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Chapter One
Cedar View City – Thursday, Present Day
Lorin Brennal braced herself for the
dropping temperature as she listened to the
metal hum of her rolling garage door
disappearing overhead. Swiftly, she tucked her
head down a bit and steadied herself as the
tips of her two-and-a-half inch heels greeted
the concrete driveway. Strands of her hair
whipped about her face as biting winds lifted
the sleek sides of her bobbed haircut. She
blinked furiously. Had it not been for the
package she had been waiting for, Lorin would
have opted for sunnier skies to check the mail.
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Already feeling the drag of her weight slowing
her down, she wished she‟d changed into tennis
shoes.
Approaching the metal curbside boxes she
turned her body slightly, positioning her key
to open box number fourteen. Struggling to
focus through blurry eyes, she fumbled with the
lock.
After a quick wiggle, Lorin was finally
able to open the box, exposing what she‟d
already guessed would be there...an over-
abundance of mail overflowing the small space.
Surely the package had arrived, she thought.
Quickly, she reached inside and began
collecting the contents.
On any other day, Lorin would have
casually shuffled through grocery sales,
advertisements, and letters as she strolled
down her quiet street, across her driveway, and
up through her front yard. She would have
stopped dead in her tracks in front of her
pitiful dying cypress tree to shoot it a
disappointed look. She may have even waved at
her neighbor, Lena Quinn...or ignored the
disgustingly hormonal gestures of woman
predator Byron Kennett down the street.
But Lena Quinn wasn‟t outside today.
Lady violator, Byron Kennett, was nowhere to be
seen. With that kind of chill in the air, no
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one in their right mind would be. The sudden
winter snap proved to be too much for the
inhabitants of the neo-bustling city, turning
what would have been a leisurely stroll into a
forge straight ahead; to get inside to warmth
as quickly as possible.
Hastening her steps, Lorin walked back
through the garage into her home. In the
kitchen she hurriedly dropped the mail on the
counter. She didn‟t have to check the
thermostat to know that it was only slightly
less cold inside the house than outside. She
felt the icy coolness on the smooth surface of
her copper sunset quartz counter. It occurred
to Lorin that she hadn‟t adjusted the
thermostat earlier that morning.
Slightly irritated at her own lack of
preparation, she filled the teapot with water
and placed it on the stove, abruptly turning
her attention towards the task of opening the
mail.
Arranging each envelope in order or
importance, Lorin impatiently flipped items
from the front of the stack to the back of it.
Doing so, Lorin uncovered a larger
envelope with her name and address neatly
written across the front. Could this have been
what she waiting for? But the envelope was too
thin...from the outside it looked as if there
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was nothing inside it at all. And the
handwriting...well it certainly did not belong
to her soon to be ex-husband, Mauree. Quickly
she turned it over to check for any signs of a
sender, but found nothing.
Sliding her thumb between the sealed
flap, she opened it to reveal a single piece of
folded white paper. Opening it, Lorin
discovered that the page was completely blank
except for a single number written in the
center. Fifty-Two.
“Fifty-Two?” Lorin mumbled, glaring at
the number on the paper as if it would expose
itself. For a moment, she stood in
place...perplexed. She didn‟t know whether to
be amused or worried. Not knowing what to make
of it she folded the paper and slid it back
into the envelope, dropping it into her shred-
it pile with swift ease.
Maybe he changed his mind and decided not
to go through with it after all....she thought.
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Almost four weeks had passed since she‟d
stood in the doorway of the home that she and
Mauree once shared. Moments felt like hours to
Lorin that day when she stood, stone stiff,
watching Mauree as he‟d prepared to back out of
the driveway and out of their failing marriage
for good....pretending with all her might to
appear unaffected. Lorin had watched him
closely while he paused after shifting gears,
placing his Yukon in reverse. He wasn‟t
drunk...to her surprise, and neither was he
angry which also came as a shock.
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Lorin observed Mauree‟s full lips pressed
together tightly, looking in every direction
except hers; something he did subconsciously
when he wanted to say something more but
couldn‟t find the words. Finally his tinted
driver‟s side window hummed quietly, slowly
exposing his face as he leaned out.
“The lawyer says the paperwork is done.”
he‟d casually announced. “I’m on my way out of
town on business, but I’ll mail it
tomorrow...that way you’ll have a chance to
look it over. We can work out the rest when I
get back.” Mauree took a deep breath,
preparing himself for what to say next, but
decided against it.
Lorin didn‟t say a word and didn‟t flinch
an inch. She‟d been shocked by his indifference
but couldn‟t find the words for a reply. All
she could muster was a silent nod...up once,
down once in acknowledgement.
As he‟d backed out into the street, Lorin
felt a stabbing pain in her back, between her
shoulder blades. She‟d almost flagged him
down, but didn‟t want to make their not-so-
happy ending more dramatic than it had to be.
Thinking the pain would go away with
rest, she let Mauree drive off without
incident. By midnight that same night she
could barely stand upright, and had driven
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herself to Cedar View‟s emergency room where
she was admitted to the hospital.
Lorin had been more than prepared to deal
with the divorce since it had come as no
surprise. She was not, however, prepared to
deal with what she‟d learned from doctors that
day.
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Leaning against the bar, Lorin peered out
into her living room.
Her favorite zamiocalcus, otherwise known
as her jungle palm, sat in the corner. Dusted
and shiny, its leaves exhibited the perfect
variation of glossy green richness. To the
right, Lorin‟s black bambusa table presented a
neat display of perfectly placed pillar candles
next to the remote control holder. Her precise
placement of the pomegranate, tangerine, and
wheat colored soy candles provided the illusion
of a perfectly relaxed environment.
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Every art piece, poignantly but
purposefully abstract and brilliantly colored
in sparkly earth tones, the indigo and violet
glass piece commanding attention on the
mantelpiece, the strategically placed Bimini
Island weaved throw pillows on the sofa…all
were added to give her home contrast…to make it
interesting and alive. Everything she gazed
upon was just that...textured, interesting,
alive, and perfect. More important...in
perfect order.
Everything that is, except for Lorin.
Soon, she found herself listening to the
silence of her home; trying to pin-point
exactly when it was that she lost her
texture...when she went from being Lorin full
of life to Lorin full of silence.
She looked down at the smiley face
painted in black on her cherished yellow mug.
Two black dots for eyes looked straight at her.
A wide letter U drawn in for a smile gleamed
happiness. She stifled the urge to ask it
why...why it would still smile at her when
after all these years she refused to smile
back. After all, her reason for smiling left a
long time ago...along with the bearer of her
cherished mug.
By now her teapot whistled impatiently,
indicating that her water was boiled to
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perfection. Pouring steaming water over her
teabag, she leaned over slowly as the aroma of
sweet ginger and peach danced above her cup.
Instinctively, she inhaled slowly and deeply.
Regrettably, she thought, enjoying a cup of hot
tea seemed to be the only part of the old Lorin
that she still carried with her.
With tea in hand, she tipped upstairs to
her bedroom where she found her robe and
favorite warm pajamas and prepared for her
bath.
Sloshing her fingers around in the water
to stir up more bubbles, Lorin began to think
about the number fifty-two written on the
paper.
Had someone intended to write a letter,
but just forgot to do the most important
thing...which would be to actually write?
She pondered the ridiculous idea, wincing
as she eased into the almost too-hot-to-bear
soapy water. Relaxing into it, she slid down a
bit to let her head rest on her bath pillow.
As she did, the number fifty-two slowly
eased its way back to the forefront of her
mind, this time bringing with it an
announcement of tragic proportions. The
resurrection of memories she had long ago
buried.
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Lorin sat in the bathtub still and quiet,
allowing ghosts from the past to materialize.
Fifty-Two...she whispered, declaring yet
questioning the number at the same time.
Scooping up a handful of suds, she squeezed
lightly, letting them fall back in the water,
watching the light ripple of the tub‟s floating
surface as her thigh interrupted the water‟s
flow.
Fifty-Two...she said aloud, this time
with a greater sense of clarity.
Indeed, the number fifty-two held a
specific placeholder in her past history. But
that was a lifetime ago.
Disturbed, she sat up too quickly,
causing a cascade of frothy bubbles to slide
over the side and splash to the floor.
After all this time, she wondered, the
number fifty-two shouldn’t mean anything to
anybody anymore, should it?
No, she thought and slid back down. The
past is just the past she concluded, letting
the suds tickle her chin as she reached over to
grab her cup.
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In bed, Lorin fidgeted and stared at the
clock. The glowing green display read 9:48
p.m. Reluctantly, she grabbed the phone and
began dialing Mauree‟s cell number. This she
could put off no longer.
When he had come to see her in the
hospital, he was visibly different, she noted.
The same man who had nonchalantly backed out of
the driveway that day, as if it were just
another day, was not the same man who‟d
appeared in her hospital room a week later.
Mauree had lost weight; his face was beginning
to show hard lines where there they were once
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smooth. Hollow spaces replaced his once full
cheeks and she could see them sunken in.
Normally defiant in his stance, he‟d shifted
uncomfortably from one leg to the other as he
stood next to her hospital bed.
Lorin remembered how he reached out for
her hand nervously, as if he‟d never touched
her before. No mention was made from him about
what they‟d „work out‟. In fact, he‟d made no
mention of divorce at all. No indeed, Mauree
was not the same.
Aunt Tessa told me ummm...about the
ummm...well you know. He’d told her.
...And I know we’ve got this thing going
on between us, but for something like
this...you could have still called me.
Even then she‟d managed to lie. Telling
him she didn‟t want him to worry was more
comfortable than saying what they both knew to
be true...that the lie was born from something
much bigger.
But what could she possibly say to him
now? Too much time had passed with too much
water under the bridge. A conversation with him
now would most certainly turn into a finger-
pointing match about who should bear fault in
their bitter-ended marriage. For Lorin, the
mere thought of having that discussion was
exhausting. Taking the low road, she
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positioned her thumb over the end call button.
As much as she wanted to put the whole thing to
rest, maybe it would be best to talk to Mauree
another time.
Seconds later the phone rang, startling
Lorin so badly she almost jumped out of her
skin. When she brought the phone closer, she
was able to read the caller ID display. It was
definitely not Mauree.
Unknown number Unknown name flashed
across the screen.
Lorin recognized the same mysterious
unknown caller that had appeared in her call
history several times a week, who never left a
message. Aggravated, Lorin returned the phone
to its cradle.
An hour passed and Lorin found it
impossible to sleep. The long soak in the tub
should‟ve helped, but didn‟t. Sipping on hot
tea didn‟t do the trick either.
To add to her frustration, she had other
needs that required attention. The empty space
next to her on the bed was cold; the comforter
pulled tightly and tucked with no sign of life.
If there was any doubt before, those
doubts could now be dispelled. Worst had come
to worst.
Then the thought crossed Lorin‟s mind
that maybe she should call Mauree...only not to
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talk about the divorce. At the very least,
with Mauree there she would have a warm body to
cuddle next to.
Perhaps he felt the same way too, she
considered...and just for one night we
could...she began to reason.
Lorin reached out to grab the phone, but
something on the nightstand caught her eye.
She pushed the base over to reveal her
bible sitting right where she‟d left it;
bookmark still partially visible...holding her
spot on Mark 1:40-45. Placing it beside her,
she opened it and slowly began to read.
Now, mentally sobered and thinking more
clearly, Lorin realized that she had allowed
her thoughts to take her to places she wasn‟t
ready to go to yet.
Now is not the time to confuse things,
she concluded, and slid out of bed, positioning
herself on her knees. With bowed head, she
prayed then got back into bed.
Sleep did come for Lorin finally, but
horrible dreams filled the rest of her night.
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At precisely 5:00 a.m. the next morning
her phone rang, jolting Lorin out of her sleep.
“Hello?” she answered groggily, her
voice low.
From the other end of the line all she
heard was dead air.
“Hello?” she asked again, but received
no reply.
At the exact moment she moved the phone
away from her ear, Lorin heard what sounded
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like the tip of a fingernail scratch across a
microphone.
She glanced at the caller ID display.
Unknown number Unknown name.
Lorin spoke again, this time nearly
hurling her words at the caller.
“Ahhh...hello!?” she demanded, pressing
the her lips directly against the mouthpiece.
Enough was enough. “Who is this?”
Anxiously, Lorin waited for a response.
She was certain that this was no bill
collector, sales call, survey, or telemarketer.
After a brief moment, Lorin heard static
interference and another fingernail scratch.
Then...Lorin wasn‟t sure if her
imagination was running away with her in the
haze of early morning sleepiness, but she was
almost certain someone chuckled. A menacing,
distorted chuckle.
This was no recording of any kind. Lorin
was now positive that there was someone on the
other end of the line.
Lorin raised the volume of her voice by a
whole decibel.
“Look! Whoever you are...STOP calling
my phone!”
Without hesitation and with great
irritation Lorin hung up quickly and flipped
over in bed, determined to go back to sleep for
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another hour.
Little did she know as she nestled
underneath the warmth of her covers, that she
would wake up later to forces that would change
her life forever.
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Chapter Two
Placette County, February 1979
When sixty year old Ethel Wilkins heard
the loud boom blast from near the side of the
house, her heart sank. Sitting at the piano in
the front room that cold February night, she
knew...before ever sliding the piano bench
behind her to stand, that her husband was dead.
By the time Placette County Constable
Joseph Kilvarin‟s rear wheel drive topped the
snowy hill at the driveway of the Wilkens
residence, he‟d already been delayed by hours
due to impassible roads caused by ice and snow.
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By now rigor would have already set in,
but the freezing temperature decelerated the
process as Jebodi Wilkens lifeless body lay
face down, covered in sheets of snow.
Leaving the vehicle running with the
headlights illuminating the carport, Joseph
began to walk near Jebodi‟s parked yellow
Chevy. Immediately he spotted Jebodi‟s muck
boots, the right one almost completely hanging
off of Jebodi‟s foot.
Layers of packed snow crunched underneath
Joseph‟s feet as he inched closer. Approaching
the back of the truck slowly, he directed his
Kel-light above Jebodi‟s boots, up the back of
his legs, then up his buttocks and back,
finally to rest on Jebodi shoulders and the
back of his head.
“Christ, Jeb...” Constable Kilvarin
uttered, shaking his head pitifully as he
examined the hollow area adjacent the side of
Jebodi‟s bloodied left ear. Illuminating the
immediate area around him, Joseph scanned the
snowy ground saturated with blood; his
flashlight catching fragments of Jebodi‟s flesh
and bone splattered about.
Behind him, the constable positioned the
light beam towards the clearing further out on
the north end of the Wilkens property...in the
direction that the gunshot would have come
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from. While he could not see them, he heard
Jebodi‟s dogs barking out behind the back
fence.
With the weather forecast having promised
more snow, and faced with a full night ahead;
adding to that the challenge of having limited
resources and manpower, Joseph knew before the
case was officially opened that it would be a
tough one.
On the front porch, Ethel pulled her coat
tightly around her. Guttural moans formed in
the back of her throat, escaping between her
lips in an agonizing plea to her Father God.
“Stay in the house, Miss Ethel!”
Constable Kilvarin yelled, standing up quickly
to make his way back to his vehicle to call in
the coroner.
“My sympathies, Miss Ethel. Jebodi was a
good man.” Constable Kilvarin said as he
entered the Wilkens home, shaking the snow off
of his hat.
“Don‟t you worry, we plan to do all we
can to find the man who did this to your
husband.” He said to Ethel who she sat rocking
and crying on the piano bench.
Try...they did. Find the murderer...they
did not. The weather conditions in Placette
County proved to be their greatest obstacle.
With an entire day of snowy weather, and ice
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and snow that continued to blanket the roads
the night of the murder, all tracks had been
covered several times over.
Situated almost three-hundred miles north
of Cedar View, in the beautiful rural hill
region of Placette County, the Wilken‟s home
sat on a stretch of land near what would later
become neighbor to the burgeoning suburbs of
Cedar View.
With their home being so far away from
the main road...so far away from everyone else,
no one except Ethel heard the fatal shot.
Jebodi Wilken‟s murder would become a Placette
County cold case.
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One week later, eight-year-old Lorin
Wilkens jumped up from the front room floor
where she‟d been laying near the piano on an
egg crate foam pallet covered by two contoured
sheets and three hand-made quilts. Quickly,
she sprinted into her grandmother‟s bedroom.
Throwing her body on the firm softness of
her nana‟s high post bed, she quickly announced
that Pappa and Bruce were on the other side of
the bedroom door and were about to walk inside
any second now. “They were right behind me!”
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she assured.
Ethel Wilkins moved her horn rimmed
glasses away from her face and laid them in the
fold of the bible sitting on her lap; her mouth
stopped short of gaping open. She stared at
her precious granddaughter, searching her face
for a hint of the truth.
“How do you know that, baby?” Ethel
probed gingerly, knowing that Lorin was a
serious child who was not prone to make up
stories.
“I saw them. They walked in through the
front door, right past the fireplace. Pappa
said What are you doing on that cold floor?”
“He did, huh? Maybe you thought you saw
him?”
“No I was wide awake. He was holding his
hunting gun and wore that red checkered shirt
that he wears. Bruce was right with him
wagging his tail. I told Pappa that I was
drawing a picture but I was supposed to be in
here with you already. He said Is that right?
I told him Yes sir. Then I got up and ran in
here… and they were right behind me.” Lorin‟s
eyes never left the door. She was waiting for
Pappa and Bruce to walk in.
Ethel took a long hard look at the child
sitting on the bed, wide-eyed, with her legs
crossed tightly. She knew, without saying
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another word, that Lorin was telling the truth.
With her jaw tightly clenched, Ethel
eased off of the bed, gently placing her socked
feet into her slippers. Stepping off of the
rug onto the cool, smoothly waxed wooden floor,
she positioned herself so that she could
examine the doorway opening…giving herself just
enough space to get a clear view into the front
room.
There was absolutely no one on the other
side of the door, no one walking through the
doorway, and because Jebodi Wilkens had been
buried underneath Cedar View‟s rich red soil
the week before, he would never be seen again.
The likelihood of Bruce being in the
house was slim to none. Like several times
before, he had somehow dug a hole under the
fence and Ethel figured he had probably lost
his way in the cold.
“Here, lay down!” Ethel drew the sheet
back for Lorin. “There‟s nothing out there,
baby. I think you probably miss your pappa and
in your mind you thought you were really seeing
him. And Bruce, well he got under that fence
again, but I‟m sure he‟ll be back soon. He
always finds his way home. Go on and lay down.
Everything‟s alright.”
Confused, but unable to express how she
felt about what she saw, Lorin leaned back into
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the lavender scented pillow as Ethel fought for
a comfortable position on her side of the bed;
her larger body weighing down the mattress,
causing Lorin‟s side of the bed to shift
slightly.
“Night Nana.” Lorin whispered quietly.
“Night baby. Get you some sleep, hear?”
That‟s exactly what Lorin tried to do,
but night noises, cracking walls, shifting wood
and the wind howling against the window kept
her ears tuned in.
Swimming through the air, her Aunt
Tessa‟s words from her Pappa‟s funeral floated
around her head. „Go ahead…’ she could hear
her say „…Touch his face. There’s nothing to
be scared of…‟
To Lorin, there had been plenty to be
scared of. Just a week before, Jebodi Wilken‟s
dulled ashen skin was stretched over his face
severely, resembling an exaggerated wax dummy
rendition of himself…looking nothing like the
man she just saw in the front room moments
before. Her Aunt Tessa had softly grabbed
Lorin‟s hand in an attempt to place it on
Jebodi‟s cheek to make Lorin less afraid. But
Lorin had quickly snatched it back. She had
been very afraid.
Finally, Lorin willed Aunt Tessa‟s voice,
as well as all the night noises, to be silent
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and closed her eyes. Next to her, Ethel was
already sleeping.
With her eyes still closed, she started
counting backwards from one-hundred. She hoped
that she would be asleep before reaching fifty.
Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight. Ninety-
seven. Her limbs were starting to relax and
felt heavy. Seventy-three...seventy-
two...seventy-one... It was working. Sixty-
one...sixty...
And on she counted.
Fifty-six...Fifty-five...Fifty-four.
Until.
Fifty-three...
Something happened.
Fifty-Two...
Ethel‟s porch light gave off just enough
soft glow through the bedroom window to allow
Lorin‟s closed eyes to detect dim light in the
dark room.
That‟s when she felt it; the gentle brush
of air disturbed in an enclosed space. The kind
of brush one feels when a person quickly walks
past.
Then she saw it.
Slowly, a dark shadowy silhouette flashed
across her closed right eye, then the left.
Lorin‟s imagination ran wild with visions of
monsters, but her matured senses told her that
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it was a person, even though she was too afraid
to open her eyes and see.
Lorin instinctively felt that Ethel was
still lying next to her.
Now becoming more frightened, Lorin found
that she could not call out to her grandmother.
Paralyzed, she tried to reach out to touch
Ethel, but her arm wouldn‟t budge.
Lorin‟s little eyes followed the darkness
from underneath her closed lids, holding her
breath in horror while she waited for it to
make a sound.
Suddenly the black flashes stopped.
Stifling the urge to scream, Lorin
played the words of the Lord‟s prayer in her
head. Our Father who art in Heaven…
Something was there; it was not her
grandfather. It was not Jebodi Wilkens.
Minutes passed and Lorin finally summoned
the nerve to open her eyes, scanning the room
slowly. All was still and quiet.
“Nana?!...” Lorin called.
Lorin touched Ethel softly. Ethel did
not stir. “Nana…are you awake?”
With a little more force, Lorin shook
Ethel. “Nana...I‟m scared.”
Where Ethel had been holding the covers
near her heavy bosom, her stiff fingers
clutched the sheet tightly and never lost their
P a g e | 31
grip. Repeatedly, Lorin nudged Ethel‟s
shoulders. “Nana please wake up?”
...And on Lorin tried to rouse her
grandmother, repeatedly shaking Ethel.
Lorin‟s desperate plea went unanswered.
Ethel never moved and never opened her
eyes again.
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Silent Fifty-Two
Coming 2009
For more info, check out the website:
www.insidetheinvisiblebox.com
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