There's my exit, that didn't take too long. Eager to get showered, I unpacked and prepared to settle in my bed for the night. Well, I can relax now; I got a glass of wine, retired out by the pool and listened to the sounds of the night, singing the songs of another day gone by. Like a bolt of lightning striking me, the memory of a little boy hiding under the table in the storage room at church, muffling his cries, holding back his tears, as he took the paper towels and wiped away the blood. It began to flood over in my mind.
BETRAYAL OF THE INNOCENT
By James D. BulgerAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2009 James D. Bulger
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4490-3636-2Chapter One
The older road was long and winding. It had not been traveled in many years. The canopy of Wisteria had created a natural barrier for the cabin from the road. I looked back and saw him lying there with a pillow case over his face. His hands and feet bound with the black zipper ties. He had urinated all over himself from the fear.
Stopping in front of the old wooden cabin, I heard him call my name "Jimmy". Please don't do this; you could only hear the faint sounds of passing cars in the background. We were less than 300 feet from the main street, but we were invisible.
I closed the van door and walked all around the old house to make extra sure. No one was around before I brought Thomas out of the van. I walked around back and dropped on my knee looking under the house, allowing me to see in between the pillows in the daylight. If anyone had been around front, I could have seen them from this position. It was all clear, the window seal had the leaf laying on the edge of the frame that I had strategically placed as an alert that someone had been there after I left. The tripwires across the front porch made out of fishing line still had the same tension, using a spring out of an ink pen, added for extra security. If anyone stepped over the fishing line, it would stretch the spring, alerting me of a breach in my security, carefully opening up the front door. Inspecting, all is clear.
Thomas J. Griffith III had been regaining consciousness for about 15 minutes, when he called my name. His family was probably missing him by now. He should have been home about an hour ago; it won't be long now until they have a rescue search coordinated.
Just as my fingers touched the handle of the side sliding door of the 83 Burgundy Astro van, I felt it move. He freed himself, I thought? Being prepared, I quickly released the tension on the sliding door; it automatically slid back violently without hesitation. I hit him with a stun gun again, realizing he had not gotten free, but only rolled over. As I stepped up into the truck, I grabbed Thomas by his bound feet, bringing them over his head, pushing them out towards the side door. The momentum pulled his body all the way out from the interior of the van, landing him on the uncut yard of the old house.
Thomas began to kick at me. I know he could see my shadow through the pillow case, I told him to relax. Stop fighting me; it's going to be fine. I had to hurry and get him inside, because he kept screaming. Jimmy, please don't do this, "help someone!", "Jimmy, please don't!" "Help me someone, help me!" Lifting him by his arms, I drug him through the yard up three steps, across the splintered porch inside the old two room house. I quickly closed the door looking at all the camera monitors that I installed earlier in the week. I had to use batteries instead of generators. I could see the cars pass by the driveway entrance, and I watched the children play in the yard across the street. No one had heard anything.
I secured Thomas in his chair and removed the pillow case from over his head. He was threatening me, just like he always had done, never considering anyone else but himself. As I went into the other room, where I had made a makeshift kitchen, fixing him something to drink, listening to his pathetic reasoning for what he had done to me in the background. These perpetrators make me sick. Everyone that had raped me, they said, "I was asking for it." Returning I held a glass of water as he took a few sips. I told him I would be right back, because from securing the van.
It didn't take me but a few minutes to hide the van in the old barn; it had already been there for over a week, using it for delivering all the supplies. It contained everything we needed to save Thomas from damnation.
Thomas was still as arrogant as ever when I returned, informing me, I would not get by with this. "I'm only here to help you, to free you from your sins," I replied. I was not worried about being caught or anything. The old house was situated right in the heart of a small southern town. We weren't even a mile from the county seat. When the town built a new bypass, the old downtown area was forgotten. Most of the local businesses had moved out on the east side trying to rebuild their clientele.
I stood in front of Thomas, watching his body language, reminding me of how kind he had been to me, how excited I would be to see him every Sunday morning as my teacher, then what he had done. He was a large man with thick gray hair that was combed straight back, it had curls at the end, with brown tips. It reminded me of meringue, like on a pie having curls darker on the ends. He was a distinguished, handsome man with olive skin and strong bone structure, standing over 6 feet. Even today, I had to look up at him. His hands were large, resting on to the armrest of the chair, where I had taped his wrist to it. Wearing those same khaki pants, the cotton kind, with a cuff at the bottom and a matching shirt. He still wore that same tan leather belt with the gold oval buckle featuring a painting of a horse's profile on a white background that must've been made out of porcelain. It was faded out now; I could tell the porcelain had aged from the last time I was forced to be face to face with it. He was still thick, not fat, reminding me of a western sheriff on those old television shows. His eyes were dark, hidden behind bushy brown eyebrows. He was looking back at me as if he had seen a ghost, if he could have reached me, I would have been dead. There was so much hate in his eyes at 66 but he was still a solid man.
He never took his eyes off of me, as I sat down in the chair directly across from him, where I had grouped the monitors and other security devices together. The only thing in between me and him was an unseen wall of good and evil battling to win.
"I bet you never thought this would happen", I said to Thomas. He gave me a smirk, and I knew he was only thinking of ways to escape. "Don't think about escaping, this is one appointment, you will keep." I said, while crossing the room to a plastic three drawer storage container on wheels. I carefully rolled it over in his direction, stopping right in front of him, just out of reach, were he couldn't kick it. I opened up the top drawer, and got the hand towel and placed it on the top surface of the cabinet. I wanted to give him something to think about while I went to check on his family. I opened the drawer removing a pair of Fish Skinners that resembled pliers with teeth on the end, a cordless drill, and some self tapping screws about half an inch long, a role of electric fence wire with a small thin piece of wood. I could see the curiosity, and smell the fear as he spouts out of his furious mouth, with that husky voice, "Jimmy, You'll never get away with it." I knew he thought calling me by my name would create a bond between us. But there was already a bond, one that I was never going to forget. I replied, "You sit right here, I will be back in just a little while, after I take care of your family." He wanted to shout at me, but I muffled his voice with several pieces of duct tape. I looked back at him as I closed the door.
Chapter Two
Thompson's wife, Kristin, in her sea foam green two-piece suit that had been tailored to fit her tiny frame, and perfectly manicured fingers, was tapping at her teeth, while sixteen-month-old Christopher was lying in her lap. It was as if he could sense the distress from...
