If it wasn't for his ancestors, this house could have remained in disrepair. It didn't matter to Milan if the county tore it down. His ties with the place had long since been severed, but the idea of dishonoring his family would be another stain on his soul, he'd have to live with forever and that would surely kill him.
Something in his peripheral caught his eye. He wondered if he'd imagined it. Nothing would surprise him at this point. If there was any part of the property he feared seeing any more than the inside of the home, it was the gardens in the back. At one time, his grandfather had a row of sheds and outbuildings that were filled to the brim with antiques he'd picked up during his travels.
When Milan inherited the property, he had the dilapidated structures torn down and donated all of the items in them to charity. Something about the land that remained disturbed him. He always felt like there was something or someone watching him. It didn't help that an old tunnel also occupied that space and the creek that ran through it always seemed to be whispering as he passed by.
Ever since Milan was a small boy, he did whatever he could to steer clear of that area and, now, thirty-some years later, that tunnel still sent chills down his spine, but the cause of that fear was no longer the unknown. If he had any way of getting rid of it, he would have, but the department that had oversight over it, never granted him permission to excavate the land and, unfortunately for him, it still remained.
Milan took a deep breath and made his way to the object that caught his attention. He hoped it was a figment of his imagination because it shouldn't have been possible for this to be on his property.
He inched closer and closer, goose bumps forming on his arms. There it sat, in between a pile of rubble. He held his breath as he reached for it, his hands shaking. Between two fingers, he yanked it up from the dirt.
Closing his eyes, Milan hoped that it wasn't true, but he felt the smooth concave surface and had no doubt of what it was. A soft whimper escaped his throat. He could no longer contain his fear. As it collided with rage that burned through his belly, his knees began to knock, the shaking nearly sending him to the ground.
Who would do this, he wondered.
Chapter 2
"WELL, TELL ME who is in charge, then. I need you to find that person now and bring them to me. Understood?" Milan seethed with rage. Someone better have had a good explanation for how something like this could have happened.
Several minutes passed as Milan paced back and forth in the cemetery warehouse. The grounds keepers behaved as if this sort of thing happened all the time, but in Milan's world, he had no room for any more troubles. He'd had his fill.
As they went in search of their manager, Milan kept his hand over his blazer pocket, where he'd placed the item that forced him to return to the cemetery and revisit the place where he'd said his final goodbye. He never intended to return here. Cemeteries and grave sites weren't the kind of places he wanted to spend time reminiscing at. He'd shed too many tears and buried too many bodies. This isn't where his loved ones lived. This, for him, was a place where those who never knew what it was like to feel the touch of his grandmother's gentle hand or to feel the warm embrace of Paulina's arms wrapped around them, went to pay their respects. It was impersonal and more fit for the macabre. He wanted nothing to do with the pomp and circumstance of the ceremony and the yearly pilgrimages to their grave sites.
Those he cared about the most in the world, lived in his heart, resided in his soul. They were worth so much more than a box, buried a half a foot underground. At the same time, he never anticipated that some vile creature would remove the lone photo that he'd had nestled into Paulina's headstone at her death.
That photo had always been his favorite of her. Never a day went by that he didn't tell her how beautiful she was, but that photo in particular, highlighted her profound beauty. The long, flowing, dark curls that cascaded down over her shoulders and rested just above her elbows were so perfectly coiffed in this photo. He remembered the day they'd had the photo taken. She was so worried about her appearance, changing multiple times to find the outfit and hairdo that would be perfect.
Milan had repeatedly told her that it didn't matter what she wore as long as she didn't change her mind and refuse his proposal. The engagement photos were not for them. Their families had all but demanded that the photos be taken and that they wore coordinating outfits.
For Milan, the only thing that mattered was that he would soon marry the beautiful, vibrant, and brilliant, Spanish girl from humble beginnings. Her heart warmed him from the moment he laid eyes on her at a mutual friend's wedding. She moved in rhythm with the music. He remembered tapping his foot and clapping his hands along as she and the other flamenco dancers performed for the wedding guests. Her shiny black hair was secured back in a bun atop her head that sat nestled in tiny red flowers. Her large, dark eyes glistened like the moon, illuminating the space her petite body inhabited. She was like an angel that had fallen from heaven. Every ounce of her prim, proper, and perfection.
It was no wonder that exactly one year later, Milan could no longer wait. His desire to marry her was only heightened by his desire to feel the warmth of her skin next to his and to hold her in his arms every night for the rest of his life.
The engagement photos were only a business matter, something that their respective families could use to spark another conversation about the lavish wedding they had planned for the two. If it had been up to Milan and Paulina, they would have returned to her native Spain and held a small ceremony there, but given the chaos and excitement already brimming about their upcoming nuptials, both understood that jetting off to marry would have left many people disappointed and they couldn't risk that.
The door finally opened behind him. Milan turned to look the manager directly in the eyes and demand answers, but the manager had changed over the years. The Mitch Randall Milan remembered no longer existed. Instead, the once tall, burly man had grown thin and aged considerably. The anger Milan felt dissipated a bit as he shook Mitch's feeble hand.
"Mr. Merced, long time no see," Mitch said. "I hear that you're in here bellyaching about a plaque that came up missing."
Milan cleared his throat, carefully choosing his tone. "No. I'm upset that this medallion," he handed it to Mitch before continuing, "was sitting on my property and not where it should be. How did that happen? How did someone remove it and no one here notice?"
Mitch squinted his eyes, turning the photo over in his hand to make out what the image was. "Things happen. I'm sorry that it fell off, but with the weather and the change of seasons, things fall apart. Hell, look at me. I've fallen apart for damn near seventy years now."
"I realize that things change. Believe me, I do. What my issue is... Well, how did this photo end up back at my house? Don't you have cameras or something here? Do people around River's Bend deface headstones now?"
"People do all kinds of stuff most of us would never think they'd do." Mitch straightened his back to stand eye to eye with Milan.
Milan, considered for a moment, understanding full-well what Mitch was implying. He should have expected it and been better prepared to respond, but was distracted by the circumstances.
"So, no cameras, then?" Milan asked, his eyes focused on Mitch's.
"Nope."
The two men stood squaring off at each other. Each prepared to defend what they were thinking, but both too damaged by life to have the energy to do so now.
Finally, Milan broke the silence. "You have no idea how this happened?"
"Not a clue." Mitch quipped.
Milan drew in a large breath. "Look, I didn't come here to yell at you... Well, maybe, I did, but the bottom line is, someone has deliberately removed something from my wife's grave and, then, made a point to return it to my house. That doesn't just happen. I know what people think of me and, I'm not going to lie and say it doesn't matter, but this is my wife's final resting place. She deserves respect, don't you think?"
Mitch cons
idered for a moment. "Yes, she does. I honestly had no idea that anything happened. I'm sorry. It's a shame and I will see what I can find out from my crew and let you know. Let's walk on over there and take a look at her headstone and see what we can do."
Milan's breath caught. In his rush to get to the cemetery, he didn't consider that he would have to go to her grave site. Five years had been a long time.
"Ready?" Mitch held the door open for him.
He nodded. "Yes."
As they walked to the grave, Mitch made small talk about the weather and the goings on in the community. He was careful not to ask questions or to seem at all interested in why Milan had suddenly left and abandoned the town that once revered him and his family.
Milan made appropriate conversational noises, but was only half-listening to what Mitch was saying. As they walked past rows of neatly manicured plots, he couldn't help but feel a wash of shame. He wondered if anyone had tended to Paulina's grave in his absence. He'd not left anyone in charge and hadn't bothered to check over the years.
Looking over the rows that extended far over the hill that overlooked the small town and extending countryside, he didn't see any sign of overgrowth or ill-repair. He figured that the grounds keepers must have kept the plots looking nice, even when those who should have been tending to them weren't.
"Which way is it?" Mitch stopped and asked.
Milan closed his eyes for a moment, glad he'd had the foresight to put sunglasses on to shield his eyes from the sun. Nervously, he calculated how many more rows he had to pass before he got to Paulina's row.
"Three more rows. Hers is next to the tree." Milan kept his eyes focused on the tree. It stood tall and proud, shielding her from the elements, just like she would have liked it. The placement had been a strategic choice. What he failed to do for her in life, he could do for her after her passing. That was the least he could do - provide proper shelter from the elements.
Mitch stopped short as he moved around to the front of the tree to look at Paulina's headstone. He gasped. Milan held his breath, rounding the tree and was horrified by what he saw.
"How did this happen? Who did this?" Milan's voice shook with rage.
"I... I... Now, Milan, I had no idea. I don't know what to say." Mitch walked away, grabbing his cell phone to make a call back to the warehouse.
Milan shook as he took in the damage. In the distance, he could hear the rumbling of tractors as they worked the fields and the humming of a train just south of town. The world continued to go on while his world rocked.
Mitch spoke into the phone. "I need you to get out here now and explain to me how no one noticed this. How in the hell does a headstone get destroyed and no one says a word?"
His hands covered in dirt, Milan dug through the rubble, trying to retrieve every piece. Some were missing. He could only imagine where they'd been placed and why. Hatred coursed through his veins, but it had no direction. He didn't know if the hatred he felt was aimed at someone or more at himself. This was his fault. He should have been watching. That, he knew for sure.
"Now, Milan, just let it be, son. The sheriff is on his way. Let him take a look at it." Mitch tried to console a livid Milan, but it was too late. The damage had been done and no amount of apologies was going to replace the hole in his heart, not even if they were sincere.
Milan couldn't bring himself to speak yet. He feared his anger would boil over and he'd have no way of retrieving it. He'd known Mitch since he was a young boy. He'd at one time dated his daughter, long before he'd met Paulina, but like most people in town, after Paulina's death, Mitch, a one-time ally, became wary of him. It was a wonder that Mitch had allowed him to bury her here, but there was no other cemetery in town and the idea of burying her on his property felt morbid for him. She needed a proper space, overlooking the town she'd grown to love.
Mitch cursed under his breath while he waited for his crew and the local sheriff, Ned Acker to arrive. Contending with an angry man wasn't something he was up for, especially this particular angry man.
After several minutes, the crew members and the sheriff arrived together. Milan could see them in his peripheral, but didn't bother to stand up. He didn't want any of their hands on Paulina's grave. He needed to fix this himself. Time and history had already proven that trusting anyone else to do anything for him or those he cared about would prove to be a grave mistake. They weren't equipped enough to deal with facts and were ignorant enough to believe rumors and blatant lies.
"Hey, Mitch! What's going on here?" The sheriff studied Milan as he addressed Mitch.
Mitch explained as best he could, but his nerves weren't helping him get his point across. After a few minutes of listening to Mitch make excuses for what happened, Milan stood up, the front of his shirt and blazer covered in dirt.
"Someone has destroyed my wife's headstone. It has been defaced and part of the stone is missing. I found this in my backyard earlier today. Mitch assures me that it must have been the weather, but take a look around, have any other headstones been disturbed?" Milan's anger was palpable in the hot, summer heat.
"Hold on there, Mr. Merced. You said, you found the grave or headstone in this condition?" It was no secret that Sheriff Acker didn't like Milan at all. He made it a point to make that fact known in the days after Paulina died.
Since Milan left, Acker had spent a considerable amount of time and energy trying to put the sorted facts and falsities together to make a case against Milan, but had failed miserably time and time again. The bad blood between them wouldn't help in this situation, but Milan had no other recourse than to go to the local Sheriff's Department.
"Yes. I haven't been in town more than twelve hours and this is what I find? So, sheriff, tell me, have there been other vandalism reports or is this your first case?" Milan didn't care that he sounded condescending. He knew how this would play out. The sheriff would waste valuable time trying to prove a case against Milan, then, he'd come up empty and let the case fall by the wayside, just like he had with Paulina.
"Milan, now, calm down. I'm just trying to understand what happened here. You know how I feel about Paulina and about getting justice for her. Don't you worry, I'm going to find out what happened here. I promise you that." Sheriff Acker smirked.
The other men stood back watching the two men spar with each other. They'd all heard the stories and had their own theories about what happened to Milan's wife. Despite their personal feelings about Milan, they did feel guilty for not having noticed that Paulina's grave had been disturbed.
"Well, fellas, explain this." Mitch glared at his three crew members.
One spoke up, a former schoolmate of Milan's and neighbor, Tuck Johnson. "I honestly don't know what happened. I can tell you that it didn't look like this last week because I was the one that mowed the grass out here last week."
"So, you know for sure that it didn't look like this last week? Are you positive?" Milan moved toward him.
Tuck instinctively took a step back. "Well, yeah, I think so. I mean, I mowed the grass. I remember because I had to take out the trimmers to get around the tree here and it was fine. I know it was."
The sheriff removed his hat, wiping his brow. "Well, you see, that's good. We know things were fine till... Well, when did you say you came back to town, Milan?"
Milan scoffed at him. He knew what he was trying to get at. "Today. I've only been here a few hours and I bet if you ask every person in all of Brimmer County they can tell you the exact same thing, sheriff."
"And, why would they all have to vouch for you? You're not under investigation. No need for alibis, right?" The sheriff thrived in this kind of exchange. He lived for these moments because small town life didn't really afford him many opportunities to investigate hard cases. For the most part, crime was contained to the usual suspects joyriding down Main Street or having a few too many at the local watering hole and in need of county provided accommodations to sleep their night off.
"Do you plan on finding
out who is responsible for this or are we going to keep this pissing contest going for a while longer first?" Milan wanted nothing more than to punch the smug grin off of Sheriff Acker's face, but jail didn't suit him. Before Paulina's death, the only interactions he had with local law enforcement were in the form of the many social gatherings that his parents hosted or at the local county fair.
Sheriff Acker returned his attention to the task at hand and took out his notebook. "Okay, start at the beginning."
Milan gave his account of the day's events, beginning the moment after his plane landed in Nashville. Ned took copious notes, probably overcompensating for his lack of proper decorum. Despite his obvious disdain for the sheriff, Milan asked that he go to the house and assess what took place there.
"I'll follow you out that way, if you want to go now." Sheriff Acker offered.
"No. I want to clean this up, then, order a new headstone. I'll meet you at the house in a couple of hours. That ought to give you time to do some work." Milan couldn't help but offer a final jab.
"I'm sure I have plenty of work ahead of me. All things considered, welcome back to town. We sure are happy you're here. Speaking of that, how long will you be with us?" Sheriff Acker smiled.
Milan hoped he wouldn't regret answering this question. "I'm just here to clean up the property and get the house fixed up before I put it up for sale. Are you interested?"
Ned snorted. He figured that Milan knew that his wife had finally left him and moved to Florida. "It used to be a beautiful house, so full of love, but not all things are what they seem, don't you agree? I'll just stay in my little nest and keep things the way I like them. I'm sure you understand that, don't you?"
"Well, the offer stands. If you ever get an inkling to live in a grand old house with a lot of history, I'm willing to consider your offer." Milan was only half-kidding. He knew the house frightened Sheriff Acker, but not for the same reasons most others were afraid.
Chapter 3
Paranormal After Dark Page 343