A Dark Secret Past Part Three

 

            Roger rolled onto his left side to see the clock and realize that it was only seven in the morning, “oh good,” he thought, “I can sleep for another hour because it is Saturday.” Flopping onto his back he stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep and thankfully woke up when the clock struck eight. He slowly sat up, put on his slippers, shuffled into the bathroom to empty his bladder, and staggered down the stairs to find himself some breakfast.

               After finishing his meal, he sat on the step outside the back door and stared into the wild, untamed forest that surrounded his home. “You know, I really should draw up a map and explore every inch of these ten acres,” he thought. “Alright, wash the dishes, get dressed, create the map, and start looking around the property.”

               Slipping outside after changing into his work clothes, he took notes as he walked around the perimeter of his property and as he reached the back northwest corner, he discovered a small cemetery of six graves each with a plaque showing a birthday, the day of death and a full name of the deceased. “Oof, this is not right,” he thought, “alright Roger, take lots of pictures so this is documented before the FBI begins exhuming whoever is buried here, I can only assume that these graves belong to some of the children who formerly lived in the orphanage.”

               He stepped back from the small cemetery took several wide range photos and a photo of each plaque and each gravesite. He then filled in the details on the hand created map he was carrying. Continuing on his way around the perimeter, he found nothing more than wild untamed forest, fallen and decaying trees, wild blackberry bushes, and a long-ago abandoned garden site. “Okay, Roger, get inside and place a phone call to the FBI regarding what you’ve found,” he said out loud.

               After completing his perimeter check, he walked through his front door, took off his shoes, grabbed a beer from the fridge, sat at his kitchen counter, placed his phone call and was connected to one of the agents who had formerly documented the activity in his basement. “Hello, this is Roger,” he said, “after I got up this morning, I made the decision to do a complete walk through of my property and I came across a small cemetery with six gravesites with plaques containing dates and names, you really should send out a team to figure out what happened here.”

               “Very good, thank you for calling, Roger,” the agent said. “Because it is the weekend, we should be able to have team arrive sometime Tuesday afternoon. This is a troubling development we did not expect to receive, we’ll see you on Tuesday.” Roger said goodbye and hung up the phone.

               “Ugh, this is a horrible discovery on my part,” he thought, “after all that was found in the basement, I hoped that this was all completed and I did not expect to uncover more criminal activity. I’ve got almost three full days to wait to have this resolved. I think I’ll spend some time cleaning the house before I go to bed tonight, and I’ll probably search through the basement again.”

               After two hours of cleaning and one hour of basement exploration, Roger sprawled himself out on the living room floor, his mind was a swirl of possibilities about the cause and reason for six gravesites in his woods. “I guess I’ll learn the details after the FBI does their work, I hope that this is not related to any kind of plague or disease,” he thought, “based on what those black and white photos showed, and the history of child trafficking, I can only assume that these children died from abuse.”

               Pulling himself to his feet, he began searching through the freezer and the cupboards to put together dinner for himself. “Man, this really sucks that I eat every meal by myself, I should probably try to make some connections in the community,” he thought, “maybe I’ll start attending a local church, those tend to be good places to meet people.”

               He finished his dinner early, changed into business casual clothing, found his car keys, and drove the distance into town to familiarize himself with the businesses, the churches, and the homes. He paused as he reached the end of his driveway and confirmed that the gate closed before he disappeared from sight. After a thirty-minute drive, he discovered three churches, took note of the addresses and vowed to himself that he would visit one each week to see which contained friendly people, and return to the one that was the highest quality.

               He returned home, punched in his key code to pass through the wrought iron gate, slipped inside and began a thorough online search of the three churches to see their start times. He walked upstairs, changed into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and sat on his front porch to relax and unwind, enjoying the peace and solitude of the outdoors. Based on the start times that he uncovered, he set his alarm and woke up the next morning to the screeching of the alarm, took a quick shower, dressed appropriately, and drove to the first church.

               He was warmly welcomed as he entered the Methodist church to sit through thirty minutes of a rock band playing ‘worship music’. “Ugh, this is not what I expected a Methodist church to be like,” he grumbled. The music performance ended and a man in jeans and a polo shirt stood in front and delivered a motivational speech. The service ended and Roger spent about fifteen minutes chatting with a few people, giving a few details about his remodeled home, his non-religious past, and his desire to connect with people in the community.

               He said goodbye to the few people with whom he interacted, returned home, and put together a lunch as he was starving after missing breakfast. The next day of work passed by, and a few hours of Tuesday passed by, when he heard the alarm from the front gate sound. “Ah, that must be the FBI,” he said as he hurried to the video feed to see two FBI vehicles, a truck and trailer carrying a small excavator. He then replied and opened the gate for them to enter.

               He greeted them as they pulled up in front of his home, to then direct them to the location of the small cemetery. From his kitchen window, he could see the crew of workers navigating through the forest, giving him a few moments to put together his lunch and hope that they would quickly finish their work and provide an explanation for the existence of the six gravesites.

               He finished eating his lunch and heard a knock on his front door, prompting him to hurry out to be informed that they had completed exhuming the six gravesites and would have details and an explanation for him by the end of the week. “Thank you so much,” Roger said, “I was really disappointed to find such a disturbing scene, I had really hoped that all of this criminal activity had been uncovered and resolved.”

               He watched the two vehicles and the truck and trailer depart down his driveway. “Alright then, Roger,” he said, “I’ll have no answers until at least Friday, that is disappointing.” He finished his week worth of work, made mental plans to visit the second church which was non-denominational, set his alarm so that would have enough time to prepare himself and arrive on time.” His last day of work for the week nearly came to an end when the FBI called him to confirm that yes, the gravesite did belong to six children but they had yet to determine the cause of death.

               Sunday morning arrived much faster than he anticipated, and he sat through another service very similar to the Methodist service. When the sermon was complete, he spent a few minutes interacting with a few people, excused himself and hurried home to put together a lunch. “Well, that was disappointing,” he grumbled, “at this point, I have no desire to return to either one of those churches. There is still the third church to visit, so one more week of work and then hopefully this third church is radically different than the other two.”

               Pulled from his sleep on Sunday morning, he showered, dressed appropriately, drove to the third church and was warmly welcomed by modestly dressed men and women, the women all wore head coverings, and upon entering the sanctuary, he realized that there was nothing upon which to sit. There were numerous candles all throughout the sanctuary, images of people on the walls, and the strong smell of incense, while the leaders of the Church wore long colorful vestments.

               Like everyone else, he stood, watched, and was overwhelmed with joy that this church was radically different than the other two. The service came to an end and several people invited him to stay and enjoy a meal with them. In awe of how friendly everyone was, several tables were loaded with soup, salads, casseroles, desserts and drinks. He spent at least ninety minutes eating and talking with several people, giving the details of his life, his new home, and his hopes for the future.

               When they finished the meal, Roger then shared his feelings and impression of their Church service. “I wanted to share that yours is the third church that I visited and this was a glorious experience, I will certainly be back her next week and hopefully every Sunday thereafter.”

               The head priest then welcomed Roger to return on Wednesday night at six o’clock for their weekly time of teaching. Please feel free to interrupt and ask as many questions as you would like,” he said, “I know that you will find our congregation one of the friendliest group of people anywhere. Will you give me your phone number and physical address? That way we can stay in touch and connected.”

               After six months of consistent attendance, Roger made the decision to be baptized and become a member of this Orthodox Church, thrilled at the kindness and helpfulness of so many of the congregation. The baptismal service ended and the head priest introduced Roger to everyone who was in attendance, to then announce that it would be very important for everyone close to Roger’s age remain and interact so that connections and friendships could be formed.

               After speaking with several people, Roger slipped into a side room, dried off, and dressed in his business casual clothing. As he rejoined the group, three men about his age introduced him to a young lady named Catherine, when Roger saw her, he was in awe of her beauty and elegance. One of the other men pulled Roger to the side and shared that Catherine was unmarried and was greatly desirous of marrying a faithful and godly man.

               Roger and Catherine exchanged phone numbers and after one year of consistent interaction, and multiple dates, Roger took the bold step of buying an engagement ring and asked Catherine to marry him. Catherine dabbed tears from her eyes, gave him an intense hug and said yes. Roger hugged her back with an equal intensity and suggested that they hold a celebration party for their upcoming marriage. “I would like to invite everyone over to my home so we can officially make our declaration, will you help me plan this?”

               “Yes, of course,” Catherine answered.

               Roger and Catherine met with the head priest to discuss the details of their wedding ceremony, and when to invite everyone over to his home to rejoice with them of the upcoming important date. It was decided that the party would be held after ten days, giving the priest the responsibility of sending an email invitation to everyone. Ten days passed, and within thirty minutes of the start time, people began to arrive, prompting Roger to leave the main gate open for ease of entrance.

               An abundance of food was supplied by the older women of the Church, everyone descended into the basement area, followed by great joy and happiness when the announcement was made. Four months from this exact date, the wedding ceremony would be held at the Church and Roger and Catherine would shortly thereafter depart for their honeymoon to Paris, France.

               Ten o’clock came around and Roger watched as the final guests left his home to disappear down the driveway. He closed the gate; he then ordered a mini-home to be delivered as soon as possible and set up upon its arrival. When the mini-home was complete, he made contact with a security company to watch his home while he and Catherine were on their honeymoon.

               With everything in place, Roger and Catherine returned from Paris, France, thanked the security company for their diligent work, closed and locked the mini-home and began dreaming about having children to fill every corner of their home with joy and laughter. Within three months, Catherine announced to Roger that she was pregnant and they could expect their first child to arrive within seven months.

               They immediately began buying everything needed for the care of a child, to watch multiple boxes arrive on their front porch, while one of the empty bedrooms became a nursery. Roger watched as Catherine’s stomach continued to grow larger and larger, prompting him to remind her that she was beautiful and that he could not be any happier that they were able to start a family.

               The following Sunday, Roger watched as the older women in the Church rub Catherine’s stomach with large smiles and words of congratulations. One day before her due date, Roger rushed Catherine to the nearest birth center and excitedly watched his son emerge to receive the name Pavel. By the time that Pavel reached ten months, he began walking and talking, toddling around the church service each week, to be picked up and hugged by numerous people all day.

               Two years passed as Roger and Catherine gave birth to another son named Ivan, then two more years passed as Roger and Catherine gave birth to a daughter named Anastasia. The once quiet and empty Victorian home was now filled with squeals of delight, laughter, and great joy, a new reality that Roger never could have imagined when he first purchased the abandoned orphanage that he would one day convert into a beautiful home.

               Roger kept all of the dark secrets of the former orphanage to himself, knowing that such disturbing stories would sour his wife’s precious heart, not wanting to bring darkness into her soul. The dark stories still tormented his mind and heart, while the sounds of happy children filled every corner of his beautiful home.

               Roger and Catherine lay in bed together with her head resting on his chest, and as he lay there, he knew that it was impossible for him to be any happier than he was at this moment. He began dreaming of the next fifteen years of life at home, as he and Catherine would watch their children grow into responsible and godly teens. With hopefully many grandchildren to eventually arrive when their three children grew into adulthood and marry other godly and responsible young adults.

               Roger was in awe of how radical a change took place within these walls. What was once a place of pain, humiliation, and abuse is now a place of love, safety, and protection with laughter and love filling every room. Waking up after about four hours of sleep, he listened to Catherine gently breathing, thrilled and thoroughly pleased with the incredible improvement his life had taken on over the last several months. Having someone to love, someone to care for, and someone to interact with on a daily basis brought a fullness to his life that he never thought he could enjoy or live.

A Dark Secret Past Part Two

 

            After pouring himself into a full forty hours of work on that week, Roger leaned back in his office chair, looked at the time and realized that he had ten minutes left in his day before he could shut down and focus on something else. He closed the data project he was currently working on and reviewed his email before calling it a day. “Now is a good time for a cold beer,” he said to himself, “maybe I’ll pop down into the basement and see if there is a little project I can take on and finish this weekend.”

               Roger sent off a goodbye email to his team mates, logged off his laptop, walked into the kitchen and retrieved a cold beer from the fridge, sat on his front porch for a few minutes to enjoy the sunshine, the gentle breeze, and the beauty of nature. Beginning with his toes, he relaxed every part of his body working his way up until he reached the base of his neck. He finished his beer, entered the house, dropped the empty bottle in the recycle bin, grabbed his flashlight, and escaped through the back door to enter the basement for a reminder of what needed to be done in that unused space.

               “Wow, it is really dark down here,” he grumbled, “I can easily run some wiring with switches and multiple light fixtures so everything can be more visible, giving me the freedom to thoroughly clean this space.” Immediately to his right was a room that he and the real estate agent viewed before he purchased the property, as he entered that space, he realized that there was an unexplained dead space. The wall immediately to his left and behind started about four feet further out than it should have based on the exterior wall on the opposite side.

               “Hmm, that’s weird,” he said, “this looks like I have the chance to uncover what is happening here.” Carefully viewing the exterior wall, he found multiple screws holding what appeared to be new sheetrock in place. “Alright, time to dig in, take this apart, and see what the former owner was trying to hide.”

               After thirty minutes of deconstruction, he uncovered a stairwell loaded with dust and as he shined his flashlight up the stairs, he saw a human skeleton chained to the wall. “Damn, that is not good,” he thought, “time for a phone call to the FBI about this new revelation. This is crazy, here I thought all of this corruption and criminal activity was completely exposed and addressed.”

               He made the decision to remove all of the false wall that kept the stairwell hidden, creating a pile of broken construction material on the opposite wall to then escape the now very dusty space and place the phone call to the FBI. He dialed the number and after the third ring someone answered, he then introduced himself and asked to speak with the agent who had previously helped him with his previous discoveries. After waiting for about ten minutes of listening to very dated eighties music, an agent addressed him by name and asked about the nature of his call.

               “Ah, very good,” Roger said, “I finished my week of work and thought I would spend some time in the basement and see if there was a small project I could undertake and complete relatively soon. Unfortunately, I discovered a hidden stairwell and after removing the temporary walls that kept it hidden, I discovered a human skeleton chained at the top of the stairs, and no I did not touch anything.”

               “Thank you for the phone call, Roger,” the agent said, “we will send a team of agents on Monday afternoon to review, photograph, and document what you have found. This is disturbing new information; we will resolve this and hopefully allow you to move on with your renovation.”

               “Very good, thank you for sending someone out so quickly,” he said, “I look forward to seeing the agents on Monday and genuinely hope that this new revelation is the last one. I will leave everything as I have found it so that nothing is ruined for your investigation.”

               Roger then returned to his front porch to enjoy the fresh air, the gentle breeze and the beauty of nature, wondering how much time the agents would take in their investigation, so that he could put time into cleaning, organizing, and planning for more restoration and renovation for the basement. “Wow, I am really hungry,” he said to himself, “I think I have some corndogs in the freezer and some fresh fruit to go with it, let’s get that started.”

               He immediately began putting his dinner together and watched as the forest grew dark and cooler, somewhat sickened by the idea that a human skeleton had been chained to the basement wall all of this time that he had lived here. After finishing his meal, he escaped once again to the front porch to enjoy the peace, the silence, and the glory of nature for nearly an hour. He repeatedly caught himself falling asleep and occasionally drooling to then force himself to take a shower, and go to bed before it became too late.

               He slept late into the next morning, ate a robust breakfast, and made the decision to walk the perimeter of his property while it was warm with a gentle breeze. He paused at the edge of his driveway, wondering if hiring someone to build a fence and a gate would be wise to keep unwanted visitors from violating his private space. “Yes, I think that is a great idea,” he said to himself, “I suppose I should wait and see how long the FBI needs to complete this investigation and take some more time for myself to clean and organize the basement.”

               He spent the rest of his weekend, relaxing and thinking about how to use the space in the basement and when to start with seeking out a contractor to build the fence and gate. The memories of the middle age man who approached him so many weeks about buying a child still haunted his heart and mind. “You know, if I put up a gate and fence that would cut off every opportunity to catch more people like that, so maybe I’ll wait a couple of months and see if anyone else approaches my home.”

               Roger finished the first few hours of the following Monday and shortly after one o’clock, he heard the crunching of tires on gravel on his driveway, pulling himself from his desk, he greeted the two FBI agents as they approached his front door. “Go ahead and walk around to the back, I’ll meet you at the entrance to the basement,” he said. Passing through his home, he opened the oversized cellar door and led the two agents into the semi-darkness of the basement, gave them a brief explanation how he discovered the stairwell, and then informed them that they were free to explore, photograph and do whatever they needed to do, because he needed to continue working in his office.

               He jumped when he heard his name called out to realize that they had been working for almost three hours, he answered the call, walked outside, and asked if there was anything he needed to do or not do. “Do you have everything you need from the scene of the crime, and if not, will you be coming back to finish your investigation?”

               “Yes, we have everything that we need at this point,” one of the agents said, “we have no need to return, we have taken many photographs and have taken the bones from the stairwell, I wanted to clarify that the bones belonged to a child. You have the freedom to clean the dusty and dirty space if you so desire. Please call us again if anyone else shows up at your door seeking to buy a child from you.”

               Roger shook hands with both agents and watched them drive away.

               In what became a regular pattern, every Friday afternoon came around and he was approached by a different middle-aged man with a handful of cash, seeking to buy a child to be used and abused and then returned. This interaction took place six different times over the next six Fridays and after each event, Roger called the FBI, reported the incident, supplied surveillance footage, a description of the car, the license plate number, and a description of the man.

               One week after the sixth incident report, he was notified that all six men had been arrested, their computer and internet activity was seized which resulted in the arrest of thousands of individuals across the country. Three days later, an FBI agent appeared at his front door thanking him for being diligent and thorough in his attention to detail and his assistance with shutting down so many child abuse rings across the country.

               “Yes, of course,” he answered, “this kind of activity needs to be crushed, stopped, and brought to justice, anyone who would intentionally harm a child needs to be locked away from normal society.”

               “Very good, Roger, and thank you again,” the agent said. “We really hope that you will receive no more people like this but if you do, please don’t hesitate to contact us again, we will stay actively focused on this and bring these men to justice.”

               He watched as the FBI vehicle drove away and knew that he was now in a position to find a contractor to build his fence and gate, giving him the freedom to enjoy the beauty of his surroundings without having to be concerned about these horrible people invading and destroying his peace. By the end of the next week, he began a conversation with a contractor to build a fence across the front of his property and a wrought iron gate to block his driveway, he also asked for a communication device to be installed with a video camera so he could see and speak with whoever was seeking entrance.

               Three weeks of work by the contractor flowed by without incident, giving Roger the opportunity to review that everything was solid and safe and to pay for the work that had been completed. Four days after the gate and fence were completed, a delivery service rang for his attention which gave him the first chance to test the video feed and the auto control opener from inside his home. Thankful for a problem free interaction, he watched as the delivery vehicle approached the front of his house, he met the delivery worker and received his package.

               He watched the vehicle disappear down the driveway to then walk out and close the gate with his handheld remote.

               “Okay then,” he thought, “now I can get started with finishing the space in the basement. Time to make a few phone calls to some contractors.”

               He slowly walked back into his home, entered the basement with a notebook, sketched out the space and began jotting down ideas for how to make best use of this massive emptiness. “Oh, I know, I’ll make this center space a game room type of area, I’ll have someone build a wine cellar, a sauna, finish the newly discovered stairwell to open up into the living room, and have a contractor rebuild the exterior entrance so that it is weather proof and beautiful.”

               Three months of noisy construction passed, leaving Roger feeling very good about the quality of work that was being done and giving him the opportunity to make a large-scale purchase of wine. Now that the sauna was complete, he began to gather firewood from his property. The bookshelf in the living room hid the entrance to the basement, which he had the contractor rebuild to adjust to slide to one side, using a weighted system to make the transition as effortless as possible.

               Thrilled at the now fully complete and remodeled home, he spent an entire afternoon walking from room to room on every floor, in awe of the shiny beauty he now owned, realizing that his dream of owning a glorious Victorian home had become a reality.

A Dark Secret Past

 

                Completely out of character, Roger bought a lottery ticket with the idea in mind that “someone has to win”, after dinner he sat down in front of his laptop and began searching for the winning numbers to realize that he held the winning numbers in his hand. “Wow, what am I going to do with two million dollars?” he wondered.

               “I’ve always wanted a Victorian type mansion, now that dream seems like a possibility, time to do some searching around the nation for a home that I can purchase and remodel,” he thought. After spending a few minutes scouring the internet, he found a real estate agent that specialized in these types of homes and gave her a phone call to learn that an abandoned orphanage was for sale outside of a small town in Georgia. After speaking with the agent for a few minutes, the decision was made to fly down, meet the agent at her office and they would drive together to view the building which sat on ten acres and was surrounded by hundreds of acres of forest.

               The next day, he contacted the lottery office, received his money, deposited it into his bank account, and bought a plane ticket to fly to Georgia to meet the agent and view the property. Tingling with excitement when he landed at the nearest international airport, he ordered an Uber to arrive at his hotel to then check in, and enjoy a hot meal at the restaurant connected to the hotel.

               Now with a full stomach, he returned to his room, checked his watch and realized that he had less than two hours to travel to the real estate agency. He set his alarm to enjoy a one-hour nap, placed an order for another Uber and waited outside the hotel entrance for his ride to arrive. Upon entering the real estate office, he was invited into the agent’s private office to look at photos and details of the property. “Wow, this looks great,” he said, “how long will it take for us to drive out there?”

               “It is about a thirty-minute drive to the property,” she said, “the setting is beautiful but the building is in need of a great deal of restoration. When we arrive, we can walk through every room and the ten acres so you have a good feel and vision of what is needed.”

               “Okay then,” he said, “let’s get going right away, I have wanted the opportunity to buy and restore a Victorian type home for several years now. How long has the building been vacant?”

               “As you saw from the listing, it was formerly an orphanage and was abandoned about fifty-five years ago when the last children were adopted out,” she said, “the sale price is one hundred and twenty-nine thousand, I would guess you’ll need about double that to completely remodel the building.”

               Roger and the agent exited the agency through the back door, climbed into her car and began the thirty-minute drive through what seemed to be an endless forest. They reached the driveway and drove for another ten minutes through more forest to then stop in front of a terribly dilapidated building. Roger stepped out of the car and carefully scanned over the front of the building, making mental notes about what needed to be done to the exterior and together they walked around the building, giving him the opportunity to write down what he observed.

               Upon returning to the front door, the agent opened the lock box, unlocked the door and they entered the dark, dusty, and foul-smelling building to see no furniture, no appliances, and no curtains. Roger pulled out a notebook and began sketching the size, shape and layout of the interior to also jot down what needed to be repaired or replaced. They drifted through each room on the main floor and ascended the stairs to the second floor as he continued to sketch and take notes.

               “Am I correct in understanding that there is a basement here?” he asked.

               “Yes, there is a basement,” she said, “but the only entrance is from the outside in the back. Let’s be very thorough as we work through the main floor and the second floor. I wanted to mention that there are some rooms in the basement that are locked, which prevents us from viewing them.”

               “Okay, I believe I’ve thoroughly sketched out both floors and have made notes regarding what needs to be repaired or replaced, so let’s go outside and enter the basement, this is a very large building, I am feeling very positive about making this purchase,” he said.

               They descended the stairs, entered the kitchen, and exited through the rear door to find the cellar door entrance to begin their descent below ground. Pulling a small flashlight from his pocket, they trudged down the stairs and drifted through the open space of the basement to find a great deal of abandoned junk, broken furniture, rusty bedframes and rusty cribs. “Wow, this is crazy,” he said, “who currently owns this property?”

               “Right now, the state of Georgia is the current owner,” she said, “considering the size of the home and the amount of property included, if you make a full price offer, I am certain that they will accept it. I am excited to see the restoration work you will do on this building; it has a great deal of potential to be a beautiful home.”

               Roger sketched another outline of the basement placing question marks inside the rooms they were unable to view. “Okay, this is great,” he said, “I would like to walk around the property and see the forest, the landscape, and the wildlife.” After spending thirty minutes walking the property, they returned to the agent’s car and drove back to the office to begin the paperwork and make a full price offer. “Very good, Roger,” she said, “I’ll send the offer right now and I can provide you some names of contractors who can give you bids for the work that needs to be done.”

               “Excellent,” Roger said, “that question has been plaguing me since I first arrived, thank you for providing those names. Do you have any idea how quickly the seller will respond? I will be in town through tomorrow afternoon.”

               “Yes, like I said before, because it is a full price offer, they should respond immediately,” she said. “I have your phone number; I can give you a ride back to your hotel and I’ll call you as soon as they respond.”

               “If they accept my offer, I can always stay another day and meet with the contractors before I fly back home to the west coast,” he said. The agent disappeared down the hallway, returned smiling, and shook his hand, suggesting that now would be a good time to take him back to his hotel. As they drove the few minutes, Roger noticed a coffee kiosk only two blocks from the hotel. The agent parked immediately in front of the main entrance, he climbed out, thanked her for the ride, and said, “talk to you soon.”

               He entered the foyer, took the elevator to his room, flopped back on his bed and reviewed his sketches and notes, feeling excited and thrilled about this new chapter in his life. Vigorously rubbing his face, he took the elevator down to the main floor and walked the two blocks to purchase himself a coffee. Struggling to make a decision about what flavor to add to his hot drink, he placed his order, left a generous tip, slipped outside and enjoyed sitting in the warm sun and gentle breeze.

               He finished his caffeinated drink, and slowly walked back to the hotel to once again review his notes. Three hours passed and he received a phone call from the agent, informing him that the state of Georgia accepted his full price offer. “That is excellent news,” he said, “I’ll rent a car and stop by your office in a few minutes to sign the necessary paperwork.”

               “Very good, I’ll see you soon,” she said. “I’ll have the names and phone numbers of the contractors we discussed earlier.” Roger hung up the phone, began skimming the internet for the closest car rental agency, made the call and walked the six blocks to retrieve his reserved vehicle.

               With his mind and heart in a swirl of excitement and thrill, he drove to the real estate agency, parked nearby, walked in the front door and asked for a few minutes with his agent. “Yes, sir, give me a minute and I’ll call her to let her know that you are here,” the receptionist said.

               Within a few minutes, the agent invited him back into her office and presented him with a stack of papers to sign. “Also,” she said, “here are the contractors and their phone numbers. I would strongly recommend that you call them today and hopefully they can meet you tomorrow to review the work that needs to be done.”

               “Excellent, thank you so much,” he said as he signed his name forty-seven times on the stack of documents. The agent thanked him for making contact and for closing the deal so quickly, I’ll send off these documents to the current owner so that they know the deal is closed. I will also retrieve the keys for the building and provide the names of the power company, the garbage company, and the water company so you can take care of setting up those accounts.

               Within fifteen minutes the agent returned, confirming that the documents had been sent to the former owner and provided him with the aforementioned information and the keys. He and she shook hands, Roger returned to his hotel and began making phone calls to the contractors to set up times to meet to receive bids for the necessary work.

               The following morning, he arrived thirty minutes before the agreed upon time to give himself time to once again review the entire building. “I am so curious to see the locked rooms in the basement and hopefully not discover anything terrible or dangerous,” he thought.

               He spent twenty-five minutes re-walking through all three floors, reminding himself of all that needed to be repaired or replaced. He returned to the front porch and waited for the first contractor to arrive. They began with a bid for a new roof and new windows.  The two men shook hands and Roger watched the contractor drive away, to then wait for another thirty minutes for the second contractor to arrive.

               “Oh, yeah, let’s take a look at those locked rooms,” he said to himself. He hurried outside, descended into the basement through the cellar door, unlocked the first room, pushed his way through a great amount of debris to find that there were chains and shackles on one wall, and a pile of human bones in a far corner, to be assaulted by an overpowering stench of something dead.

               He backed out of the first room, unlocked the second room to find nothing but a few boxes of black and white photos, he slipped on his gloves and began thumbing through the photos to realize that the photos were of children being abused, causing a feeling of vomit to rise in his throat. “Wow, this is terrible,” he thought, “I need to get back upstairs and meet with the next contractor and make some phone calls to the FBI about what I’ve found.”

               The second contractor arrived and they discussed the restoration of woodwork, the restoration of the wood floors, and the restoration of all the interior doors. The two men shook hands, he received the paperwork, and he watched the second contractor depart. Roger glanced at his watch to understand that he had at least an hour before the third contractor would meet with him.

               “Okay, time for that phone call,” he said to himself as he searched for the phone number for the FBI. “Hello,” he said, “I just purchased a building in southern Georgia, a building that was formerly an orphanage and I discovered some very troubling devices and photos in the basement, can you please send a team of agents so we can discuss what to do about this?”

               “Yes, sir, of course, please tell me the address, so our agents can arrive as soon as possible,” she said.

               As he hung up the phone, the third contractor arrived and they walked through the first and second floor to discuss electrical work, plumbing work, hanging wallpaper, and painting. The contractor sat down, filled out the forms and presented them to Roger. The two men shook hands, Roger said he would be in contact and waved as the third contractor departed.

               Another hour passed and three vehicles appeared in front of his new residence, he walked out onto the porch, welcomed the FBI agents and invited them to follow him into the basement to show them what he discovered. Many photographs were taken; the boxes of photos were confiscated and placed into one of the vehicles.

               “Thank you for calling us, sir,” one of the agents said, “these are truly disturbing devices and photos, we will do all we can to determine what took place here, and who was responsible for this deviant activity.”

               “I wanted to clarify that when I purchased the building, I was told that the current owner was the state of Georgia, so hopefully that will make your research work that much easier,” he said, “seeing photos like this literally made me want to vomit. I genuinely hope you can find those who are responsible for this abuse. I hope these children have recovered and get the help they need to live normal lives.”

               “Thank you for sharing that,” the agent said, “we will contact you if we need any more information but now that we have taken plenty of photographs and have confiscated the boxes of photos, we are definitely in a good position to move forward and convict those responsible for this.”

               Roger stood on his front porch and watched the three FBI vehicles leave his property. He sat down in the sunshine, reviewed the three bids from the three contractors and began to wonder about how to proceed with this work of restoration. “Wow, it is starting to get dark already,” he thought, “I need to return this car, get to the hotel, check out and catch my flight home, then I can make some phone calls to schedule this work to be done.”

               Having completed his required tasks, he took the four-hour flight home, drove to his current home, parked in his garage, prepared a quick, easy meal to then relax for a few days. He slept well that evening, made three phone calls the next morning, scheduled a time for all three contractors to begin their work, requested vacation time, and purchased airline tickets to return to Georgia at the right time to oversee the work to be completed.

               He arrived at his newly purchased residence after settling into his hotel and was thrilled to see the contractors beginning their work, new roof, new windows, restored woodwork, restored floors, restored interior doors, fresh paint, new wallpaper, and updated plumbing and electrical. After a full week of work, he set up his accounts with the power company, the water company, and the garbage company, giving him time to carry the junk out of the basement to be thrown into a large dumpster that had been delivered that day.

               Now that he lived across the country from his current place of employment, he requested permission to work remotely as he truly loved his job, his co-workers, and his glorious, beautiful new home. The thought of the abuse that had taken place in this building made him feel ill and troubled at the pain and humiliation the children underwent at some time in the recent past.

               Now that the restoration work was complete, he contacted a real estate agent in his home town, listed his house for sale, contacted a moving company to gather all of his things to be delivered to his new home. Standing alone in the silence of a four-thousand square foot house, he marveled at how beautiful the building had become, now clean, bright, shiny, and comfortable.

               He contacted the local agent, invited her to come see the completed work and when she arrived, he thanked her for her hard work and informed her that he would be selling his current home and bringing all of his belongings here within the next few days. They walked through the main floor and the second floor and he watched her drive away, giving him the opportunity to take a flight home to pack up his belongings, wait for the moving company to arrive, to load everything, and drive it across the country to his new residence.

               As was expected, he arrived an hour before the moving company, and watched as everything was carried inside and placed in the appropriate rooms. “Alrighty then,” he said, “set up the bathroom first, then the kitchen, then the bedroom, and then the rest of the house, wow, this is really amazing, everything is so quiet, so big, and so peaceful. I guess I’m not really in a hurry, I can take my time with what needs to be done first.”

               In awe of the beauty of his main floor and second floor, the ugliness and the abuse that took place in the basement still haunted him. “I wonder if the FBI will be calling me at some point? I don’t think I’ll need to do anything in the basement because I have plenty of space on the main floor and the second floor. I don’t recall seeing any neighbors close by, I wonder if anyone will approach me now that I’ve restored everything and moved in?”

               The crunching of tires on gravel caught his attention, prompting him to step onto the front porch to see a single FBI vehicle park in front of his house. Two agents emerged from the vehicle, greeted him, and clarified that they needed to take a few more photos in the basement.

               “Yes, of course,” he answered, “I have completely remodeled the main floor and the second floor, but have done nothing in the basement other than throw away all of the junk and debris. Will you be removing the human bones from the one room, I would feel a lot better if they were not there any longer.”

               “We will take many photos and we will remove the bones,” one of the agents said. “I wanted to clarify that we have found those responsible for the abuse of these children, four of them have since died and two of them have been arrested and put into prison. From what we have learned, when they finally closed down this orphanage, it was not because the last few children were adopted out, instead they were sold to child traffickers, leaving this building with no purpose.”

               Sickened at the thought of someone selling a child to be trafficked to complete strangers to be abused made him rage within. “Oh,” he thought, “I need to update the sign out front so that the property is recognized as a private residence, also I need to install a few surveillance cameras around the property.” He bought a can of paint and some sandpaper while he was in town and immediately started working on updating the sign. When the work was complete, he hurried inside and placed an order for surveillance cameras to be delivered as soon as possible.

               Within three days the package arrived on his front porch and he immediately got to work, choosing to view the front porch, the back door, and a high view of the front driveway, feeding all three video feeds into a spare laptop to be recorded and stored online. Satisfied with the work he completed that day, he quickly put together a dinner of ramen noodles, fresh fruit, and an ice-cold beer. As he finished his dinner, he heard tires crunching on the gravel in front of his house and within two minutes someone knocked on his door. He opened the door to see a middle-aged man with a handful of cash.

               “Hello,” the man said, “I was given this address and was told that there is a child here that I could buy for several hours and then return when I am done with her.”

               “Sorry, no,” Roger said, “this property is now a private residence, you received very old information that is no longer relevant.” As the man walked away, Roger memorized the car and the license plate number, locked the door behind him, and placed a phone call to the FBI describing the interaction that just took place, as well as providing a description of the car, the license number and a description of the man. “I just installed surveillance cameras so all of this can be verified, if you send an agent to my home, I can provide all the details so that this person can be arrested and taken out of public life.”

               Late afternoon the next day, an FBI vehicle approached his home, thanked him for the phone call and assured him that they would aggressively pursue this individual and would keep him updated on their progress. After providing the video feed to the FBI agent, the two men shook hands and Roger watched the car drive away.

               One week later, Roger received a phone call from the FBI informing him that the person in question had been arrested and when they took possession of his computer equipment, they uncovered a massive collection of child pornography and a long list of others who had been purchasing the material from the offender, which resulted in over two hundred more arrests across the country.

               Two days after the phone call, Roger received another FBI agent visit and was passionately thanked for his thoughtfulness and attention to detail. “Because of your good work, we were able to shut down a massive child abuse ring, rescue many children, and arrest a large number of very bad people,” the agent said, “please stay in contact if anyone else approaches you as this man did.”

               “Yes, of course,” Roger said, “people like that need to be removed from the public and punished in a most extreme way.”

               “Thank you for being a good citizen of the United States,” the agent said, “I also wanted to let you know that when we arrested the other two hundred people associated with this man, we also gathered many more names and destroyed many terabytes of child abuse videos. Thank you for your good work, I need to be going now. We at the FBI are so thankful for people like you who are willing to step up and do the right thing.”

Suspended and Confined

            Father Andrew was the third priest at the largest Roman congregation in the city of Boston, which had been established in 1875 and could easily seat almost two thousand people. He had been in this position of authority for approximately five years until allegations began to be made that he was interacting with young children in a manner that made many of the men in the congregation angry.

               It wasn’t until the tenth allegation was made to those in authority of all the Roman churches on the East Coast that he was removed from his role and relocated to a position of authority at an orphanage further south. He found himself both excited and disappointed that he was losing his position as a priest in Boston, for he had developed good relationships with many of the families in the congregation. His excitement came from the potential for access to many children with whom he could interact without anyone interfering in his plans for interaction.

               The orphanage had been without actual leadership for about six months, and was still operating with ten adults overseeing the facility, including nurses, teachers, janitors, and counselors. He was given four days to gather his belongings, communicate the loss of his position as third priest, and move to the orphanage to begin his role of leadership. At the beginning of the fourth day, he began his drive further south and met with those who had continued working to keep the orphanage functioning.

               They were excited to have someone with actual authority in place, they shared that the archdiocese had sent a letter announcing his arrival. They showed him to his apartment, his own private bath, gave him a tour of the facilities, and introduced him to the thirty-five children that currently lived at the orphanage. He and the thirty-five children met in the gymnasium, they all sat on the floor, he introduced himself, and he realized that the children all ranged in age from five years to eleven years.

               After speaking with the children as a group, he communicated his desire to meet with each child one at a time, to learn about them, what they enjoyed, and to understand their dreams for the future. By the end of the second day, he settled into his apartment, organized his office, and began receiving children one at a time to come to understand each one. Each child was given twenty minutes to speak with Father Andrew, as each child entered his office, he welcomed them to sit on his lap and tell him about themselves.

               Father Andrew met with his secretary to schedule visiting time with each child over a period of three days. After each child finished telling him about themselves, he took a photo with them, he watched the child leave his office, giving him ten minutes to write down what they had communicated. The third day of meetings came to an end and he spent the next week carefully reading over his notes, looking at their photos, and made the effort to eat lunch with the group of children each day. Every midday meal was a time of laughter, fun, and interaction, where he made the effort to use their names so that they would feel special and loved.

               After three weeks as the priest in charge of the orphanage, he communicated to the nurses that he would be the one who would be bathing the children every other day, because he said that he wanted them to know that he truly cared for them and wanted to hear more about each child as they moved from one day to the next. They completed their week; he led the Mass for the children and the ten adults at the orphanage. Each Sunday evening, he would hear confessions, and hand out penances for those who had particularly grievous sins and the next Monday afternoon came around, which was the time that he would take on his newly imposed responsibility.

               He had his secretary create a schedule for bath time for all of the children, allotting twenty minutes for each child. Dinner was finished on Monday evening, and he met with the first child for bath time, he took the first child, a little girl of the age of nine into the bathroom, locked the door behind them, undressed the child, turned on the shower and started with washing her hair and then began washing her little body with an abundant amount of soap. After rinsing the child clean, he wiped off the excess water with his bare hands, helped her step out of the bathtub and dried her off.

               “Okay, Maggie,” he said, “we’re going to play a game right now. I need you to lie down on your back.” The little girl looked up at him with her large eyes and obeyed his command. He lifted her knees up and spent the remaining few minutes abusing the little girl as Maggie simply laid there motionless with her eyes closed.

               “You did very well today, Maggie,” he said. “Okay, now we need to put on your pajamas so you can go to bed for the evening, I’ll walk you to your room and tuck you in. We’ll do this again in a few days. I hope you sleep well.”

               After helping Maggie climb into her bed, he kissed her on the forehead, and hurried back to the bathroom to find that the next child was waiting for him with one of the nurses. He thanked the nurse for being prompt and asked her to return in twenty minutes to return the next child to her room and then bring the third child. In the same pattern as with Maggie, the next child was an eight-year-old girl named Agatha, they entered the bathroom, he undressed the child, helped her into the bathtub, washed her hair, and then began washing down her little body with an abundant amount of soap. After rinsing the child clean, he wiped off the excess water with his bare hands, helped her step out of the bathtub and dried her off.

               He then instructed Agatha to lie down on the floor and he proceeded to abuse the little girl for the remaining few minutes. “Okay, Agatha, stand up and now it is time to put on your pajamas and the nurse will take you to your room to sleep for the evening. You did very well today, I hope you sleep well. Remember what we do in here is our secret, do not tell anyone what we did together in here.”

               This pattern of bathing and abusive interaction continued every day for the next six months, leaving Father Andrew thrilled and excited at this wonderful opportunity that had been given to him now that he was no longer connected to the congregation in Boston. It was on the following Wednesday that a letter from the East Coast Roman archdiocese arrived, communicating that he was being removed from his role of leadership at the orphanage. Two hours later, three unmarked black Suburban’s pulled into the orphanage parking lot, accompanied by two police cars. The facility was surrounded by at least twelve men in black suits with drawn weapons and within ten minutes of their arrival, Father Andrew was led out of the building in handcuffs with multiple charges of sexual assault upon minors named against him.

               Two weeks later after spending time in the local police station lockup, he found himself sitting in court, facing a judge, to hear that he was now suspended from all religious activity and leadership and would be spending the next forty years in prison for his crimes against children. The judge placed a one-million-dollar bail upon him, knowing that a dollar amount of that size would be impossible to pay. The next day, Andrew found himself in the nearest prison surrounded by very angry fellow inmates.

               Every day he received a beating from three fellow inmates shortly after the midday meal. With each punch and with each kick, he was reminded that there is no mercy for anyone who abuses a child. After three months of daily beatings, he wrote a letter to the warden of the prison, begging to be placed in solitary confinement, and explaining that he was being beaten every day for his crimes.

               Three days later, he received a letter from the warden explaining that he would not be allowed to escape into solitary confinement, because everyone involved believed that he needed to suffer for his crimes against innocent children. He could feel himself growing older, weaker, and falling deeper into pain every day. By this time most of his teeth had been knocked out of his mouth, several ribs had been broken, and his testicles were being kicked at least six times every day.

               Two days later he received a notice that he had a visitor and needed to report to the first available interrogation room. Confused and curious, he climbed from his bed walked the distance to the main exit and was led to interrogation room number three. He walked in to meet an elderly man wearing clerical garb. The man introduced himself as the bishop of the Roman churches on the East coast. “Andrew, when we transferred you away from the congregation in Boston, we hoped that you would do the right thing,” he said, “our hope was that you would learn from your previous mistakes and sins. Needless to say, we were greatly disappointed when you choose to continue your practice of taking advantage of children and now here you are.”

               “Oh, my goodness,” Andrew said, “I was surprised when you transferred me into a situation like that, I suspected that this was some sort of test upon me, the temptation was far too great.”

               “We placed hidden surveillance cameras inside the orphanage and we have spoken to many of the children that you were abusing,” the bishop said, “you need to understand that your actions have serious damaging effects upon the hearts and minds of children, your level of selfishness and love for pleasure are absolutely reprehensible. There is something else you need to know and understand Andrew, the twelve little girls that you abused during your time at the orphanage all committed suicide when they reached their later teen years and they all left similar notes explaining their hopeless situations. To summarize their message, all of them basically said the same thing. They said that ‘in the time that Father Andrew was leading the orphanage, he abused me during bath time, he took my joy and my innocence, and left me feeling like a mere object to be used for his pleasure.’ Alright, our short visit is now over, go back to your cell.”

               The lunch alarm sounded as Andrew lay on his cot, far too weak to rise to his feet and make the journey to the lunch room. He sat up on the edge of his thin mattress and began coughing up blood with blurry vision and pain through every inch of his body. In less than an hour, his cellmate returned to their cell, gave him an apple, a handful of carrots, and carton of milk.

               “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I am doing this because I like you,” he said, “you are a sick, foolish, corrupt old man and you need to have some food so you don’t die. Remember, everyone here hates you, hates what you have done to innocent children and everyone will be thrilled when you finally expire. I hope you understand the feeling of helplessness right now. This is how these children felt when you were taking advantage of them.”

               Andrew’s cellmate woke up the next morning to find an immobile and silent cellmate after hopping down from his top bunk, the man checked for Andrew’s pulse to find that there was no sign of life. The breakfast alarm was sounded, prompting his cellmate to leave the cell and find the nearest guard to inform him that his cellmate Andrew appeared to be dead when he woke up this morning.

Sitting down with four of his closest friends, he informed them that Andrew had expired during the night, and was ultimately pleased that the sick bastard was finally gone. “Someone who will commit crimes like that does not deserve to live after inflicting that kind of abuse on innocent children,” he said, “the good news is that I’ll have a different cellmate now.” Everyone finished their morning meal and watched as the EMT’s wheeled Andrew’s lifeless corpse out of the building.

“You can know that his victims and their relatives will be glad to know that he finally expired,” someone said, “this is the ultimate justice and a happy ending.” Because Andrew had no one in his life to gather his few belongings, everything that remained in his cell was dispersed among the other inmates. “From what I’ve been told, when someone dies without any known relatives, the state will incinerate the body and scatter the ashes into the ocean,” another inmate said, “thankfully now, his victims and their relatives will be consoled knowing that he is gone without the opportunity to be released to commit further crimes.”

Protection 101 Part Two

 

            Arthur was laying on his couch and thinking about the great work he and his friends had accomplished at the warehouse but a small concern rose in his mind regarding the evidence left behind, possible fingerprints, and if anyone came across the room or the bodies they had buried inside the warehouse. “Phew, we need to do something to make sure that everything we did there cannot be traced back to any of us,” he thought, “time for a phone call to Jonathan.”

               He sat up, retrieved his cellphone from the coffee table to his immediate right, hit speed dial to connect with Jonathan. After two rings, Jonathan answered with a sound of excitement and concern, “Hey Arthur, what’s going on with you? Did you find more pedophiles who will be released soon?”

               “Hi Jonathan, no I have not,” Arthur answered, “I check my sources every few days and it will be at least six months before any criminals like this will be released. I was laying here thinking about the work we did at the warehouse and I came up with the idea of installing surveillance cameras there in case anyone comes across the room or the bodies we buried.”

               “Oh, yes, that is a good idea,” Jonathan answered, “I’ll make some phone calls and see if we can raise some money to buy that equipment, I’ll get on that right away and let you know what is decided in my conversations with the other guys. This might take a couple of days of dialog.”

               Two more days passed and Arthur continued to be troubled by the thought about their work at the warehouse, concerned that their involvement could be exposed, until Jonathan finally called him back with confirmation that everyone agreed with his concerns, and that money had been raised to purchase the surveillance equipment. “That is awesome to hear,” Arthur said, “you and I need to get together as soon as possible, buy the equipment and get it installed, I can connect the video feed to a cellphone that we can leave at the warehouse to provide constant video feedback.”

               “Let’s get together tonight after dinner,” Jonathan said, “I have the money so we can buy what is needed, travel over to the warehouse, get everything installed, and take care of our concerns about exposure.”

               “That would be perfect,” Arthur said, “pick me up at six-thirty, that’ll give us enough time to buy what we need and get it installed in the warehouse.” Arthur finished his dinner by six o’clock, giving him time to think through the details of setting up the equipment, and thirty minutes later Jonathan knocked on his door. The two men climbed into Jonathan’s car, drove to an electronics store, quickly finding what they needed, paid for the equipment and drove across town to the abandoned warehouse, to thankfully find it empty and void of activity.

               While it was still light out, Arthur installed one surveillance camera in the torture room and a second in the warehouse overlooking the area where they had buried the bodies. The cameras were carefully placed, intentionally out of view, the wiring was run from both cameras to the router which fed the two video feeds into the cellphone and after a few minutes Arthur confirmed that the video feeds were fully functional.

               Jonathan parked his car near the main entrance to Arthur’s apartment building. “The cameras are set up to record whenever there is any motion or activity,” Arthur said, “I’ll let you know if there is any activity, let’s hope that no one stumbles across our previous work.” Arthur hurried into his apartment, turned on the video feeds to a separate laptop to happily see no activity.

               At eight o’clock the next evening, his laptop released a ding, pulling him away from the evening news to see that a group of eight middle-aged men had entered the warehouse with a college age girl and a college age young man. Arthur then placed a phone call to Jonathan, urging him to hurry over, pick him up and make a trip to the warehouse because someone was currently making use of the space.

               Jonathan quickly dropped what he was doing, drove as fast as he could to retrieve Arthur, to hurry across town to the abandoned warehouse to enter through a rear door and from a position of obscurity, they watched as the men became violent with the girl and the young man. Three of the older men held cellphones and began recording what hoped would soon take place.

               The young man approached the college age girl and began speaking to her. “Miss, I am sorry that you are going through this,” he said, “I don’t know who these men are, they grabbed me off of the sidewalk and I presume they abducted you as well?” Through uncontrolled tears and sobs, the girl confirmed his suspicions.

               “After they abducted me,” he said, “they gave me two options, my first choice was to remove all of your clothing and rape you while they recorded the event and also have it live streamed. The second option they gave me was that they would chain me to a nearby wall, and force me to watch all eight of them gang rape you with extreme violence. I chose the first but be assured that I will be gentle, I have never been with a woman before, so I will be considerate of your physical and mental wellbeing.”

                The girl stood up, gave the young man a hug and thanked him for being kind and considerate. “Go ahead and get started,” she said, “please don’t climax inside of me, I cannot become pregnant at this time, that would be a horrible situation.”

               “Yes, of course,” he said, “I will be gentle and careful with you. I will keep my attention on any opportunity for us to escape this terrible situation, there is always a possibility that someone will come along to assist us.”

               Jonathan and Arthur slipped on their ski masks and picked up their baseball bats to silently creep across the warehouse toward the eight men surrounding the college girl and young man. With sudden and aggressive swings, they began breaking bones to watch the cellphones drop to the floor, as the men dropped one by one, Jonathan hurried toward the frightened couple and assured them that they were there to help them escape. “I’ll call the police right now,” he said, “we’ll do our best to stay in contact with both you to make sure that you’re doing well.”

               All eight men were subdued, rendered unconscious, and given multiple broken bones, while Jonathan placed a call to 911. “We have easily twenty minutes before the police arrive,” he said, “we need to be going, please don’t give a description of us to the authorities, tell them that we were wearing masks and rescued you from this horrible crime.”

               Arthur and Jonathan hurried across the warehouse and fled through the rear door to drive away in the opposite direction from which the police would likely approach. They rushed back to Arthur’s apartment and watched the video surveillance feeds to see six police officers enter the warehouse and begin interacting with the college girl and young man. The eight broken men were dragged from the warehouse, put in handcuffs, and presumably incarcerated. A team of EMT’s arrived to verify the physical wellbeing of the college girl and the young man.

               “Wow, that was really good thinking, Arthur,” Jonathan said, “we are continuing our good work of protecting the innocent, because you had that idea, we were able to rescue two people from a very bad situation.” The two men continued to watch the video feeds and were thrilled and somewhat frightened when a very large team of crime scene investigators scoured through the warehouse, uncovered the buried bodies and were hopeful that the eight men were presumed to be the culprits responsible for these multiple deaths.

               “Okay, Arthur,” Jonathan said, “keep doing your secret research and find out the identities of the girl, the young man, and the eight criminals, and how and when their trials will take place. The more we know the better.”

               “Yes, no problem at all,” Arthur answered, “I will have no trouble hacking into the necessary systems to gather all we need to know, this is a remarkable turn of luck that the discovery of the bodies will be blamed on someone else, these are clearly very bad people who would do such a thing to those who seem to be good people.”

               Letting out an aggressive yawn, Jonathan stood up, excused himself, and shuffled to the door to drive home before he became too sleepy as the hour had become quite late.

               “I’ll begin my research tomorrow morning and will let you know what I find,” Arthur said, “honestly it may take a few days before the details of this crime scene become available or is spoken of in the news.” As Jonathan passed through Arthur’s front door, Arthur walked around his apartment, turned off the lights, turned down the heat, took a quick shower, and slid into bed with the scenes from that evening still playing in his mind.

               He rose the next morning, ate breakfast, and began a cursory review of police records and current news, to find that nothing had been documented yet about the crime scene at the abandoned warehouse. “Oof, I need to get ready for work, catch the bus before too long, and continue watching the news,” he grumbled.

               Three days passed when Arthur watched a brief report about the situation at the warehouse, which clarified that multiple bodies had been found buried and were obviously persons who had been tortured to death. The college girl confirmed with the police that the young man with her had been abducted as well and was working hard to protect her from the eight guilty men found lying around the warehouse. She also shared that two men in ski masks rushed into the warehouse and began beating the eight men with baseball bats, which led to their rescue and the phone call to the police.

               The police released an official statement about the situation, thanking the two good Samaritans for their efforts at helping the college girl and the young man, they also confirmed that the eight men who had been arrested were charged with multiple murder charges. No mention was made of the surveillance equipment that Arthur had placed in the warehouse.

               When the news report was finished, Arthur made a phone call to Jonathan about all that he had learned, and that he was still searching for the identity of the college girl and the young man. “We really should contact the young man and thank him for his acts of bravery and self-sacrifice,” Arthur said, “I’ll let you know when I find his name and address, we really need to encourage him and support him.”