Chapter 17
The letter had been sitting on her dresser for several days. She’d looked at the return address, saw the name Jonathan Smyth and had decided not to open it. What she found curious, however, was that she hadn’t thrown it away.
Rebecca had finally gone to sleep, so she had some time for herself. A hot bath, glass of her favorite chardonnay, then crawl into bed and read. She longed for these moments. Rebecca was thirty-seven now, and as an adult, was a formidable challenge to take care of. She wasn’t profoundly underdeveloped, but did need help daily with basic living skills. Sharon was accustomed to it, but as she’d gotten older it wore on her even more, sometimes to the point of total exhaustion.
The hot bath had relaxed her, she slipped into the warm bed, book in hand. She was reading Toni Morrison’s latest. She loved the way she wrote, it seemed to touch her soul. She read a few lines, then was drawn to the letter on her dresser. I’m going to have to either read it, or throw it away, she thought. She knew what it was about, at least generally. All these years she’d kept it a secret, only a very few close friends knew the truth and they’d never let it leak out, she hoped. She closed the book, took a sip of wine and lay back against the pillow. Her mind drifted back to that horrifying day.
It was her first year teaching. She’d gotten her elementary teaching degree from the University of Iowa and landed the job at Hawthorne Elementary in Waterloo. Her college sorority sister, and fellow education major, Donna Meyers, had also graduated, but in secondary education and was working at Taylor Jr. High. They’d found a cute little apartment and moved in together. They were almost giddy over their good fortune.
School had been in session about three weeks. Their time schedules were a little different, but for the most part they got home about the same time during the week. It was an overcast fall day, heavy clouds with a threat of rain. Sharon knew Donna was home when she came in, her bags and coat were lying on the couch. Sharon yelled a hello, but there was no response. As she moved down the hall to the bedrooms she got an uneasy feeling…there was something wrong here. Donna’s bedroom door was closed. Sharon could hear quiet movement inside. She stood outside the door, uncertain about opening it. “Donna, are you alright?” she said through the closed door. Again no response. Slowly, she pushed it open, while gradually sticking her head in.
She felt a hot flash, and a ringing in her ears. She was suddenly on her back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as it whirled around and around. There was a dark figure standing over her, she couldn’t make it out. The figure had her by the neck… strangling her into darkness.
The voice sounded miles away, “Ms. Weiss, Ms. Weiss, we’re here to help you.” She couldn’t roll over. She was lying face down in a pool of her own blood. Gentle hands cradled her, covering her with blankets. “I’m Sgt. Lewis with the police, the ambulance is on the way.”
It would take weeks to recover, but only a few hours to find out Donna had been killed. She’d almost been choked to death and had a severe concussion, and…he’d raped her. It was all too much, too painful, she had to get away. As soon as she was able, she moved away to a big city, St. Louis.
Even now, over thirty-seven years later, it was excruciating. And of course, there sleeping in the room across the hall, was Rebecca, the daughter of serial killer…Jack Zane.
She took another sip of wine, then another, got up, grabbed the letter. She stood looking at it, wondering, agonizing. Should she or shouldn’t she? She felt a chill and got back in bed still holding the envelope. Why not, she thought, I don’t have to answer it. She gently opened it, almost afraid to read what it said.
It was written with sympathy and concern. Not a feel sorry for you, sympathy, but genuine. It touched her, and there was a small amount of fascination in his proposition. She had suffered at the hands of this animal, and was still suffering today. She’d become estranged from her family, by her choice, not theirs, had no close friends and had to raise Rebecca with no real help. She’d had to lie about a fantasy father, live a life in the shadows, and now she was almost sixty. The demon from hell had stolen her life. Maybe there was something to this recouping thing. She certainly could use the money…but was it worth the exposure?
She took her last drink of wine, rolled over, decided she’d think about it. She was worn out.
He was hoping there’d be a letter waiting for him when he got back, but no such luck. Deep down he knew she wouldn’t respond and who could blame her. It was a lot to ask, have her come forward after all these years. But still, there was a part of him that felt like she needed to do this, purge all this anger and frustration. He wouldn’t pursue it, however, it would be her decision and hers alone. If he never heard back from her, that would be the end of it.
Amy continued her research, but hadn’t come up with anything substantial. Jonathan decided to put everything they had together and see how it all fit. Who knows, maybe he had enough, and would only have to fill in here or there. However it went, this was as good a time as any to start formulating the heart of the book.
As he poured through the material he began to realize how much information they truly had. Interviews, newspaper articles, police statements and so on. There was plenty to get started. Amy would come over and help him arrange and form a time line. It was tedious work, but there was a certain air of obsession about it. Jonathan would work late into the night, driven, needing to get on with it. Amy too had become fixated and could feel Jonathan’s passion. On several occasions she’d spent the night; they were still trying to maintain a business relationship, but it was becoming more difficult.
One evening, while they were laughing over some pizza, before getting back to work the phone rang. It was Barbara Wilkes, “Mr. Smyth, it’s Barbara Wilkes.”
“Yes Barbara, how are you?”
Her voice sounded…different, sad. There was something wrong.
“I have distressing news,” she said, her voice breaking up. “Jeff has been killed.”
“Oh my God, Barbara, I’m so sorry. What happened?” He could hear her sobbing. There was a pause, she cleared her throat, said, “He was hit by a drunk driver. It was late and he was coming home from his card night in town, and this guy ran a stop sign and hit him broadside. They said he died instantly.”
“Again, I’m terribly sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“No…thanks. I just thought you’d want to know.”
The phone went dead. He turned to Amy with a stunned look, “Jeffery Zane is dead, killed by a drunk driver.”
“Oh no, that’s terrible. How was his sister?”
“Sad. That poor woman has suffered…well, more than her share. I feel so sorry for her, she was truly innocent in all this. I’ve sat and talked to her, she’s a good woman and means well. This is just another shot in the heart.”
He sat down on the couch, leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn’t help thinking how unfair life was sometimes. Barbara Wilkes was trying to lead a good, decent life, but for some reason…life was constantly testing her.
Amy cuddled in beside him, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I guess so. But don’t you find it curious how some people seem to catch all the breaks and others don’t catch any?
I mean this woman is born into this family that has an extremely abusive father and on top of that one of her brothers becomes an infamous serial killer. Her mother dies from heartache and sadness and now her other brother gets killed by a drunk driver. Come on, doesn’t this seem a little, extreme?”
Amy didn’t quite know what to say, so she moved closer and held him tight.
“You know, Amy, the further I get into this the madder I get. This guy’s dead and buried, and still, he’s ruining peoples lives. It’s positively, unbelievable.
“Will it ever stop? I mean, come on, here we are thirty-five years after the fact and
look at the impact he’s had on us.”
“Yes,” she said, sitting up, “But that was our choice. We decided to research this and dig up all this information, contact and interview these people. Had we not done that…well, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. Jack Zane would remain dead and buried - in every way.”
Of course she was right, but it didn’t lessen his frustration with what he perceived as evil seeping into the lives of good people.
For the first time, in a very long time, he and Amy slept together. He wasn’t sure he should, but there was a part of him that needed to.
In the middle of the night he suddenly awoke, sat straight up in bed, My God, he wondered, where’s Jack Zane buried? Jeff was the only one who knew…now he’s dead.
After all this time, all this pain, the guy’s vanished. Hidden somewhere on a farm in North Dakota… beyond belief.