Vilomah Multi Solus

By Deverrie’s Mom

On the morning of June 26, 2016, an anonymous young woman was found, murdered, in a small town city park.
By that afternoon, she was no longer anonymous. 
Her mother stood at the front door of their home, her body wavering against the unbridled storm of emotions that come when police officers inform a parent of their child's unexpected death…
…that occurred within shouting distance of the front yard.
As of this writing, the monster who brutally took Deverrie's young life has not been convicted.
At her daughter's death, Debi Fones became "Vilomah", a Sanskrit word meaning "against the natural order", the now too common name for a parent that has lost a child. There are many who bear this unbearable weight of loss—alone.
Vilomah: Multi Solus (Vilomah: Many Alone), is an emotional, personal narrative from Deverrie's mother, Debi Fones, written in short compositions over a period of seven years. Her open frankness, and intense visual style of the written word is raw, and captivating.
With startling and intimate honesty,  Deverrie's mother takes the reader through seven years of unrestrained reality. A trip through the hard spectrum of feeling hope to hopeless that a parent of such loss experiences, sometimes again and again within a single day—every day, when they are;
Vilomah: Multi Solus.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deverrie’s Mom
• Release date: Jun 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223131670

Deverrie’s Mom

Deverrie’s Mom also goes by the name Debi Fones, and she started writing as a kid. Early on, due to circumstances (being life) she gave it up. Many, many moons later, circumstances (being life) forced her to take up writing again, as a means of dealing with mental constipation.  It appears to have worked out well, hence her first book (this one).  She will often joke that she has a face made for radio, and a voice made for writing.

Book preview

Foreword

by Jym-Nate Gordon

Debi Fones asked me to write the foreword to her book Vilomah: Multi Solus (Vilomah: Many Alone). So, I researched the "how to’s, and the formats, and instructions on writing a foreword. Then, I crumpled all that buffering mind cellophane up, and threw it into the trash.

I have known Debi, and her work, since just before October 2017;

One year and four months after her small frame stood in a doorway and took a storm surge wave of emotions as police officers told her that her daughter was dead...murdered.

What you are about to read is not buffered by research, "how to’s, formats, instructions, editing, bibliographies, opinions, and analyzing.

You are not in a classroom with 100 other people and a professor teaching from stage front.

You are sitting at a wood picnic table in a mountain park, surrounded by Oak and Pine trees. Birds are singing, and a light breeze cools your forehead.

A small framed woman sits across from you, smoking a cigarette, and drinking a soda pop.

She is going to take you by the collar, and pull you into the dark abyss of having your child ripped from you by a human monster's bare hands.

At the end, you will weep. You will know and love her daughter. You will understand the astonishing, and savage breadth of human emotion. You will wish that you could save her daughter,

...and you will know that you never can.

Vilomah is a Sanskrit word that means; against the natural order. The word is used to describe a person whose child has died.

Each Vilomah suffers in their own different, and individual way.

Many, yet alone.

Debi Fones has chosen to show you her suffering, with hope that you will find understanding,

book And so the Many might feel

...less Alone.

Introduction

For Our 8-

Throughout my writings, I often referenced seven other victims. I only learned of them after losing my daughter.

When there was no arrest made quickly, I turned to the internet. I cannot even begin to tell you how many things I’ve researched with regard to my daughter's murder. Soon, I had a list of names, counting my daughter, there was a total of seven victims of major crime cases that had gone cold.

I set about learning as much as I could about each case and the victims.

On March 13, 2017, California City Police Department and Victim Services, hosted a candlelight vigil for three of the victims from the unsolved cases. The three victims they honored that night were Matthew Lininger, Robert Austin Tharp, and Deverrie Schiller. As a result of this vigil, I was able to meet the family members of some of the victims.

I’m going to dedicate this chapter of the book to the other victims, their loved ones, and as much of their stories as I can. It will also serve as the introduction for this book.

I’d like to do this before I get started…having never been in this position before, I had no idea what I was doing or how I would feel about a situation I had never contemplated. Of these victims, my daughter was the only one I had met, yet the others came to hold a very special place in my heart and life. As I was advocating for my daughter, I realized that I needed them all to have a conclusion. Soon, if I mentioned my daughter in a group setting, like city council meetings, I felt the need to say their names too. To remind anyone who may have forgotten.

I’ll do these in chronological order. With some, my information is spotty at best, but I’ll do my best to explain.

Dr. Burdette Thorbus

Summer nights in the Mojave Desert…suck. The temperature at night is often in the upper 70s. It was no different on the night of June 26, 2001, when violence chose the life of Dr. Thorbus.

That night, Dr. Thorbus had retired to bed with his wife. A short while after midnight, a noise alerted the Dr. enough that he felt the need to check it out. Leaving his wife safely in their bedroom, he ventured to his front door, wearing his pajamas.

He opened his front door and was met with gunfire. His wife was on the phone with the police, but they arrived too late. The first officer on the scene discovered Dr. Thorbus, laying dead on the ground, close to his front door. Multiple gunshot wounds. His killer(s) fled before the police arrived.

The police believe it was a botched home invasion, and Dr. Thorbus paid with his life.

I’ll jump backward from here a way, to tell you a little about Dr. Thorbus…

He was born on December 16, 1941, in Brantwood, Wisconsin. The name bestowed on him at birth was Burdette Milo Thorbus. After becoming a Dr., he opened his practices in two towns, California City and Rosamond. He is fondly remembered by many of his patients. He was 60 years old when he was murdered.

As I am writing this, Dr. Thorbus has been gone for 21 years 8 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days. If you should ever feel inclined to look up the Dr. online, you’ll find very little as far as information and/or reports on his death. That appears to be the case with each of these crimes.

I can save you some time by telling you what little I learned online about him. Besides his wife, I found he had a brother, who was also a doctor, and two sisters. From what I read… he was well-liked and respected.

Dr. Burdette Milo Thorbus was laid to rest in Prentice Cemetery located in Prentice, Wisconsin.

Sadly, I was never able to talk to any of his loved ones.

Matt Lininger

Matthew Scott Lininger was born on October 17, 1985. On January 4, 2010, Matthew was sleeping peacefully next to his girlfriend. Shortly after 2:00 am, the California City Police Department received a call, and dispatched officers accordingly, to the same address Matt was at. What they found upon arrival was a trail of blood leading to Matt.

Someone had entered the home and brutally stabbed Matthew. He died as a result. No one was arrested/charged with the crime. There is a person of interest… but there is very little information on the case.

Matthew Scott Lininger was only 25 years old.

While I can’t give you much personal information on the young man himself, I can tell you a couple of other things.

I got to meet Matt’s mom on a couple of occasions, very briefly. She is very sweet and soft-spoken… and she misses her son dearly.

The other thing I wanted to share with you is more personal for me. I’ve mentioned before how all the victims became a part of me, in some way. One day, while scrolling Facebook, Matt’s name/profile, popped up on my people you may know feed. I clicked on it.

Unsurprisingly, it took me to his profile. I slowly started scrolling down, reading posts from family and friends, and looking at pictures of his smiling face. Then I came across a video of him… I watched it. In the video, Matt was playing a Wii game. As I watched, tears started to slide down my face. In the video, Matt was alive and well, but now he wasn’t. By the end of the video, I was bawling.

I can’t explain why but that video hit me so hard. What I can tell you is that I need Matt’s case solved. We need Matt’s case solved. We need them all solved. `

Desiree Thompson

Desiree Nicole Thompson was born September 23, 1981, to mom Sheri. A beautiful baby girl with dark hair and eyes. Desiree was Sheri’s middle child and only daughter. Sadly, I never got to meet this young lady but if she was anything like her mom… I really missed out.

In 2012, Desiree was living in California City with her four children. She had three boys, and like her mom, one daughter. At the time, she was doing her best to navigate domestic violence and raise her family.

On the 7th of January, Desiree vanished without a trace. Sheri knew something was wrong. Desiree would never willingly leave her children. Her children were her world. She’d gotten that from her mom. At the time she went missing, her boys were 14, 13, and 6 her daughter was only 4 years old.

From that day forward, and without question, Sheri, at 53 years old took on raising her daughter's children. Hoping against hope, her daughter… their mom, would come home to them.

On March 25, 2022, a tip from a citizen, led to a backyard where the remains of Sheri’s beautiful daughter, Desiree were located. She’d lost her life in that house, and her killer buried her outback and walked away. Not only were her remains located, but a man was also arrested for her murder.

Jose William Lara was that man. Lara was and is an illegal immigrant from El Salvador, and is currently awaiting trial for what he did to Desiree.

For 10 years, 2 months, and 19 days, Lara walked free, while Desiree’s family desperately needed answers.

Desiree was still 30 years old when she finally got to go home to her mom and children. It was not the outcome they prayed for, but it was the one they were dealt.

Sheri has done an outstanding job raising her grandchildren, and while I may not know much, I do know that Desiree is incredibly proud of her mom and her babies.

Charles Pieper

Charles Allen Pieper

Charles Allen Pieper was born on November 4, 1937. Growing Charlie loved sports and received a baseball scholarship. He was an educator, a husband, and a dad. He served on the planning commission for California City.

A call came in to the California City Police Department (CCPD) on the morning of December 1, 2012, concerning Mr. Pieper. The officers dispatched on the call discovered Charles Allen Pieper deceased in his home. They suspected foul play.

The reason this bio is so short and generic is because there is very little publiclly accessible information on Charles Pieper or his case. His wife had passed the year before and I never meet any of his family. I exchanged messages, briefly with his granddaughter but lost contact with her. I only ever found 1 or 2 photos of him.

No arrest has been made on his case.

Demetri Thomas

Demetri Raymond Thomas was born March 17, 1995. He was 19 years old when he was killed in a drive by shooting. He was visiting in California City when it happened. He’s buried in Palmdale, California.

I met his mom once or twice, very briefly. We exchanged a few text messages then sadly I lost track of her.

Over the years, from time to time, I’d search the web for photos of these victims. I have only ever been able to find one of Demetri. In the picture you can only see the upper portion of his face. From that one picture, I will say, he has beautiful dark brown eyes.

I’m sad this is all I have to share with you about this young man.

Robert Tharp aka Austin

Robert Austin Tharp entered the world on September 18, 1993. The youngest of 3 children, Austin had a mischievous smile.

Austin was looking forward to his 21st birthday coming up soon when he went missing. It was on the morning of July 5, 2014, when Austin was last seen leaving his moms driveway. He got into a car with 3 other people and they drove off. He never came back.

I became friends with his mom as a result of the first city held memorial. I have come to admire her greatly. I have often joked that I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. She’s been through hell and you’d never know just looking at her.

I’ve seen him in pictures, heard stories about him and read his profiles online. I never got to meet him but I think he and daughter would have gotten along. His smile has never left my memory.

Austin’s disappearance left his 2 young boys without their dad.

Deverrie Schiller

Deverrie Janae Schiller was born October 17, 1992 and it didn’t take long for her family to know they had their hands full with this one.

Blond haired, greened eyed, beautiful badass. Most of her life was spent in Montana. At 21 she moved back to California with her family.

On the evening of June 25, 2016, Deverrie walked to the store with a friend. The next day, her mom was informed of her death, at the hands of another.

Her murder set off the long chain of events that lead to this book.

I am Deverrie’s mom.

Phillip Hammond

Born Phillip Duncan Hammond on the 23rd of January 1965. He went by the nickname Pete.

Pete loved all things outdoors, especially dirt bikes. He had a special talent for laying tile until July of 2017. That’s when Pete disappeared.

When he didn’t show up, even after the missing report was given, the worst was feared. On November 17, 2020, that worst fear became his family's reality… the body of 51 year old Phillip Pete Hammond was located in Cantil.

Before they could even lay him to rest, the missing person report became another unsolved homicide in the small desert town of California City, California.

Setting

State: California

Population (per 2021 census): 39. 24 million

Size: 163,696 sq miles

Fourth Richest State

County: Kern

Population: 930,115

Size: 8,163 sq miles

Highest Crime Rate in California

Highest Homicide Rate in California

Governor Gavin Newsome named Kern County The Murder Capital of California

City: California City

Population: 14,460

Size: 203.70 sq miles

California City violent crime is 36.5 (The U.S. average is 22.7)

(Crime scale 1 is low crime 100 is high crime)

California City is the third biggest city in California-area wise.

²⁰¹⁶

All is beautiful and unceasing,

all is music and reason, and all,

like a diamond, is carbon first.

Jose Marti

Chapter Contents

My childhood… 20 Days A.D.

Just thinking… 21 Days A.D.

What I wish… 46 Days A.D.

She who leaves… 59 Days A.D.

The picture… 81 Days A.D.

The year is… 65 Days A.D.

Sitting on the… 86 Days A.D.

Dear killer… 113 Days A.D.

If you were… 113 Days A.D.

On the day… 113 Days A.D.

Your birthday… 114 Days A.D.

Reminder of… 152 Days A.D.

1:30 am… 158 Days A.D.

What I’ve… 158 Days A.D.

Epiphany… 182 Days A.D.

How I’ve used… 189 Days A.D.

20 Days A.D.

My childhood in Cal City and

my reintroduction to the hell

it is.

Killed in my park .

I moved to California City in 1981, the end of my summer vacation before the 5th grade. Our first house was on the corner of Bancroft Ct. and the street that went to the park.

The grandpa of my little friend around the corner would take us to the pool in Cal City park. For 50 cents a piece my friend and I could swim for 4-5 hours.

The waterfall on Hamburger Hill not only looked really cool from the Blvd and from on top, it was an awesome place to hide underneath.

The bridge from the back of the hill to the Sports Arena was really steep. The most daring kids used to jump off it into the lake. I remember being scared but impressed when I would see some of the older kids jumping off into the lake and thinking...guess they don't care bout the dead bodies in the lake. I always heard of it as the local folklore (to keep those damn kids out of the lake).

Looking back it really was a pretty cool little town we lived it. I honestly don't remember there being a rich side or a low income side. My best friend lived on Walpole in a good neighborhood.

I lived on Rome Beauty Dr. from about age 11 to 18. My neighborhood was awesome. They all were.

Started out at RPU, then to Mojave for Jr High and High school. Had to catch the bus at 6:45 am.

Growing up here was fun. Safe. It wasn't perfect. There wasn't much to do. Boredom sometimes led to a little good natured (and some not so good) mischief.

Bad people existed back then.

My adopted big brother was brutally murdered at the park right next to Mojave High.

Back then, Mojave High School had less than 400 students and everyone really did know everyone. Most of the kids I went to high school with, were the same kids I was in kindergarten with. High school and junior high were for the town of Mojave and California City. Now that I’m thinking about it, at least one of my high school teachers had taught my mom years earlier.

Small town vibes everywhere. Back then California City had a bowling alley, movie theater, there were M cards, and dial-a-ride. Parties in the desert, the adventures of Chris Komenus, hiding Mad Dog 20/20 in a styrofoam cup, using a straw and drinking it fast so the adults don’t know. Not something I would ever recommend.

One year, we got snow, well sorta…we got enough snow that it was easy to tell who snuck out. Lots of kids woke up the next morning to find themselves grounded, myself included. For some reason one inch of actual snow, in the Mojave desert, was worth it.

Our annual small town festival, was called Desert Tortoise Days, and it was an event everyone looked forward to. When the weekend arrived, it started with a dance of some kind on Friday night. Then next morning, we watched a fairly impressive parade for a small town. Then everyone headed to the mall parking lot for vendors of all kinds selling lots of neat stuff, selling festival food. Saturday night was usually another dance, but Sunday was the day. On Sunday, all the venders moved to the park. There were kids EVERYWHERE, hangout with friends or even family. You never knew who you’d run into. Pretty much EVERYONE at least made an appearance.

I think part of wisdom may come when you can look back at yourself and see how dumb you were. Like most kids, I bitched and complained about having nothing to do or how boring it was. I couldn’t wait to escape the crappy little town and I did …for awhile.

After I escaped, my dislike of my hometown, grew. I watched from a distance as the town grew in population, it wasn’t the good thing it should have been. I watched as the town went down well downhill, from a safe distance. All the houses, that had once been taken care of, were now falling into disrepair. All the lawns that were maintained by owners with pride, made it seem I had dreamed them up.

Sometimes life just likes to fuck with people. Looking back now, I can easily pinpoint the single moment that changed to whole course of my existence. If time travel were possible, my destination would be predetermined. It’s not, and we went back home. A promise was made, we would only be there six months tops…promised. It was the only way to convince me. I didn’t want to be there, but we could handle six months. Some people have no problem making indiscriminate promises to people who hold a value to a promise. When the promise is broken bad things can happen and they did.

The biggest reason for moving away years earlier was to find a better place to raise our children and I think we did. When the move was made back to where we began, my oldest daughter was a mom, 26, and independent stayed there. My youngest daughter came with. She was 21 and just starting her life.

When the six month marked passed without acknowledgment, I didn’t see any good coming of it. One year 4 months 21 days after arriving back in my hometown, the police were at my front door… my beautiful 23 year old daughter had been murdered.

Life as I knew it was over that very moment.

What you are about to read was all written after that day. I feel I should warn you of a few things before you venture further.

First, within these pages you will witness a lot of pain and anger and with that a whole lot a cuss words. For this I make no apology. In my opinion, cussing is a necessity. I found no other words to express my situation.

Second, as with most true stories, some names must be changed. I have done this but only were deemed necessary.

Third, if you have any questions or comments, you’re welcome to send them to me and I’ll do my best to respond. The email address to use is: [e-mail]

Lastly, there are mentions of things like drug use in this book, so please apply any necessary trigger warnings you may need.

With that I will close this and allow you to move on with the book. Thank you for being here. TTFN

21 Days A.D.

Just thinking...

Why can't I just stop now?

How come I am unable to succeed no matter how many times I try. My body is dying. My heart is shattered and my brain is mush.

Even while I'm saying that I'm wondering, if all those things are true, how am I still moving forward. If those statements are true, how am I still alive?

Maybe I'm just faking it all and hoping no one notices. How can I feel what I feel if it's not real?

I don't want to keep going on.

I don't want to be doing this.

I don't want to be anywhere.

I don't have any future.

Then why do I have to stay?

46 Days A.D.

What I wish I could say...

I miss you so fucking much.

I have never hurt so bad in my entire life.

I'm so sorry I ever brought you back here.

You deserved so much more out of this life.

You never deserved this.

I should've tried harder to save you.

I will make absolutely sure that that sick bastard pays for what he did to you.

I plan to make damn certain, before I get to come be with you, that I find his offspring and make sure they know your beautiful face and what he did to you.

You are one of the most beautiful, incredible, talented, wonderful people to ever grace this world.

I still need you.

I'm so sorry I failed you, never did the things you needed.

Being gone doesn't mean you aren't still my baby. Nothing could ever change that.

It hurts so bad, Boo.

Why the fuck would he do this to you?

Every day only seems to get harder and harder.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore.

I wish this entire town just disappeared off the planet.

I want to come be with you.

I've been so broken.

I'm lost without you.

I am filled with so much anger, hatred, rage and sadness, I don't know how to contain it or what to do about it.

I am ashamed and heartbroken over not having any kind of memorial for you.

It feels like they've already forgotten about losing you and moved on with their lives.

I can't nor do I want to.

For me, nothing seems to matter anymore.

Every day is one day less till I get to come be with you.

Why can't I feel you?

59 Days A.D.

She who leaves a trail of glitter is never forgotten.

(I saw this as a sign, in a new friends home a short while after Deverrie’s murder. As far as Deverrie was concerned, Glitter was a color. Deverrie was glitter- she sparkled)

Wednesday September 14, 2016

81 Days A.D.

I saw a picture of your dead body today.

(The mother of one of the boy’s that found my daughter’s body, took a picture. I was told it went on social media and was quickly removed. I didn’t see it. It took me a total of 80 days to acquire a digital copy for myself. I hid this note from myself. I still have the picture.)

65 Days A.D.

The year is 2016. I've traded nights out in the mountains for the desert, a small car for a full size truck. The company is different, I traded ICP and SPM on a CD player for Party Monster on my tablet. The snacks and munchies have improved. I'm no longer running away from home to get a break from ornery kids. Now I'm running away from the last moments I have of my now deceased daughter. Drugs are still drugs.

I wish I could go back to the good old days.

86 Days A.D.

Sitting on the spot

So, here I am Boo. I have the horrible pic of you lying on the ground dead. I finally know where. God I hate being alive without you. I need you so bad. I feel like I'm losing more of myself every day that passes. I hate who I've become without you here to protect me. I'm so mean and hateful. I'm becoming more racist with each passing day. I just want to give up and go far away. I want to wrap my arms around you and be all the things you ever needed me to be that I wasn't. I would give almost anything to have you back. I'm scared of myself. I have no idea how I'm going to react or respond to anything. I want to hurt people. Let them feel like I do.

The prick bastard that did this to you.

The bitch that took that picture and passed it around to anyone and everyone.

Baby W for all the lies he told so easily all while stealing from our family.

I'm going to do a news interview tomorrow about you. I hope like hell it does something good.

113 Days A.D.

Dear killer,

Know that I will spend every day of my life hating you beyond anything in your limited capacity to understand.

Treasure your freedom but know one day soon it will end. You will pay dearly for the evil you choose to bestow on my beautiful daughter. You are a disgusting example of a sub-human trying to pretend he's more than he truly is.

Did it hurt pretending you had a heart beating inside your skeleton? Did it hurt allowing people to believe your soul was worthy of the space it may have once rested?

Did you stare at her beautiful green eyes and laugh as her life disappeared from them? Did you feel her blood rushing through the delicate veins of her neck as you wrapped your cold fingers around it and squeezed without mercy? Could you feel her heartbeat racing madly, when you pulled her body closer to yours, to get a better grip?

Did you bother to tell her why?

Will you tell me?

Now I'll tell you what I know...

She fought hard!! You felt the blows. You felt the scratches. She made sure your diseased DNA would be discovered. She didn't go down without a fight.

Unlike you, she was real. The heart in her chest was scared but pure. It beat with a purpose. She was more human than you could ever pretend to be. She was smart, beautiful, funny, and she was loved.

113 Days A.D.

If you were a man, you would…

1.Tell me why

2.Tell me when

3. Kill yourself

But we both know you're not a man. You're a heartless, soulless, evil creature pretending to be human. You're not worth the air you breathe or the space wasted on your existence. You are a twisted, disease riddled abomination not fit to inhabit this world or the next.

In the last 113 days, have you...

Smiled at a stranger?

Told your family you loved them?

Laughed?

Eaten a favorite food?

Ridden a bike or driven a car?

Dreamed?

Relaxed in a hot shower?

Held a child?

Bought something for yourself or someone you love?

Cracked a joke?

Seen something beautiful?

Kissed someone you love?

Written a note or letter?

Shown affection to a child?

Played with a pet?

Relived a memory?

Watched a movie?

Enjoyed a tv show?

Made any decisions about your life?

Given someone advice?

Read words written by someone else?

Taken a walk around sunset?

Looked in a mirror?

Made a wish?

Made plans?

Relished a quite moment?

Been happy? Been sad?

She hasn't...

since you killed her.

Commit the only human act you can't fake...

Kill yourself.

(After writing this, I posted it to several of the local Facebook pages. Someone took offense and reported it. It was removed and I served 24 hours in Facebook jail. Shit happens. Life went on. One year later, in my Facebook memories, guess what pops up…with a share button even. So I did exactly what any other person would, I posted it again…everywhere. And again, it got reported and I was banished once again to Facebook jail. When it pops up again, care to guess what I’ll do? Yep I’ll post it again, and again.)

113 Days A.D.

On the day she died...

Deverrie was

23 years 8 months & 8 days old

Her sister was

26 years 4 months & 8 days old

I was

44 years 3 months & 9 days old

Dale was

49 years 0 months & 24 days old

114 Days A.D.

You’re birthday

I never knew a heart could endure being this broken, and still keep beating.

Twenty four years ago today I gave birth to a beautiful little girl. Today, on what would have been her 24th birthday...I sit on the very ground your lifeless body had once laid