Katelynn Is No Longer Missing

By Raymond Bell

Retired Army Master Seargent, Samuel Redding is working as a freelance photographer. While taking pre-hurricane photos on the beach, Samuel Redding trips over of a teenaged girl, her body hidden under a cluster of Sea Oats. While on all fours over the bod Sam is hit on the head. Sam sees stars and then blacks out. On recovering he is immediatel

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadersMagnet LLC
• Release date: Dec 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781953616531

Raymond Bell

Raymond Bell has spent almost 30 years in the Military and is retired from the Air Force. He was born in 1943. Raymond's military career has given him the opportunity to travel and meet people from many different places, with almost as many cultures. Always fascinated by the people and cultures, Every day we see human beings being bought and sold like cattle. Most people are not aware of the human traffic epidemic. We are unaware that children are being sold.

Book preview

Katelynn Is No Longer Missing

Copyright © 2020 by Raymond Bell

Published in the United States of America

ISBN Paperback: 978-1-953616-52-4

ISBN eBook: 978-1-953616-53-1

This book is written to provide information and motivation to readers. Its purpose is not to render any type of psychological, legal, or professional advice of any kind. The content is the sole opinion and expression of the author, and not necessarily that of the publisher.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

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Book design copyright © 2020 by ReadersMagnet, LLC. All rights reserved.

Cover design by Ericka Obando

Interior design by Renalie Malinao

Chapter One

Four in the morning waiting for coffee. No, I was not waiting for someone to bring me coffee. Silence except for the hiss and gurgle of the water going through the coffee grounds. I was waiting for the fog to lift. The fog and the headache, debating whether to shove a handful of aspirin in my mouth. I do love silence. Ouch! The phone. The ring was loud enough to wake the dead. I was having a problem and desperate to stop the ringing. OK, my hearing is challenged. Adrenalin! Oh yeah! The headache? I need... a lobotomy. Someone once told me if you drink top-shelf scotch, you will not get a headache. So much for advice from a stranger. I don’t remember the guy telling me there would be a platoon of soldiers marching around my stomach. I suppose if I pick up the receiver, the phone will stop ringing. I could let it ring, Noo... I heard the man on the phone, but I couldn’t make any sense of what he was saying. I think I yelled for him to be quiet. It was Jake, from one of those outdoor magazines, and he informed me there was a hurricane coming. My surly answer, Yes Jake, we get the news down here. I heard the talk on the TV. It is all they are talking about on News Radio. Jake did not seem to be upset about being yelled at. He continued with an offer of giving me an advance if I can get a few shots of the beach, maybe some deep foreboding clouds and lightning. I agreed to do a photo story of the storm. He or the magazine wanted pictures of White sands and sand dunes. They believed it would be thought-provoking. The reports say the eye of the hurricane would be over New Orleans. I did not expect the storm to affect the panhandle this soon. This computer age is great. I checked my bank account on the computer, and I saw my balance had increased. I gulped down two cups of strong hot black coffee. I gathered my backpack with my Nikon and a few assorted lenses. I grabbed my twin reflex Rolleiflex put the strap around my neck, threw my pack over my back with the Nikon and extra lenses in, and walked to the beach. The wind was picking up. The short walk to the beach was taking more effort than I anticipated. My baggage did not help. I did not expect the storm to affect the panhandle this soon. I’ve been in the eye of the storm a few times. The winds are usually calm, the seas smooth as glass. Looking up into a clear blue sky, I could see dark storm clouds forming lightning over thick black clouds making for a dramatic story. It was late August. Mother Nature, in the form of Katrina, was about to throw a temper tantrum. The chill seemed to enter my bones; my teeth started to chatter. The Gulf of Mexico was muted, lapping on the shore. I could smell the saltwater. My ears popped. I like to think I’m working my way through retirement. The strap for the Rolleiflex was still around my neck as I took the lens caps off and held the camera in my left hand. The wind picked up, moisture dripped off my face, the rain hadn’t started yet. I expected to see waves building. I heard the sea oats swoosh to a slight breeze. Seagulls diving toward the cluster of sea oats surprised me. Typically, the seagulls are far inland long before the storm comes. The gulls seemed to be laughing at me. I wondered if food exists down there. Why aren’t they soaring down to the ground and fighting over the fragments? They were circling above the foliage. The gulls appeared to be challenging one another while airborne. There were sounds of mean laughter as the seagulls literally maintained their position above the sea oats. The wind made it seem as if they were flapping their wings but not moving, except to dive into the sea oats. I brought the camera close to my face, grabbed the lens cloth out of my jacket pocket, took the lens caps off, and proceeded to wipe the lens. The gulls were getting more and more aggressive. They appeared to be threatening me. The sea oats were on the far side of the dune. The white sands and the dunes of northwest Florida reminding me of the snowdrifts of the Dakotas. Each breath agony as I forced air into my screaming lungs. Losing my balance while trying to work my way through the sea oats and up the dune. I found myself crawling on all fours. Before putting the lens caps back on the camera, I thought I could get a few shots of the gulls diving. I took a painful deep breath, raised the camera to my eye, and let the air out slowly, the way I would when steadying a rifle for competition shooting. Managing to limp up onto the roadside, I went down on one knee, not the brightest decision of the day. I heard the scream, startled, the cry was mine. I didn’t even want to think of me trying to get up. I took a light reading and adjusted the aperture of the camera. Steadying the camera on my knee, I started rapidly shooting pictures, hoping the lightning show would start any second. I don’t remember seeing the road so empty and quiet this time of year. There should be a few snowbirds wandering around with their beach towels and cameras. A pending storm never seemed to detract our Canadian friends from a day at a Florida beach. I did get a glance at what looked like one of the sheriff’s SUVs. I don’t know why but the county seal was on the car, but there was no light bar on the roof. The wind was blowing in my eyes. I did manage to look at the road again; the car was gone. OK, the wind was blowing, there was moisture in the air, and I was chilled, even wearing a windbreaker. In fact, I was starting to shake like an old man with Parkinson’s. When I calmed the tremors, I pointed the camera at the thick black clouds. The winds were blowing with more force, which did not seem to faze the gulls diving down into the sea oats. Even with my challenged hearing, I could hear the rumble of thunder was getting closer. If I could only get a shot of the light show. I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. My fingers were tingling as I sensed an imminent lightning strike. It never failed to take my breath away when mother nature brought out her artillery and put on a light show. Without moving or changing my position or the camera’s position. I found myself swatting at the seagulls as if they were a swarm of mosquitoes. As much as I tried, I couldn’t ignore the pain in my knee. I should have brought my cane with me., Anyone watching would have seen a squat old man, huffing like a locomotive, Short legs pumping like pistons. The ruddy complexion, making anyone watching think he had spent way too much time in the sun and wind. A belly straining the zipper of a brown windbreaker, bushy white hair trying to get out of a worn ball cap. The sound of the artillery getting closer. The light show was about to begin. I needed a tripod. I couldn’t steady my hands, but to get the money shot, I needed to keep the shutter open for at least 10-seconds. I could feel the pressure in my ears as if I were in an aircraft. I would think we went into a steep climb. The little breeze had stopped. The slight slapping of the sea stopped. For a split second, I felt as if I could walk on, the glass-like waters of the Gulf of Mexico. The feeling didn’t last long. The waters of the gulf had now managed to creep almost to the highway. I always applauded myself for my mobility. A thing of the past. I set the shutter speed of 1/20; the camera must be completely still when the shutter would be open. I was having a little trouble bending my knee and then keeping my leg from shaking. I almost screamed as I tried to stand again. Trying to climb over the dune became a problem, falling several times before reaching the summit. My legs seemed to be moving but making little progress. By the time I got to the top of the dune, my lungs felt as if on fire. A prone position? Bending my knee a second time became problematic. Finally, with much effort, I got down on my belly. The wind was now screaming. No rain, just wind. The storm clouds covered the sun, causing eerie shadows. I already decided I needed to open the lens and put the shutter on more prolonged exposure. I was fighting the wind. I scooped out a small trench behind the sea oats, something to steady the camera for the shot. The thunder, or what I liked to call the sounds of the field artillery, was getting closer. I needed to get another flash of lightning. The trench was a good idea, but when I got the shot in my sight, the trench filled with water. I dug a little hole in what appeared to be dry sand and placed the camera on the sand I piled next to the hole. With any luck, by setting the camera on the sand, the camera would be steady enough to get the money shot. Scooting up next to my camera, adjusting the angle. I saw legs coming out from under a cluster of sea oats. They were then naked and smooth. A woman’s legs? A bright light, no, a brilliant light, I saw the light before, a detonation of a nuclear weapon at White Sands. A puff of hot air, so hot I felt the hairs in my nose burn. Then white light, a split second before my skull exploded. I felt the sand as it came up to meet my face. When the blackness came, I felt relief from the blinding light. The ringing, buzzing in my ears, and blackness. I remember the feeling of being poked. I felt poked by a stick, not like a tree branch, maybe more like a baseball bat. No, not a baseball bat. I tried to open my eyes; A volcano exploded. I could feel sand, wet sand. Cold, cold, and wet. Ouch! Pushing myself up. My eyes are still closed. I have had some hangovers. Turning my head, I noticed the stick, a nightstick. Manicured fingernails, hair, a ballcap, a blurry face. The face started to come into focus. A woman’s face, a policewoman’s face. I struggled to get my arms up and my hands under my body. It felt as if I had eaten a ton of wet sand, damp sand, damp, and cold. A female cop, but I must have had a fistful of sand in my eyes. It felt as if someone had taken sandpaper to my eyes. On my feet, although they were a little wobbly, blinking hard. I raised my hands to my eyes when the female cop said, Stop! Don’t rub your eyes. She moved towards me. I would say she walked towards me. I couldn’t tell if she walked or rode a broom. Standing next to me, so close, I swear even though it had started to rain, I could smell her perfume. Honest lady, officer, or whatever, I won’t rub my eyes. My head hurt, especially the back of my head. I reached up and touched the back of my head. My fingers came away wet. I bought my hand up to my eyes and could see blood on my fingers, not just a scratch or a little cut but blood. Putting her hand on my cheek and gently moving my face up to hers, she said, I’m Deputy McMichael’s. Somebody called in and said they saw a man lying near a tidal pool next to some sea oats. I want you to turn around and tell me what you see, Well, I turned, and at first, I didn’t see anything. What am I supposed to see? Do you normally wear glasses? By the way, I never did get your name, She raised her hand and used a finger to point, You see the cluster of sea oats? Beginning to feel a little woozy. Looking down at my watch, I had a quick thought, I should be in my recliner with my afternoon totty. I hadn’t had anything to drink cept for a couple cups of coffee in a poorly lit kitchen. I heard the police lady, but my ears were starting to buzz. Tinnitus. But I usually hear ringing after an artillery shell has exploded. I hear buzzing, like a hundred bees buzzing around my head. The lady cop pointed and said, You see the cluster of sea oats and the water? Yeah. I mean, yes, mam, I had just got a glimpse of the naked legs coming out from the cluster of sea oats. I had a little trouble getting down to the tidal pool when I got hit. I just seemed to have lost control. I felt my knees give out, both. Funny, but I only felt one sharp pain in my left knee. The lady cop walked away from me. It looked like she was talking into the mic on her shoulder. I remember walking over to the lady cop, A little on the chunky side but pretty. She had dark hair, a ball cap slanted down, shading her eyes it looked like tresses coming down just below her ears, The world started to spin, and the last thing I saw was white sand on the beach coming up to greet me.

Chapter Two

My face felt warm, hell it felt as if someone was holding a blowtorch in front of my face. My eyes were squeezed tight. I tried to open my eyes, but the light hurt as if I had been placed directly in the path of the sun’s rays. I am not one to deliberately go out to lay in the sun. Even when I go on my photoshoots, I am bathed in sunscreen. All those years in the field artillery have certainly done the trick on this ruddy complexion.

I turned my head away from the light; it hurt. My head felt as if it were full of rocks. I remember thinking this has got to be one of the worse hangovers I have experienced in a long time. If this is what my head feels like when I don’t drink, how bad would it be if I had my midday scotch?

With my head turned away from the sunlight, I found myself looking into cherub-like chubby cheeks. Cheeks my grandmother would have loved to pinch. Without moving my head, I managed to look into deep brown eyes. The light was reflecting off a chubby face surrounded by dark, possibly auburn hair. I tried raising my eyes, but from what I could see her hair barely covered her ears. It hurt to move my head, and it hurt almost as much to raise my eyes. Then nothing. I mean the buzzing got louder, Spinning! The world seemed to be spinning. The sun disappeared and nothing.

I think I must have been having a dream. I woke in a bed, a hospital bed. I felt lost. I guess the word should be disoriented.

Awe… You’re awake. I hope you don’t mind, but I looked through your wallet. I was about to ask for your name and address when you decided to take a nap, said the woman with the brown eyes and a melodious voice.

She has my kind of humor, and I could picture her in some supper club singing. Uniform? I tried speaking. The first time did not go too well, it was as if there was a frog in my throat. Anyway, the second time I tried to speak, the only sound I could make was of an old man trying to clear his throat.

It did not take me long to notice the star on her shirt. I replied, trying to be cute, I hope you didn’t find my address book in there.

The female deputy was abrupt when she said, No sir. I just looked for an ID. I see you are retired Army. I put twenty in the Air Force. I could see the glare of the sun was starting to bother her. She got up, walked around the bed, and closed the curtain partition.

Turning and looking down on me, the Deputy spoke, Mr. Redding, you may not remember, but my name is Deputy Meghan McMichael’s. Do you know, or do you remember what happened to you?

"I will tell you. I remember seeing the naked legs sticking out from a cluster of sea oats. I do not walk so well, so I was cautiously walked, crawled down the dune to investigate. To see if the girl, it had to be a girl. Those legs did not belong to any man. Thought maybe she was sleeping, could have been high or drunk. But there was a storm coming, and I thought the least I could do was wake her up. Anyway, I went down on my knees,