Seven-X (19 page)

The question that unlocks the gold.  Who’s really behind this? 

What’s their real motive? I figure that out, and the sky is the limit. I uncover that video vault and the world is mine for the taking! 

But first things first, I must concentrate on my present assets, and use them to the fullest capacity. Annette Dobson is now under constant surveillance. I’m hoping to get permission for another interview, to get that kid clearly on camera.

And no, the kid’s name is not Jesus. It’s… get this. She named him Kevin. She has no idea why, but she said and I quote, “I feel like I’m missing a Kevin in my life. Now I have him.”

No sweetheart. Kevin is your husband. You were childhood sweethearts and married him when you were seventeen and pregnant with your first child. 

But she’s dead, along with your next five kids. Maybe Kevin should come visit. He’d love to see you and reminisce. But he thinks you’re dead. 

And your baby. You think he might stir up the hornet’s nest? You think the media might want to take a gander at this spectacle. That the world may want to know what’s really going on here? Yes, my dear, you are my story!

Which makes me think, if somehow in her unconscious mind, she feels the need for a “Kevin,” what else is lurking in there? What else is about to unravel within her? And how can be there when it happens? 

It’s time to organize my plan. 

First, I need to get my files copied and mail them to Mel. Haworth’s files too.  I can’t have them on my computer. I can’t risk it. 

I’m copying everything over to my external drive as I type. When this finishes, I’ve got to move fast.

If anyone saw video of me in Haworth’s office, I’m on borrowed time. I need to get to Dell City before dark and get this done!   

Here we go! Time to make history.

JOURNAL/VIDEO LOG:                                     

TUESDAY DECEMBER 14, 2010 – 4:55 PM

I made it to the post office just in time before closing, and I wanted to film this historic event, me sending my story off to Mel. 

I approached the post office guy with my camera in one hand, and the mailing box in the other, and asked him,  “Want to be part of my historical documentary, my friend?”

“No thank you. Sheriff has rules about that and if he catches you filming ‘round town without permission, he’ll lock you up,” he said casually, accepting my package and placing it on the scale.

“What? What is this? LA? Uphir? ” I answered. “I need a permit?”

He looked back at me blankly. I could tell, he’d seen some bad shit in his life and just wanted to be left in peace. I’ve spent time with enough prison inmates and war vets in my day to know. He was a pretty big boy, and had this scar across his right eye, and another long one down his arm, partially covered by a tattoo of an eagle, with some writing beneath. I think it said Isaiah 40:31. Maybe Isaiah was his name or his squadron. I didn’t bother to ask. 

He just stared at me with the package sitting on the scale,  before saying,  “It’s best you shut that off, son. Head back home.”

“No problem, paps.” I said.

I didn’t mention what I was sending or what my documentary was about, but I got a feeling that word travels fast around this little town. That old guy seemed nervous about something. He just kept staring at me, like he was trying to figure it out.

 I wonder what he’s hiding. He wasn’t real chatty, until he looked down again at the box I was mailing. He calmly picked it up and examined it. He froze for a second, then looked me deep in the eye and said, “God must be smiling on you.” 

When I asked, “why?”  He simply replied, “You made it back here.” 

Then he set the package down and paused again. This time he closed his eyes and squinted like he was trying to avoid something, get rid of a pain, or a weight, bearing down on him.  He finally let out a long groan and with what was left of his breath, he sighed and told me,  “Is this what you want Melody to remember you by?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Last night, I dreamed I saw this name on a package, Melody Swann. I remembered that name so clear, because my dream was vivid. I saw you too, trapped in a web. I knew you’d come here today.”

Here’s where it got strange. His eyes teared up. He reminded me of that old Indian in those stop-littering commercials. I thought he was going to cry as he told me. “I don’t know how to say this, but here goes. Pick up your camera and tape this, so you remember. You need to remember this! C’mon! Do it! Quick before the Sheriff sees us!”

I picked my camera up, off the counter and turned it on. I can’t explain, but my body was literally shaking, as he rapidly and passionately began speaking.

“This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live. Deuteronomy 30:19.” 

As I recorded, he continued, looking directly into the camera. “Until this day, this very hour, you have chosen death. And if it is death you want, then death you shall see. In my dream I saw you ripped apart by a leopard. He sank his teeth into your skull and devoured you, until you were no longer human.  Until you were no longer you, as you yourself had written.”

 Now it was me, trembling as I held the camera. “In the last days,” he said. “I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams; your young men will see visions. Joel 2:28. This is how I know these things. If they are not true, may I be the one devoured and struck down by my God, in heaven.  But if my words are true, then may God have mercy on you!”

And his next words pierced through me like a sword cutting into my heart. “Repent! Turn away from the lust of your heart. You’re not strong enough to battle Ose on your own, and you refuse the service of your savior. Go!  Go!  Start a new life. Go home!  Now!! 

He looked away off camera and yelled, “Sheriff’s coming! Turn it off. He’s pulling in now. Walk out slow… I will get this package out for you. I promise. Now go!”

I turned around and there he was, right on cue. Sheriff Bud Mason, the last word in Dell City, and the prick who had it out for me. His squad car pulled up next to my car, and he watched me intently as I slowly walked out the door and got into my car. Neither of us said a word. 

He followed me to the diner. My heart was in my throat the whole time. Not just because of him, but something was gnawing at me. I’m irritable! I can barely breathe. I’ve been picking at my food for almost an hour, feeling like any minute could be my last. 

Hunters surround my table devouring their meals and making small talk about bucks and trucks. But there’s something beneath the surface that makes my skin crawl. I’m the odd man out again. I feel their eyes on me, trying to decipher my place in this hunt. 

Outside, I see their shotguns strapped to their cars like flags, as they proudly display their kills on the roof, or stretched across the flatbed. Blood drips down slowly, forming puddles under the tires, and the frozen earth reflects these dark lakes, as the sun fades into the horizon. 

The Sheriff strolled through the diner again, scoping me like a vulture looking at road kill. This time he stopped over to say hello and wished me a safe trip home.

I don’t know why I said it; maybe it was to get rid of him, but I told him I was finishing up my work in Uphir and heading back to Los Angeles. 

Maybe I should heed my own prophecy for once, take my kill, and head back to the safe zone. When all the freaks in Los Angeles start looking normal, you know you’re in trouble. 

Why risk it? I’ll call Mel and let her know I’m on my way. I got enough, don’t I?

“You alright, you haven’t touched your food, hon. You don’t look so good,” Aida Mae said, as she snuck up on me again. She’s always on cue, always at a comfortable distance, then bam. She pounces on me with conversation. What am I supposed to say to her?

“I’m fine. My stomach’s just off,” I finally confessed to her.

“I’ll make you a nice hot tea and warm this plate up for ya. I made ginger-apple pie. Just what the doctor ordered.”

“Thanks. I’ll be back in a sec,” I told her.

“Alright sugar. Mama will take care of ya.”

 Her words just sort of passed through me, mixed with Post Office Earl’s, whose words of warning, keep running through the back of my head, percolating in this part of my brain I can’t ignore. It’s like a dream that stays with me, a memory I can’t let go of, like my first kiss, or the birth of my daughter. It’s in me now, forever. 

Some things in life become ingrained in your psyche.  You can’t shake them no matter how hard you try. They’re tattooed inside your skull, lying dormant, ‘til the moment you need to draw from them, to survive. 

I need to clear my head. I’m heading outside to get some air and put my camera in the trunk. I should give Mel a call to let her know I’m on my way home!

It’s time. I know it. Time to go.

AUDIO LOG, 

TUESDAY DECEMBER 14, 2010 – 7:22 PM

ENTERED BY MELODY SWANN

This is the first recording in the third batch of material I received. Eddie’s is talking into his recorder.

“The odors strong out here. Putrid. Rotting. Decay. Looking around, I see animal carcasses propped up on the trucks, that surround me. Even in death their eyes penetrate me as if looking into my soul, saying be careful where you wander. Listen closely. Do you hear that? Drops of blood splashing into the dirt. It’s rhythmic, a dirge for the dead, beating softly, like rain. Night falls quickly here. Soon the black skies will inhale the howls of the living, while cold dirt drinks the blood of the innocent. So that you know I’m among the living, I let my voice echo through these airwaves.”

Melody: That’s when the phone rang and I heard Eddie’s voice. 

“Hey baby,” he said.

“Eddie, baby. Thank God you called. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Where?”

“Same place, babe.”

He sounded solemn; I could tell something was different with him as I told him, “You were right. About all this.”

“I know,” he muttered.

I figured I’d tell him the good news to perk him up. “I took all the stuff you sent me to Carl this morning. He says it’s great. He can sell it. He said if you got authentic video of Annette Dobson, he’ll reimburse your expenses, plus ten thousand upfront against a book deal. That’s what he told me to tell…”

“What?” Eddie screamed.

“That’s great. Ain’t it?”

“Asshole!” 

“What? What’d I do?” I asked Eddie.

“Not you. Carl, He told me fifty before I left.”

“Fifty what?”

“Fifty thousand Mel. He said fifty thousand, if I proved Dobson was in Uphir. A hundred for the book!”

“What? Why didn’t you didn’t tell me?” I asked Eddie.

“Damn it! What else? What else? What’d he tell you?

“Eddie!”

“What happened Mel!”

“Why you mad at me?”

“Forget it! Fuck it. I’ll call him myself.” 

“Don’t be mad at me,” I told Eddie. I could hear his breathing swell within our awkward silence.  Then he finally broke the moment, and sternly said, “What happened?” 

“When?”

“Jesus, Mel! At the meeting! Did you give Carl my journal?”

“Uh.”

“Did you transcribe the tapes the way I asked and give him the book teaser?”

 “I… gave him… We…”

“We what? Did you do what I asked? Simple question Mel.”

“Why are you so mad?”

“Because I’m risking my fucking life, and I’m not doing it for ten thousand measly dollars. I told you spell it out! He pays for results. I got results! I got results, Mel! Now get this together the way I told you and we’ll have a million bucks before you take your next shit!”

“Why are you talking to me like this?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you too!”

“You sound crazy, Eddie. Stop. You’re scaring me,” I told him. I could hear him shuffling in the dirt. 

“Scaring you!!! Scaring you! You freaked out listening to one tape. Come here! Live this shit! You wouldn’t last one night. Padded cells! Shaking beds! Drugged up food! No sleep! Disturbing shit all the time. All the time! Set up to rattle me!  I got crazy mother fuckers in my face, telling me how I’ll die, or what I did! How God says the days are against me and the devil’s going to kill me! You want that? Huh? You want that! 

“No,” I answered Eddie softly, trying to calm him.

“No. Damn fucking right you don’t! Now focus! Get everything together so I can close this deal. Got it!”

“I’m busting my ass all night, Eddie!”

“Singing karaoke, really?”

“Fuck you! Schlepping drinks. Getting hit on. It’s work. I got auditions. I got dreams too, you know.”

He was silent again. I didn’t know what to say. I knew I said the wrong thing and I could hear him pacing, breathing loudly, before he calmly asked me,  “What did you show him?”

“When?”

“At the meeting, Mel. At the fucking meeting!” Eddie said impatiently.

“He listened to the tape.”

“What tape?”

“The Greek one. I played him that. He said he felt it too.”

“Felt what?”