit the brakes, steered the car to the shoulder, and craned her neck, glancing out the window to see what she’d almost hit. When she saw what it was, she felt a pang in her heart. Sandra shifted into park, got out, walked over to what had caught her eye, and found it was a small turtle that had probably strayed from a nearby pond. Its curious eyes looked at her as she returned it to the grassy ditch. “You better stay off that highway,” she scolded the little guy. It’s strange, she thought smiling, how one disoriented turtle can bring joy to an otherwise worthless day.

Years went by and Sandra couldn’t find her footing in life or love. She’d tried partying away her problems, tried pills, tried building a life with different men, even tried moving to Minnesota. Nothing had helped. Her bouts of anger at God continued. To top it off, she now lived in a dilapidated house with two of her brothers. At least they could lean on one another, but Sandra felt ungrounded, like a weightless feather at the mercy of whichever wind decided to toss her here or there. How much disorder could she endure? Yet she never gave up hope of finding that perfect relationship. Not perfect actually, she wasn’t that starry-eyed, but perfect for her. Somewhere there had to be the right guy to build a happy life with. That man was closer than she knew, and she’d already met him.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.”

Jeremiah 29:11 (ESV)

Months blended into years while Sandra continued the unsatisfying chorus in her life of moving from one half-respectable apartment to another, finding a promising boyfriend only to have the relationship fall apart, and changing jobs just as often. She was in her mid-twenties and worried that the happily-ever-after she so fiercely sought might forever elude her.
Haven’t I met you more than halfway?
she reasoned with God. I’ve tried to be a good person. Her relationship with God seemed to be as fluctuating as the rest of her life. It wasn’t that she expected the perfect house with the white picket fence; she just wanted a shot at a normal life with a man who could love and respect her the way she so deeply desired. Trying to keep an optimistic attitude, she added a postscript to her prayers.
I’m so thankful I’ve never been in a physically abusive relationship; not with my dad, or any of my boyfriends.
She looked on that as a blessing from God.

Sandra’s current job as a waitress at The Cantina in the mall had been a blessing as well. The tip money was good, so perhaps she and her brother Bill would be able to move into a better apartment soon. Right now, her feet ached and her back hurt. It had been a long shift, but at least there was a lull.

No sooner had she sat down than she heard a customer come in through the front door. She looked up to find Carroll Chrans, her brother’s boss, whom she’d known on a casual basis for some time now. He ordered one beer, they talked for a while, and then Carroll left but came back several more times over the course of the month when the place just happened to be empty.

It seemed a little odd to Sandra that he usually ordered only one beer, but odd in a good way. She couldn’t count many people she knew who generally stopped after one beer, including herself. And that wasn’t the only thing she noticed during their increasingly frequent conversations. Carroll was kind and polite. He talked about his mother and family. He didn’t have rough edges or a restless spirit. He was content and confident. He had goals. So when he finally asked her out on a date, she accepted.

Everything with Carroll seemed different, a good kind of different. But Sandra wasn’t used to the good part and found it to be an acquired taste. Carroll didn’t take her to wild parties and loud bars, her familiar standbys. Instead, they went to movies like
Back to the Future
and
The Jewel of the Nile
followed by a late-night snack at Perkins; a salad for Sandra and a hamburger for Carroll eaten over a leisurely conversation about life and family. For both of them, the conversations always came back to family.

Sandra’s intuitiveness brought out the best in Carroll as well. With her patient ways, those around her felt comfortable, so he shared the intimate parts of his life with ease.

“I grew up in Rapid City, but when Dad ended up in a hospital near Sioux Falls I hitchhiked three hundred and sixty-five miles across the state to get here because I had no car and little money.” He let out a soft chuckle and gave his head a reminiscent shake. “I actually slept on park benches! I didn’t care though. My only focus was getting to Dad so I could take care of him.” Carroll told the story with such flourish that by the time he finished it was nearly 1:00 AM.

“Please don’t tell me you’re still getting up in the morning at six o’clock to get that paperwork done before you open the shop,” Sandra said, and Carroll nodded that he was. Thinking of her typical daily routine Sandra added, “You might be the first person I’ve dated who doesn’t usually party all night and get up in the middle of the afternoon to get ready for work!”