by Becky Durfee
“Unless, like we said, the woman he was talking about didn’t die that day. Then we’re back at square one.”
Closing her eyes, Jenny held up her hand, signifying her desire to stay off that path for now. “Let’s get this picture off to Kayla and see what Devon has to say about it first. Then, we can worry about what to do after that.”
With the touch of a few buttons, she forwarded the picture off to the Moore family with a brief explanation. Once that was done, she read more of Kyle’s information about Jacqueline Crespi.
“It says here she was married and living in Severin, South Carolina, wherever that is.”
Zack leaned to the side as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. He held up a finger as he swallowed the food in his mouth, finally saying, “Give me just a sec, and I can tell you.”
Jenny continued to read, “According to this, Jacqueline was on the train because she was going home to visit her parents in Pennsylvania.” She sucked in a breath and looked up at Zack. “Imagine being her father…you’re all excited to see her, keeping track of the time so you can get her from the station…but the train doesn’t arrive. It caught on fire on the way. You hear that a handful of passengers died in the explosion, and you pray and pray that Jacqueline wasn’t among them…but she was. She happened to be sitting in the wrong section of the wrong car in a long passenger train.”
Zack shook his head as he continued to look at his phone. “Awful.” He toyed with the screen a little more and announced, “The town of Severin is about fifteen miles north of Terryville, where Matthew was from. It was obviously a northbound train, so she must have gotten on a little after he did.”
“And she took one of the few available seats, near the front of the car. It’s almost like those people knew…the seats where the fatalities took place filled up last.”
“Well, we don’t know that. A buttload of people may have gotten off at the Severin station, and they happened to come from the front of the train, thereby creating empty seats.” He looked proud of himself as he said the word thereby.
“It must have been weird for the people who got off at the Severin station, don’t you think? The train exploded soon after they got off. That’s like one of those too-close-for-comfort deals.”
“Just think…if that person decided to light up their cigarette forty-five minutes earlier, the people who got off in Severin would have died, too. Or if the person with the oxygen tank had gotten off at the Severin station, there never would have been an explosion to begin with.” Zack made a face, indicating he had just thought of something.
“What is it?” Jenny asked.
“Something’s not right,” he announced as he returned to his phone.
“What isn’t right?”
He remained quiet as he looked up some information. “That’s what I thought. In this article, it gives the names and ages of the people who died in the explosion. The oldest person to die was forty-four.”
“That’s so sad,” Jenny noted.
“I know; it is sad, but that’s not my point.” He looked up at Jenny. “My point is: which one of those people would have been using an oxygen tank?”
“I hate visiting prisons,” Jenny announced as they pulled into the parking lot of the facility that housed Paul Thomas. “They’re such dismal and depressing places.”
“At least you get to leave,” Zack noted. “Those guys don’t.”
Jenny grunted in acknowledgement as she parked the car. She hoped her exploits never caused her to end up in a place like this; one of these days, though, she might run out of luck.
Having visited Brian Morris many times at Benning Penitentiary, she was familiar with the drill when she entered Axworth Prison. Metal detector, pat down, belonging search—at least it didn’t faze her this time. She was led to the visitation room, taking her seat at what looked like a tiny cubicle with a glass partition in front and a phone on the side. She waited nervously, unsure what to expect from this Bringer of Happiness, who Troy had predicted would have already been found face-down in a ditch.
A man entered the room, looking older than Jenny had expected. She could tell by his disproportionately large nose that it was indeed Paul Thomas, the man Troy had described as ‘an ugly bastard.’ However, his pale and sunken face was littered with wrinkles, and his arms were frighteningly thin but flabby, indicating he had once weighed substantially more than he did at that moment. A distinct curve in his spine showed evidence of osteoporosis. His appearance was unnerving to Jenny, who felt as if she was about to start a conversation with a man who might not survive long enough to see it through.
Paul sat at the desk with some help from the guard, his whole arm shaking as he took the phone off the wall. He started to speak, inducing a phlegmy coughing fit which Jenny waited through patiently, although she had to fight not to grimace at the sight and sound of it. Once he regained his composure, he looked at Jenny with sagging eyes and said, “Who are you?”
She cleared her throat. “My name is Jenny Larrabee; I’ve been looking into what happened in Bedford back in June of 1968. I’m talking about a place called Eden, and I get the impression you were acquainted with those people.”
He closed his eyes in a long blink, falling short of looking at her when he reopened them. “Yeah, I knew them. What is it you want to know?” His voice sounded raspy and sickly.
“Well, there’s been a little bit of a debate lately about what really happened on the day they all passed away, and you may hold the key to clearing that up.”
“Me? What, do you think I did it or something?”
“No,” Jenny replied quickly, “I don’t think…” Paul Thomas had the drugs. He had the access. But what would have been his motive? “…that you did it.”
She was fully aware that she had paused mid-sentence; she only hoped that she’d been able to recover without giving away her sudden suspicion of the man sitting in front of her.
Based on the look on Paul’s face, she hadn’t.
She plugged on, pretending nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “I was just wondering if you had sold a large amount of Nembutal to Jove, or even Sheriff Babson for that matter, shortly before the tragedy.”
Paul’s short chuckle of disbelief turned into another disturbing coughing fit. After gathering himself, he posed, “You think I sold Nembutal to the sheriff?”
Suddenly embarrassed, Jenny said, “It was just a theory.”
“Well, it’s a bad one. That man had it out for us—if I was stupid enough to even show him a Nembutal, I would have been locked up faster than you can say dumbass.”
“It wasn’t an illegal drug,” Jenny mentioned.
“It was if you didn’t have a prescription for it.”
She nodded with understanding. “Then how about Jove? I am under the impression that you supplied him with all of the drugs that he wasn’t able to grow himself. The current belief is that he convinced all of the members of The Family to commit suicide—did you give him enough pills to make that happen?”
Paul’s eyes sagged naturally, but the sadness expressed on his face made him look like a remorseful basset hound. He let out a long breath, running his shaky hand over his balding head, which was covered in age spots. “I’m tired,” he announced solemnly. “I’m tired, and I’m dying.”
Jenny looked into his eyes, feeling a stir beginning to grow within her. Unsure what to make of it, she remained still, almost afraid to move.
Paul shook his head. “No, I did not give Jove enough drugs to kill everybody who lived there. He didn’t do it.”
She felt nerves and agitation, yet she showed nothing outwardly. She wanted him to continue.
Paul’s silence was long; it was obvious he wasn’t quite sure what to say. “I’m going to die in here—and soon, if God can find it in Himself to be merciful. Not that I deserve any mercy.” He struggled some more, clearly uncomfortable in his own skin. “It’s funny—I’m in here on drug charges. My sentence was far too
long for a drug charge, if you ask me, but this is where I belong. If they only knew the shit I’ve done, I would have been hanged a long time ago.” He placed his elbow on the table, resting his forehead on his palm. It looked as if he wouldn’t otherwise be able to hold his head up. “I did it,” Paul said softly. “I killed those people.”
Jenny felt anger consume her body. She began to stand up, the urge to yell we trusted you almost too strong to ignore. However, control prevailed, and she sat back down, pretending she was merely shifting in her seat.
Paul didn’t seem to notice; he simply shook his head with remorse seeping out of his pores. “I was such a damn fool—so fucking high.”
A long silence followed. Jenny fought her inner demons and waited patiently for him to continue, but he seemed to be done talking. With great effort, she made sure she spoke softly, remaining in control of what she was saying. “Why did you do it?”
The hand that had been supporting Paul’s head fell to the table with a heavy thud. The skin around his eyes turned red, although he produced no tears. “I was mad,” he proclaimed.
Trying to keep the conversation from shutting down, Jenny kept compassion in her voice. “Mad about what?”
There was a pause before everything Paul said. “That girl.”
Out of respect, Jenny returned the long pause before asking, “What girl?”
“The girl that wouldn’t sleep with me. I have no idea what her name was, but it was her turn to fuck me…and she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t even touch me, and I was pissed. I felt like it was her duty. It was part of the deal.” Paul’s eyes rose to meet Jenny’s. “Long story short, I killed a shitload of people because a girl refused to fuck me for drugs.”
Anger once again threatened to encompass Jenny. She had to divert her eyes from Paul’s—they looked too familiar. She remembered seeing them when they graced the face of a younger man—a man she had regarded as a friend. Her body began to tremble with the urge to crash through the glass and strangle the bastard on the other side.
Paul went on, oblivious to Jenny’s inner turmoil. “Can you believe that? The girl showed morals, and I killed them for it?” He shook his head again, clearly disgusted by his own actions.
Swallowing her hate, Jenny asked, “How did you do it?”
“I spiked their water supply. I put enough shit in there to kill a small army.” The look on his face showed immeasurable shame. “I knew that no matter how sick they got, they never would have gone to the doctor. Jove didn’t allow that. So I knew they’d just keep drinking the water until the dosage became fatal.” He shook his head and muttered something Jenny couldn’t understand.
“Well, you can make this right, you know,” she added with professionalism.
“Make it right?” Paul mocked. “There’s nothing in this world that will make it right.”
“You can’t undo it,” Jenny noted, “but you can confess and give a lot of people some peace. There are people out there who still don’t understand what happened. All we have now are rumors and speculation—Jove is currently being blamed for orchestrating a suicide that everyone else willingly participated in. That’s not what happened. You can give Jove his good name back, and you can let some families know that their loved ones didn’t willingly commit such a desperate act.”
Paul’s sarcastic tone showed he didn’t agree. “You really think that will help?”
“I do, actually,” she replied with conviction.
“They won’t be any less dead.”
“No, they won’t be any less dead.” Jenny once again swallowed the demon squirming inside her. “But they will be exonerated.”
With a shrug, Paul said, “I’m going to hell. Whether I confess to this or not, I’m going to hell.”
Jenny sat straighter. “Then why not tell the truth?”
He sat motionlessly with his head in his hand. An eternity seemed to pass before he finally said, “Then everyone will know the monster I really am.”
“Everyone already thinks that of Jove, and he didn’t do it.”
After another lifetime of silence, he managed a subtle nod and whispered, “Yeah, I’ll do it. I’ll write up a confession.”
Jenny felt herself relax, although there was a part of her that was still consumed with anger. “Thank you, Paul. It’s the right thing to do.”
He snorted and made a face, seemingly amused by Jenny’s statement. With one last burst of life, he looked up at her and said, “You know the most fucked up part of this whole thing?”
“What’s that?” Jenny asked, barely able to contain her hate.
“I went to one of the funerals…some kid whose family lived close by. And while I was there, guess who I saw?”
Jenny shrugged and shook her head.
“I saw that girl who wouldn’t fuck me, alive and well and walking around.”
Chapter 20
“Well, that didn’t go as expected,” Jenny said as she turned the key.
“What happened?” Zack asked.
Jenny looked squarely at her husband. “He confessed.”
“He what?”
“Uh-huh. That was my reaction.”
“Why in the world would he have killed them?”
“Sabrina.” Jenny began to back out of the parking space. “She wouldn’t sleep with him when it was her turn, and in his drug-induced delusional state, Paul concluded that everyone at Eden needed to be punished for that.”
“Holy shit.”
“I know. He spiked their well with what he called ‘enough Nembutal to kill an army.’ But, unfortunately for him, Sabrina had left Eden a couple of weeks earlier, so his intended target wasn’t among the dead.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme? Killing a whole community of people because you got shot down?”
“Of course it’s extreme,” Jenny replied. “Drugs do some strange things to people. Anyway, he said he was going to make a more formal confession to help right some of the wrong he had done. I only hope he lives long enough to do it. He looked like he was on death’s door.”
“And after he dies, he’ll get to face all of those members of The Family that he killed sixty years ago.”
Jenny shook her head. “I’m not sure he’ll go to the same place that they went to.”
“You think he’s going to hell?”
“Something like that.” Jenny gestured to her purse. “Hey, can you please turn my phone on? I want to see if Kayla tried calling while I was in there.”
Zack lifted her pocketbook from the floor of the car. “The fun just never ends on this trip, now does it?”
“Yeah, it’s been a laugh a minute.”
After looking at the phone for a second, Zack said, “One missed call from Kayla, one new voicemail.”
“Ooh, can you play it?”
He pressed a series of buttons, including the speaker feature, and Kayla’s voice came through the phone. “Hi, Jenny, it’s Kayla. Devon did recognize that woman from the picture you sent; he said she was the person he was talking about. She sat next to him on the train. I don’t know if Matthew is concerned for her safety like he was for Mary and Julia, but I don’t want to tell him she died in the fire…not without you here to help me, just in case he gets upset about it for some reason.” Kayla let out a sigh. “Well, if you could give me a call back when you get this message, that would be great. I hope things are going well for you in Georgia. Bye.”
“That’s good news, I guess,” Zack concluded as he hung up the phone. “At least we know what person we’re dealing with.”
Jenny nodded as she thought. “I wonder why he’s so concerned about this one girl.”
“I guess it’s time to find out.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to tell Dr. Wilson we’re going back to South Carolina?” Zack asked. “I feel like we’re running away.”
Jenny shifted in the driver’s seat. “Yeah, I’m sure. Devon’s case is different than the others; he’s a psychic, and the other kid
s weren’t. This case shouldn’t even interest Dr. Wilson, really.”
Zack stifled laughter. “And the fact that the good doctor grates your nerves has nothing to do with it?”
Jenny smiled. “Nothing at all.”
Her rear end was numb from the long drive, so she was happy to hear Zack say, “The station should be less than a mile from here on the left.”
“It’s certainly in a sketchy neighborhood,” Jenny noted.
“It is now, but it probably wasn’t back in 1961 when Jacqueline boarded the train. Remember, this train line is defunct; it wasn’t before, so I imagine the businesses along this strip used to be a lot more successful than they are now.”
She looked at the old, crumbling houses and shops that surrounded her. Perhaps this had once been a nice, new neighborhood full of promise; now it just looked like a place where people moved if they had nowhere else to go.
Soon, she pulled the car into an abandoned parking lot, complete with tall grass growing in cracks in the asphalt. The train station itself was covered in graffiti and littered with broken windows, just as the other one had been. She tried to picture the way it would have looked when it was new and not frightening, but that was too much of a stretch for her to envision.
They got out of the car and headed toward the platform. Jenny felt the tiniest twinge begin to stir within her, but it was fleeting, and everything seemed perfectly normal as she reached the concrete area next to the train tracks. She walked around in a few circles, unable to get any kind of reading.
“So far, I’ve got nothing,” she announced. “Maybe Jacqueline didn’t board the train here.”
“It’s the closest station to where she lived at the time,” Zack said, “but that’s no guarantee this is where she would have gotten on.”
Jenny walked off the platform and stood on the tracks themselves, which also had long grass growing amongst the metal and wood. She looked in front of her in the northbound direction and watched the tracks disappear around a small curve. This was the path, she thought to herself. This was the path that all of these people took to meet such a horrible fate. As they sat on this stretch of track, everything must have seemed perfectly normal for them—just another day on the train. Little did they know that this was the path to disaster, and for eleven of them, they were within an hour of their death.