by Mary Gray
Dutifully, I stride over to the desk where my breakfast awaits. The ham here may have absolutely no flavor, and the eggs may taste a bit plasticky, but I’m just tickled to eat anything besides split pea soup or lemon chamomile tea.
It’s the red and blue envelope at the back of the breakfast tray, though, that gives me pause. Ooh, what’s this? A letter from Natalie.
Snatching up the note, I rip the thin paper open. Natalie and I have been corresponding for ages—from the moment I got put away. Turns out WT was right—she just needed to figure out how to stand up to the Klan and Jesse.
“Signed, sealed, and delivered,” Natalie’s jaunty handwriting says.
Looks like she finally did it—found her grit and divorced Jesse.
Not only has Natalie been excited about shedding the Beauchamp name, but she’s also been working tirelessly with the FBI. After digging through Jesse’s old papers, she was able to ascertain the locations of both tied man and chopped man’s bodies. Francesca’s, too. I don’t even know how to feel about it—all of them, including a few others, dating back to before the ‘90s—were all at Edgar’s place.
It makes me feel ill, thinking about Grammy.
I believe Natalie when she says she didn’t know the Klan was killing people. She says that was also the same case with Grammy—though Grammy had her suspicions. But neither one of them ever found any proof, so they didn’t go to the police.
Jesse supposedly confessed to killing both Francesca and Grammy. What I can’t figure out is if he actually did it, or if he wanted to appear guilty as a way to put himself at the top of the Klan hierarchy. I’m guessing he had help, namely from Dwayne. Or, who knows, maybe Olly. All I know is, Jesse’s been put away for life.
Olly ran for Mexico the moment he heard about the feds taking Jesse into custody. Word is, he was sipping on a margarita when the feds pulled up, oblivious to the fact that he hadn’t actually cross the border. Trial date pending.
As for the other Klan members—the ones with the four-wheelers and Potbelly—a few ran to Arkansas. One got pulled over for a DUI.
When all’s said and done, I do have to be grateful that I never willingly embraced the Klan’s ways. If they were inducting children, Edgar could have easily inducted me. I suppose he did, off the books, by forcing me to help him bury “chopped man’s” body. But I’m trying to make amends in that area, too. I’ve learned Edgar’s victim’s name’s actually Omer, and I’m slowly putting the pieces together to get in touch with his family.
Settling my gaze on the paper cup with my small red pill inside, I linger a bit longer—not exactly ready for Tansy to go away for the day.
“Are you sure you don’t want to recite any new nursery rhymes?”
Tansy pats her latest rendition of a mattress—a waterbed with satin lavender sheets. It’s not a bed I would have ever picked out, but she insists that Young Gemma Louise is much less likely to break through if there’s a hint of water blocking the way.
Not sure what that’s about, but I’m glad Tansy takes her status as “ladybird” seriously.
Stretching her arms out with a yawn, Tansy says, “I gotta say, I’m really broken up about missin’ Bingo night ..."
“Hey, I never play Bingo.”
“Next, you’re goin’ to claim you never ended up chattin’ with Agnes over a game of Gin Rummy.”
Agnes may be old enough to have ridden on the Titanic, but she’s practically a prodigy with all the tricks she can do with her dentures. Not to mention all her adventures in Tahiti.
“Oh, before I forget,” I tell Tansy. “I wanted to tell you that the autopsy came back. John Doe really was already dead. They’ve finally confirmed that we didn’t murder that bog body.”
“Told you!”
“I suppose he really was a grifter from Abilene.”
“And now that fact’s gonna help us get released!”
“Maybe ..." I pluck up the paper cup with my meds. “But not if you go and do that again.”
“Wha—? Why? I will never risk doin’ anything that prevents us from goin’ back to the estate.”
I know that’s true. And it feels good, knowing that Tansy and I have a place to go when we’re all healed up and ready. Which brings me to our final goal—our loftiest and most pinnacle dream. It’s a plan I’ve been telling our doctor Tansy and I have been concocting for ages. We’re going to do it once we’re released.
The breeze ruffles our hair as we hunker low on WT’s motorcycle while we fly down Highway 199. Our mission is to expose the truth about the Klan—small town after small town, large city after large city.
We distribute flyers. Staple them to telephone poles, power poles—just about any available surface we can find. On the papers, we’ve included a bulleted list of Klan telltale signs. Also about thirty different phone numbers for state, local, and federal police.
We work on speeches. Deliver said speeches. Maybe even write a book about how to break from the status quo and stand up against racial injustice and hate.
I’m just reveling in the dreamy sound of the engine, when Tansy leans back on her pillow with a sigh. “It’s a good dream.”
“It’s more than a dream.” I raise the cup while she tucks her blanket under her chin.
“You know I’ll go with you, my love”—she closes her eyes, preparing to drift off to sleep—“just as soon as we’re released.”
“We are going to do it,” I vow. “You, me—”
WT grabs his helmet for his motorcycle. “And me.”
Author’s Note
A year or so ago, I saw an old, derelict house that was once owned by the local KKK. I didn’t want to see it, but my friend insisted a couple of us take a look, and, maybe, she insisted, this was my next story.
The house itself looked to be built sometime in the ‘30s. A few paces off from it were these strange, oversized wooden dog kennels, and several twisted, diseased trees. Near the house, was an odd totem pole tree. While I don’t know what it was for, if you’ve read this book, then you know what my instincts whispered to me.
What cannot be denied is the undeniably dark feeling of the place. While my friends and I didn’t climb the red-rail fence, we did spend a bit of time in the grass, pondering the horrors that might have happened on the property
A few miles south of the house, a pair of oak trees currently stand with metal rods and brackets, about fifteen feet high. The trees are in front of an old church that has been converted into a funeral home. It was as if even the trees were ashamed of their past—growing over the rods, hiding what no one wants to believe happened in that county.
Several miles northeast of the town, my friends and I visited a local attraction, Goatman’s Bridge. Years ago, in the ‘30s, the Klan’s said to have taken a young Goatman’s life for being too successful in his business dealings.
Days later, a few of us visited an old cemetery down the road from the Klan house. Surprisingly, the cemetery had a very different feeling. The birds were out, and throughout the grounds stood these majestic cedar trees. All the while, I couldn’t help wondering, “How come the cemetery feels peaceful when the Klan house is so near, under a mile away?”
Before any of these visits, a group of us visited an old, boarded-up Victorian mansion with a high cupola that sat on the dead end of a once-thriving Main Street. All of us yearned to see inside. We dug up old phone numbers, trying to contact the owner. We even joked about breaking in. This interaction became one of the many seeds for the book: “Who lives inside? With the sordid history of the county’s past, might the residents have been party, somehow, to the Klan’s crimes?”
As a person who’s visited often with two people who’ve had to dissociate from trauma, I’m here to witness that our minds and bodies are jigsaw puzzles none of us fully understand. Though we have come a long way. The book, Life Reinvented: A Guide to Healing from Sexual Trauma for Survivors and Loved Ones by Erin Carpenter is an invaluable resource. If you have endured trauma
of any kind, I would suggest that you give it a look. If you’ve had to dissociate from the horrors of your past, I want to tell you, you are not alone. You can survive. Despite all that’s happened, never underestimate the force for good you can be.
Which brings me to my final comment. Because of the theme of dealing with racial injustice as a white woman, this book truly terrified me. Shouldn’t we leave this topic for those who can speak in their #ownvoices? But, as I thought and wrote and researched, and then after seeing the heinous crime that happened to George Floyd, I knew that the manuscript I’d written was something I wanted to edit and share with others who might be on the fence about how to act or what to say. Racial inequality is an issue for which everyone should strive to get a stronger knowledge base. Discrimination is real. It happens all around us, as evidenced from my little field trip to former Klan property.
Christian religious leader, Russell M. Nelson says, “We are brothers and sisters, each of us the child of a loving Father in Heaven. His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, invites all to come unto Him—'black and white, bond and free, male and female.' It behooves each of us to do whatever we can in our spheres of influence to preserve the dignity and respect every son and daughter of God deserves.”
My sphere of influence, however small, is the writing community. And I live in a state where these types of crimes continue to happen. Just like Gemma, I’m not willing to turn a blind eye. Plus, I’ve always tended to tackle the hard topics when I write.
Our duty is to stand against evil, no matter its shape. I’ll tell you what I told my husband when he asked me if I really wanted to tackle this story. “Ignoring the Klan gives them power.” What’s funny is, a few days later, I was listening to a podcast with Tim Ballard, founder of Operation Underground Railroad, where he said the exact same thing. He said human trafficking continues to be as widespread as it is because people aren’t willing to talk about it. It’s time to open up the dialogue and look for opportunities to provide healthy change.
If you would be open to learning more about the injustices that are happening in our country and see what you can do to stand up for racial equality, I would highly suggest that you read Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson. This book truly changed me. I had no idea that so many tragedies have happened in our justice system. We can continue to fight to make it more just and merciful for everybody. Apart from that, starting right now, we can listen to other peoples’ points of view. Love and serve different races. Take action at local levels and vote. Call out racial slurs of any kind.
Racial equality will only become a reality when we do our part. Let’s use our voice.
Acknowledgments
Toni, THANK YOU for giving me the pieces. I needed a story, and you jumped on it like you do everything—with love and loyalty. Karin, you keep reading my books! I love your reader brain. Thanks for supporting me with your kind words, reviews, and time. Penny, you told me you didn’t like creepy books, then you fearlessly read everything I’ve ever written. Thank you. You show me what support looks like. Barbara, thank you for telling me Our Sweet Guillotine was mesmerizing! I reminded myself of that every time I needed to encourage myself to keep writing. Debra, thanks for your example and perspective on boosting black voices. I read your posts and was touched. You’re a class act, every day.
Vanessa, I asked you what I should write next, and you said to go older. I did. Thanks for challenging me! Katie, thanks for being so complimentary of my last release—The Ripper of Monkshood Manor. Boy, did your enthusiasm help me keep my head up and keep striving, and thank you, thank you for wanting to read an early copy of this story! Jerusha! Thanks for your unending support of all things Monster Ivy (and for lending me Tansy’s kitties’ names). Cammie, THANK YOU for helping me figure out how to write that twist the story needed so desperately. And for rockin’ the cover! I adore your creative mind. Lydia, thank you, thank you for helping me see how to go the distance with Gemma’s transformative ending. I didn’t know how to do it without you, so your help was a godsend on this one. Siyhani, thanks for your fresh, brave perspective. Travis, thank you for being the spreadsheet ninja we need you to be! And Mom, thanks for showing me who you are. You’re honest, selfless, and kind.
Monster Ivy authors, you are my peeps. You inspire me to be a better author, editor, marketer, publisher. You make me want to spend time with you guys. I wish we could all rub shoulders more often and live in the same state.
Monster Ivy reviewers, thank you for taking a risk on our books. Thanks for your support as we try to grow this often tricksy “Edgy, Clean” niche.
Dear reader, thank you for reading. I sincerely hope you were able to feel the love and hope amidst all of Gemma’s pain. Many of us endure hard things in life. Uncomfortable things. Thanks for sticking with me.
Lastly (and firstly), Heavenly Father, thank you for helping me along, showing me I’m loved, and for blessing me with THE blessings you know I need. If my kids and husband happen to read this, you all make me the world’s happiest mom and wife. I love your laughs, your experiments, and each of your interests. You make my world full, rich, textured, and complete.
About the Author
Mary Gray balances dark and twisty plots with faith-based messages. Some of her best ideas come when she’s lurking in the woods, experimenting with frightening foods, or pushing her kids on the tire swing. She is the co-owner of Monster Ivy Publishing and has written several fiction and nonfiction works.
Also by Mary Gray
HUSH, NOW FORGET (SISTERS OF BLOODCREEK #1) - two sisters team up with a pair of hottie hunters to unveil the truth about the Blurred Ones and what they really are.
SLEEP, DON’T FRET (SISTERS OF BLOODCREEK #2) - the Abram sisters head out to New Orleans to contend with some witch doctors and Raylan's ruthless sister.
RISE, TAKE FLIGHT (SISTERS OF BLOODCREEK #3) - Unwilling to stand around and wait while Eva's been taken over by one of the Despairity, Frost works tirelessly with Beau and Leo to figure out how to free her sister.
THE RIPPER OF MONKSHOOD MANOR - never go into Monkshood, unless your goal is to meet your Maker…
OUR SWEET GUILLOTINE - a young executioner falls for the daughter of a woman he had to kill…
HER DARK FANTASY: A PREQUEL TO OUR SWEET GUILLOTINE - Young Tempeste witnesses an executioner break apart her mother's feet in an attempt to extract a confession.
THE DOLLHOUSE ASYLUM - a group of teenagers are granted asylum from the apocalypse, only to be forced to reenact some of the most famous, tragic literary couples… or die.
THE DEVILS YOU MEET ON CHRISTMAS DAY - a short story anthology about the outliers, the murderers, the misunderstood, and the forgotten.
HOW TO WRITE FAITH-BASED MESSAGES FOR A SECULAR MARKET - for secular writers who hope to incorporate messages of hope and faith.
HOW TO WRITE CLEAN YET SCINTILLATING ROMANCE - bodice rippers are some of the most lucrative books in the industry. So what if you write books that aren’t as steamy?
HOW TO WRITE DARK AND TWISTY BOOKS TO SHOWCASE THE LIGHT - in this brief nonfiction booklet, Mary discusses a psychological and scriptural basis for tackling darker books, some of her favorite techniques for mastering the craft, and how to show the strength of God's light.