Murder in a Small Town: 30 Years Later

30 Years Later

Being the new kid on the block seems to be a matter of routine for Jessica. Even though she had won her hard-earned promotion to detective, it also came with an unexpected transfer to “Mayberry”. But the captain is probably right on this point. Being away from a bad situation right now is probably the best thing for her. Her mind flashes back to the crude behavior perpetrated against her by two of the officers she worked with in Cleveland and the sexual harassment complaint she had filed against them. Now Internal Affairs was involved, and it wasn’t looking good for her coworkers.  Although not entirely thrilled at the prospect of solving cold-cases out in the sticks, she is willing to temporarily give up her big city life, her cozy one-bedroom apartment on the lake, and her friends while the investigation moves forward. She thinks she is being punished. Cold-case files? Really? Sounds like a documentary show on television. These cases are most probably cold for a reason. “But I guess if I can prove myself here, I can still make Chief before my thirtieth birthday”, she says out loud.

Jessica’s mind wonders as she drives and thinks about the forensic tools available for use in crime solving these days. The technology is so much better today than they were thirty years ago. Remembering a recent workshop from her precinct about “touch DNA” sampling and how it can be used to extract DNA from something that was just touched by a suspect, Jessica smiles. “It’s a good time to be alive!” she says enthusiastically. Just now the only radio station she can pick up begins playing one of her Dad’s favorite bands from the 80s, “Survivor”. She knows this song. “Me and Dad use to listen to this all the time when I was little”. She stomps her foot into the accelerator, the Prius hums, and she begins singing along…  “It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight. Risin' up to the challenge of our rival And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night, And he's watchin' us all with the eye of the tiger…  

Murder in a Small Town: Prologue

Prologue

Hearing noises in the attic again is quite unnerving for Carl. He’s lived in this old house with his wife for over 50 years and knows the difference between settling and “unsettling”. He folds the creaky ladder down from its compartment on the ceiling and, with lantern in hand, slowly creeps up until his head is above the attic floor. Holding the lantern high over his head to illuminate the inky blackness, he sees nothing out of place or anything scurrying about. Of course, the sounds he thought he heard were much heavier than that of a small rodent. This just adds to the mystery of the footprints he found in the powdered snow leading to his barn a few days ago, the page from the Milwaukee Journal in his yard, and the missing house keys. Things were just not adding up Still, the rafters were old and maybe, like all of us, they were protesting their age.

The next day Carl spots his neighbor, Archie, from across the field and motions him over to talk. Archie, as well as the entire town of Lancaster, is aware of Carl’s history and doesn’t really want anything to do with him but decides to find out what he wants. The two men converge at a barbed wire fence that separates their properties. It’s December and cold in central Wisconsin. 
“Hey, what’s going on?” asks Carl. 

“Not much, just trying to get these cows fed before the snow starts falling again”, remarks Archie. “What’s going on with you”?

“Well, I was just going to ask you if you’ve noticed anything weird going on around your place?” Carl asks.

“No, nothing really to speak of. There was a couple of chickens that have wondered off somewhere. Coyotes probably got them by now, though”, says Archie. “But, other than that, really nothing else. Why”?

“Well, there’s been some strange stuff going on at my place for sure. It might be nothing, but it’s kinda got me spooked”.

“Like what?” inquires Archie.

“For one thing I noticed a set of footprints in the snow leading to my barn the other day,” explains Carl.

“Just one set”. “There’s always someone off the highway coming in to keep warm for a night while traveling”.

“Yeah, I know”, says Carl. “But the weird part is that there aren’t any footprints leading away from it. It’s like they’re still there”.

“That is weird”, says Archie. Did you look through the barn to see if you could find anything?”.

“Well, of course I did!” exclaims Carl. “Couldn’t find anything in the barn. No clothes, not a place where anyone would bed down, or nothing. No sign at all”.

“Well, I’ll keep my eyes peeled and let you know if I see anything”, says Archie. He turns and starts walking away, but Carl calls after him,

 “Then there’s the noises in the attic, the missing house keys, the newspaper…”, Carl says raising his voice.

“I’ve got to get back to the house Carl, says Archie as he quickens his tempo. “I’ve got a heifer getting’ ready to calf and I need to be there. Like I say, I’ll keep a look out and let you know if I see anything”. Archie is barely audible as he disappears across the field.

“It’s just really weird”, Carl says to himself, shakes his head, and starts the trek of the half mile back to his own livestock.

Three days later the mail carrier notices that none of the mail for the Hansens has been removed from their mailbox. The farm looks eerily quiet and he decides to notify the Lancaster Sheriff’s department.

The Meaning of Life

We have arrived at our destination. 

Fresh air caresses the water and a gentle breeze transmits waves of nourishment onto the eager soil. The majestic Heron and Sand Crane stand as silent sentinels to this gateway of life. They flap and squawk vociferously, heralding our approach; their voices startling and pterodactyl-ish. Graceful black and white geese bob and weave as they glide effortlessly across the surface. Nimble scissortail-flycatchers perform aerial acrobatics for us. They dart and swoop in a display of white, black and umber in an effort to secure their six-legged morsels. Their “V” tails displayed proudly. Occasionally, dark-furred mink - ever watchful - scurry and play tag in and among the rocks. The clean-up crew trace circles overhead and squat ominously in trees, constantly scanning their surroundings for scraps of the dying, dead, and decayed. The sun slides lower in the sky and its red-orange radiance is framed sublimely by the trees dressed in magnificent early fall foliage. Our walk is complete. Regretfully we travel back to the city with a promise to return soon

                                                                                               ~John Wallis 2019~

Nature

Red-orange, ochre, yellow-green and ruddy wine.

Wind, sky, fresh air and clear, blue water,

My muses, my sisters, my brothers.

Hiking,

Biking,

Swimming,

Canoeing,

Give purpose and significance to life’s adventures.

Gritty streets,

Crowded,

Noisy,

Repugnant and loud!

Pushing, shoving, and moving!

Undulating, Dead Sea of appendages; wasted in the crowd.

Closed-in,

Smothered

and

Stifled.

Shortness of breath, wheezing, trouble breathing,

Smog-choked, coughing and breathless,

Need to get away. Have to get away.

Retreat to a more primitive space

of wilderness streams, trees, and natural lakes.

To the bowels of the Great White I go pleading,

To regain my sense of lost sanity

Creep toward a glimpse of Nirvana,

Images in the headlights,

run,

bolt

and jump away deftly,

Eyes glowing back.

Now honeysuckle and pine fill the air.

Sweet, dew covered earth surrounds me.

H  e  a  r  t  b  e  a  t     s  l  o  w  s

Sound of a camera shutter, a low-pitched, digital whine.

The only thing moving - nature - living and sublime,

                                              

                                                                                          John Wallis 2019

I Didn't Want to Die

I Didn’t Want to Die

I didn’t want to die.

There are monsters in this world.

No lie.

Demons with youthful faces

and trendy haircuts.

Abbreviated bodies

that look just like us.

Reason for aggression?

A lopsided walk?

A facial expression?

Battlezone school-

Stalked,

Ridiculed,

and abused.

Acrid emotional distress.

Social outcast, depressed.

Transferred hysterical, stress – impetuous.

Screaming!

Crying out!

Crying!

Sobbing.

Nobody listens.

Try to fit in. Make a few friends,

but none of the popular crowd

Persecuted by the entitled and proud.

Too happy? Smile too much?

Not wearing the right clothes?

Get a life NERD!

You GEEK!

You FREAK!

MIGHT AS WELL DIE!

Adult indifference, no place to run, no face to hide.

Confrontation,

Escalation,

 Premeditation,

Aggression to decimation.

Videotape goes viral.

Everyone in denial.

Unfortunate ending

to a more common case.

Brain grossly hemorrhaged,

copiously, into subarachnoid space.

One teen dead,

the headlines read.

Sucker-punched at school,

causing his brain to bleed.

Snuffed potential – unrealized dreams,

My name is Diego and I was just 13.

                                                                                                    John Wallis 2019

One Year Anniversary!

     I would just like to announce my one year anniversary today, the 13th of November, to be free of the mind-numbing effects of alcohol. A lot has changed in the past year and I am very thankful to God and my support network for seeing me through the rough patches. My wife, Robin and I have been married almost two years now and she has been by my side throughout the whole ordeal! Thanks babe! You have truly been a blessing to me and I thank God every day for sending you to me!

     We took our first motorcycle trip last May to the Grand Canyon, down to Carlsbad Cavern, and then back to Pryor,OK. All of it on the seat of our Harley tri-glide.

It was AWESOME! Roswell, NM, Impact Crater, the Petrified forest and painted desert were just some of the stops we made during the trip.

Of course, The Big Texan in Amarillo, TX, was another must-do on the trip.

Also, the Blue Hole of Santa Rosa, NM was as interesting and mysterious as the other major destinations in and of itself!

     Just an FYI, the reasoning for the decision to abstain from alcohol was not of my own volition, but rather a natural consequence of the Mayes County justice system. An in-treatment stay for 30 days was required and I wound up in Battle Creek, MI, at a place called "A Forever Recovery". This place is truly awesome for those serious about getting clean and sober. AFR uses "Moral Reconation Therapy", (MRT), as their base for recovery and they boast the highest long-term recovery rate in the nation. I highly recommend it to any one serious about getting sober and staying that way. They are still contacting me and checking up a year later.
   

Edgar Poe

During my time with Mr. Poe, he proposed to me the intimate nature of writing and that there is

actually a “philosophy of composition”. The well-crafted lyrics, similes, alliterations, and allusions known mechanically by educators are just the tip of the proverbial ice-berg because it is how these “words” and ideas are artfully constructed and shared that make a difference.....