5 Days in August

By T. T. Bingham

My story deals with a Psychotic Paranoid Schizophrenic with a rating of ten, the highest on the scale and the most severe and violent of all.
Much of this story is based on real people, events and places. Dates, names and locations may have been changed. It is an extremely violent, and explicitly sexual novel. But real life in this world is violent and sexual. How environment, heredity, chemical imbalance, family influences, love, hate and relationships may at times affect the mental state of a mind that is already hanging on the edge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462853991

T. T. Bingham

I am a widower, retired and live in the Okanagan Valley. B. C. Canada. I was born in Belfast, N. Ireland in 1941. My family immigrated to Canada after WWII; moved many times due to promotions and transfers; lived in nearly every city in Canada. I have held many positions in a variety of companies. I have traveled extensively in the U.S.A., Canada, Europe and the Far East. I am an avid reader. My greatest wish is to have my writing accepted for what it is, simple with no flourish. I continue to write for pleasure and great sense of satisfaction.

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Copyright © 2011 by T. T. Bingham.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011905630

ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4628-5398-4

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-4628-5397-7

ISBN: Ebook 978-1-4628-5399-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

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without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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CONTENTS

The Prologue

Chapter 1    Neskowin

Chapter 2    Brandon and Arrangements

Chapter 3    Brandon Remembers

Chapter 4    Steven

Chapter 5    The Crime Scene

Chapter 6    The Crime Scene Continued

Chapter 7    The Millers

Chapter 8    The Job Interview

Chapter 9    Brandon Returns to Office

Chapter 10  The Crash

Chapter 11  Birth of Steven

Chapter 12  Steven

Chapter 13  The Stabbing

Chapter 14  Brandon

Chapter 15  Police Interview

Chapter 16  The Waves

Chapter 17  Steven

Chapter 18  Jamie

Chapter 19  The Diagnosis

Chapter 20  Brandon Returns

Chapter 21  Tanya

Chapter 22  Tony and Steven

Chapter 23  The Chief

Chapter 24  To Newport

Chapter 25  Special School

Chapter 26  Lincoln City

Chapter 27  Rebecca

Chapter 28  The Storm

Chapter 29  The Family

Chapter 30  Steven Camps

Chapter 31  After the Storm

Chapter 32  Rebecca, Jean, Steven

Chapter 33  Fax Documents

Chapter 34  Steven Home

Chapter 35  Beth

Chapter 36  France

Chapter 37  Beth Continued

Chapter 38  Home from France

Chapter 39  Brandon Searches

Chapter 40  Boston and Home

Chapter 41  Poor Beth

Chapter 42  Brandon Searches

Chapter 43  The Meeting

Chapter 44  Revenge

Chapter 45  The Investigation

Chapter 46  The Interrogation

Chapter 47  The Trial

Chapter 48  The Last Day

Chapter 49  The Aftermath

This book is dedicated to my late wife, Donna.

THE PROLOGUE

The study of mental illness of the human mind is fraught with opinion more than fact.

Schizophrenia in Greek means of split mind that is a severe mental illness involving a variety of symptoms.

There are many types of Schizophrenia, the most severe being Psychotic Paranoid Schizophrenia.

There are no known tests to detect this disorder and only when it appears can any treatment be offered, though most sufferers are incurable. It is believed by professionals in this field that one to two percent of the world’s population is afflicted with Schizophrenia, from mild to severe. There are so many facets, symptoms and treatments it would take several books to explain what the professionals may know or have guessed and that none have the true answer.

This story deals with severe Psychotic Paranoid Schizophrenia. Professionals in the field have designed a scale from one to ten, one being the least severe and ten being the most severe. My story deals with a Psychotic Paranoid Schizophrenic with a rating of ten, the highest on the scale and the most violent of all.

Much of this story is based on real people, events and places. Dates, names and locations may have been changed. I have taken a writers liberty in the writing of this novel. It will be for you as the reader to decide what is truth and what is fiction. I take no responsibility as to your conclusions.

I must forewarn the reader in advance that this is an extremely violent, and explicitly sexual novel. But real life in this world is violent and sexual. I have not written a fantasy but exposed the way that some live and exist in our world today. How environment, heredity, chemical imbalance, family influences, love, hate and relationships may at times affect the mental state of a mind that is already hanging on the edge.

CHAPTER 1

Neskowin

Friday, August 15, 2008

The sky was a cloudless vibrant blue. The ocean waves boiled, curled and rolled up the white sandy beach breaking in glorious colours of white foam and sea green. The sun had risen early and as it’s rays hit the wet grasses; it created a ghostly effect of mist that suspended several inches above the ground. It was mid-August, and one of the most blistering months on record. The air was quite still, only a slight breeze, which was unusual as the strong sea breezes would generally cool the temperatures by ten degrees but today it was already nine in the morning and only the slight occasional breeze could be felt as it dissipated the mist that had gathered. It was going to be a scorching day, probably into the low 90’s inland and away from the beach.

Sandpipers by the hundreds ran and scurried through the depleting waves searching for small crustaceans and other miniscule prey. The clear sky was alive with large gulls diving into the sea and circling endlessly up and down the edge of the ocean. Occasionally a flock of Pelicans would glide by like planes with their eight-foot wingspan, never seemingly, to flap their wings to stay aloft by riding the minor onshore breezes.

I had slept longer than usual. It was uncomfortably warm, I felt groggy and drained. I had kicked off all the covers during the night and they lay in pile on the floor at the side of the bed, my pillow was wet with perspiration. I had one hell of a hangover. I had driven home drunk last night. Lucky for me, I wasn’t picked up on a DUI for it may have cost me my job. Stupid, I could have had a ride home, had I only asked. I believe it was offered but I must have refused. I rolled out of the king size bed, planted my feet on the cool hardwood floor and sat with my head hung down trying to become fully awake. My stomach churned; my head ached and I was still partially dressed. It seems I had no difficulty going to sleep last night and must have just passed out. Amazingly, I had managed to climb up the stairs to the loft where my bedroom was located.

Usually sleep did not come easily as memories of the past haunted my mind in dreams and nightmares, constantly switching from one thing to another rapidly and no matter how I tried to control them, they would not leave me alone. I had many nights like this lately, sometimes good, more often bad. My mind would race through all of human nature’s fears, anxieties and guilt. I had and would run the gambit and usually awoke exhausted.

The first thing that that came to my muzzy mind was my car. The drive home was vague. I think it had been raining. I stood up, stretched my back, which was continually giving me problems, an old injury from many years ago, now persistent, as I grew older. I noticed my shoes and sports jacket lying partially below the pile of bedclothes.

I slowly stumbled down the stairs and along the small hallway and opened the door leading to the carport; the sudden intensity of the bright morning produced a sharp pain in my head. I had parked perfectly underneath and there didn’t seem to be any damage. At least that was a relief. What I needed now was Tylenol and coffee.

I gradually made my way back to the kitchen, the cold tiles feeling good on my burning feet. There was a slight breeze blowing through the kitchen screen window and it felt refreshing. I rinsed out the remnants of yesterday’s coffee from the pot and looked out over the beach from the kitchen window as I refilled my coffee maker; pulled out a new filter and filled the basket. I was definitely not a connoisseur, as long as it was hot and wet and tasted like coffee I was satisfied. It seemed to be the only beverage other than beer that quenched my thirst in this heat. Although, I would have tried a beer but it was much too early. As the coffee started to brew, I slowly began the process of shedding my rumpled, damp and uncomfortable clothes as I walked back up the stairs to the loft in search of a cigarette. I found a pack in my jacket on the floor. I dropped everything else on top of the bed pulled a shabby cigarette from the pack and began my search for a lighter or match. Every time I picked a cigarette up, I promise I will quit the filthy habit, stop the hacking cough, but I never gave it the good old college try. I don’t think I wanted to quit.

I struggled back down the stairs and into the living room, which faced the beach and the ocean, found a book of matches on the coffee table and lit up. I did not have the patience to wait until the coffee was brewed. I walked to the large picture window, which gave me a spectacular view of the beach and ocean for several miles in both directions and straight out to an endless sea. I was stark naked. I usually slept in the nude because with even with shorts on I felt strangled. Last night was different, as I don’t remember a fucking thing. I looked both up and down the beach, I could see a few dots at the north end but otherwise it was completely deserted.

Outside the living room sliding glass doors was a large covered wooden railed deck that extended the length of the cottage, which was sixteen feet in width and held several canvas lawn chairs, a polished picnic table made from carved redwood, a canvas chaise lounge, several small wooden tables and a modern gas BBQ.

I stepped out and sat my bare butt down at the picnic table. The bench was still damp but felt good on my warm butt. I took a deep drag of the cigarette and with aching eyes looked out upon one of the most exquisite places in the world. The small dots on the beach were becoming larger but were least two miles away; probably local beach joggers running the seven-mile stretch of beach. I could not understand how they did it every morning, seven miles down and seven miles back. Where did they get the energy? They would wave occasionally to me, as they past. I had become just part of the scenery after almost three years.

Nudists favoured the beach because it was so deserted and isolated with rolling sand dunes and many hidden hollows. Privacy was easy to find. Couples of both sexes would make love in the dunes and sometimes right out in open areas. I had finished my first cigarette and went back in to pour a mug of coffee. Popped a couple of Tylenol; grabbed my binoculars and returned to my seat at the picnic table. I slurped a good gulp of coffee and felt it wash the remnants of last night’s beer from my dry mouth and hit the bottom of my stomach as it growled in reply.

Many early mornings and evenings I would spend hours watching Whales and Sea lions, Seals and the occasional crazy surfer. Content in the sunrises and sunsets, but I was lonely. Having no one to share all this with. I missed my wife very much and still had not come to the realization that she was gone.

I looked at the largest dot approaching my portion of the beach and could see her quite clearly. She wore a very small white bikini and had a dark tan almost as dark as myself. Her breasts were fairly large and were bouncing around straining to be let loose of that top. She was very beautiful but young maybe eighteen or twenty, she had black hair, and I had not seen her before. I turned my attention to the ocean scanning for creatures; however, it was difficult not to occasionally scan my little young jogger. She waved and I waved back as she passed about 1000 feet a way. Too bad it was low tide, otherwise she would almost be on my porch and the view would have immensely improved.

I had leased an ‘A’ frame cottage, in Neskowin, on a seven mile isolated sandy beach, fifteen miles north of Lincoln City, Oregon. It stood just off the beach on solid granite rock atop a fairly high sandy dune; it appeared to be sitting directly in the sand, as over time the winds had blown drifts against it’s foundation. It was a well-built structure, wood and face slabs of granite to blend in with its natural surroundings. The interior consisted of a large well-appointed kitchen, living room, a small den, which doubled as a laundry room and one large washroom with shower and a separate Jacuzzi tub. In the loft above was a large bedroom, which ran the length and breadth of the cottage. On one wall was a huge closet and suited me perfectly. The kitchen was generous with a large double glazed window, which overlooked the Pacific Ocean. Above the sink and granite counters there was an array of oak cabinets above and below. With all major appliances built in and a large breakfast nook with a dark brown leather bench and stools sat in one corner. In the centre of the kitchen was a huge island of butcher’s block and above on stainless steel trolleys hung pots and pans of varied sizes.

The cottage was designed with the open effect with a large archway between the living room and kitchen. The living room contained a large picture window and double-glazed sliding glass doors, which lead out to the covered wooden deck and a stairway down to the beach. On the far south wall stood a huge granite wood-burning fireplace. The furnishings were luxurious, hand made woods with extremely comfortable deep corduroy dark brown cushions. There was a sectional that extended almost completely around the fireplace with a matching recliner rocker near the window and a large polished redwood burl coffee table, which was moulded in a kidney shape to fit within the half-circle of the sectional couch.

All the front glass was reflective to give privacy and provide protection from the extreme glare of the sun, plus reduce the effect of fading on furniture and carpets, all windows and doors were provided with storm shutters and all was protected by a sea wall along the front, made of large timbers and granite rocks. At the rear of the cottage was the main entrance door, which opened directly to a double garage carport plus access to sheds, which contained a gas generator and one that held the boiler system, which cooled and heated the cottage. There were many additional specialties, such hardwood floors, tiled kitchen and planked high ceilings with half beams of 12 X 12 cedar that extended through the entire cottage. In the bedroom loft was a pull down ladder that gave access to an enormous storage area between the ceiling and cantered roof.

I had a magnificent view from both the living room and kitchen windows, unobstructed by any other buildings, dunes or shrubs, seemingly all the way to Japan. The rent was quite high; but it was fully furnished and did not lack anything except a television, which even if I had one, the reception would be terrible. I had thought about investing in a satellite dish but had continually procrastinated about it. I was an avid reader and a member of the Lincoln City Library. I thought what was the point, there was so much to see and enjoy even in the rainy, dreary, stormy winter days, and it was spectacular; the ocean raging, large breakers hitting the beach, the noise of the surf was both exhilarating and calming. Nothing could compare with the magnificence of it all. The privacy was great; the closest cottage I could see was at least two thousand yards away and then only the rooftop.

The Village itself was mainly a summer residence with a large motel, restaurant, bar and a convenience store all located at the south end of the village, miles from my cottage. There were a few scattered cottages along the beach and a small condominium complex close to the motel but there were many cottages and homes, which made up the main town. The population was only about 150 but in the summer months, grew twenty-fold.

After several coffees and cigarettes I decide it was time for a shower. I now stood in front of the bathroom mirror; the perspiration already began to bead on my forehead, not so much from the heat but more from the excess of beer in my system. I actually could smell it coming from my pores. Idiot. I took stock of myself; not bad looking for a man approaching thirty-eight, six foot, with fairly strong features; steel grey eyes, now a bald head; a dark golden weathered complexion, gained mainly by hours in the sun; muscular to 180 lbs. The only fat I carried was the beginning of a slight middle-aged spread, love handles, which was due to lack of exercise and a few other excesses.

I had just celebrated my thirty-eighth birthday on August the 13th. Some acquaintances had got together and held a surprise party at Pier 101. It turned out to be a riotous, fun filled night and I even ended up in the sack with Kim, the large breasted, attractive bar maid. But to both our disappointment I was so drunk that I couldn’t get it up. We spent the night cuddled together. It was embarrassing but accepted.

I had surprised everyone including myself by shaving my head clean. I was tired of watching my hair receding and becoming thin and wispy, but it seemed to be a turn on for some of the women, which of course I thoroughly enjoyed.

My name is Terry Brandon and I am a cop, a small town cop. Not a uniform, but a Detective, in fact the one of only three on the Lincoln City, Oregon Sheriffs Department Force. I was part of the Robbery Homicide Division but the only one with any exposure to Homicide and Forensics. It was Friday morning August 15th, as any other morning, was routine, except, it was my day off. I had three days before having to return on Monday. I had worked ten days straight as one Detective was away on a family vacation. The thing was that I didn’t mind at all. I mean what else or who else was pressing me for time.

I showered and threw on a pair of khaki shorts and a printed Hawaiian shirt. I stepped out onto the deck and perused the beach. Although the sea breeze had picked up, it was becoming very hot. I saw no one, except several small dots on the beach near Proposal Rock at the south end adjacent to the motel, which was named by two unknown young lovers around the early 1900’s. It was a huge Basalt Sea-Stack, rising 150 feet and looked as if it had grown out of the beach. At low tide you could climb it, though difficult, to a small flat moss covered and wind blown shrub area on top, however, one could also get stranded on the Rock as the tides came in very quickly and there is no escape until low tide returned. The range of tides could be twenty, thirty to forty feet depending on the season and the cycle of the moon.

The specks on the beach that I noticed were most likely tourists, beachcombing. Maybe, I will do some beachcombing myself today. With some luck I may find a glass fishing ball that may have floated from Japan or China. I had found two glass balls last summer. More than likely, it would be a beached, dead Sea Lion or a Whale. It happened quite often, usually with fishing net wrapped around them, drowning and then being washed ashore. It was a disheartening site.

Early yesterday morning, a large female Grey Whale had been close in rubbing herself against the edge of the cliff just two thousand feet away in front of the cottage, scraping the barnacles from her back and sides. It was a beautiful sight as she thrashed and dived about for over a half hour. I felt I could almost reach out and touch her.

The ocean off Neskowin Beach was very treacherous for swimming or surfing. At the lowest tides the beach suddenly dropped off, creating a cliff edge about fifteen hundred feet from shore, a deep drop of a hundred feet. It was dangerous to swim or surf, as violent undertows would drown even the strongest of swimmers. And wading above the waist was risky as freak waves could knock the feet from under you and drag you out to sea. I had personally experienced the feeling in May when a huge wave hit me, as I was beachcombing and paying no attention. Suddenly there was no sand beneath me and I was pulled under. It scared the shit out of me as I floundered unable to gain any purchase whatsoever. I truly thought it was over, I thought my lungs would burst but somehow I managed, swimming as hard as I could until I felt solid ground under me. I came up with a mouthful of seawater choking and sputtering. There had not been a soul around if I had not made it; from then on I watched the sea very carefully.

This beach had claimed a few lives in the past several years and these usually happened during the height of the tourist season. I had attended and investigated one of the drowning just several weeks ago. A young surfer had been dragged under, smashed against the rocks and cliff and was then washed ashore. He had disregarded the warnings he had been given. Just too many had drowned in these waters through plain stupidity and I had almost been one of them. No signs were posted along the beach except one by Proposal Rock, which warned only of the Swift Tide Changes and Swim At Your Own Risk. The locals knew the rules well, however tourists who were drawn to the magnificence of the pounding surf and the marvellous colours of the ocean, did not know the dangers that this beach kept secret.

I had no special plans for the day. Maybe a walk and a little beachcombing before it became too hot and then into Lincoln City for dinner at Pier 101, or maybe not. I may just lie around and catch a few rays and sweat out this hangover. Going back to the Pier after last night’s fiasco would be pushing it and two nights in a row was a little too much. Christ, I hope I didn’t make an ass of myself; I was pretty tanked. After a few beers I even tried to apologize to Kim the barmaid about my lousy performance from the Birthday Boy but she said she couldn’t remember anyway, which was a great relief.

It was a great Bar and Restaurant. The food was excellent and the variety of people stimulating. I knew all the staff and many of the locals. In the summer it was loaded with gorgeous women and sometimes the Bar portion was so full that everyone was standing three deep, very cozy.

I think of my late wife Donna often with her long black hair and her blue grey eyes that at times seemed flecked with green. The way she walked, not walked, swayed and strutted. She had a perfect tiny stunning body. How I wished she were with me right now. What a great time we had together. Our lives were full of laughter and everything was almost perfect. I still miss her desperately; I think of her everyday and I imagine I am still grieving, even though she died more than a two years ago; it seems like yesterday. I find it hard to believe she is gone.

We had lived in Vancouver, Canada and I had been with the RCMP, Special Investigations Unit, Donna was a Chiropractic Assistant. I had been working a double shift because of a gang shooting at one of the Vietnamese Restaurants on the east side. Several known felons had been killed and two innocent patrons severely wounded. We had a good idea who the perps were, but locating them was a problem. After sixteen hours, I headed home for a well-deserved rest. It was 4:15 am when I arrived and walked into the house. I knew Donna had to be into work that day and I quietly went upstairs to our bedroom and carefully shed my clothes and climbed in beside her. I moved over to cuddle next to her; she was ice cold. I immediately tried to wake her; there was no pulse. I was terrified. I called 911 and they were there within minutes. Donna was dead. I felt that my whole world just fell apart. I didn’t know what to do. Donna had been suffering from severe headaches for several days and had an appointment with our family doctor the coming Friday but was still insisting that she went to work. I had tried to stop her saying that she should see the doctor first but she was stubborn about it and I gave in.

Donna had died of a brain aneurysm, which no one saw coming. It happened so quickly. I went into shock and did not cry until the Memorial Service. After her cremation and Service I returned to our home but I could not stand to be there. I requested a two-month leave of absence from the Force and started driving south; not quite knowing where I was going but at same time the car took me to the Oregon Coast. I spent four days of drunken abandonment at the Pier 101staying close at the D Sands Motel, walking distance to the Pier. Once I had become sick enough several times and suffered agonizing hangovers I felt I had cried enough in my beer and pulled myself together.

After her death I just wanted to get away from everything and everybody. There were no relatives to turn to; just two important friends but I could not burden them with my depression and guilt. We had no children. I am now both sorry and glad. I no longer wanted to keep our house and I put it on the market immediately on my return to Vancouver. I stayed at a cheap motel in Burnaby and while the Real Estate Agents worked, I began to make my plans. I sold the furniture, gave all Donna’s clothes and jewellery to her dear friend Ellie to dispose of as she wished. I left all drapes, curtains, numerous gardening tools, appliances, and many other miscellaneous items to be sold with the house. The remainder of my personal effects, clothing and all mementos I wished to keep, were put into storage. The house was mortgage free and there would be no hold up if a good offer came through. It was a beautiful house, a multi-split level on an acre lot in Langley. It had been our dream home.

The market was hot. I had many offers within a week of the listing but I was looking for cash with no subjects. I was asking $380,000 and the following week had a cash offer of $365,000 and accepted it as soon as all papers were signed and the monies transferred to my account, I packed, loaded the car and headed to Oregon. The first item on my list was to find a place to live, the second a job. Strangely, the job happened first. I had been blessed with second sight, which unfortunately did not work in Donna’s case. This ability to forsee the future never seemed to work on a personal level. I had never received a dream or vision that Donna was going to die. If I did, I may have ignored it, maybe I would have thought it was preposterous. Sometimes visions or dreams would come to me in such quantity it was hard to distinguish if it was just a dream, nightmare or an actual warning. If I felt it was a warning, I would concentrate on that vision and would get some clue or answers. If I ignored it then I would lose the vision. This ability, however had greatly contributed to my work and I had the reputation of being a top Robbery/Homicide Investigator.

I had a dream of Donna and I living on the Oregon Coast, with a cottage in the exact place where we used to vacation, which was Neskowin, Oregon. This dream had occurred over and over again as the house was on the market and I had not ignored it. It seemed that it was so prevalent in my mind that it became an obsession. I had to do it.

It may sound very strange but I spoke to my departed wife about it and I had the strong feeling that this is what she wanted me to do. On that feeling, I went to the Lincoln City Police Department and spoke with the Sheriff, Bill Schumacher. It was an odd conversation. At first, he did not seem interested but as the conversation developed, I could see a change of heart. I knew somehow he was going to hire me even though he threw some stumbling blocks in the way. Naturally, the problem of being Canadian, work permits, background checks and multitude of reasons of why he would not be interested but by the end of the interview which took several hours, he promised me a job if I could get all the necessary paperwork, Visas, etc. done within a two month period. It would mean returning to Vancouver and resigning with the RCMP and applying for all the documentation necessary to work in the State of Oregon. I called my lawyer and explained the situation and what I wanted. He informed me that the Life Insurance Company wanted to settle the claim. I had taken a Term Life Policy on Donna years ago and had forgotten about it, as the small premiums came directly out of the bank account every month. The policy was for $400,000. He then referred me to another lawyer within his firm that specialized in US Law, who I briefly spoke to and the process began before I had even returned to Vancouver. I then called my immediate superior in RCMP HQ and went through the whole story again. He was not happy about my decision and tried to talk me out of it but I prevailed and told him that I would be back to speak to him in person within several days.

I was so sure that it was going to happen that I drove immediately to Neskowin. The last time Donna and I had been there we had looked at cottages for sale or rent. Several had appealed to us but one in particular, which was a large A-frame right on the beach several miles from Proposal Rock. On inquiry at that time, we were told that it had been for sale for a long period of time. The Real Estate company did not know why it had not sold, except the price was quite high.

I knew where it was and drove directly to it. The Realtor’s sign was gone but a sign read For Sale by Owner with a Portland phone number. I called the number on my cell phone, a woman answered. I told her I was interested in the cottage and asked the selling price. She replied saying she was not sure that she was going to sell but she was asking $325,000. I asked if she was interested in leasing with first option to buy. She said she might be, however she wanted to know who I was, and I wanted to know why she wasn’t sure about selling. That opened up a very interesting conversation. She told me that her husband had died two years ago of an aneurysm and when I told her about my late wife dying of the same thing, we immediately struck up a quick friendship. I explained who I was, what I was doing and gave her all the particulars. Her name was Millie Johansson. She seemed very interested and said she would like to meet me personally and that she could be at the cottage by noon the following day to discuss the possibilities at that time. I agreed and took a room at the Proposal Rock Inn for the evening. I was so sure that everything was happening exactly for a reason. I met Millie at the cottage at noon the following day. We liked each other immediately and she showed me around the cottage. I was impressed and we struck a bargain of a three-year lease with first option to buy. I leased it as is, with all furniture included; providing a large damage deposit and the promise of no smoking in the cottage. The lease was reasonable and as of the first of the month it was mine. She had the papers with her so I assumed that she had expected to close the deal after our telephone conversation. Millie was a lawyer, need I say more. She had already run a Credit Check on me and called my employer. I insisted that I buy her dinner, but she settled for a late lunch at the Proposal Rock Inn. We found out more about each other during the luncheon. The Johansson’s had no children either and so Millie said she would continue her Law Practice until something happened that would give her the solution of what to do next. I thought I knew how she felt, like me; she was still grieving and still not sure of where she was going. She must have been a beauty in her youth as even at 61 years old she was still attractive with the Scandinavian blue eyes, fair skin, a flawless complexion and blonde hair that was speckled by grey.

She was happy that it all had worked out for us both, as she felt relieved that I was a cop and it would save her worry and many trips of constantly driving to the coast to check on the cottage. We could have talked for hours but Millie had to return to Portland and prepare for a court case. I told her I would call her once everything was settled and finalized in Vancouver and that she should go ahead and deposit the cheque and the post-dated cheques I had given her. We parted with a handshake and I held open the door to her BMW as she entered, she smiled and drove off.

It was my turn to leave. I had a multitude of loose ends to tidy up in Vancouver and not much time to do it in. It would be tight to meet Sheriff Schumacher’s two months schedule. I had a good eight-hour drive to Vancouver and a plan began to take effect in my mind. I was just north of Tillamook, Oregon when I called Tim and Ellie, my best friends in Vancouver. I hadn’t spoken to them since the Memorial Service and I needed to see them.

CHAPTER 2

Brandon and Arrangements

2006-2008

It was just after 1:00 AM on Saturday morning when I arrived at Tim and Ellies’ home in south Surrey. All the outside lights were on and I could see that they were waiting for me.

This may or not be a difficult situation. It would all depend on Tim my best friend from since we were kids. We had grown up together attended the same schools, played on the same football team, drank and whored together and finally we had joined the RCMP together. After training we were posted separately. Tim went to Ottawa, Ontario and I was posted to a small detachment in Powell River, B.C. I spent three years in that god-forsaken place before being re-posted to Vancouver, HQ. It was another year before I saw Tim. He had been promoted into a special branch in the computer crime division and then posted to Vancouver HQ. The difference was that Tim had married a beautiful tall Swede by the name of Ellie, who he was madly in love with. I was still single.

It was through an accident that I met Donna my wife. During a scuffle with a belligerent suspect I had slipped and fallen and hurt my back. I required several Chiropractic Treatments and guess what, Donna was his assistant. We dated for only a month before we moved in together and within three months were married. We were soul mates from day one. Tim and Ellie stood up for us at small private church service; in fact, they were our only guests. Ellie and Donna became immediate friends and Tim adored Donna.

It was only two months later that I went into the dangerous work as an undercover agent for the Force. That was our most trying time. For eighteen months it was tough on our new relationship but Donna hung in there and supported everything I had to do. However, it all paid off. My sixth sense had protected me throughout this period and had enabled me to secure several large drug busts in the Province. My reputation for arrests and convictions grew rapidly.

I was then sent to Simon Fraser University for the study of Forensic Sciences for one year and on graduation was promoted to the RCMP Special Investigation Division as a Robbery/Homicide Detective. Tim was now the head Computer Crime Investigator for Western Canada.

But my life had changed dramatically and it was time for me to move on. I was excited about the possibilities and the idea of living in a cottage on the Oregon Beach that I had dearly loved with all its good memories.

There were lots of hugs when I entered Tim’s house and a few tears from Ellie. It was good to see them. We had experienced many things and good times together and the loss of Donna had affected them dramatically. When I began to explain my plans to them I was hit by very strong valid objections but my mind was made up, even if I ended up without the job with the Lincoln City Sheriff’s Department, I was adamant about leaving Vancouver and retreating to the beaches of Neskowin. I had my money from the sale of the house, it seemed I had a large life insurance policy coming to me. I had my investments and I had a place to live. I also had a small pension coming from the RCMP. If necessary, I would find work of some sort to fill my time and if I properly invested my money, I could probably retire.

I told Tim and Ellie that I was only eight hours away. They could visit me and I them. Ellie cried through most of the evening and Tim kept telling me I was making a mistake. Finally, I agreed that I would not burn all my bridges. I would keep my Canadian Citizenship and take only a year’s leave of absence from the Force in case all went sour. I knew in my mind, it would not, but to placate my best friends I made that concession.

After a sleepless night it was now early Sunday morning and we were all totally exhausted from our discussions the previous evening and we all wanted to put the whole thing aside for a while. Tim suggested we go out for breakfast. We did and it was enjoyable as we spoke of all the crazy things we had done and openly discussed Donna. We had lots of laughs and it was only when I asked Ellie for Donna’s Urn that the tears began to flow once more. They insisted that I stay with them while all the paperwork was happening and the loose ends tied up but although I appreciated it, there was no way that I would burden them with my company at this time. However, I asked Tim if he could store my car for me. I had plans to sign the car over to his daughter but I did not want to tell him that yet. It was 2005 Pontiac Grand Prix. He agreed there would be no problem as he even had a car cover that would fit but what was I going to do for a vehicle? I said I would rent one temporarily and buy a new one in the States where it was cheaper.

I had kept the cheap motel room and it was there that I returned to that evening. Monday morning I called my Superintendent at RCMP HQ and set up an appointment for Tuesday Morning at 8:00 am, which I knew would be a long discussion. I also needed his help to fast track my Work Visa Application through the US Embassy. I was hoping he would do it. I called my lawyers and set up appointments with them and also called my investment councillor and my bank. I wanted to get back to Oregon as soon as possible.

During my interview with Sheriff Bill Schumacher, I had remembered that salary was never discussed. I thought it was just an oversight on both our parts, a large oversight; however, to bring it up at this point in time was moot. I had no idea if I really had the job yet. That night I lay awake on the cheap lumpy bed thinking, unable to sleep. I needed wheels, something fast and sporty and something I could drop off in the States to be returned to Canada when I finally purchased a vehicle. I had to be truthful on my interview with my superintendent if I did not want to burn any bridges. I would have lawyers fees to pay and had no idea what that would cost me. I had to set up a U.S account so I could transfer money.

On the scratched and burned bed side table sat the Urn with Donna’s ashes that Ellie had given me and I was worried if I would have a problem getting them across the border. I wanted to spread them on the ocean in front of my new cottage in Neskowin. Ellie wanted to keep a small portion of the Donna’s ashes and I agreed. It was May and with any luck I would be sitting in my cottage by the middle of June. Was I doing the right thing? I went through all the negatives and positives of my decision and came to the conclusion that yes, I was. I spoke once more to Donna and felt as if she agreed that it was time for me to move on with my life.

Daylight was breaking and I still had not slept. I was not tired. I showered and dressed and went for breakfast at a greasy spoon next to the motel. I had chain smoked a pack of cigarettes since arriving back at the motel. I had to slow down, but I still made sure I could smoke at the greasy spoon restaurant before I decided to eat there or not. The breakfast was quite good and I sat drinking coffee and smoking until 9:00 am. Was it the new sense of freedom I felt or was the pretty little twenty-year old waitress flirting with me? Whatever, it felt good. I had asked for their telephone book and written down all the Car Rental places I thought were international. I left an exceptionally heavy tip for the pretty little thing and received a very big smile as I left.

I returned to my motel room and started dialling; local calls were free so I used their phone. I would use Tim’s address for a place of residence and contact name. It took five calls to find the car I wanted plus a US drop point, the closest being Portland, which was perfect. I took a cab and picked up a new black Chrysler 300 super charged six. Fast and heavy, right up my alley. I had to put down one hell of a deposit because I was headed for the States. It was no problem really as I still had my RCMP Credentials and that seemed to make things go faster without too many questions. The power of the badge is amazing.

That week I met with my lawyers, the superintendent, turned in my badge, gun and credentials and took a one-year sabbatical from the Force. All went well, much better and smoother than I expected. The superintendent even fast tracked my Work Visa. I found out that inquiries about my records had already been made by the Lincoln City Police Department and the information had been sent.

I went to the Motor Vehicle Branch and picked up transfer papers for my 2005 Grand Prix and signed it over as a gift to Tim and Ellie’s daughter for the sum of $1.00. I wanted to get back to Neskowin soon but I also wanted to spend a day with Tim and Ellie before I left and update them on all that had happened. It was an emotional goodbye but they had accepted my decision, I left immediately for Oregon on Saturday morning, after spending a drunken fun night with a hell of a hangover.

After all the lawyers fees, rental car, numerous expenses, travel and booze I ended up with $700,000 plus change in my bank account. It was hard to believe that I had gone through $80,000 in only two months. On August 15th, 2006 I was hired by the Lincoln City Police department as a Robbery/Homicide Detective on a three month probationary period at a starting salary of $42,000 per annum with paid benefits, a self contributory Pension Plan after the probationary period was complete and a substantial raise if they were satisfied with my work.

CHAPTER 3

Brandon Remembers

Friday, August 15th, 2008

It was two years to the day since I had worked for the Lincoln City Police Department and the main reason I was hired was because of my Forensics Training. Lincoln City had no CSI Team. They had a Medical Examiner who doubled, as the Coroner who performed autopsies mainly on natural deaths, accidents and the like and with the responsibility of a large area was extremely busy. The other prominent thing I noticed was the cooperation of the State Police and the Sheriff’s Departments were practically non-existent, although co-operation between different Sheriff’s Departments within the State of Oregon was exceptional.

I had renewed my Visa and Work Permits with no problem but one day I must decide if I wanted to keep my Canadian Citizenship or apply for Dual Citizenship both for the US and Canada. I set that on the back burner as I had several years to make up my mind.

I had spoken once more to my R.C.M.P. Director in Vancouver. He had granted me one more year leave of absence but that was final, after that I would have to re-apply to the force. That pretty well said I was out, I would never be able to get back in after that year was up due to my age.

The job was routine and certainly laid back in comparison to my experience in a large city. There were days when it was difficult to fill my time. I felt I was pretty well respected by my co-workers and peers. Nothing too exciting happened in the area. During the winter as it was mostly robberies, break-ins, drunk driving, accidents and family disputes, most of which I was never involved in. Summer was different, a high increase in auto accidents, and an increase in drugs and robbery. It was in the drugs and robbery area that my Forensics Training paid off. The robberies were my forte and I had established myself as a thorough Investigator with a solid arrest record. Since I had been on the force, Lincoln City had not experienced a homicide. In fact, Lincoln City had not had a murder in over 15 years, which was a shooting incident during a robbery in 1983.

Like most I have both good and bad thoughts. Although I try to be honest with others, truthfully, I am not entirely honest with myself. I procrastinate constantly on personal issues and very seldom completely keep the promises I have made to myself. I have a quick temper, but on the other hand, a good sense of humour. I can be charming and yet become quickly sullen and then could cross that line and quite suddenly go into a depression in a matter of minutes. Even with all my mood swings, outwardly I believe I was well liked and tried never to show that hidden person too many times to others. Before Donna’s death, I was gregarious and carefree and with a few beers in me, the life of the party. I still have a great time when I am drinking and those positive qualities show through, sometimes too much. I am a terrible womanizer when boozing, not to the point where I want to screw anything around me but I loved to flirt. But that too has got out of hand a few times and I have ended up in bed with some strange woman I hardly knew. Then I would hate myself for days until the next time. I guess I drank to forget; it seemed to be my escape.

Maybe it is the Irish superstition that I was born with, truly Irish born and bred in Belfast; whatever you want to call it, but as I had mentioned I seemed cursed with a sixth sense or a gift, maybe. I call it a curse because sometimes I can predict events, I guess predict is wrong, more foresee events before they happened or dream of something related to an event that was about to happen and these events were always mostly unpleasant. Sometimes when I talk to people I can sense things about them. It can be a little scary and it has made me too judgmental in some cases and prevented me from getting too close to anyone. There were many unexplained instances that I did not understand but had relinquished the fact that I had an uncanny gift.

I could never explain why I never foresaw my wife’s sudden death. One would think that with this gift that I would have known something was about to happen to her. Maybe it would have changed destiny had I known. I remember every vivid detail of that morning as if it happened moments ago. I have felt guilty ever since.

I would have dreams or sometimes terrible nightmares of other events, people or animals and somehow they were related to something that had recently occurred or was about to occur within a day or even hours. This gift that I possessed was mind-boggling, it was both a mental and physical strain, keeping me from sleeping well and most of the time I wished I never had this double-edged gift. I imagine another reason for heavy drinking. Better to pass out than to dream. I had recently dreamed of a cat being put down at the Vets and I knew that the dream was not a good omen.

The telephone rang. It was 11:00 am. What the Hell

Hello, Terence? It was Bill Schumacher, the Sheriff, and better known as the Chief and sometimes called Big Willy, behind