by J. Bengtsson
“It was alive.”
“What was alive?” James asked, appearing more than a little intrigued.
“The basement. The pipes were so loud, and they dripped and screeched. Sometimes they made these groaning noises that sounded humanlike. I started hearing things that weren’t there… and seeing things, too.”
“What were you seeing?”
“Ray’s other victims.”
James lifted his eyes, no doubt trying to determine whether I was messing with him. “You were seeing ghosts?”
I shrugged because answering his question seemed redundant. I was the only survivor, so anyone I was seeing in that basement of horrors was most definitely dead.
“Did Ray tell you others died there?”
He didn’t have to. The minute I was dumped into the basement, I knew it was a death chamber and that I’d never make it out alive. Flashes of memory flooded my senses, and I could feel my blood pressure begin to rise. Yes, there had been others; and yes, he had told me plenty about them; but it didn’t take more than opening my eyes to know the fate of those who had come before me. I could see it on the blood-streaked walls, on the tally marks made on the frame of the bed, and in the box of souvenirs he’d kept with the belongings of each of his victims. Mine was already there, waiting to be filled.
But it wasn’t those victims that haunted me. As warped as it sounded, they were the lucky ones. When the nightmare ended for me, so did it end for them. Those were not the ones who haunted my dreams, nor were they the ones who appeared to me from the faulty plumbing.
My ghosts were the forgotten ones… the victims even the police knew nothing about. In their late teens or early twenties, most had led hard lives before colliding head on with Ray. Unlike me, they’d been tricked to their deaths, mostly through promises of drugs or money. They were Ray’s first victims, the ones not killed in the basement or dug up around his home. There had been no justice for these guys, no closure, no funerals, and no tearful goodbyes. They were the forgotten ones – the ones left in unmarked graves never to be heard from again. These were the ghosts who haunted me in my sleep, the ones I’d been running from for half my life.
I tried my best to explain all this to James, and when I was done and he was staring at me like I was the apparition in this story, I articulated in a clear, even tone. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but they spoke to me, James. They still speak to me.”
“What do they say?”
I leaned in, struggling to find the words. “They want me to set them free.”
22
Casey: Nesting
My parents made the trip with Sydney and Riley. Although I was five months pregnant, my mother didn’t trust me to take it easy during our move to the new house, and if I was being honest with myself, neither did I. After the extreme fatigue and the up and down emotions of the first couple of months of my pregnancy, I was now five months along and feeling incredibly energetic. I’d taken to calling the baby Red Bull for the extra spring I now had in my step. And with the move and all, having my mojo back had been a major step forward.
“How are you feeling?” my mother asked me for the hundredth time.
“Happy.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” She beamed.
“And you?” I lowered the shirt I was fixing to the hanger and checked for her reaction. She seemed to be searching for an answer. Her well-being and that of the kids was always at the forefront of my mind, and I worried that she was hiding her true feelings behind a stoic exterior.
“I’m happy too,” she replied.
“Are you?”
Mom took my hand. “The sadness will always be there, and I’ve accepted that, but I have to be thankful every day for the kids. When I think about how much worse it could have been…” her voice trailed off. “Did you know they’d originally planned to bring the kids with them to the restaurant that night?”
“Yes. I heard.”
“So, you understand why I also feel grateful? They could all be gone, but instead I have these wonderful kids to watch grow, and they make your Dad and me feel young again. Riley’s just such a joy. His energy and boyish exuberance is so much like Miles at the same age that sometimes I feel like I’m raising him all over again. And Sydney…” Mom’s eyes filled with tears. “She’s like a beautiful, wild, raging river… all that intensity and strength, but with so many obstacles in her way. How she handles the changing courses will determine the woman she will one day be. I’ve never felt more essential and needed. I have her future in my hands, and I won’t fail her.”
“I know you won’t.” I smiled warmly at my awesome mom. “You’ve never failed any of us. And if I’m even half the mother you’ve been to me, my child will be so lucky.”
“I don’t know, Casey. If you’re only half the mother I am, then I might have to step in and whip you into shape. This is my grandchild we’re talking about.”
I tossed a shirt at her. “Okay, then, I’ll be better than you.”
“Well, now you’re just making crazy talk,” Mom said, grinning. “You know what I can’t wait for? Seeing Jake as a daddy.”
I stiffened a bit, knowing his reservations with fatherhood. “I know he’ll be great… but he’s not convinced yet.”
“I can see that. Jake takes time to adjust to new situations. But he’ll come around because that man will do anything for you.”
“Including having a baby when he doesn’t really want one.”
Mom waved it off. “Sometimes men don’t know what they want. It’s up to us to gently guide them in the right direction.”
“You mean the direction we want them to go?” I corrected.
“Yes, that’s what I said… the right direction.”
As the last of the moving trucks exited through the front gate, Jake and I walked out to the circular driveway and took a moment to appreciate our new home. Although no way near the small, quaint homestead Jake had imagined, it was a place we could both get behind. Fully enclosed behind a security fence and shrouded by full, majestic trees sat our fairy tale home, with a multi-colored slate roof and a stone tower with ivy growing up the side. The grounds weren’t huge, at least not in Hollywood terms, but they provided for a nice amount of space for outdoor activities and included a pool, basketball court, and a little vegetable garden enclosed by – you guessed it – a white picket fence.
“Do you love it as much as I do?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his waist and laying my head against his chest.
“I do. It feels like home. You know what I love best?” he asked, a smirk lifting up the corners of his lips.
“Shut up.” I laughed, playfully punching him in the gut. We both knew what he was going to say – the guesthouse. The reason being that his mother-in-law would be in another building when she visited. That had been the running joke from the moment my parents had arrived, although it had been my mother, not Jake, who started the whole thing by insisting he’d bought the place specifically to keep her out of the main house. Jake had only run with the punch line.
His jovial mood was a welcome change. There’d been a heaviness to his step for the past couple of weeks, and although he wouldn’t tell me why, it was clear the therapy sessions were to blame. Sometimes I wondered if they were making him worse, not better.
And it didn’t help matters that he was so guarded. Jake was open and honest with me in all aspects of our marriage except one: the kidnapping. It was a topic that had always been off-limits to me. Although I’d learned to live with the secrets Jake carried from his past, that didn’t mean I liked it.
“You seem a little happier today.”
Jake caught my eye for a quick moment before tipping his head and kissing my forehead. “Things will be better soon. I promise.”
“Really?” Perhaps there was too much surprise in my voice, but it was the first time he’d articulated an end to his melancholy.
“Yes, really. I know I’ve been weird lately, but there are some thi
ngs I’m working out right now. I can’t say what they are yet, but as soon as I can talk about it, I promise to tell you.”
“Maybe I can help,” I said, perking up. Was there really an end in sight?
His body tightened against me. I could feel his hesitation. “No. It’s something I have to do on my own.”
“I just don’t understand why I can’t be a part of whatever it is you’re doing.”
“I know, but you will understand. Soon, everyone will.”
There was a strange foreboding in his words, but just as I was about to ask for clarification, Riley came barreling out the front door and flung himself full speed into Jake’s arms. “Can we go in the pool now? You promised!”
“Did you help Grams pick up?”
“Yep, she said I could come get you.”
Jake rumpled his hair. “Well, a promise is a promise.”
I was still watching Jake, analyzing his body language for clues to this latest mystery. I had to assume that some things I’m working out right now explained why he’d been disappearing every day for hours on end.
“Riley, can you give us a minute?” I asked.
My nephew groaned, clearly impatient for his promised playmate.
Jake leaned into me. “Not now, Case. There’s nothing I can tell you yet. Give me a couple more days and then you’ll have the answers. Will you do that?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Jake shook his head. “No.”
23
Jake: Where They Live
“Casey?” I whispered, waking her from a dead sleep. “Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to go for a drive with me.”
With her hair splayed out every which way and her eyes still sealed shut, Casey definitely didn’t appear in any shape to keep me company. I nudged her again. “Babe, wake up. It’s 7:30.”
“Go away,” she mumbled, her limp hand trying to push me away. “It hurts when someone you love says mean things like ‘It’s time to wake up.’”
Smiling, I traced a strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “I’ll buy you a coffee if you come with me.”
One eye emerged from under the pillow she’d placed over her face. “Starbucks?”
“Sure. Wherever. But no meet and greets. Strictly drive thru.”
“As if I want people seeing me like this. I look like I swallowed a blowfish.”
“You look beautiful.” I commented on this statement, or some variation of it, daily. That was my standard reply – the only reply.
She removed the pillow completely and raised her brow. “Why are you up so early? Can’t sleep?”
“Something like that.” In reality, I hadn’t slept a wink, knowing what was coming. “And it’s 7:30, which is not early for most people.”
She pulled the sheet up over her head, hiding until I yanked it clear off her body. “Ugghh,” Casey groaned.
“Let’s go. I’ll give you thirty minutes to get yourself ready.”
“Thirty minutes?! I’m not a magician, Jake.” Flinging the sheets off her body, Casey padded off to the bathroom grumbling, “But I’ll do what I can to not look like a troll.”
I grinned at her cranky response. “That’s all I ask.”
Waiting for Casey, I stood in the hallway, gripping my keys in one hand and, in the other, a twelve-year-old piece of paper featuring a list of cryptic directions pointing to a hidden location. Written from memory, it was a treasure map of sorts, but there would be no reward at this end of this path. I smoothed the worn paper with my fingers. The list was almost unreadable at this point and of no significant value to me. I certainly didn’t need it to get where I was going. Each line on this tattered parchment was burned in my memory for life. Truth be told, I only carried it with me now for emotional support. It was a reminder that I wasn’t crazy, and that where I was going was more than just a place that lived in my nightmares. It was real and as tangible as the paper in my hand. And after today, it would never be a secret again.
#1. From highway, take Poplin Rd.
“You’re pulling in here?” Casey asked, scanning the surrounding area with a puzzled expression on her face. “Is this even a road?”
#2 At 3.24 miles, turn right onto a dirt path.
“Not officially. It’s a back way onto the property.”
“Whose property? Yours?”
“No. Not mine.”
I expertly dodged the overgrown flowering bushes and the branches hanging so low off the trees that they smacked my windshield on multiple occasions. The dirt road I was driving along led to a sprawling farm about twenty miles north of Santa Barbara. This seemingly tranquil place was anything but, however. Its grounds held a terrible secret.
I pulled up to a locked gate, put my Jeep in park, and hopped out.
“What is this, Jake? Are we supposed to be here? Isn’t this private property?”
#3. Enter 8652 into the master lock
I hadn’t been here in years, and it was possible that the lock had changed. If that were the case, I had a chain cutter that would get me through the gate. But, to my surprise, there was no lock. All that was required was unclipping the gate and pushing it open. I walked back to my Jeep and continued driving.
#4 Left at fork in dirt road.
Casey’s eyes were fixed on me now. She seemed to get that more was happening than just a leisurely afternoon drive. I pulled to a stop.
#5 Old barn with metal shingles
Exiting the vehicle, I walked around to help Casey out and then stood for a moment, staring at the old structure and gathering my courage. Dragging a deep breath in, I walked to the barn and, as I had in countless dreams, laid my hand against the tattered paneling. It was parched and unyielding, not like in my nightmares where the wood planks had a heartbeat and blood dripped from the cracks.
“Does this place mean something to you?” Casey asked, gripping my arm.
I heard her words but was too caught up in the moment to immediately answer.
“Jake? What is this place? Why have you brought me here?”
“You wanted to know my secrets.”
Casey squinted, blinking out the sun, as she examined the barn.
“Do you remember on our honeymoon, when you asked what I was having a nightmare about?”
“Yes. I remember… you said ghosts.”
“This place here,” I said, gesturing over the farm, “this is where they live.”
“Live?” she asked, shifting positions and rubbing her arms. I could see the goosebumps traveling up them as she spoke. “What exactly are you showing me here?”
“My nightmare, Casey. I’m showing you my nightmare.”
She stared at me for the longest time, and I wasn’t sure if I should continue or wait for her to catch up. Finally she took a step away from both the barn and me. That was when I knew my words had sunk in.
“Did he take you here?” Her voice shook as she spoke.
“No. Not me. Others… five others, to be exact, and this is where they died.”
Again she took a step back, but now I could see real fear in her eyes. I grabbed Casey’s arms to steady her. “Shit. This was stupid. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
“No. I’m fine, just shocked. Give me a second to process, okay?”
I nodded, assuming the wait would be long, but Casey was a decisive woman and had a whole barrage of questions ready for me in a matter of seconds.
“How long have you known? Did Ray tell you about them? Are they buried in the barn?” The last question was whispered, as if she didn’t want the ghosts to hear.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the instructions, and placed them in her hand.
Casey unfolded the paper and I watched as she read the directions. “Is this what I think it is?”
I nodded, touching the wall of the barn. “A map to them. The boys who died here.”
“Where did you get this?”
“I wrote it… from memory… so I wouldn’t forget.”
/> “So Ray told you about this place, then? About killing these boys?”
“Yes.”
She pointed at the map. “How do you know he was telling you the truth? Maybe he lied to you. Maybe nothing is here at all.”
“He wasn’t lying, Casey. There was no reason for him to. As far as he was concerned, I was never leaving the basement alive. What did he care if I died holding his secrets?”
“But it doesn’t make any sense. He killed all the others at the house. Why here?”
“These were his first victims. He didn’t own that house when these guys were killed. Ray’s father used to work on this ranch and brought him here as a kid. He knew every inch of this property and knew that the land was so vast that no one would ever hear screams coming from this barn.”
She shook her head, either not yet willing to accept my explanation or just unable to fully process it. Studying the list of directions in her hand once more, something seemed to click into place for her, and she asked, “You’ve followed this map before, haven’t you?”
Yes, I’d been here before, even sitting by their graves and apologizing for my cowardliness. Why couldn’t I free them? What was this hold Ray had over me? Why did I insist on keeping his secrets? To lessen my guilt, I’d anonymously sent money to their families and prayed for their souls but I’d never had the courage to do the one thing they’d asked of me… until now. Today I took back control.
In that moment, a strange sensation crawled up my spine, raising bumps on my skin. They were here, crowding around, impatiently waiting. Had they known this was coming? Did they see me meeting with the FBI over the past few weeks and identifying them, not only by name, but also through their missing person reports? Had they watched as search warrants were secured and a recovery plan was put in place? Did they know about the memorial funds I’d set up in their names to help their families with burial costs or the interview I’d scheduled for the following day to publicly acknowledge the discovery of their bodies? Did they experience time the same way we did and if so, would they forgive me for taking so long to finally extract myself from Ray’s iron grip? And most importantly, once I gave them their peace, would they finally grant me mine?