Whispers In Wonderland(Cam Rascoe) Whispers in Wonderland


Through fields of grain they run, arms wide pretending to be birds soaring through the sky, each one trying to fly higher than the other. They glide in and out of formation one in front of the other laughing and giggling the whole way. Early twilight, sky golden as the sun slowly sets illuminating the field in which they play. The boy’s smiling faces glow. Each bird tries to fly faster than the others racing to the clearing. A tie, none faster than the others, they each complete their journey at the same time. High fives and good jobs go all around. The field leads into a playground with everything from swings to a bouncy house. Three boys, Treyvone, Kristopher and Chauncey, take off their ball caps and throw them in the air in celebration for the great time they were about to have. Not a care in the world, the boys were in heaven climbing on the monkey bars one minute, spinning around on the merry go ‘round the next. The playground is theirs’ alone on this special late afternoon in the summer’s sun. No happier could a young boy be frolicking around with no restraints.

Parched they became, so over to the water fountain they ran to get their sips in. Sips turn to hard swallows, hard swallows turn to gulps. Front of shirts become wet as the three amigos begin to splash and chase one another with hands cupped full of water. More water leaked through their little fingers onto their shirts than actually stayed in their palms to be thrown at their friends. Joy, pure joy and elation they felt, the warm evening air drying their shirts as they climbed onto the swings. Back and forth they swung, one trying to swing higher than the other, laughing up and down. Treyvone, Kristopher and Chauncey loved their playground. It was their personal wonderland.

Most young boys are inflicted with a serious sweet tooth; these three were no exception. Kristopher waved his little hand to his two friends in a “c’mon” motion. They quickly followed. Off the playground and down a dandelion covered hill they ran. Race car noises they made during this race. Pretending to be gripping steering wheels they weaved through the patches of sun colored weeds. Suddenly each of them put on their brakes and came to a screeching stop. Three weeds were plucked from the earth’s floor and held up to little lips. Blow they did, hard, sending what they called white feathers through the humid air. Just then a gust of wind blew through lifting the feathers high up into the atmosphere. The boys pointed up trying to follow the feathers until they were no longer visible. Little eyes shined, the late sun reflecting off their pupils. Another race was in order.

“On your mark, get set, go!”

Treyvone yelled as the three took off once again. Motivated by their sweet teeth the three raced on to the next destination, the ice cream stand. Once again the race ended in a tie as they each touched the small building in the shape of an ice cream cone at the same time. What do you know? No line. From their pockets each pulled a coin, placed them on the counter and placed their orders. Soft serve in huge waffle cones is what they sold. The boys’ mouths watered watching each cone being made, vanilla for Treyvone, Strawberry for Kristopher and Chocolate for Chauncey. Under a large tree covered in Spanish moss they sat looking up at what they pretended to be large grey and green spiders hanging from the huge branches. Another gust blew giving the spiders life. They danced back and forth to the boys’ delight. Giggles were shared as the sun still sat in the same place. It seemed daylight savings time was working overtime.

By the time they finished their cones ice cream ran from their little hands down their arms pooling at the bottom of their forearms. To the park bathroom they speed walked, still racing. Another tie, once inside, they washed the sweet dairy from their hands, arms and faces. In the mirrors the boys looked laughing at one another’s distorted reflections. Chauncey made the decision to go to the pool before they lost all light. Each of them had a locker in the pool’s locker room. In each of the boy’s lockers was a pair of swimming trunks, flip flops and towel. Not quite thirty minutes after eating ice cream the boys threw caution to the wind and dove in the pool.

“Cannonball!”

They each yelled before splashing down in the cool water. Very skilled swimmers were each of the boys, good thing because there seemed to be no lifeguard on duty. Laps back and forth they swam trying to determine a champion. Still none was had so they launched into a spirited game of Marco Polo.

“Marco”
“Polo”

The boys’ voices echoed through the pool area as the boys splashed away, great summer fun. Swim they did until each of them became fatigued. Back into the locker room they went to change back into their clothes. They dried themselves, redressed with ball caps on heads and headed for the boardwalk.

The sun had set. When they reached the bright lights of the boardwalk they headed directly for the arcade. The boys had finally tired of racing, they just walked along at an excited brisk pace. Once inside they each headed straight for their favorite video game which just happened to all be side by side. A ton of “wows” and “awesomes” were said from one friend to another as they each tried to top the previous high score. Play long and hard they did until hunger set in on each of them. All of the high scores were eclipsed by the three gaming masters. Congratulations and praise they gave one another for their achievements. Exiting the arcade they were taken over by the enticing aroma of fresh baked pizza. They followed the heavenly scent until they reached its origin. Again they each pulled a coin from their pockets and placed them on the counter. A huge slice was served to each boy. Treyvone was served pizza with extra cheese. Kristopher had pepperoni and Chauncey Sausage. Sodas were ordered as well. Sprite for Treyvone, Dr. Pepper for Kristopher and Coke for Chauncey. On the benches of picnic tables they sat enjoying their dinner. Grease they wiped from their tiny chins as they slurped down the last of their sodas. In the distance they could see the giant Ferris wheel. The boys all let out cheers then took off running towards it. The colorful wheel was on the other end of the boardwalk; there was much to distract their little minds before they got there. Suddenly Kristopher saw a ring toss booth up ahead. They all stopped to try their luck at the game of chance and skill. There were prizes to be won and each of the boys had intentions of winning one. Again they each pulled a coin from their pockets and placed them on the counter. Three rings were placed in front of them and they each kissed their ring for good luck. One, two, three, they each tossed their ring onto the peg on the first try.

“We have three winners!”

The attendant announced over the heads of the boys. The three jumped for joy in a small huddle before choosing their prizes. There were so many to choose from. After brief contemplation, they each decided to get some “sports stuff”. Treyvone dreamt of becoming a pitcher in the Big Leagues so he chose a baseball and baseball glove.
Kristopher had dreams of becoming an NFL quarterback so he chose a football. Chauncey fantasized about playing in the NBA so he chose a basketball. The boys thanked the attendant then ran along in the direction of the Ferris wheel.

They only got five hundred yards before they were drawn in by another fun filled distraction.

“Bumper cars!”

The boys yelled in unison. They rushed onto the slippery floor and jumped in the car of their choice. Treyvone chose red, Kristopher picked blue and Chauncey jumped in a green car. Around they drove bumping into each other, chuckling with every collision. As their cars came to a stop the boys heard explosions from afar. They looked up to see the night sky lit up with fireworks.

“Wow, this is the greatest night ever!” Kristopher exclaimed to his two buddies.

Little boys’ faces shining from the random rays and colors of light created by the fireworks. The fireworks show ended with a grand finale of a choreographed dance of noise and light created by the explosions followed by smoke in the air. The boys applauded and whistled their approval of the wonderful display. The Ferris wheel became their focus again so they headed in that direction.

The boys walked past several buildings and booths on the way to the Giant Ferris wheel in the sky. As they passed one particularly dark building a voice called out to them.

“Treyvone, come here. I’ve got something for you.”

Treyvone seemed to know the voice so the boys stood and waited for him to come back from where the voice called him to. Then they heard another voice from across the street.

“Kristopher, let me show you something over here.”

Off went Kristopher to see what the voice wanted to show him. Lastly Chauncey heard a voice behind him. He dared not turn around.

“Chauncey let’s go over here.”

A strong hand nudged him into the shadows. Seconds later, blood curdling screams echo throughout the boardwalk, pool, park and field. Harm was being done to the boys. Screams, more screams, screams!

Just then Sarah Reynolds shakes her husband from his reoccurring nightmare. Dennis wakes in a cold sweat; shaken from the horrors he had just witnessed subconsciously.

“Dennis, are you alright Honey?”

Dennis wiped his brow trying to gather himself and make sense of why he was tortured nightly by such heinous acts.

“Yes Sarah, I’m ok. I just can’t shake it that’s all. It still haunts me, knowing, and then knowing that nothing is being done about it. How does that happen?”

Dennis’ loving wife let out a sigh before responding. She was growing tired of reliving what happened to those poor little Black Boys in what she considered the ghetto of Pine Hills, but there was nothing they could do about it.

“Dennis, Honey I am so sorry that you’re having these awful dreams but we need to get past this. It’s tragic and unbelievable that such acts could go unpunished but we’re not law enforcement officers, we’re educators. You obsessing over it won’t solve anything.”

Dennis sat up in bed now perturbed with his insensitive wife.

“That’s exactly the problem Sarah; it doesn’t have to be solved everyone knows who committed all three crimes. How young lives are taken and nothing is done about it is beyond me. I know that you don’t deal with much outside of the curriculum in your upper middle class school, but where I choose to teach you have to do a little more than that. Sometimes, unfortunately, I’m all these children have in the form of a positive role model or parental figure at all. We do the same job in theory but I go through a little more so I guess you just wouldn’t understand.”

With that being said Dennis got out of bed and walked into the bathroom to wash his face and neck. His pajamas were soaked so he thought it necessary to take a shower. He needed some space to think anyway. Dennis could hear his wife’s voice outside the bathroom door but couldn’t make out what she was saying. From her tone it sounded somewhat apologetic but he was in no mood to listen to it. Exiting the bathroom thirty minutes later Dennis could see that Sarah had decided to go back to sleep so he headed downstairs for a glass of Merlot. Inflicted by Insomnia in his late teens and early twenties he spent many a night struggling to sleep. The events of this school year had caused his old ailment to return. Walking barefoot across the cool tiles of his large kitchen Dennis thought of ways to bring the worst of criminals to justice. He stopped at the sliding glass door and looked out onto his large backyard. Upward he looked out at the large, safe gated community he was blessed to live in. His life was one of privilege and luxury. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth Dennis Reynolds decided to do more with his life. He was dedicated to helping the under privileged and easily forgotten. The rewards were few yet powerful; the young lives he’d touched over his eleven years teaching in the rough and tumble community of Pine Hills were worth the sacrifice for Dennis. A great disappointment to his father he was, but the old man still loved him. A tree hugging, save the world, bleeding heart liberal he was always called by his father Frank. But Frank had a soft spot for his only son and secretly admired what he chose to do with his life.

Two Tylenol PM pills were popped and another glass of Merlot was swallowed in an effort to induce slumber. By four in the morning he was back in bed only to be awakened at six by the same nightmare. The nightmare was like an alarm clock waking him up just in time to return to the battlefield labeled a classroom. Sarah was more sympathetic this time around.

“Hey are you ok Dennis.”

Dennis, still startled, blurted out what she thought was nonsense.

“Why can’t they ever make it to the Ferris wheel?!”
“Dennis, what are you talking about?”
“The boys, they never make it to the Ferris wheel! They never make it. Babe, they never make it.”

Sarah hugged her husband’s head gently in her bosom in an effort to comfort him. Her words were soft, careful.

“Dennis you know you’ve been having this nightmare for quite some time now, maybe it’s time to talk to someone about it. I wish that I could help you with this but I don’t know exactly what to do. I love you Honey and I want you to be well, understand?”

Sarah expected some resistance to the idea of Dennis seeing a therapist but she didn’t get any. Dennis readily agreed. He just wanted the pain to stop.

“Maybe you’re right honey. Maybe I need to see a professional; this stuff is tearing me apart.”

Dennis hugged his wife tighter, stood and kissed her on the forehead.

“Sweetie, thank you so much for putting up with me. I’m lucky to have such an understanding wife, I love you Sarah.”

He leaned down and gave her a dry peck on the lips. She collected it, no spark, little passion. Dennis decided to see his childhood psychiatrist. He hadn’t seen him in years but at least they had a history. Being from a well to do family he, like everyone else in his family, had his own mental health care professional. Dr. Paul Depot wasn’t only Dennis’ therapist, he was also a close friend to his father Frank. As Dennis grew out of adolescence into early adulthood he decided that his Doctor’s close relationship with his father gave him a conflict of interest. Dr. Depot, a man of great integrity, respectful of and responsible with his vocation, would never break doctor/patient confidentiality. A young Dennis couldn’t get over his own paranoia and insecurities in his relationship with his sometimes overbearing father so he terminated his treatment. Now a grown man he knew that Dr Depot would be his best option for help in dealing with this painful period in his life.

The beginning of the first session was like two old friends being reunited. Their hand shake led into an embrace.

“Dennis it’s so good to see you. What’s it been, thirteen years or so?”
“Yea, something like that, so how have you been Doc?”
“I’ve been well, things are good, please take a seat. Your father tells me that you’ve been teaching in Pine Hills for the past eleven years. Initially that must have been quite a culture shock. Pine Hills is a far cry from your Bay Hill roots. I commend you for choosing such a noble profession. I know you must have your share of challenges.”

Dennis spoke freely, quickly.

“Honestly Doc it can sometimes be a little overwhelming. That is why I’m here today. I have knowledge of horrible crimes committed against children. The worse part of it is the perpetrators have gone unpunished. It tears at me every day Doc and I have the most awful nightmares. Knowing who committed these crimes and not being able to bring them to justice makes it a hundred times worse…”

Dennis led into a horrible tale about young lives lost to disguised predators. Predators disguised as parents, mentors, new friends and extended family. Young trust gained for no purpose other than to get close enough to hurt. Children, so trusting and naïve; to the predator their greenness is like fertile ground in which to dibble holes to plant seeds of pain and destruction.

Dennis finished his first session with Dr. Depot no less tormented but with a new resolve. The perpetrators, he knew who they were, where they lived, and worse of all he knew they’d offend again when given the opportunity. Two more sessions were had with Dr. Depot before Dennis proclaimed himself cured to the doctor. His nightmares ceased but thoughts of the crimes were always in the forefront of his consciousness. His new resolve gave him peace in his slumber. Dreams were now of avenging the boys and punishing the wrong doers. Every night as Dennis slept a plan was beginning to take shape in his mind. The boys would be avenged and attention would be brought to this horrible situation. Dennis would be that voice for the poor and forgotten. The undesirables that society can accept being abused or even murdered. In these dreams a champion for them all was born. Mr. Reynolds’ feelings of powerlessness had escaped him, infusing him with strength and courage. Unfortunately rational planning gave way to thoughts of retribution, rage and revenge, none the less, justice would be had!

Joe Robinson was a forty-two year old unemployed man whose only contribution to society was the labor he gave in prison while serving a five year sentence for his participation in an armed robbery. Joe struck a deal and testified for the State of Florida against his co-defendants. When released he moved in with his loving mother, Mary, who always thought her son’s problems to be the product of other’s behaviors and actions. She was wrong. Her son Joe was the foul man the rest of the world knew him to be. Mary was not only saddled by a needy son but also her grandson Treyvone. Treyvone was a bright, energetic little boy who dreamt of becoming a professional singer or baseball player.

He was the light of his grandmother’s life. Her daughter, Tangy, fell in love with several illegal substances several years earlier. Her commitment to her vice was so great that she could no longer care for her only child. Three year old Treyvone was relieved to be living in a warm home with plenty of food and love. For three years his childhood was what fairy tales are made of… until Uncle Joe came home.

Mary was happy to have a babysitter and male role model for her grandson. It would also give Uncle Joe something to do to make himself feel useful and help him to have a smooth transition back into society. Unknown to Mary were the horrors her son experienced while incarcerated. Even in a medium security prison the weak are sought out and sodomized. Joe was a mama’s boy; the only thing he ever got off his mama’s couch to do landed him in prison. The first time wheelman got nervous and, deviated from the escape route. Joe’s wrong left and right turns landed them at an interception surrounded by police responding to the first call. When interrogated, Joe’s partners and buddies since high school, Trevor and Jake, kept their mouths shut. Joe sang like a canary the moment he was asked anything. When he finally got an attorney all he had left to bargain with was Joe’s testimony against the others. Five years was what his testimony was worth. Jake and Trevor knew many people serving time in the state of Florida so getting a kite to some buddies in Joe’s prison wasn’t hard at all. He was raped daily and traded for prison currency. Now home, the prey turned predator preyed on his own blood first with verbal abuse, later fondling and eventually full on oral and anal penetration.

Treyvone had already dealt with the violation of his body and soul in his early life with his mother at the hands of her junkie boyfriends. The young boy thought that he had escaped that abuse forever only to see it return in the form of family.

Mary, a good, hardworking Christian had one major flaw; she was blind. Blind to anything her two children ever did. Mary found liquor in her daughter’s room, her friends were to blame. Her son’s slothfulness was always someone else’s fault; his friends were all holding him down. The signs of abuse her grandson showed were overlooked as well. One night, Joe, especially high and drunk, got impatient. He couldn’t wait until his mother was gone; he had to have it that night. Screams were heard by Mary and she rushed in to her grandson’s bedroom to witness the most horrible act she had ever seen in her life. Mary’s screams matched her grandson’s.

“Joe, what are you doing?!? Get off that boy! Lord Jesus help me.”
“Ma it ain’t what you think, we was just playing.”

Joe stood pulling up his pants and brushed by his mother as she rushed to comfort her grandson. Joe stood listening around the corner as his mother told her grandson how they were going to the police in the morning and he would never have to see Uncle Joe again. Joe stormed out of the house; mind racing. He popped his last two pills and licked the last of the resin from an empty bag that once held cocaine. Joe hung out with the bums around the convenience store panhandling and bumming cigarettes while thinking of a way out of his situation. Finally some crack was scored and shared. Joe’s mania went to the extreme, his shallow thoughts turned evil.

As the clock struck four Joe found himself with a gas can dousing the foundation of his mother’s old wooden house. The neighborhood was quiet and the air crisp as the flame was ignited. Within minutes three homes were ablaze on Pine Street; residents fled into the streets to escape certain death. Joe’s poor mother and nephew Treyvone weren’t as fortunate. They were both asphyxiated as black smoke filled their bedrooms then the lungs of its sleeping victims. Their bodies were charred beyond recognition when they were finally discovered. Slow to respond to the poor neighborhood was the fire department giving the fire time to consume half the block. Due to lack of evidence the arson went unsolved.

Uncle Joe was a person of interest but the case wasn’t pursued vigorously. The police and fire fighters are to serve and protect; at what level they serve and protect often times depends on the class of the citizen. The wealthy get the best justice money can buy while the less fortunate receive less justice. Oh the perils of the peoples of Pine Hills. It was known in the community who was at fault but it was never told. Never told to the right ears or just never listened to when told. Dennis listened, he always did. He felt it time that his listening turned to action and he knew just what action he would take against good old Uncle Joe.

Dennis spent seasons in his youth sitting in a tree stand patiently waiting for that perfect buck. A good shot he was, taught by his father Frank. That was their bonding time. As Dennis grew into adulthood his blood lust was lost. No longer was he a hunter, seeding the fields during the off season, but he was still a great shot.

Joe lived in a rundown motel paying rent weekly with proceeds from petty crimes he committed throughout the week. Outside he stood smoking a butt he found on the ground. It was an hour past dusk and there wasn’t much stirring going on. Dennis sat high on his perch several hundred yards away. Joe was in his sights. Dennis held no nervous or anxious feeling in his heart as he slowly squeezed the trigger. The shot was loud but common sounding as if it were merely a pallet falling over at one of the near by factories. Joe dropped instantly and Dennis was pleased. The entry wound was small but the exit wound was almost the size of a softball. As Dennis quickly, quietly packed up his gear and removed all evidence, something came over him. He could see Joe twitching and thriving yet no one had come to his rescue. Dennis put his equipment away and rushed on the scene looking the part of the hero. As Dennis kneeled down next to his victim; the junky tenets slowly filed out of their units. He spoke quietly into Joe’s ear as he took his last breaths.

“I know what you did Joe, I know what you did. You like raping little boys and burning people up. Well you’ll meet a lot more assholes like yourself when you get to hell.”

Dennis giggled and Joe gasped. Dennis looked up at the junkies gathering around him and shouted orders.

“You, get me some towels, you, call 911. Somebody get the manager!”

People scattered in all directions at Dennis’ behest. Joe was now bleeding from his mouth and eventually his head slumped over. It was done and Dennis quietly made his way to his vehicle and drove home. That night Dennis made love to his wife for the first time in three months. He also slept like a baby, no nightmares. Avenging was relieving to Dennis; the night’s events convinced him that his mission must be completed.

-----

Dennis tried to follow the investigation into Joe’s murder but found information difficult to come by. There was nothing on the evening news, no article in the local newspapers, no mention on the radio or internet. It would seem as though it never happened. It was just another example of how undesirables were treated by the law. These things Dennis despised but would now use to his advantage. The same law enforcement that was listless in its investigation of the murders of three young boys was again showing minimal effort in another unsolved homicide.

In the weeks that followed Joe’s demise Dennis started living life as he always intended. He ate, slept, taught, made love and laughed. His new attitude did not go unnoticed by his grateful spouse.

“Jennifer, I can’t believe the change in Dennis. He is like a new man. I had him visit a therapist to kind of air things out about these nightmares he was having. It must have done the trick because he’s been sleeping, we’ve been going out and he’s a tiger in the bedroom again.”

The sisters shared a laugh, Sarah continued on.

“I don’t know what it is but I just hope it continues. Maybe I’ll finally have that baby mom’s always bugging me about. Even if I don’t, I’m going to have fun trying.”

Jennifer laughed with her younger sister once more before they said their goodbyes and hung up. Little did Sarah know, Dennis had more work to do. He would be this “fun Dennis” for quite some time to come. Kristopher and Chauncey would be avenged just as Treyvone was. Dennis now felt duty bound not only to the victims but also to himself to rid the world of these scum. It would seem that there would be more whispering in Dennis’ wonderland.

Coach Finedusky taught and coached children for over forty years. He had been molesting his students and players for the past thirty. All the trust and respect garnered from his position and his teams stellar records were used as currency to purchase his victims. Ashamed, guilty, embarrassed, sub-human feelings silenced his victims. Who would believe a poor little kid over the prestigious Coach Finedusky? Many a damaged, wounded boy grew into a dysfunctional adult because of the horrors committed against them.

Only the weakest, most eager to please was chosen to receive coach’s special attention. Finedusky had always viewed himself as a good judge of character; he knew how to pick ’em. He came across a thin dark skinned boy name Chauncey who held ideas of becoming a great basketball player. Anxious was the lad to have private basketball lessons with the larger than life coach of his older cousins’ AAU team. Put up a fight Chauncey did when Coach got a little tricky with him. A struggle ensued and threats were made by the boy to tell his thug uncles. Finedusky didn’t want those problems so he instead chose to snuff the little boy’s life out. Strangled and smothered was young Chauncey until his little lungs held breath no more; the cowardly fifty-five year old lay on the boy’s chest with all his weight crushing his ribcage. Right hand around a thin windpipe, left forearm pressed down on a gym towel that was covering Chauncey’s mouth. Chauncey’s soul traveled home before his limp body cooled. Still warm was lifeless Chauncey, still aroused was Finedusky. The boy’s dead body was violated then dumped. Finedusky being the last to see the boy should have been the primary suspect but very few questions were asked of or answered by the great coach. Chauncey became just another missing Black kid that no one gave a second thought to. No Amber alert or massive man hunt, just a few flyers and his mama crying on the eleven o’clock news. The case quickly turned cold and coach continued on living his life of depravity. Dennis heard rumors about what happened to the boy from very credible sources. As years passed more evidence came to light but not much action was taken. Dennis was now prepared to take that action.

Unfortunately for Dennis the coach’s notoriety would ensure that there would be a thorough investigation if Finedusky were to be murdered or come up missing. Dennis figured that he might have to make it look like an accident. Finedusky was old, not in the greatest health due to his alcoholism and on several medications that could cause drowsiness. He loved to visit his local watering hole; Finedusky stayed thirsty. Dennis figured he’d join coach in a few drinks one day and chat him up a little. Finedusky could never pass up a free drink.

“This seat taken Coach?”

Finedusky looked Dennis over then offered the seat to him. “Naw, the seat’s all yours. Do we know each other friend?”

“Well coach, everyone in this town knows you; you’re a legend. Dan Jennings, class of ‘99.”

Dennis extended his hand and the coach shook it with a firm grip.

“I’ve seen many a game you’ve coached, we always wondered why you didn’t leave us. You know, we always thought that you would move on to bigger and better things. It took me some time but now I understand; it’s your dedication to this community. Men like you don’t do it for the fame or the money. You do it to make a difference! And I thank you for it. Bartender can I have two of what Coach is drinking here?”

When the bartender came back with two glasses of Wild Turkey and Coke Dennis called for a toast. Several other men joined in as Dennis flattered the old man after dosing him with GHB. The date rape drug took hold quick, Dennis ordered the third round then paid the check with cash. He had taken a cab to the bar because he knew that he wouldn’t be driving himself home. His car was stashed near where he would leave the pedophile. To the other patrons it seemed that coach had just had a few too many (as he often did) when Dennis carried him out, one of coach’s arms draped around his neck and his arm around the old man’s waist to steady him.

“I’ll drive the coach home so that he can sleep it off. You boys take it easy; don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do.”

A few of the guys chuckled as the door closed behind Dennis and his new friend. Dennis placed Finedusky behind the wheel; propped a stick on the gas pedal and stirred from the passenger seat. Dennis pushed the gas peddle hard with the stick, the car accelerated and Dennis steered carefully. A mile from where Dennis had his car parked there was a wicked curve above a huge body of water. As they approached he whispered in the ear of the evil doer.

“How ya feeling coach? Feeling no pain huh? Just you wait a few minutes. Why do you do it, rape little boys? It’s easy as taking candy from a baby right. I’m sure usually they don’t put up much of a fight do they? But one did though, didn’t he, you old sick man. Chauncey is dead and he will be avenged. I would like to say you’re going to join him but young Chauncey is in Heaven with our Father. But you’re going to hell to spend eternity with the master you serve. You sick son of a…”

Dennis couldn’t finish his sentence, rage took over as he punched and slashed at the old man’s face with his pocket knife. The drugs and alcohol were beginning to wear off as Finedusky screamed in pain from his beating and stabbing. Before he could say anything coherent, Dennis snatched the wheel to the right and dove from the car after snatching up his acceleration stick. The car smashed through the guard rail and plummeted into the cool waters below. As Dennis came out of his roll and stood up he could hear the old man screaming once the car got airborne then fell rapidly. The large lake held many gators and to remove more evidence Dennis figured he’d put the gators to work. The short jog was made to his car and he drove back to the scene of the accident where he poured a bucket of blood into the water surrounding the wrecked car.

Finedusky certainly couldn’t have survived the fall in his condition but police didn’t need to see fresh knife wounds and bruises on his old face when they recovered the body. There wouldn’t be much to find. Two-fifteen AM and not a car in sight. Dennis headed home a little scraped up but relaxed and in the mood to pleasure the wife. Pleasured well, Sarah was, longer and stronger than ever before.

A day later Dennis sat proudly watching the evening news; reminiscing on the events of the night before. Finedusky thought it to be just another night of reveling but instead it became a night of destiny. He was always destined to pay for his crimes; unknown to him that it would be in the form of a most violent death.

“Whatcha watchin’ Hun?”
“Oh just watching the news. Sad thing, local legendary basketball coach Finedusky drove off the road and into a lake.”
“Oh that’s awful. Was he drinking?”
“Apparently he was on his way home from his favorite bar.”
“What a shame, I’ll pray for his family.”

'Pray for his victims,' Dennis thought to himself as he rose from his seat and embraced his wife. A gentle kiss was placed on her lips and then her slight buttocks grabbed firmly as she was pulled to him. More passionate kissing and heavy petting ensued. Dennis wondered silently to himself about his new found sexual prowess and its connection to the “work” he was doing as he carried his wife to their marital bed. Strong love was made, Mrs. Reynolds found slumber, Mr. Reynolds took to the shower. His wheels were once again turning, plotting the third part of his mission while monitoring the progress of the investigation into what he had already accomplished.

For days Dennis watched every report and read every article about the death of the Great Coach Finedusky. The patrons at the bar spoke of another gentleman who may have left with the coach but in the same breath they spoke of a stubborn old man who wouldn’t listen to anyone. The authorities assumed that the old man refused a ride home and drove himself over an embankment and into the lake below. That was the only conclusion that made any sense. Surely the other man didn’t drug him then drive him over the side while diving out of a moving vehicle. The case was quickly closed and officially reported as an accident.

When a young Kristopher Shumphert went missing from Pine Hills Elementary there was an outcry from the community to find the lost boy. An article appeared in the back page of the local newspaper, it was run only one day. A few concerned citizens put together search parties but their efforts yielded nothing, not even a clue. There was no Amber Alert put out for the boy, thus the case went cold in less than a month. To Dennis the case never went cold, he never forgot the little boy with kind eyes behind thick glasses. Kristopher, oldest of three siblings, was an inquisitive athletic young boy full of promise. Many a prayer said and tear shed by his loving single mother over the disappearance of her special little lad.

Dennis started his own investigation and even tried to share information with the police. His insights fell on deaf ears. The police were on to the next case or simply passed him on to the next officer who was just as unwilling to assist him or even hear him out. Every employee of the school’s background was looked into by Dennis before he started investigating parents and locals. Something didn’t sit right with Dennis about one man in particular, a janitor named Bob Robinson.

Bob Robinson seemed to have been employed at several elementary schools across the country where apparently children had gone missing. The majority of them were inner city schools with mostly underprivileged students. When children with parents who have less money, education and social standing go missing there is less attention paid. No one loses much sleep or gives much attention. Bob Robinson knew and preyed upon this. A professional janitor you might call him, since he had been employed as one for over twenty-five years. There was no better place for a pedophile to spend his days than around an abundance of prey. The more Dennis investigated, the more he learned about his new target. Mr. Bob Robinson was not only a pedophile but potentially a serial killer as well. Dennis just couldn’t understand how he could so easily obtain information on the primary suspect of this heinous crime but law enforcement couldn’t find the first clue. The conclusion was made in Dennis’ mind that young Kristopher had died in a most horrible way at the hands of this sadistic old man. Again, the boy would be avenged.

The janitor’s closet was a dark dank place full of chemicals and abuse. Outside the door lay a thick maroon rug that sometimes got caught in the door causing it not to close fully. Dennis knew this and actually used adhesive to position the rug so that it would leave the door partially ajar every time it was closed. Dennis on his day off was on school grounds and stalking his prey. On this day once again Bob was himself preying, preying upon a kindergartener whom he’d lured into his lair of debauchery. Behind himself and the little boy he closed the door then readied himself to do his little dirty business. As soon as the door was closed Dennis removed his ski mask from his backpack and slid it over his head. As the bell rang for class and the hallways emptied Dennis abruptly pushed his way into the spacious double door closet. In his hand he held a homemade weapon consisting of a metal pipe wrapped in duck tape. Bob stood with his hand on the boy’s shoulder pushing him to his knees. Exposed and erect was Bob’s genitalia, anxious to destroy yet another young life. Upon seeing the masked man wielding a weapon Bob lost his concentration. Before he could utter a syllable his testicle were beaten with the pipe. Dennis struck the evil man between his legs with an uppercut motion, then ordered the young boy out of the room. He pulled the rug from the door allowing it to shut flush. Bob lay on the ground in the fetal position with his hands between his legs cursing and writhing in pain.

“Son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing?”

Dennis quickly retorted, “What the hell are you doing?! What kind of hell have you been bringing into the lives of all of these children you’ve raped and murdered? I’m here to make things right Bobby, and that’s exactly what I am going to do!”

With that being said Dennis beat the man in his knee caps with his metal pipe. Before the screaming got too loud Dennis soaked a rag with ammonia and shoved it into the man’s mouth, then taped it shut as he beat Bob around the head and neck. The dull dingy room was suddenly brightened up with splatters of color on the walls, ceiling and floor. The remainder of the bottle of ammonia he poured into a metal bucket as he kneeled down next to Bob so that he could whisper in his ear.

“Today in your demise you will feel the pain you’ve inflicted upon so many families. Today I am your judge, jury and executioner and I must tell you; I take great pride in my work. Enjoy hell my sick demented little friend.”

Bob was almost about to pass out so Dennis snatched the duck tape and rag from his mouth then crushed both his ankle bones with his trusty pipe. The man let out a slight yelp as he tried to catch his breath. Bob’s shallow breathing turned heavy as Dennis poured bleach into the bucket of ammonia sending toxic fumes billowing from the bucket up into the air. All over the room Dennis scattered articles, notes and pictures of Bob’s past alleged crimes. He didn’t want this man to receive sympathy from anyone who may find his corpse. Dennis smiled as he took off his gloves and mask then eased from the room with his backpack over his shoulder. Bob lay in the smoke filled room, lungs and eyes burning as he gasped his last few breaths, unable to walk or even crawl to freedom. Dennis exited the building to the bright daylight of the Florida afternoon refreshed and relieved his job was done. Into his luxury coup he climbed and drove off back to his lovely home in Windermere. Several minutes later the toxic fumes would be discovered and the school evacuated. Eventually Bob’s body was found and an investigation into his death ensued. Not only did the authorities investigate the murder of Bob Robinson but also the materials they found in his tomb of sorts. Once they realized that they were dealing with a murdered pedophile who had been preying on and maybe even murdering children for decades the investigation cooled. A vigilante it would seem was behind this, but instead of pursuing the offender the police were more inclined to give him a medal and a key to the city.

Later that night, again, Mrs. Reynolds got her world rocked and Dennis slept like a baby. Repent he did for his sins, being a “Good Christian”, but shamefully Dennis felt so justified in his actions that he only half heartedly asked for God’s forgiveness. Nonetheless, being a believer and lover of Christ, he was forgiven and given a new purpose. Dennis opened a grief center that specialized in the investigation of abuse of all types. He worked hand in hand with law enforcement, never again crossing the line into vigilantism. Eventually the Reynolds were blessed with their own child and Dennis continued to work tirelessly as an advocate for the victims of the world, giving his life a higher purpose. His victims still burn in hell, this day and forever.


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Whispers in Wonderland

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