Seven-X

SEVEN-X

MIKE WECH

Copyright © 2012 Mike Wech

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 0615505813

ISBN-13: 978-0615505817

DEDICATION

To my wife Ana Maria, whose love and support always gets me through my roughest moments.

 To our parents 

Mike and Diane Wech and Mary and Robert DuFour. 

They are blessings to us and their contributions to our lives have helped us achieve our dreams.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Special thanks for the contributions of  my friends and family, and the mercy of God, who rescued me from the depths of darkness and showed me his grace, love and kindness.

SEVEN-X

WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 8, 2010 

I feel like I’m signing away my life. Literally. I just read through the consent forms I need to sign to cover this story. A story that has to be told. A story I uncovered as part of my investigation into seven missing death row prisoners in the State of Texas.

This journal along with my audio recordings and video diary is my record of the Uphir Behavioral Health Center in Uphir, Texas. An unofficial ghost town that’s completely off the grid. A place without a zip code or mailing address. 

My best guess is that this is a privately funded asylum where experimental procedures are being conducted without the consent of its patients. While conducting this investigation I will be voluntarily under the care of Dr. Alan Haworth, a clinical psychologist, and Reverend William H. Billings, a local minister. 

My name is Eddie Hansen. I’m a reporter for the Los Angeles Times. 

It is my theory that Annette Dobson,
The SIDS Killer
, is being held in Uphir, at the asylum, under the care of Billings and Haworth. 

In case you missed the news, here’s her story. Over a thirteen-year period Mrs. Dobson killed six of her children before they reached their first birthday. 

Each time SIDS was determined as the cause of death and no wrongdoing was suspected. Pregnant with child number seven, Dobson broke down and confessed to the murders. A trial quickly ensued, and Annette Dobson received the death penalty from the great state of Texas, with her execution scheduled for Friday May 13, 2011. 

According to case records Mrs. Dobson had requested a closed execution to be moved to November 19, 2010 with no media, no family, and no outside witnesses to be present. She stated that her privacy was to be respected and she alone would suffer the consequences of her actions. She left no last statement. A death certificate was filed with the state on the nineteenth and her case was closed. 

Kevin Dobson, her infamous husband vehemently denied knowledge of the murders. He repeatedly muttered to me in our interview that Annie was afraid to die. 

“She didn’t want to go to hell and take the baby with her,” he told me. “There is no way she would move her execution.”

Kevin said she pleaded insistently for an abortion, then an exorcism before her execution, so she wouldn’t be attached to the demons committed to dragging her to hell.

She told Kevin months earlier that she wanted him to be with her at the end, but when the State told Kevin that her wishes had changed, he knew something was wrong.  So he came to me. He begged me to find answers.  

So here I am sitting in the only diner in Dell City, Texas, a booming bastion of 413 people. The town infamously known in the children’s song,
The Farmer in the Dell
, and the last place I’ll have phone service or internet access for a while. I feel like Michael J. Fox in
Back to the Future
.  It’s like I punched 1957 on the dashboard of my Delorian and crashed into this world. A far cry from my bungalow in Hollywood.

 Hearing people talk about hunting elk with a White Onyx double barrel is kind of refreshing compared to the endless chatter of wanna-be Spielberg’s gabbing about their latest film project over a half-decaf double latte. 

The fashionable beauty of missing teeth makes every smile a picture worth a thousand words, and I’m stuck in this moment, enjoying simplicity. Everything seems so appreciatively simple, yet this hunger in me is pushing me to sign my life away for my shot at glory. 

These people don’t give a shit about glory. They ain’t crying to become the next reality star or rock legend. They are not spending their last dollar on plastic surgery, desperately trying to maintain fleeting youth.  

No. They’re going to take their toothless asses out into the woods behind me and shoot a deer or elk or rabbit and some primal urge within them is going to find unlimited satisfaction in dragging that carcass back home on top of their pickup truck and ripping it apart to eat.

I guess I’m the same animal with a more sophisticated palette and better dental coverage.  My unlimited satisfaction is coming from the hunt too. The hunt for truth, for my story to be seen by the world.  I’m going thirty-two miles away from what these Dell folks call civilization, heading into nowhere to hunt. 

Or maybe I’m the poor elk, wandering into the path of the White Onyx, staring stupidly into that double barrel wondering what the hell I did to deserve this fate. 

As a precautionary measure, my assistant, and part-time girlfriend, Melody Swann will be transcribing my tapes and piecing this diary together from my notes. 

You read that right. Her real name is Melody Swann and as fate would have it, she came to Hollywood to be a singer. Five American Idol auditions later and a part time job at Dimples Karaoke Bar and here we are together. Anyway, should anything happen to me, Melody will retain authorship of this work and she has instructions for its completion. 

NOTE:  
All entries will be assembled in chronological order and transcribed as given. Entries may be placed together to provide clarity and descriptions of audio and video recordings may be added as needed.

Should anything happen to me.

As I write these words, the gravity of the situation bears contemplation. I’ve assessed the risk, and the rewards far outweigh any potential problems I may encounter. Speaking of rewards, I need to speak to my greatest reward now. I always tape our conversations, so I can remember her voice and picture her when I’m away from home.

“Hey baby girl.”

“Daddy!” she answered. 

The sound of her voice melted any remaining fear I felt as I asked, “How’s my little Pebbly?”

“Daddy, I’m nine.”

“I know sweetie,” I told her. “You’re a big girl. I love you, Peb. Kennedy. Sorry. I just love you… You know that, right?”

“I love you too. I got the Virgin Mary. I got it Daddy.”

“Wow. Where is she?”

Her laughter busted my heart back open as she replied, “Silly. In the play, Daddy. My school play. I’m the Virgin Mary. I got a solo too. I’m the only one. I’m singing a solo in front of the whole school.”

“Are you scared?” I asked.

“No. It’s fun. I love it. Mommy put me in ballet class too, but I like hip hop better. The music is weird. And you can’t just have fun, you have to be all in step and stuff and I told mommy it sucks, but she says it makes me cultured, which is so dumb. I don’t want to be like yogurt.”

I laughed. “You’ll be peachy,” I told her.

“She makes me eat it, you know. I only like vanilla with Cheerios. But Todd always licks his fingers and sticks them in the box. And Mommy doesn’t even hit him. If I did that, I’d be so dead.”

“Me too, sweetie.”

And then, there was that moment of silence when I knew her little brain was churning with possibility.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Can you promise me something?”

“Sure… I can try honey. What is it?”

“Promise, you won’t tell mom.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“Okay,” she replied innocently. “First you have to come to my play.”

“I’ll ask your mom.”

“Daddy! No! You have to come. You have to. Then, you can spend Christmas with me.”

“Christmas with whom?” 

I knew that voice too well. 

“Christmas with whom? Who are you talking too?”

“Nobody… My friend,” I heard Kennedy say defensively. 

“Give me the phone. Give me the phone! That is not the phone I bought you, is it?”

There was silence. “Is that the phone I bought you?”

More silence. And then the inevitable.

“Honey. Go outside. Go. Now!” I heard her instruct Kennedy. Then came the shit storm. 

“Eddie, you son of a bitch! I told you not to buy her any more phones.”

“Sorry,” was all I could muster. The energy was sucked out of my body, but this was nowhere near the end of this conversation. If you knew my ex-wife Jamie like I do, you’d know exactly what was next. How-

“How fucking stupid are you?” she barked.

“Really.”

“Yeah, really fucking stupid Eddie. You’re violating a court order.”

“I’m not with her, okay. You got sole custody. You win.” 

“It’s not the point, Eddie. When can we just live our lives? You never let go. It’s been four years. Move on. She would have forgotten about you and I’d have peace in my family. Not some child who doesn’t acknowledge her father.”

“I’m her father!”

“You’re nobody’s father. You blew that privilege. Move on with your life.”

“Don’t be a bitch about it.”

“That’s scoring points Ed. You read the papers. Abide by them.”

“It’s not final. You know that.”

“You brought this on yourself. You bring everything on yourself, Eddie. You are responsible for your actions and now you have to pay for them.”

“I am paying.”

“No you’re not. You never paid alimony. You thought you had the upper hand and you made your play for her.”

“I gave you everything I had. I wanted to work this out.”

“You never thought Scott would beat you, Eddie. You thought you’d be on top. Get your big story then ride off into the sunset with my baby.”

“I never said that Jaime. I wanted to work this out.”

“Then work it out. Work Eddie. Work it out! Pay your child support. Support your child. Kids cost money. Love ain’t free Ed… I’m destroying this phone. Phones don’t find kids. And I better not catch you within fifty yards of my daughter or your phone will be calling for bail money. Understand!”

That was it. She never gave me time to answer. Just hung up. She always has to have the last word 

“Need a fill?”

That was my waitress bringing me back to reality, ready to stalk me with more coffee. She has this peculiar habit of sneaking up behind me while I’m writing, and starting up a conversation.

“You all right, hon. Your face one-eightied, just flippy flopped all happy to sad.”

“Sure. Fill me,” I said as she stared at me waiting for something.  “See I flippied back. I’m all smiles,” I told her as I stretched my cup toward her.

“Well, that’s better. People digest better when they’re happy. You been sitting here all day, and your face changes like the clock.” 

“I’ve got a lot going on.”

“I see with all them papers you got there,” she told me before her face changed with a look of wonder and sense of excitement. “I know you! I do. You were here before. ‘Bout a month or two ago, weren’t ya?” she asked.

“You got me,” I smiled. 

“I ‘member you,” she said, scanning me with curiosity. “Said you were headed up to Uphir.” 

“No.” I answered.

Then she paused for a second as this look of confusion settled into her face. “You made it back here.”

“Guess I did,” I said, smiling as I noticed the sudden change in her demeanor. A frightened cognizance crawled through her as she asked, “How’d you do that?”

“Do what?” I replied.

“Get out,” She groaned, fighting something building up inside her. “Never seen anyone go up that way and come back. Maybe they do. But they don’t stop here.” Then with a sincere look, she gazed back down at me and asked innocently, “Is it my food?”

“No, the foods great,” I responded, trying to be polite. 

She just smiled back, relieved, and her next words poured out over me like hot coffee. “Well then, it must be the devil!”

“What do you mean?” I inquired.

She stopped cold and looked around as if someone else besides me was listening, then she leaned into me and whispered tentatively, “You can’t say nothing. Promise.”

“Sure,” I told her.

“Promise!” she warned.

“Yeah. Go ahead,” I said as she walked over to the window and looked out making sure no one was within audible distance. 

Then she turned and slowly walked back to me, acting a bit nervous with the coffee pot shaking in her hands. Clenching the pot, she let out a big sigh and began. 

“‘Bout ten years ago. They came here looking at land. Asking questions. Mostly about the water. ‘Cuz we feed El Paso and they wanted to run pipes out there too.”

“Who?” I asked, perking up.

“I don’t know. Corporate. Government folk. The kind with money. Anyhoo, all the sudden, the whole town went crazy, fighting over everything. Money, mostly, I guess. ‘Cuz they spent a lot up there. Then once that hospital got reborn, it got worse.”