by Y G Maupin
This time in her dreams he was talking to her. His voice was deep and sensual, with an accent that she could not place. She wasn't a world traveler but it was an uncommon sound. Almost ancient.
“I’m here to lead you back now. Are you ready to go?” he asked, holding out his hand beckoning her. T was unable to make out his face, only that he was naked. Looking down, she realized she was naked as well.
Looking over her shoulder to see if the others were coming, not knowing exactly who she was thinking of when she thought others, she asked, “Where are we going?”
He reached out and was finally able to touch her hand. His touch was cool, not entirely cold, but not warm like the living. “We are going to your new home, where you belong. Where you can be free from pain. You can leave behind the guilt this life has burdened you with. You would be free and always happy, Now come with me so that this all goes away,” he said, pulling with a little more urgency on her hand. His hand felt dry and rough, like a working man's hand, but a hardness was present. Like she was touching a horn or a branch.
“No, I don't want to go. I’m not ready.” She said, panicking and pulling away. Growing taller in front of her very eyes, he reached the top of the treeline in an intimidating manner. His arms stretched at his sides to become tree limbs and branches grew out from the sides of his head. His torso had become an enormous tree trunk, gnarled and deep brown with a ridged bark hide. She looked down at the roots that dug deep into the ground, plowing and plunging into the dark earth. Tendrils of ivy looking stalks curled all around and weaved around her forming a trellis that netted her closer to him as he hugged her tight against his rough bark. He was an old tree god, a spirit of the forest, something that she may have had an affinity for, she had never pledged herself to. There was respect, but T did not feel that she was mandated to follow his command. She pushed away from the bark, only succeeding in moving a few inches, but he held her tight. The vines tangled closer, zig zagging around like a belt at her waist, bracelets at her wrists, a crown at her forehead.
“You are mine, Shyda. You have always been mine. I will always protect you.”
“That’s not true! You have never been there for me! You’re lying now let me go!” giving one last push, T ripped through the vines holding her arms and wriggled hard to break free from the woven net of leaves and branches. She slipped down to the roots where she turned to run, but at her first step she is caught again and dragged back, She screams loudly for anyone to help her. Her voice becoming rough she starts to cry as he picks her up in his dream god arms.
“Please don’t force me to take you, Shyda. I know you will love me and no one else will ever love and protect you like I can.” He turns to bring her closer to his lips and his face is that of Jackson. Dead Jackson, with unseeing eyes and parched lips. T screamed again. Anesta ran to her side and began shaking her to wake up.
Sitting up in the study, out of breath and throat sore from screaming. T looked around the room bewildered. Anesta was at her side, surrounded by her little dead sister, Birdie, Alice, and Sarah. Sharon was at the end of the recliner, full of worry.
“It was just a dream,” Sarah shushed, as T erupted in new tears of relief.
Twenty Three
“This is Detective Pate of the Gilbert PD, interviewing Sean Russell on Monday, March 28th. Sir, I want to remind you of your rights as they have been read to you and you have opted to move forward without an attorney present, is that correct?”
Coach Russell leaned forward from the hospital bed to speak into the handheld recorder. The handcuff slipped down the protective bar of the bed with a clanging noise.”That is correct.”
The detective brought a rolling table closer between them and placed the recorder on it. “Go ahead and begin your statement, starting with your full name and place of residence.”
“My name is Sean Russell and I live just outside of Gilbert at 657 Palo Pinto Court, Gilbert, Texas 76088.” Here he stopped and looked to the detective and then his wife. He didn’t know what to say.
The detective had taken a legal pad and a small notebook out along with some pre printed paperwork for the couple afterwards. He looked up when Coach Russell had stopped. Moving forward, he stopped the recorder. “Is something wrong?”
The man in the bed hesitated. He looked uncomfortable for many reasons, other than being an alleged school shooter. He was uneasy with his right arm cuffed to the bed. He was sad that he had hurt so many people, especially his coworkers and most of all, his wife. He looked at her. She seemed so tiny and fragile to have to go through this whole process. They would end up ostracizing her, he thought. He knew how people could be. And she didn't deserve that. No one deserved to die that day. He wished he had died instead.
“Mr. Russell?” The detective said, hoping it would prompt him to start speaking,
“I just want to say that I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened this morning, I can't really explain what I went through without sounding crazy. But I have to say something, just so that everyone can have a better understanding of what was going on. I didn't want to hurt anyone, especially not my wife, Linda.” he looked back at her. Tears were streaming from her eyes.
“I got to work at my usual time, close to seven thirty and parked my truck by the athletic offices on the east side of the building, I went in, walked down the hallway and unlocked my office. I turned on the lights, at least I tried to turn them on but they weren't working, I thought that maybe there was a short or a blown fuse because only half the lights worked in the offices. When I went back to call maintenance from my office phone, well I guess I forgot the switch didn't work because I went to turn it on again. This time it came back on but not without first giving me a good shock.” here he stopped and licked his lips.
Turning to his wife, “Can you get me some water please.” She handed him a cup with the bendy straw. Taking a long sip, he audibly gulped and continued. “It hurt like hell. Ran all the way up my arm and my chest took a serious hit. I thought I would have a heart attack. The next thing I know, I went into the office next to mine, it belongs to Coach Highsmith, Kent, and went into his left hand bottom drawer and took out his 9mm. We are allowed to carry firearms at school. I didn't have a gun but he did. I didn't have to look for it. I just knew it was there. I took both clips with me in my jacket pocket and started to walk down the hallway. I...” he hesitated here and looked uneasy. “I can't say that I knew where I was going. I honestly felt like I was not moving myself, like something else had taken over. One of my students from drivers ed tried to ask me a question, but I kept walking, I tried to stop, but this thing..” he paused, looking like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “This thing was pushing me forward. I knew something was going on when I tried to turn my head and I couldn't. It was like wrestling to look where I wanted to look, it hurt to try and force it. But this thing, I mean, I don't know what else to call it, was forcing me to do what it wanted to do.”
The detective interrupted. “Did this thing talk to you? Was it a voice or.” Linda Russell shifted uncomfortably. She had already heard what her husband had described and it made her uneasy to hear him repeat it.
“No. It wasn't talking to me. I had no idea what it wanted to do other than it was moving me like I was it's puppet. No matter how hard I tried to stop, sit or run in the opposite direction, it was stronger than me and it moved me forward toward the staff room.” Sean Russell unclenched his hands from the hospital sheet. His palms were starting to get sweaty and they ached from the pain he had in fighting the movement of handling the gun. He was still overwhelmed at what he had been forced to witness himself do.
“Mr. Russell? Are you able to go on?” Detective Pate asked.
“I had the gun at my side. I had already placed the first clip in when I pushed the door in and let it close. As soon as I felt my arm go up to shoot at the history sub I knew that I couldn't go through with it but this thing made me squeeze the trigger. I tried to lower my arm and the next shot went in
to the floor. At this point, the people were screaming and running, oh my god it was so awful” here Sean Russell started to sob. His wife rushed forward and cradled his head. Technically, she wasn't supposed to have that extended amount of contact but the Detective observed the high school coach breaking down like he was losing his mind. The man spoke through tears.
“I want to continue. Just let me finish because I never want to talk about it again,” his wife protested, but he quickly disagreed. “No, Linda! I know what part was me and what part was something else. I’m sorry, baby, I'm so,so sorry.”
The detective waited a moment for the man to catch his breath. “Go ahead, Sean.”
“After the first teacher was shot, it forced me to aim at the person standing next to the teacher that was hit first. It was Cathy. I started the same year she did. I remember how nervous and excited we were that year. We would chaperone the school dances after the games and skits for assemblies because no one had ever seen them done before. She was a good teacher. Had a little boy, just turned three. She was…” he hesitated again, shaking his head and clearing his throat, he went on.
“After she was shot, I remember getting tackled from behind. I was so grateful that someone else was able to help stop me, because I was struggling on my own. We were both rolling around the floor and he was crushing me. It was one of the custodians, the really heavy guy that usually waxes the floors. He was struggling against this monster too and was yelling at me to stop. I couldn’t speak although I wanted to shout, I wanted to scream for help. Then I was shooting again and I think I shot two more times before the maintenance guy stopped and I was forced to get up and walk out of the staff room,” pausing he motioned for a drink.
After the sip he returned to his statement. “I was so glad that the halls were mostly empty. At this point we were more than likely on lock down and I believe most of the classrooms were locked and inaccessible, at least I hope they were. I started walking down the english hallway when one of my players came towards me in the hall. Clay Johnson. Again, I struggled to speak, it was like my tongue was tied down or made of the heaviest rubber because I couldn’t even swallow right. I was starting to drool. It was disgusting. My right arm shot up and pointed the gun at him and I shot six or seven times, directly at him. I couldn't have been more than three feet away from him and nothing hit. I can’t explain that either. He looked shocked too. He grabbed me to pull the gun away and I just wanted to tell him to stop, to run away to get away from me as quickly as possible, but I couldn't speak. Next thing I know I was tackled again and I felt the handcuffs go on me, This thing, this thing that was inside of me struggled and started to bang my head on the floor, That's why my glasses are broken, honey.” He turned to his wife who was rapt with attention. She nodded quietly and held his handcuffed hand in hers.
Sean Russell, Baseball Coach and general all around nice guy turned to the detective. “Sir, I know what I’m telling you sounds crazy. And if I didn't experience it against my will, I wouldn't have believed it either. But being a Christian man, born and raised, I believe that Satan entered my body to cause harm on the innocent and it was God that stopped the bullets from entering that young man. I don't have any other explanation. After that the police showed up and here we are now.”
Detective Pate sat watching this man for a moment; finished writing on his legal pad and began the legal portion that covered their rights and the next step in the process. Leaving twenty minutes later after being reassured that they had no further questions or statements to provide, Dan Pate made his way to the nurses station to get a coffee from them. He also wanted a time out from what he had heard.
In his job, in his time he had heard the most ludicrous stories along with the heartbreaking tales that turned out to be lies. He had seen people offer up no explanation for murder other than they had tired of the other person or sometimes because they just wanted to see that person suffer. He had been concerned that years on the job working in some of the worst areas in Fort Worth and Dallas had jaded him that coming out to the country would render him ineffective, but it had not. He worried nonetheless when a man's statement seemed as genuine as any he had ever heard but eyewitness accounts and surveillance playback suggested otherwise. He had watched the video showing every hallway that Sean Russell had entered and for a few moments where he did appear like he was having a seizure he had appeared calm, if not calculating and methodical. This was a pretty cut and dry case. All the evidence pointed towards Sean and there was more than likely going to be a call for the death penalty. He motioned to the nurse to see if he could walk behind their desk and she smiled and called him forward.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” He walked over to the single serve coffee machine and selected a dark roast from the spindle. These nurses had good taste, he thought to himself.
“So is he crazy?” the younger nurse murmured under her breath, as she walked behind him to dump out her coffee mug in the sink. She paused as he turned around. Detective Pate smiled.
“Did he tell you he was crazy?” he asked. She shifted on her feet. Nurses shoes were still not comfortably made.
“He acted like it. Every once in awhile, since he’s been in, he’ll start screaming and crying that he’s sorry and he didn't mean to do it. He also said he was scared that whatever was inside him would come back and make him kill again. If there was any other stronger argument for a permanent lockup I couldn't imagine it,” she said matter of factly.
The detective leaned against the counter. He was tired already. He rotated his neck.
“I think he’s disturbed for sure, but I'm not a doctor so I don't get to make that call. Will he kill again? I don't know, but I'm not willing to take that chance. Regardless, that will be up for a judge and a jury to decide.” he sipped the coffee. It was waking him.
The nurse shrugged.” He wont get the death penalty. He’ll get some kind of mental incompetence and get a life sentence. But those poor people,” she drifted off and went back to her station.
Detective Pate needed another moment before speaking to Clay Johnson. Being with Sean Russell had been unsettling.
Anesta watched as her little sister, actually her big sister, was animatedly talking with Birdie and Sharon. She was a woman in some respects. trapped in a little ghost girl's body. How much would her own life be different if she had lived and grown up with her? It didn't change the circumstances with their mother too much, it was apparent that her mental decline had already started while her father was still alive. But Anesta had grown up lonely and in some ways, awkwardly and she always felt alone. I was always with you, she recalled Anjolie telling her the first night that she revealed herself. All this time, through embarrassing relationships, heartbreaks and humiliations in her school years and subsequently her career.
Anesta had not always worked at Duke Family Funeral Home and Cremation. She had briefly flirted with the idea of going into law and had been a paralegal through most of her college years. That was where she had met her ex husband, when he was a young up and coming lawyer in South Dallas. She was over the moon for him and seemed to become clumsy whenever he made an appearance in the firm's law library. Anesta was always dropping books or stumbling to make a simple answer when he asked how she was doing, a basic greeting that never really warranted an actual answer. She always made sure to dress her sexiest and sharpest on Fridays, when they were allowed to wear jeans and casual wear. She could see he appreciated her young, well formed body and relished the sly looks he made her way on those days. Thinking back on it, it made her stomach turn with how much she catered to his ego and wishes. She was young and had never been in a relationship. But looking at Anjolie, neither had she. When they were little Anjolie had always been first. First to be born, first to walk and first to speak. Anesta was always lagging a little behind and in later preschool times she used it as an advantage to be coddled by their father.
“Anjolie is so smart,” he would say, holding each one on his lap. Turning to Anesta
, “But Anesta is the darling. I know she will always win her man,” he would end with a laugh. Anesta would smile smugly at her sister across from her.
“That is not what she was put on this earth for, Andre.” Their mother would poke her head in from the kitchen where she was busy cooking for the family.
“I know that but there is nothing wrong with being a sweet woman. One that can please a man with her loving words and gentle touch,” he replied over his shoulder. “You will be a good wife, Anesta. You too, Anjolie.”
Their mother had come out from the kitchen drying her hands on a linen that she had embroidered herself. She would show the girls in the next year the basics of hemming a border. Soledad Duke was twenty-six-years-old and grey hair was starting to edge its way around her temples and nape. She would laugh it off as being a hereditary quirk. Behind her back, others would say her husband was sending her to an early grave with his shenanigans.