My Sister Watches

By Evon Davison

My Sister Watches is the riveting tale of murder in the picturesque community of Port Orchard, Washington, which is located 13 miles west of the bustling metropolis of Seattle. On a cold wintery night in 1999, Charlotte Ruse was brutally attacked and murdered on her way home, after engaging in a violent confrontation with her secret lover. After her slaying, a shroud of uncertainty and suspicion enveloped the Kitsap County town, transforming the once trusting residents, into a municipality of locked doors and apprehension. Who killed Charlotte Ruse? Was she or the Ruse family harboring despicable secrets? Or did the citizens of Port Orchard simply despise the Ruse family for being outsiders with pedigree and affluence? The quest to capture her murderer would span decades, but when the moment of arrest unfolds, the community will be dealt another jolt of disbelief…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664198050

Evon Davison

Evon is a 20 year veteran of the United States Army. she currently resides in North Carolina. This is her fifth novel.

Book preview

1

T he screams of agony sliced through the winter air; the infliction of the pain echoed and spiraled against a windless, starless night. The only source of light was the huge bonfire blazing in the middle of the open field, adjacent to the decrepit, old weathered barn.

The screaming sounds were coming from a woman; a woman who appeared to be down on her knees, her hands clasped together. Either she was praying to her higher being, or begging for her life.

She could see the blood streaming down her battered face, which appeared to look like mangled fruit that had been shredded open. He ignored her pleas as he continued to beat her with the bloody, wooden baseball bat, which was dangling from his swollen, bloody hand.

Whack! The sound resonated throughout the thick forest surrounding the field. The swing of the baseball bat reminded her of a homerun ball sizzling through the open air and making contact with the bleachers in the stadium. She could hear the agony in the woman’s scream each time the bat connected with her body. She could hear a weary voice crying out, Please don’t, please, I didn’t mean nothing by it! Oh God help me! Please don’t hit me again! She covered her ears as she watched him leverage another scorching blow. Whack!! Whack! It sounded like a pumpkin being kicked open by steel-toes boots; the mushy contents of the vegetable spilling out onto the frozen ground.

She dare not move. No noise right now, Heather, please no noise, she whispered to herself, as she peered upwards at the menacing evening sky. She covered her ears with her hands, trying to shield herself from the ongoing screaming and moaning coming from the field, but the noises would not stop, and the blazing fire was still in full affect.

She looked over at the field and witnessed him deliver the final blow. Afterwards he stood over her lifeless body, his chest rapidly moved up and down; he was panting, out of breath. From her vantage point, he appeared to be a huge mountain of a man. Inside the fold of the brush, she strained to see him, but surmised that he was at least 6’2" with a burly upper torso and muscular legs to accommodate the rest of his massive body. He wore a plaid shirt with oversized biceps spilling from underneath the rolled up sleeves. He looked familiar, but she wasn’t sure; it was dark out. One thing she did know, was that the howling and warbling sounds coming from the lifeless, silent body lying on the ground came from a very familiar person-her sister, Charlotte.

Suddenly, the thunder clapped, forcing her to collapse into a fetal position. Clap! Clap! The sound make her shake uncontrollably. She cautiously looked up and saw a bright light streaked across the sky, revealing the forest floor. The once windless, night yielded a breeze that ripped through the trees, almost snapping them in half. She wanted to scream, but was aware that silence was her best friend, as she placed her own hands over her mouth, locking in her escaping breath. She could see him walking around in circles, mumbling with his hands clasped over the top of his head.

After twenty minutes of listening to his boots pressing against the wet grass, patrolling the vicinity, Heather slowly exhaled, but dared not move. During the quietness, she prayed that God would allow her to live and see her family again.

Suddenly he ceased his conversation with himself and looked around, making sure he was still alone. His eyes scanned the opening in the brush; he thought he saw it move, but quickly discarded the idea. The brush moved again, and this time he walked over and pulled the brush apart, exposing her. She was cowering and shivering as he reached down and cupped her neck with his large hand.

What the fuck you doing out here? She was speechless, as his gripped tightened. She shook her head. "I asked you a fucking question. What are you doing here? He released his grip; she fell to the ground, clinching her warm throat, coughing and gagging as she tried to breathe. She looked up at him; he was angry, and seemed a little off kilter. Now she realized who he was, but he didn’t look like himself; he looked possessed and demonic.

"I, I, I was just walking down the path, heading towards home, Fra, Fra, she stuttered. She was trying to pronounce his name. I was walking fast but it started running, and I ran over to this bush to get out of it.

You dare speak my name? What did you see, girl? What did you see, Heather?" She shook her head. He looked down at her with a foreboding grin.

Nothing. I didn’t see nothing. He wasn’t satisfied with her lie, so he raised the blood-soaked club, like he was getting ready to hit a home run. She cover her face; the bat connected with her forearm, shattering her bones. Just like the pleading voice she heard coming from her dead sister minutes before, she too began begging for her life. Please, please, don’t hurt me. I swear to God I didn’t see nothin’. Her quivering voice was drowned out by the relentless crack of the bat, which he was now pounding every part of her body with. He raised the bat one last time, delivering the final blow to her head, rendering her unconscious. In a final act of disrespect, he kicked her with his large boot several times before shoving her seemingly lifeless body inside the brush, hiding her from view.

Once he was satisfied that he had accomplished his mission, which was to kill his only eye witness, he stomped away, at first mumbling to himself and then broke out in to loud, scary laughter as he continued to walk down the path out of the area. But the one thing he didn’t realize: He had not killed her.

She lay there, barely alive, praying to God, and wondering why he, of all people, had wanted to kill her. That was the last thought she remembered.

When the girls didn’t return home that night, their parents alerted the police in the wee hours of the morning. Armed with information about where they would likely have been hanging out earlier in the evening, the police embarked on a frantic search of those areas. The search lasted until early morning, with no results, or no traces of the girls.

Volunteers accompanied members of the police department on a massive search early the next day, but to no avail. The authorities were unable to find any clues that led them to the girl’s whereabouts. The fear was they had been kidnapped.

Two days after the sisters went missing, a woman walking her dog along the deserted trail, noticed a body lying in the tall grass on the left side of the trail, near the old barn. It was obvious to her that this man or woman had endured a life-ending beating. Her terrified eyes locked into the foot she saw protruding from the brush on the other side of the trail. Her hand trembled as she dialed 911. Ten minutes later the authorities were standing in the middle of the crime scene, examining the women. They found one woman dead and another barely clinging to life. Forensics combed the area and located a driver license for one a woman identified as twenty-two year old Charlotte Ruse. There was no other identification found in the area. So who was the other woman?

The detective on the scene was bent over the woman, asking her questions, like, What’s your name ma’am? Can you speak? Can you tell me who did this to you? The only thing Heather could do was blink her eyes after each question. When she stopped blinking, her body became limp; she was lethargic at this point.

Charlotte’s body was covered with a white sheet; Heather was lifted onto a gurney and both women were transported to the local hospital. The hospital staff met the ambulance at the emergency room and Heather was immediately rushed the women to emergency surgery. Her breathing was slight, and after twelve hours of surgery, doctors were unable to wake her up after the anesthesia; Heather fell into a coma, as a result of an acute head injury.

Forensics continued to comb the crime scene. In addition to the driver license, they also picked and bagged up a blue tennis shoe, and a piece of light blue materiel, similar to the slacks Charlotte was wearing when she was found. These items were sent back to the laboratory; they would be sent off to check for fingerprints or other DNA.

Charlotte Ruse’s funeral was somber, with very few people in attendance. She didn’t have many friends; she was a loner. There were a few classmates from the college she attended. Charlotte had previously dated a local kid named Richard Wayne, but they had broken it off months before her murder, and he wasn’t there either. Most of the Port Orchard community attended, along with Charlotte’s family. Besides her immediate family, the only other family member to attend was her father’s brother and his wife, Tara, who drove in from Olympia, and her favorite Auntie Clarice from New York City.

Like John and Bubba Ruse were estranged from their parents. John and Bubba’s father had died ten years earlier in a nursing home in Salamanca, NY, taking secrets to his grave. Their mother was still living there, as far as they knew; they hadn’t been back there in years.

Emma and Clarice’s parents were also deceased, but they had maintained a healthy relationship with them throughout the years, even if their parents disagreed with the lives they had chosen to live and who they chose to live their lives with. Their parents will had left them both rich beyond their imaginations.

The Priest, Father Donovan, walked down the aisle to the opening hymn, singing the hymn along with the congregation. After the singing he cleared his throat, We gather here today to celebrate the life of Charlotte Annabelle Ruse, who has now returned home to be with our God, The Father.

Father Donovan continued the Mass by praising God and asking for God’s mercy. After the Gospel Readings, the Homily and the Liturgy of the Eucharist, he gave the closing rites, Let us go in peace to live out the word of God. As mourners gathered together at the gravesite after the burial, Father Donovan excused himself, saying something along the lines that he had another engagement. Naturally Emma Ruse was concerned about the Priest; his behavior was a little odd, both during the Mass and now. She decided that she would call him later to make sure he was okay.

Now twenty one years had passed since the violent murder and beating took place on that starless November night. Questions still lingered: Who killed Charlotte Ruse, leaving her beaten swollen body in the woods down by the old Nelson Farm? Who attacked Heather, leaving her for dead? There were no clues, no suspects, and the only witness to the crime still remained in a coma, unable to provide any details…

The police asked every man between the ages of 16 through 65 to volunteer to come down to the police station and have their fingerprints taken. The response among the men was tremendous; even those who didn’t meet the age bracket volunteered. The police collected over 300 fingerprints from the men in the Port Orchard community. The prints were compared to evidence collected at the crime scene, but to no avail. After an exhaustive effort, the prints were tagged as evidence then stored away as part of the investigation. Law enforcement authorities were convinced that the murderer was not a member of the Port Orchard community; the perpetrator had to have come from someplace else, some other town nearby.

The memorable moments that took place in 1999 were numerous, but some events were unforgettable. Some of the key events that took place in 1999, the year of the horrific incident were:

1. President Bill Clinton was acquitted of perjury and obstruction of justice, ending his five week long impeachment trial.

2. SpongeBob Square pants, the popular children’s show, made its debut and today, still has a large following.

3. In April of that year, two boys, 17 and 18 years old, go on a rampage at Columbine High School, killing 13 people.

4. In the world of technology, Myspace was introduced to the internet.

Throughout the years, Heather Ruse had shown little progress; she remained in a coma. Although the Ruse family had a horrid reputation in the town of Port Orchard, they were united in the care of Heather. They refused to take her off of life support each time the doctors recommended it. They continued to hold out hope that she would one day recover and snap out of the medical condition that held her prisoner.

Before they migrated to Port Orchard, Washington ten years before the incident, the Ruse family arrived from the Eastern part of the U.S. They stormed in from the big city, bringing their city slicking ways along with them. No one knows why they came to Port Orchard, nor did anyone bother asking, particularly after meeting them. Residents steered clear of them like the plague; the Ruse clan were strange and distant, entirely different from the 12,000 people who were accustomed to the quaint and quiet way of life in Port Orchard.

Port Orchard is 13 miles due west of West Seattle, in Kitsap county. The town is connected to Seattle and Vashon Island via the Washington State Ferries run to Southworth. The small town is home to a few small Fisheries, but Tri-City Sawmill Plant served as the primary source of income for locals. Employment at these this company proved to be generational; fathers and sons worked alongside one another. If there were no college plans in sight after high school, many of the residents found themselves working in the very industries their parents toil and work in.

The Ruse family unit was comprised of John and Emma Ruse, their two daughters, Charlotte and Heather and four boys, Henry, twins Jake and Justin (also called Spider), then Johnathan. John Ruse worked as an editor with the local newspaper, the Heritage Page, while Emma worked as an assistant for the CEO at the saw mill. They lived a comfortable life in their new home, which was situated on a hill with a commanding view of the Olympic Mountain range. It was apparent to the residents that the Ruses were affluent, especially in a population where a percentage of its residents lived below the poverty line. John Ruse had a brother, Bubba Ruse, who lived in nearby Olympia.

The Ruse Boys, as they were called by the locals, were a rowdy, knife-wielding, hateful trio. They hated Port Orchard, and didn’t mind expressing their dislike for the town to anyone who listened. They had constant run-ins with local authorities, and would physically challenge any newcomer who moved into their town, the town they disliked so much. No one escaped their wrath, not even their own family. Of the four boys, Spider was the leader, and by far the rowdiest.

John Ruse was at his wit’s end with his boys. The first year they arrived in Port Orchard, the police were called to the home five times-the boys physically assaulting one another, the boys fighting with the parents and the boys fighting their sisters.

Controversy was always an issue, making the sheer existence in the house miserable. Emma Ruse was so exhausted with her turbulent home life that she spent countless hours at the Our Lady of Mercy Catholic Church on her knees praying for peace. Most of the time she brought her two daughters along, mostly out of fear for their safety. She also spent time spilling her guts to the Priest, Father Donovan, who was her only source of comfort. Charlotte and Heather had their own relationship with Father Donovan; they confided in him about almost everything, especially relationships with the few friends they had and Charlotte talked with him about her suitors. The girls sought guidance from Father Donovan because their father provided no direction to any of the Ruse kids. He was too busy fighting with them.

Thomas O’Leary Donovan came to Port Orchard in 1979, fresh from Princeton Theological Seminary in Princeton, New Jersey, the oldest seminary in the United States, where he had spent the last 4 years undergoing through rigorous theological studies. Thomas had already completed a Bachelor’s degree in Religious Studies and Philosophy. During his time at the seminary, Thomas had become friends with many of the other students, some he was still in contact with.

Growing up in Ireland, he had known at an early age that he wanted to become a Priest; he was an Altar boy, and was involved in all activities at the church. His parents and siblings were very supportive of his desire to become a Priest. He was slightly awkward; he had an incredible gait when he walked, and resembled the character, Ichabod Crane, from Washington Irvin’s short story, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. His physical appearance was often met with teasing and bullying, both at church and school. The constant riling forced him to become a very introspective and shy young man, but also made him become an empathic human being. He was especially shy with girls, but when he met Susan Evermoor as a junior in high school, he was instantly smitten. She was equally attracted to him. Susan was tall, sinewy and beautiful. She was extroverted, and kept the fact that she found Thomas attractive a secret from her friends. If they knew, they would laugh at her, and that was not acceptable in Susan’s world.

Thomas and Susan found themselves involved in a clandestine relationship. He wanted her more and more, but she was the gatekeeper. She decided when and where they would have sex and how