Before We Fade Away Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for June Summers

  Before We Fade Away

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Epilogue

  A word from the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. and other major retailers

  I hardly noticed their absence.

  I must have sat on the porch for several hours, contemplating what lay ahead and what was in the past. How could I have allowed my family’s murderer to enjoy his life all these years without any consequences for his appalling actions? I could’ve found him and killed him with my bare hands. He left me behind to find justice for my family. To search him out. To see that he paid. I was a fool for waiting all these years. Yes, originally, I was sick physically and mentally. Then I simply had no desire to live. I was a zombie, not knowing if I ate or drank, if I was dead or alive. Then when my brain finally accepted the tragedy, I tried unsuccessfully to kill myself several times. Was I supposed to stay alive for some reason, perhaps predestined to find this maniac? Then why did it take me so long?

  I walked to the lake to cleanse my mind. I slowly waded into the cool water until it was up to my waist, then my neck, and then I was totally submerged. Should I stand underwater until my lungs could not escape the insurgent murky liquid? Should I end it now in defeat? No! I swiftly jumped up, spraying and splashing as my body broke through the water’s surface. I rapidly swam back to shore. I was ready to live again.

  Praise for June Summers

  Ms. Summers’ first novel, LET FREEDOM RING, published by The Wild Rose Press, June 22, 2016, received a five-star rating from both Amazon and Long and Short Reviews.

  Before We

  Fade Away

  by

  June Summers

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Before We Fade Away

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 by June F. Summers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Vintage Rose Edition, 2018

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2047-2

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2048-9

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Glory, my right arm

  To Wendy, forever in my heart

  Chapter One

  The Nightmares

  Mid-October, Dani

  When I awakened at three a.m., my sweat laden pajamas clung to my cold and clammy skin. I was tired of this crap. Every single night for the past two weeks, I had these terrible nightmares. They started with my walking through a neglected orange grove. The pitch-black sky enveloped the grove, but apparently, I had a flashlight because I could see in front of me. The distant, live oak trees shivered in the howling wind while a steady rain soaked my T-shirt, which gripped uncomfortably to my trembling body. The dry, brittle branches of the dead orange trees surrounding me jutted out in all directions, scratching my arms and face as I passed. Overgrown, tangled weeds creeped up my legs like a thousand dancing spiders. Sand spurs burrowed into my socks, painfully pricking my ankles.

  Suddenly, I was gazing at a huge, abandoned house. The window shutters faltered on their hinges, and the house looked as if it hadn’t seen paint in a lifetime. Leading up to the expansive porch were broken stairs with rusty nails sticking out the edges.

  As I stared at the structure, wide eyed and breathing heavily, a sweaty hand grabbed my shoulder. I stood perfectly still, expecting a knife to stab my rib cage or a gunshot to shatter my skull. In a movement more stupid than courageous, I turned around to confront a grimy, old man, his face blackened with soot.

  He whispered, “Y’all lookin’ for somethin’? Kin I hep y’all?”

  Then abruptly, I was inside the decrepit house, following the old man down a long corridor whose walls were covered with blood. “What is this place? Where are you taking me?”

  The stagnant, smoky air made it difficult to see and breathe. I was so terrified I moved closer to the old man, his rancid body odor pervading my nose.

  “Come along, now.” He led me into the kitchen, where a myriad of knives, hatchets, and daggers hung precariously from heavy chains attached to the ceiling. As I walked beneath them, blood dripped and seeped into my wet hair and T-shirt. The old man shone a flashlight around the room, casting light and shadows on the broken cupboards, the cracked ceiling, and the rusty appliances.

  I covered my eyes. “Why are you showing me this?”

  Suddenly, I heard horrid screams. The old man shone the light in the direction of the noise. “Lookie there, lookie there!” The beam focused on a maniacal man wielding a large ax, hacking away at a mangled captive tied to a chair. Blood splattered wide as the sharp blade severed bone and flesh.

  Thankfully, I woke up.

  The nightmares aren’t always the same. Sometimes the old man cries. Sometimes he laughs hysterically. We always end up in the battered house. Then the scenario changes. Tonight, he led me into the kitchen. Last night, I was in the living room where a raging fire leaped from the fireplace, scorching everything in its path. Portraits of malformed children hung on the wall, their twisted and maimed bodies covered in blood. A woman draped over the arm of a high-back chair lay with her scalp severed and her brain seeping through her fractured skull.

  My name is Danielle Reynolds. Since nothing horrible ever happened to me, I don’t know why I have these nightmares. I’ve had tragedy in my life, but nothing to warrant enduring horrid visions night after night. I’m a normal, young woman living an unexciting life. I work part time as a sales clerk at the Sea and Surf Shop in the attractions area on Route 535. My boss looks at me strangely because I’m forever yawning.

  This lack of sleep also affects my class work at Valencia College, where I major in criminal justice. I had all A’s and B’s, but my grades have slipped lately. I haven’t told my dad yet. He pays for most of my tuition, but I help with what I earn at work. I live with my dad Andrew and my brother Frankie. My dad owns an auto body shop in Nawinah. My mom Michelle died of breast cancer when I was ten and Frankie was two. Dad and I still miss her very much. Frankie is too young to remember her. I wish she were here to talk about these nightmares.

  One thing is strange about my family, although I’m not sure if strange is the correct word. On Halloween night in 1971, my grandfather, Daniel Reynolds, killed his boss and his boss’ entire family, pregnant wife, six children, and a grandmother. The whole country tried to locate him. He was even on the FBI’s most wanted list, but he was never apprehended.

  Dad had told me what he remembered. “I was a kid when it happened. My best friend, Travis, was one of the murdered children. After your grandfather disappeared, Grandma Anna raised me. She was only a secretary for Matthew Plimpton, a lawyer in Nawinah at the time. We struggled financially while I was growing up. As soon as I turned fifteen, I got a job at Spencer’s Auto Body Shop. When Mr. Spencer got very ill, he sold me the shop.”

  So sure, according to what Dad knew, I had a monster for a grandfather, but I didn’t even know him.

  I finally got back to sleep about five a.m. I went to work that day and the
n to my best friend Emily’s house to spend the night. We watched television for a few hours, but I was so tired I could hardly hold my eyes open. We went to bed, hoping I’d sleep through the night. I fell asleep immediately, but after a couple of hours the nightmare began.

  Same old thing—in the orange grove getting soaked in the rain. This time the old man’s skin was charred and his hair singed as if he’d been set on fire. He was covered in blood, dripping it on me as he touched my shoulder. I guess I screamed because I woke up with Emily shaking me and calling my name. “Dani! Wake up. You’re having another nightmare.”

  I sat up in the bed, sweating, sobbing, and trying to catch my breath. Emily grabbed a handful of tissues. “Dry your eyes, and wipe your nose. Let’s talk about this.”

  Probably louder than I should have, I hastily responded, “No! I don’t want to talk about it. I just want these nightmares to stop.”

  “I don’t mean to talk about the nightmares. Let’s try to come up with some solution.”

  She made us hot, herbal tea and settled next to me while we both silently sipped our drinks. Five minutes later, she advised, “Here’s how I see it. These nightmares are not going away by themselves. They even seem worse. Has anything happened at college or at your job lately that might cause them?”

  “Everything has happened because of these nightmares. Nothing happened before them. That’s what’s so confusing. I didn’t get the D in psychology until after the nightmares started. My boss didn’t call me into her office because I was always yawning until after the nightmares started!”

  “Since you’re sure nothing in your life has happened or changed, you must get some help. Talk to your college counselor. He’d definitely be more knowledgeable about what’s happening to you than we are.”

  The next morning, I went on Emily’s computer and made an appointment to see Mr. Beatty on Monday morning after class.

  Chapter Two

  The Massacre

  October 31, 1971

  Law enforcement worked tirelessly on the case of the murdered Cunningham family, but it remained unsolved for decades. From the evidence, questioning eyewitnesses, and piecing innumerable clues together, they did their best to determine what happened on that Halloween night.

  The evening began when Mary Cunningham and Ida Mae Cunningham, Mary’s mother-in-law, took the Cunningham children trick or treating.

  Betsy Ann was the eldest child. “Mother, I’m not dressing in costume this year. I’m thirteen now, and I’m too mature for that silly custom.”

  Cletus was eleven and the oldest boy. “I want to be Jed Clampett from the Beverly Hillbillies. I’ll attach floppy, cardboard ears to Blackie’s natural ears, and he’ll be Jed’s Bloodhound, Duke.”

  Nine-year-old Daisy divulged, “I’m dressing as Jeannie from I Dream of Jeannie. That was my favorite television show.”

  Travis, who was six, loved baseball. “I’ll be Jim Palmer, the Baltimore Orioles’ pitcher. I know, I always dress like him. That’s because he’s the best ball player ever.”

  Four-year-old Lily constantly needed to be the center of attention. “I’m a princess.” She danced around in her lovely, pink lace and netted dress with the shiny crown atop her golden locks.

  As for two-year-old Silas, he didn’t care what he wore as long as he was included in the fun. Grandma had made a charming, white bunny costume for him.

  Since the children had school the next day, Mary didn’t keep them out late. Around seven fifteen, rain began to fall, soaking the children’s festive costumes. As the group left the home of Rhonda Dixon, one of the ladies in Mary’s prayer group at the Nawinah Presbyterian Church, Rhonda had heard Mary say, “This rain is coming down too heavily. This is the last house we’re stopping at tonight.”

  Officials surmised the family arrived home before eight p.m.

  “Bath time, children,” Mary said as she and Betsy Ann readied the younger three for bed. “Since it’s a special night, you older kids may stay up a little later to sample some of your treats.”

  Ida Mae prepared her evening chamomile tea. “I’ve started a new novel, and I’m retiring to my room to read this fascinating book.”

  Mary replied, “Well, I plan to enjoy a cup of hot coffee in the living room until Bill gets home. His secretary called earlier to inform me he’d be late.”

  Bill Cunningham, standing well over six feet with dark brown hair, worked late the night of the tragedy. Bill’s secretary had hurried into his office. “Mr. Cunningham, I’ve just received an emergency call about a fire reported at the Wesley Road Orange Grove.”

  Bill jumped out of his seat. “Call Dan immediately. Tell him I’ll pick him up on the way to the grove.” He grabbed his jacket from the coat rack and rushed out the door.

  Nothing was ever proven, but rumor was some disgruntled pickers had set the fire. Bill and Dan Reynolds, Bill’s chief foreman, arrived at the fire location shortly after the fire department. Several hours were spent putting out the flames. The fire department left the scene around nine fifteen p.m. Bill, Dan, and a few of Bill’s workers stayed longer to confirm no sparks remained. Shortly before ten, Bill said to Dan, “What do you say we go back to my house for a few drinks? It’s been a long day.”

  The practice of enjoying drinks together was not unusual for Bill and Dan. As well as being Bill’s foreman, Dan was Bill’s best friend. Mary and Dan’s wife, Anna, co-chaired the annual rummage sale at the Presbyterian Church.

  With rich, dark hair and deep brown eyes, Dan Reynolds was nearly as tall as Bill Cunningham and similar in stature. While on the job, he, like Bill and all workers at Gunderson Orange Groves, wore the official navy blue company uniform with the gold orange tree emblazoned on the chest pocket.

  Dan and Bill often confided in each other about their personal lives. Bill was not one to gossip, but a hushed rumor in Nawinah speculated that Dan and Anna were having marital issues. How the rumor started was unknown. However, during the social hour after the ladies’ prayer meetings, the women would often discuss the personal lives of those members not in attendance.

  ****

  Just after sunrise the next morning, an anonymous telephone call came into the Nawinah Sheriff’s Office. The caller sounded very agitated but did not give his or her name. The conversation was so inaudible and muffled Trudy Prout, the desk clerk who took the call, couldn’t determine if the caller was male or female. Trudy thought the caller said, “There’s trouble at the Cunningham House. Better send the sheriff right away.”

  Several times in the last few years, Sheriff Albert Bailey was called to the Cunningham House to check out complaints regarding drifters breaking into an outbuilding or the smaller Gunderson House on the property. Setting far back from the road among the tall, juniper trees and thick ground foliage, the property provided a perfect place for the homeless to find shelter.

  When Trudy contacted Sheriff Bailey, he thought, “With all the rain last night, prob’ly some ol’ bum decided to sleep off a drunk. Maybe Trudy jist wasn’t payin’ attention when she took the call. Sometimes she’s too busy readin’ her gossip newspapers. I don’t want to fire the woman ’cause she really needs her job to support her two youngins, bein’ that her ol’ man was killed in that plant accident. But she has to start payin’ attention.”

  “Hell, since it ain’t no emergency, I’m gonna stop at the Donut Oven and git me some coffee and one o’ those frosted lemon donuts.”

  About seven thirty a.m., Sheriff Bailey drove his cruiser down the long, winding drive lined with neat rows of blooming flowers and lofty shrubbery. His thoughts were concentrated on Edna, his wife of thirty-five years. Edna is makin’ her delicious pot roast tonight. I got a hankerin’ for some. As was evident by his bulging belly, the sheriff loved his food and looked forward to every meal.

  Approaching the residence, the sheriff noticed an eerie silence. His professional senses took over, and the thought of food was cast aside.

  Awful quiet out here. Why ain’t no ceilin’ fans runnin’ on the porch? And where is Blackie? He’s always barkin’ when I come down the drive. How come the youngins aren’t raisin’ a raucous gettin’ ready to catch the school bus? This is strange…”

  Concerned, Sheriff Bailey got on his radio to Chief Deputy Edgar Fitzsimmons. “Ed, whare are ye right now?”