It Ends Here

by Willow Rose

  "Here it is," Sheriff Waters said and pulled out a box. He blew dust off it and smiled. "This is all the paperwork from the case. The police report, the arrest report and arrest log, transcripts from our interrogations of Anna Mae, and all the notes we took. It's available to the public, so I’m entitled to show it to you. Maybe you can use it for something."

  He held the box out, and I took it, quite surprised. It was limited what was available online from back then.

  "Thank you."

  He smiled, then nodded. "No problem."

  Sheriff Waters walked me out and held the door for me. I stopped as I was about to cross the threshold.

  "One last question."

  He nodded. "Yes?"

  "Would you say that you have no doubt in your mind that Anna Mae Burke killed those two boys?" I asked this, knowing it was going to be a difficult question for him.

  He thought it over for quite some time, his upper lip vibrating slightly. Then he shook his head.

  "I have no doubt," he said heavily. "I can't allow myself to. What good would that do me or anyone else for that matter?"

  55

  I walked back holding the box with a strange feeling seeping through my body. I couldn't escape what Sheriff Waters had said to me. It wasn't what he said; it was more the way he said it.

  The man wasn't sure about Anna Mae's guilt. He couldn't say that to my face; of course, he couldn't, so that was why he hinted at it instead, and that was also why he had given me this box.

  He hoped I could somehow get to the truth. I wondered if it was the death of Alexander Cunningham that had ripped up the doubt in him. Did he know his death was no accident? Or had it just brought back too many memories and made him doubt what they had concluded back then?

  Either way, I was getting even more certain that I was approaching the truth, and whatever it was, it was ugly enough for people to lie about it and cover it up.

  I smiled at Regina, who was sweeping outside the motel, then felt her eyes on me as I walked back to the room. I knew they were all on their toes around me, thinking I had killed the old Cucumber King, and I was expecting to be picked up by the sheriff's deputies any moment now to be brought in for more ridiculous questioning.

  I had spoken to Kim's friend, the lawyer, earlier the same morning, and she told me she could help me out, but I had to stay put to show my willingness to cooperate. When they called me in for my next interrogation, I'd have to call her, so she could come with me. She lived about an hour away.

  Back in my room, I found a pack of cookies I had bought earlier in the week at Circle K and opened it, thinking that would have to be my lunch. For breakfast, I had eaten a granola bar that I had lying around. I was trying to stay away from the Farmer's Market after last night's failure, and since I didn't have a car because it had been taken to forensics, there really weren't that many places to get something to eat. Regina and Adeline had told me I could go with them to the market for dinner, but I wasn't sure I was up to it once again. I couldn't stand those staring eyes and all that whispering behind my back. It made me feel like the loneliest person on the planet.

  I closed the door behind me and sat down on the bed with the box. Then I opened it and pulled out one old yellow folder after another. They had lost a lot of color and felt like they could turn to dust any second now, but the papers inside of them were in good shape. Good enough for me to be able to read. I went through the arrest records and the log, where Anna Mae's picture was attached on the top, her blue eyes staring back at me from behind the bangs. It was hard to believe it was the same person as Margot Addington, but the eyes gave her away.

  I put the records aside, then opened another folder, the one with the transcripts from her interviews. There were many pages, and I leaned back, then began to read through them. For the most part, it was Sheriff Waters and Deputy Travers who did the talking, asking one question after another, like where she had been on the day when Timothy Peterson disappeared. To that, Anna Mae simply answered, "Around." And it went on like that for page after page. They would ask her a question, and she would answer with just a nod or shaking her head or just one word. Sometimes, she simply didn't say or do anything at all. She just stared at her shoes, it said in the notes.

  It must have driven them nuts.

  Finally, after hours of reading through the material, I stumbled on something that made me stop and reread it over and over again. I lifted my gaze and stared at her picture on the top of the file, while a piece of the puzzle suddenly fell into place, whispering:

  "Oh, my God."

  56

  Sheriff Leon Travers belched. Christina, his wife of twenty-five years, looked up from her plate.

  "Sorry," he said.

  She gave him one of her warming smiles, and he was lost for a second in her eyes. The sadness in them felt like knives to his heart. In them was the longing for something he hadn't been able to give her, and it tormented him every day of his life.

  "I was done anyway," Christina said as she grabbed both his and her own plate and left for the kitchen. His eyes lingered on the doorway long after she had left him.

  They had tried for years, but that child that they wanted so desperately simply hadn't come and even though it was long ago that they had given up on ever conceiving, it was still this thing between them that they couldn't escape.

  "Do you want dessert, Leon?" she yelled from the kitchen, even though they both knew it was a silly question.

  When realizing they couldn't have any children, Christina had drowned her sorrow with excessive cleaning, and to this day, the house was still spotlessly clean, and every piece of clothing was neatly folded inside Leon's closet. Meanwhile, Leon had thrown himself at pie or anything else that was sweet enough to subdue the pain. And for the past fifteen years at least, his weight had simply gone only one way: up and up again. It wasn't something Leon was very proud of. He had stopped looking at himself in the mirror and sex wasn't even on the agenda anymore. Leon knew how Christina looked at him. He knew how she felt about his weight gain, even though she tried to hide her stares and only did it when she believed he wasn't looking. Still, he knew. He disgusted her and probably everyone else around them.

  "I made an apple pie," she said, peeking her head out.

  Leon smiled, his eyes swimming at the thought of a sizzling warm piece of home-baked apple pie. What could be better in this world?

  "Sounds delicious," he said. "I could eat some of that."

  She served him a piece with whipped cream, and he dug in, pressing back the thoughts that had been ripped up in his mind lately and wouldn't go away, no matter how much he tried to keep them out. It was all because of that stupid journalist. If only she hadn't come here and talked about Alexander's autopsy report, then he would have believed he’d be able to get away with his little lie. He knew it wasn't fair to Alexander's parents. They deserved to know the truth, but he had to do it. Only he would understand why, and that was what hurt so much. Fact was, if the truth was revealed, he would lose everything, and he couldn't risk that happening.

  "I'm going to check on Deborah," Christina said as she grabbed her purse and car keys. "I’m taking her some food."

  Deborah Murphy was Christina's good friend who lived down the street from them. She had recently been sick from some type of throat cancer that Leon had never heard of, and since she was all alone, Christina felt obligated to take care of her. She took food to her every night to make sure she got something decent to eat. It was important for her to regain her strength, Christina said.

  "But I’m leaving the apple pie on the counter," she said. "In case you want another piece."

  Leon nodded while shoveling in the warm pie, then gazed after his wife as she left the house, smiling at the thought of how well she knew him.

  As soon as she was gone, he trotted to the kitchen where the rest of the pie was resting on the counter. With the spoon tightly in his grip, he threw himself at it, gobbling the rest of it down, eating so
much his stomach ended up hurting.

  Belching again, holding a hand to his painful stomach, he went to the living room and threw himself on the couch, hoping a little downtime would end up clearing him of this pain, yet knowing deep inside that the pain would never go away. The stomachache would, but not the rest. The rest, he had to live with till the day he died.

  He just didn't realize that moment might come a lot sooner than he had expected. It wasn't until he heard the footsteps, then opened his eyes, gasping, and looked into the ones of his killer, that he knew it.

  "Please," he whispered.

  But his words were in vain. He knew they would be, yet he tried. His killer didn't care, though. Instead, she leaned over, looked straight into his eyes, then lifted the knife, and before Leon could move his massive body, she brought it down to his chest, piercing it straight through his flesh and into his heart. As blood gushed out of him, she leaned over and whispered close to his ear:

  "It ends here."

  57

  I borrowed Adeline's truck, telling her I needed to go buy some food, and drove through town, my heart pounding in my chest. I reached Sheriff Travers' house and parked in the driveway, then rushed to the door. I knocked, then knocked again when no one opened the door. As I did, the door slid open, and that was when I heard it. Gurgling sounds were coming from inside the living room, and it sounded like someone was choking.

  "Sheriff Travers?" I asked and stepped cautiously in over the threshold, holding the transcripts in my hand. I had brought them to show the sheriff what I had found.

  "Hello?"

  I walked inside and found Sheriff Travers on the couch, blood gushing down onto the carpet below, a knife still stuck in his chest.

  "Oh, my God, Sheriff?" I said and hurried to him. "Sheriff? Are you still there? What happened?"

  He was still alive, but barely. He was sputtering and fighting to breathe. "Hang in there," I said, then grabbed my phone from my pocket. "I’m calling for help."

  As I fumbled with the phone nervously, he lifted his bloody hand and grabbed my arm. Startled I turned to look, then realized he was trying to say something.

  Trying to calm my poor beating heart, I leaned closer while our eyes locked, panic rushing through his. His mouth moved, and he tried to speak. Blood spilled from his lips when he whispered with a hoarse voice:

  "Anna Mae…is…"

  Mid-sentence, his hand let go of my shirt, and the sheriff's massive body sank down while life left his eyes. The sight made me start to cry.

  "No! Sheriff Travers, no!"

  I pressed his chest, trying to perform CPR, but there was nothing that helped. Tapping the screen frantically, I called 911.

  "Hello? I need an ambulance; someone was murdered. Please, come quickly; he's not breathing anymore. There's no pulse."

  After giving them the address, I knelt next to him, crying, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. While sitting on the floor, I realized how it would look if the police found me there. I was a suspect in a murder case, for the murder of another of the town's big men, and I had a vested interest in getting rid of the sheriff. Someone might think I had killed him.

  A sudden panic set in. I gathered my things, then ran out the front door, desperately looking in the direction of the sirens, then got into Adeline's truck and drove off, tires screeching on the asphalt. I knew it was very risky what I was doing, but who would ever believe me? Even if I told them the truth, this story was a little too hard to believe. I had probably left DNA all over the scene and someone—possibly a neighbor—had most likely seen me run out of the house and take off. Plus, it was going to take them like five minutes to find out I was the one who had called for help. My voice was on tape, and the call came from my own phone. It wasn't going to take them long to come for me, but right now, I didn't care much about all that. I had to go find Anna Mae, and fast. With what I had found in the papers and what the sheriff had said before he died, I had a feeling I was right on track.

  58

  Webster, Florida 1979

  When the first day of the trial came, everyone in town had a story to tell about Anna Mae. Events from all the way back early in her childhood were brought into the light on that hot summer day in July in the Sumter County Courthouse.

  One after another, the people in Anna Mae's life took the stand and told what they knew about the girl. There were stories about how she had fought with other girls, both in and out of school, how she had once forced a friend to eat sand till she almost choked, and how she had drawn a picture of the dead body of Timothy in class, scaring the teacher.

  The Petersons’ story probably made the biggest impression on that day. Mrs. Peterson took the stand and told the jury how the girl had tormented them after losing their son, how she had come to their house, an eerie grin on her face and asked if they missed him, if they were crying at night. How she had asked to see the body of Timothy in the coffin.

  "I just couldn't believe a child could do this to us," Mrs. Peterson said. "No one can be that cruel, especially not a child."

  Carol was then asked to take the stand, and while trying hard to not look directly at Anna Mae, she told the jury how she had seen Anna Mae torture animals, how she had been acting strangely after the death of Timothy, and also how she had led her to the body of Benjamin Black after she had seen her drawing.

  "As much as I hate to say this because I care for the child, I truly do, but something isn't right with her."

  As she said the words, her eyes fell on Anna Mae, and Carol burst into tears. She had loved the girl, she really had, but it was out of her hands now. She couldn't lie in court, and to be honest, she wanted Anna Mae to be put away. The girl scared her more than ever.

  After the first day of the trial, Carol went home to her house and locked the doors thoroughly, then sunk to her knees, crying. She felt so helpless. Earlier in the day, she had heard the chief medical examiner talk about how he believed both boys had been killed by someone putting pressure to their throats and blocking the airways, just by using their fingers.

  "Only a child's fingers could leave no bruise," he added.

  Carol couldn't stop thinking about those two poor boys, so young, so fragile, and so innocent. Timothy had been five, Benjamin only four years old. And then she kept picturing Anna Mae luring them to go with her, telling them she had candy or to come play. She could imagine her as she grabbed their throats, as soon as they were alone, and then she pictured her as she was hovering above them, looking down at them with her eerie little smile, and pressing her thumbs down on their throats till they stopped breathing. Just like she had done to that poor bird in Carol's backyard.

  How could a child possess such cruelty?

  A knock on her door made Carol wipe her eyes and get to her feet. She opened the door and outside stood two men she knew very well.

  "Allan? Leon?"

  The seriousness in their eyes made Carol's heart drop. "We're losing the trial," Allan Cunningham said. "We're going to lose."

  "There isn't enough evidence, according to the prosecutor," Deputy Travers continued. "She'll walk if we don't do something about it."

  "We have to do something," Allan Cunningham added. "Now."

  The thought made Carol's heart start to pound. This couldn't be happening. Anna Mae couldn't walk free after this. She had to be put away; she simply had to. Carol couldn't bear the guilt she was carrying from the death of those two boys. What if Anna Mae was let out and there were more? No, they had to put her away. There was no other solution.

  "But…but…what can we do about it? Is there anything I can do?"

  They looked briefly at one another, then back at her.

  "We might have an idea. Can we come in?"

  59

  It had started to rain, and when it rained in Florida, it poured. The wipers on Adeline's truck creaked as they slid across the windshield and cleared away the water, yet the road in front of me was still hard to see. I had to squint and lean forward as I dr
ove out of town toward the Addington estate.

  I accelerated as soon as I was past the city limit sign, then sped through the landscape, splashing through big puddles of water, hoping and praying that I wasn't going to skid off the road.

  Halfway there, my phone rang. The display lit up with Sune's name on it, and I had to pick it up in case it was something with the kids.

  "What's wrong?" I said, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear while concentrating on steering the truck through the darkness. "What happened?"

  "Does something have to be wrong for me to call you?" he asked. "Can't I just call you anymore?"

  "No, no, of course, you can," I said. "I’m sorry. I’m a little stressed out right now; that's all. How are the kids?"

  "The kids are fine. They miss you, though. Especially Tobias," Sune said.

  My heart ached. It had to be hard on the boy. Even though he wasn't my son, Sune already had him when I met him, and I loved the kid like he was my own. When Sune and I split up, he had come to me and told me he was scared he'd never see me again. I told him I was going to be there for him just as much as for Julie and William, but I could tell he didn't fully believe me.

  "Tell him I miss him too," I said and made a turn, the truck skidding sideways. I got it back on track with a shriek, missing a tall skinny palm tree by a few inches.

  "Rebekka? Are you okay? What's going on? Are you driving?"

  "Yes, I am…"

  "Where are you going, Rebekka? Why do I have a feeling you're getting yourself into trouble again?" he asked.

  "I’m just…I need to do this, Sune. I have to," I said, hoping that he would accept this as an explanation. I couldn't go into detail right now; I didn't have time. I didn't really want to either. He would only get angry with me.