The red dog has a harness that we attach to his body. It is gray and black light weight mesh and has a strobe light and saddle bags; there is a handle extending up over the animal’s shoulders. The old man always holds onto the handle when they walk together. As previously stated, the dog and the special halter are expressly for my benefit. I never know when my vision will worsen or my balance become precarious.
The old one reminds me that the dog was allowed to visit me in the hospital. He says that we all became friends immediately. The old man says that the dog has been his constant companion since their first meeting. I know that the old man loves the dog, and I know that I love the dog and that the dog loves me. The red dog is very much a part of our lives; he is very affectionate.
From somewhere in the shadows of my mind, my fog, I begin to recall more about the red dog. This handsome red retriever is ours. Although he was bought and paid for, he has willingly attached himself to us. We do not discuss this relationship, but graciously accept his having joined forces with me and the old one. I know the red dog to be very wise and energetic, and as vital in our lives as we are in his life. I search my mind for the red dog’s name, but his name eludes me for the moment. I do recall sometimes calling him Boy or Fella. Much like the name Kate, his name sometimes escapes me. More often I recall the name of the old one, but not now.
Thinking of my friends, I recall their visit to the pet relief island before leaving the park. Once the dog reached the island he started sniffing and circling on the grass in an attempt to find a suitable place to relieve himself. After the dog’s job was done the old one grimaced with displeasure and produced a plastic bag to do his duty. The old one bent down as best he could knowing the ritual and carried it out in slow motion and then utilized his cane to raise himself erect again. These actions took considerable effort on his part. Once he was erect, it occurred to me that he appeared to exhibit great upper body strength as he bent and then stood again.
Mission accomplished, I saw my two friends move in my direction as the sun was partially blocked by clouds. The sudden darkness meant rain would be here shortly. The darkness caused me to suddenly feel a physical chill and a mental foreboding. I felt as if a sinister cloak had been dropped over my shoulders. I recall that my body shuddered involuntarily.
An impulse caused me to scour an area of approximately twenty yards around my friends. I saw nothing that alarmed me. I am not sure what I was expecting to find out of the ordinary or threatening, but nevertheless I looked as I know my friends do the same. My friends are paranoid and protective of me; I know this, and I know that I am protective of them.
I sometimes recall some of my previous experiences as a civilian working with the military in Afghanistan. This may be the root cause of my paranoia and not the recent attempt on my life, but I do not know this. I sometimes remember writing and recording information for someone, but this vague recollection is sporadic also. The old man often deliberately steers me away from this subject so that I stay more focused on my present and most immediate life.
My mind reels as I continue updating it rejuvenating my intellect. Every moment that I observe the old one and or the red dog I feel I am healing. My mind clears and contemplates things in the present as I persist in searching for a gateway to my past.
Time seems to zip by like a slide show. Sometimes the slides pass at warp speed and at other times in slow motion. On other occasions, the slides appear to rock back and forth. An all-encompassing stress causes my head to swoon, and I briefly stop searching in my fog.
As I once more begin to reflect on my past, I recollect that the old one will from time to time tempt me with the possibility of engaging in the solving of mysteries. The old one is prompted to do this by individuals known to him, but I believe not known to me. I welcome the old man’s positive intervention in my life, and I appreciate his efforts in inspiring me to exercise and work.
I have no financial need to work as I am told that I have become independently wealthy through the sale of my all terrain and submarine computer game business. This business was a hobby for me from which I and my clients reaped great rewards. Exactly where this skill came from I do not know.
They say before you die your entire life speeds before your eyes and in your memory. You supposedly remember all things. This may be true, but at present I do not recall the names of my clients and or any partners in the enterprise, and the old man cautions me for now to spend no time or effort on the subject. The military became quite fascinated with my computer game business and now they own it along with my continued advice. The old one has written much of this down for me to revisit and review from time to time, with him present, and he is almost always present.
I have read and I do recall as I reflect that I am a graduate of Duke’s Sanford School of Public Policy more especially The DeWitt Wallace Center for Media and Democracy in which I also majored in research completing advanced studies in Computational Journalism. I accomplished this by the time I was twenty-one. I have been told that I received international acclaim for a series of three articles I wrote while in Afghanistan. I was there for one year as a freelance Investigative Journalist for a Chicago newspaper, The Herald.
The articles struck political chords calling for an end to the war. I have been told by the old one that I am no longer employed by anyone and work as a freelance journalist when I desire; I remain on retainer as an advisor with the DOD. My life’s work has become more important to me than mere computer games or a few newspaper articles. I know that analytical critical problem solving will help restore my memory and mind.
The old one says that investigating unsolved cold cases will be a mental challenge. These cold cases are ones in which someone’s death occurred under mysterious conditions. I sense that I will get my deepest satisfaction in solving mysteries which have mentally plagued the lives of victims while causing significant collateral damage to others. Everyone deserves closure.
I would like to remember anything, all things, however irrelevant these facts may prove to be. I remember the old one usually tells me short stories to wet my appetite and amuse me. He sometimes reads to me from the memoirs of his close confidant and best friend. I often wonder if he and his best friend could be one and the same person, but remain silent in my query.
Having prepared my mind with storytelling he enquires, “Are you ready to work?”
The old one reminds me that he has files on three cold cases which are interesting and will prove to be formidable to solve. This type mystery usually, but not always, stems from going unsolved for many years and or being of interest to a former associate, a surviving relative, or law enforcement which has some relevant judicial interest in the case. Such interest might arise from recent cases with similar attributes.
This investigative work will be through my company Sorrell’s Investigations. I am not looking to receive any pay or reward, but if we should solve a case that reaps financial gain, that money will go into Sorrell’s Investigations. The old one does not agree with my philanthropic ways, therefore situations warranting I have reserved the right in the future to change my mind. Sorrell’s Investigations will handle all travel and financial details, coordinated when necessary through my attorney, Raj. I only require that at my discretion, I may write and publish our findings and final conclusions. I have resolved that my major client is none other than Francis himself, my Grandfather. Francis is my Father’s Father.
The reflections in my mind are improving and sometimes repeat as a performance in a repetitive play. I reflect on the cases that Francis insists I look forward to. He says, “You must exercise and perform mental work. Exercise coupled with mental work and meditation will help heal your mind and body. You have ability and must use that ability.” Francis reminds me that trying to reflect on the most recent hours, yesterday, and then the day before will help me to remember the work I have to do.
“Keith, your work for now will be solving cold-case mysteries. This work will prove
to be productive and challenging for your mind,” Francis says. My doctors did not initially offer me this advice, but have come to agree with my Grandfather.
Chapter 12
Sevan Reflects On Three Cold Cases
My job is to heal myself by exercising, meditating, and doing mental work eventually becoming involved in solving cold cases. Francis tells me that Raj Arakkal told him that I had become very interested in reviewing and hopefully solving and resolving cold cases prior to the attempt on my life. Cold cases are criminal cases or mysteries that have never been closed.
The first cold case that Francis has brought to my attention is a criminal incident in Austin, Texas which occurred in 2001. The Texas case resembles a kidnapping and murder case which occurred in North Carolina in 1983.
A second much older cold case claims no other interested party than me. The old man Francis and I share similar interests, and I will reveal our interest and findings as I see fit. At present, there appears to be no similar or serial circumstances to the deaths of a young female teen and her boyfriend who were murdered on the coast of Mississippi in the 1960’s.
A third mystery is an unsolved incident in North Carolina. During the early eighties, a twelve year boy committed suicide by shooting himself, but no motivation for the suicide was ever revealed.
A fourth mystery is the attempt on my life which resulted in my being comatose for a period of time. A brief moment of clarity reminds me of my amnesia and personality disorder as a result of the murder attempt.
My kind and vigilant building manager and friend noticed my routine had changed. She knows that I am a stickler for routine, and as a result she checked on me and saved my life. I can only rationalize that being consistent in one’s life, my life, saved my life.
Francis told me that Ms. Seemore observed that I had not gone out for my evening jog. She knew that I was a stickler about routine and thought my not going for my evening jog very odd. Later that evening when she took her dog for a walk she noticed that my lights were on past 10:00 p.m., the time I usually go to bed. Therefore, she was concerned and knocked on my door. When there was no answer she knocked several times and then decided to use her pass key to check on me.
She related to police that she called out, “Keith, are you all right?” When I failed to answer, she came in and found me lying unconscious on my kitchen floor. She immediately called 911 for an ambulance and the police.
EMT’s quickly revived my heart beat and transported me to the emergency room at the local hospital. The hospital staff stabilized me, but I was in a coma.
Ms. Seemore told the police that there had been burglaries in our neighborhood, but I have been informed that upon investigation it was determined that there had been no robbery, but an attempt to murder me. To date, the reason for the attempt on my life, by a person or persons remains unknown.
I have in recent months re-awakened, so to speak, as a rejuvenated being from a deep coma. The coma was caused by being hit on the head with a heavy blunt object. The police found no item in my apartment that had been used to strike me. My personal ordeal has left me with occasional lightheadedness and blurred vision. I do have a loss of memory, amnesia.
My physician says that in time my memory should return. I should have total recall of my past. The doctor said sometimes the memory returns all at once perhaps due to another trauma. Other times a person might have sporadic memory and remember elements from the past similar to a brief slide show presentation.
After awakening from the coma, my physicians noticed that my personality was not stable. They have observed at least two different personalities that have emerged since my trauma. The doctors have told Francis that it is possible if I suffer another trauma my two personalities will reintegrate into my original personality.
Quite often, I do not recognize or know anyone. I usually recognize my three immediate companions, the old one, the red dog and a female acquaintance. I do not always remember their names.
I know that the older man has recently come into my life. He says he is my paternal grandfather. This man tells me and my medical caregivers that he has only recently learned of my existence.
Shortly after the attempt on my life a former business associate of the old man’s phoned him about my situation. The associate told the old man (I now remember that his name is Francis) that he had been contacted by my attorney and friend, Raj Arakkal, and informed about the attack on my person. The man had also heard about the attack on the news and read details in local papers and on the internet. He informed Francis that Raj had told him that the victim, Keith Edwards, was the son of Francis’ son’s former girlfriend from Rockford. He observed that the victim’s resemblance to Brian Keith Sorrell, Francis’ son, was remarkable.
The friend e-mailed Francis a picture and news article that was on the internet. Francis immediately recognized my remarkable resemblance to Brian Keith Sorrel, his son. Francis and his wife Marguerite discussed my situation, and he, Francis, immediately left their home in Charleston, South Carolina for Rockford, Illinois to be with me.
The old man’s son, my Father, had passed away on July 25, 2006. The old one is not ready to talk about his son’s death, my Father’s death. I have been told that I knew my Mother and her parents, but my Mother never talked about my Father. I know that my Father was never informed about my birth.
My Mother and her parents are deceased having been killed in a car accident on an iced over bridge between Rockford, Illinois and Madison, Wisconsin in January of 2008. Although I have only known my Grandfather a short time, I have grown to respect and love Francis Rene` Sorrell, or simply Francis as he insists I call him.
Francis told me he never thought he would have a grandson to carry on the family name. Therefore he is determined to help me recover and resume a normal life. This he admittedly wants to do in order to keep a part of his son alive through me by my rightfully and legally carrying the Sorrell name into the next generations.
All this sounds a little strange to me; however I feel he is being honest. I will respect his wishes for the present, but I am me, I am not his son. True I am a Sorrell, and I am proud to bear my Father’s name.
Through friends in law enforcement I hired a tough guy private investigator I code named Aramis; I already have a highly respected attorney named Raj. These two professionals have obtained sufficient DNA and other redundant evidence to support the fact that Francis is a very close relative, and that Nana, Marguerite Sorrell, is indeed a very close relative and there is a 99.99% certainty they are my Grandparents.
The following is how Grandfather Francis imagines that I, Keith Edwards Sevan Sorrell, could and should exist within his vivid imagination, and I welcome a reconstruction. My amnesia has erased my memory of who I am, what I am, and who I desire to be. I do not remember anyone; there must be something somehow somewhere more than this.
Francis, my Grandfather, envisions me as he first imagines and recognizes me at age twenty-three living in Rockford, Illinois. It amazes him how much I have achieved at such a young age.
Francis acknowledges that I was born in Rockford, and that the city is approximately seventy miles from the Mississippi River. As Francis says, “Rockford, Illinois is in The United States of America, the land of many rivers, the land of milk and honey.”
Francis, as I have come to call my Grandfather, has found me and will with the assistance of my Nana, Marguerite Sorrell, help me in developing my present, resurrecting my past and then planning my future. Their hopes are for me to eventually regain my own present, remember my past and develop my future on my own.
My grandparents were both shocked when they saw the picture of me that Francis’ friend e-mailed him. My resemblance to their son, Brian, is astonishing.
Grandfather Francis is staying in my apartment. My attorney, Raj Arakkal, contacted my landlady, Ms. Seemore, about Francis using my spare bedroom, gave Francis a key and directions to my building. While I was in the hospital he was with me constantly
and only returned to my apartment to freshen up.
Francis helped begin my awakening by telling me stories or reading to me. I eventually wakened from the coma when I heard a sound from the television; thereafter I began to slowly recover. While I was in the coma my Grandfather played me soft tunes on his seven string guitar. I found that I love guitar music.
Grandfather Francis plays the guitar well, but only plays his three favorite tunes. He plays these tunes almost every evening after dinner. I suppose he is bashful, because he most often only plays for the red dog and me. I usually humor him with mild clapping of approval and he gives the dog and me a look of embarrassment, then a nod, and an appreciative smile. Most of our days are spent working on our various computers. I particularly enjoy games while Francis concentrates on writing a book in collaboration with Nana Marguerite.
Nana Marguerite did not immediately see my resemblance to her son, my deceased Father, in the picture that Francis sent to her. Grandfather says he thinks she was shocked and not seeing too clearly. Several additional pictures were sent to her and she cried with recognition of Brian’s features on my face.
Francis keeps Nana informed as to my progress. They talk on a daily basis. I hear her voice when they talk, but I have not spoken to her. I have not and will not be shown a picture of Nana. Francis wants Nana and I to be introduced in person.
Some of my reflections are most gratifying. I have learned with my Grandfather’s gentle support that I am Keith Edwards Sevan Sorrell. Francis chose the name Sevan, and I respect his wishes. I muse, “Maybe Sevan is in honor of his beloved seven string guitar.”
I am told I was born September 26, 1986 and this being 2009 makes me twenty-three years of age. I was born in Rockford Memorial Hospital and my birth certificate has the name of my Mother and her maiden name Edwards, and my father is shown as unknown.
According to Francis, I have my own free will, but he feels I should recognize his son Brian Keith Sorrell as my Father, and therefore my last name should be Sorrell. Raj Arakkal is handling all legal requirements for my name change adding Sevan and Sorrell.
Signal to Murder Page 9