Secrets in the Shallows (Book 1: The Monastery Murders) (46 page)

Vivid images of Timmy filled his mind. Walking straight towards John in the dream, the young man was dressed in his Catholic school uniform and carrying a long frayed rope. With every footstep, he left puddles around his feet from his water soaked clothing. The rope slowly dragged behind him, leaving a thin trail of mud.

Where Timmy’s eyes should have been, only gaping darkness peered out surrounded by his pallid skin. Staring straight at John, the normally confident man was transformed to a scared child. When Timmy reached John, he lifted the rope and entangled John’s neck with it for what seemed to be an eternity. John tried to yell for help, but his breath could not escape him. After several moments, Timmy let go, leaving burn marks from the rope.

Suddenly standing beside Timmy, was his friend, Tom Green. Just like Timmy, Tom was dressed in his school uniform and saturated with water. Tom looked over and smiled at Timmy, who put his arm around his friend. Suddenly, streams from the golden sun in the sky bathed the boys in cascading light.

John moved his head from side to side, as he lay in his bed muttering in his sleep,
“What do you want from me?”

Both of the boys turned their heads and looked behind them. A beautiful angelic-like woman appeared within the rays of light, dressed in a long, flowing white gown. She stood in her bare feet with the rays of light reflecting off of her wavy, blonde hair. Long strands blew carelessly around her face as she stared directly into John’s eyes. She raised her hands in the air, beckoning the boys to come to her as she reached for them.

John muttered in his sleep,
“Who are you?”

As the boys looked back, John tossed in his bed and pulled his sheet up to his neck as an eerie chill swept over his sweaty skin.

Both boys looked exactly like they did when they were pulled from the water. Their eye sockets were completely dark and empty, with flesh oozing from the corners. The boys looked at John and began mouthing words he could not hear or comprehend.

Tossing back and forth, John turned over on his stomach and mumbled,
“Leave me alone!”

Timmy scowled as he pointed directly at John. His quiet disapproval anchored John to the despair that the boys felt. Again, the boys mouthed the words, sending more chills over John’s body.

In bed, John shook his face back and forth several times.
“No,”
he mumbled. With John’s repeated cries, the boys finally faded away.

Suddenly, John was transported away to his school as a young man of only about thirteen years of age. Before him, a callous-faced nun sat at her large imposing desk.

Emphatically, John told her with a boyish smile, “I’m finally going to be able to see my brother and mother. My mother is going to love me. I know she will!”

Unexpectedly, John turned and saw the angelic-like woman floating through a tunnel of bright light. Beside her on either side and holding her hands, were Timmy and Tom.

In an instant, a boy happily skipped out of the bright light toward John. Wearing a white shirt and blue jeans, his dark hair flowed freely around his face. Squinting his eyes, John saw that the boy’s hands were translucent. Barefooted, the boy smiled peacefully and he raised his hand, waving at John.

John moaned in his sleep unaware his right arm jerked high in the air in attempts to grab at the boy for a hug. John mumbled, “Who are you?”

Within his dream, the boy yelled out and pointed to himself.

Still deep in his dream, John moaned,
“It’s me. It’s me.”

The boys all begin to chant in unison.
“We know who killed us. We know who killed us. Please, God! Bring our murderer to justice!”

Sweat beaded on John’s forehead as he tossed and turned in his bed.
“No! No! No!”
His head shook back and forth on his pillow.

In his dream, John looked at the boys and said,
“How will you find peace?”

They began to chant once more.
“Truth will find our killer! Truth will find our killer!”

John continued to mumble incomprehensible words in his sleep. In his bed, John unconsciously reached up toward the ceiling, reaching for those in his dream. Their piercing stares were tainted by ribbons of crimson blood that ran down their faces; dripping down and staining their clothes. As John stood in disbelief at what he saw, Tom, Timmy and the woman slowly began to fade.

John tossed and turned between the sheets, mumbling in his sleep,
“No, don’t go! Don’t go! We found your killer.”

Before the ghostly images disappeared, the boy waved at John. Smiling, the boy turned and ran to the woman. Looking back at John, he smiled and said,
“It’s me. It’s me.”
The boy took hold of her hand and smiled up at the woman.

“Bye-bye,”
they all said as they disappeared into the light.

Instantly, John sat up straight in a sitting position on his bed. His head pounded from several shots of whiskey he had downed earlier. John rubbed his forehead as he opened his eyes. Gasping for breath, John clenched his throat. Whenever he tried to inhale, constricted muscles cut off his attempt. The pain was excruciating as he grabbed his chest. Sweat ran down his temples and face as John finally managed to shout out, “My God!”

John patted his arms and legs down to make sure he was all right. Inspecting his hands, he turned them over one at a time. Half-expecting to see blood on his chest and boxers, he was surprised to see that there was nothing there. Relieved, he thought to himself,
It was just a dream. It was only a dream.
Once he realized everything was peaceful in the room, he began to breath normally.

Flipping over his sweat-soaked pillow, he laid his head back down and thought,
Why are they tormenting me?
The question repeatedly ran through his mind, as he tried to finally get some peaceful sleep. In moment, he drifted back off to the depths of his subconscious.

P
ART
4:

U
NEARTHING THE
P
AST

C
HAPTER
42

The morning brought with it a sky filled with large, heavy dark clouds, as a tall stately man stood silently by a bench with his arms crossed. ‘
Wattsville Cemetery, We care for your family’
adorned the name tag on the the funeral home director’s suit lapel. In all his years of helping families bury their loved ones, Bill Joyce had never been involved in one being exhumed.

The backhoe operator sat inside his warm cab wearing a hard hat. Several cemetery employees stood nearby, leaning on their clutched shovels. Beside them, a mound of dirt had already been extracted from Tom Green’s gravesite. The driver rubbed his hands together and then looked at his watch. Cracking open the door, he yelled to his coworkers, “Come on! Let’s finish this up. We’ve already got most of it done.”

Sheriff Johnson walked carefully between the tombstones and directly towards Bill, extending his hand. “Good to see you, Mr. Joyce.”

“Good to see you too, Sheriff. I can’t believe this. Can you?”

“It’s a lot to take in for sure. However, what I do know is that the Greens aren’t doing well over this, especially Tom.”

“I can understand that; but then again, wouldn’t you want to know if your son was murdered?” Bill asked.

“Of course, I would! In fact, I would take all measures to find out what happened to my son,” the sheriff agreed.

Walking from the parking lot, Dr. Peter Balkan noticed Bill and the sheriff talking. Stopping to look at the burial plot which housed Tom Green’s remains, he was already feeling anxious to see what results he would find from the autopsy.

Many thoughts went through his mind.
I hope there’s enough evidence to be obtained from the body. I can’t wait to catch the SOB who did this.

A few feet away, he spotted the hole that had been dug from Tom Green’s grave. Peter bent over at the waist and gathered fresh dirt off the mound, allowing it to fall freely between his fingers. In a quiet voice, he said, “I’m gonna’ find out something, boys. You guys watch me, from wherever you are. I’m not going to allow your deaths be in vain.”

Turning his back to the growing dirt mound, he went straight up to Sheriff Johnson. “It looks like everyone is here except for John. Any idea when he’ll be here?”

“John had some other pressing matters this morning, Peter. He said he would call as soon as he could. Oh, I want you to meet Bill Joyce, Director of the Wattsville Cemetery and Funeral Home.”

Peter shook Bill’s hand, “Pleased to meet you, sir. I’m Peter Balkan, State forensic investigator, out of Portland.”

“Nice you meet you, Dr. Balkan.”

“Are we ready, Sheriff?” Peter asked.

“Yes, let’s get this over with, and get Tom’s remains to your crime lab. The longer we wait, the longer it’s going to take.”

“I agree. I’ve got my best man ready and waiting back at the lab.”

Bill Joyce walked over to the backhoe. He reached up and knocked on the glass casing.

The operator opened the door and said. “Is everyone ready?”

“Yes, we’re ready. Let’s get the vault lid lifted out.”

One of the cemetery workers smiled gleefully, showing off his two front gold-plated teeth. Speaking loudly in Spanish, he said, “
Seria un provecho alludarte
.”

With his hand on the steering wheel, his face twisted and looking confused, the driver asked, “Excuse me?”

Standing near him while holding a shovel, a cohort spoke up. “He says he is happy to help you, sir.”

For about ten minutes, the cemetary workers shoveled dirt out of the hole. Finally, a loud clanging sound rang out as metal collided with the concrete vault. With renewed vigor, the workers scraped off the last few inches of dirt to expose the lid. Using the edge of the shovel blade, they dug a small trench around all four sides.

“I need someone to toss me the vault key, so I can get this open,” Brent said.

A co-worker walked over to a truck and grabbed the vault key and a crowbar from the bed. After returning to the gravesite, he leaned down and handed the tools to Brent. Using the vault key, Brent carefully inserted it into a corner lock. Giving it several turns, the first lock released. He repeated the procedure for each corner.

“Okay, I’m almost ready to use the tow straps. Carlos, help me put wedges under the lid.”