The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

I never did find a summer job, but I did on several occasions help our neighbor Floyd Parker haul hay from his fields. 

It was the Tuesday after Labor Day when I found out what truth and justice were about, at least the version hovering like a misty fog over Boaz, Alabama.  I had just returned home from my first day as a student at Snead State Junior College when I heard a knock on the front door.  It was Sheriff Wayne Brown and his Deputy Carl Lauderdale.  I could feel the same prickly sensations running up and down my spine that I had felt during their first visit at the beginning of the summer.

I walked out on the front porch and Brown said, “Tanner, you are under arrest for the kidnapping and murder of Wendi and Cindi Murray.”  I literally collapsed and the Deputy had to lead me to the back seat of his car.

They carried me to an interrogation room inside the county jail at Guntersville. I knew from television and my High School Civics class that I had a right to an attorney but that didn’t seem to matter.  Detective Kent Allison ignored my request and shouted out a barrage of questions: “where did you dump Wendi and Cindi?” “How did you kill them?” “Don’t you think you have put the girls’ parents through enough hell by withholding this evidence?”

He then told me that my five buddies had finally come forward and told him and Sheriff Brown what happened.  He said, “we know now that it was you who drove Wendi and Cindi back to the Dairy Queen from where ya’ll had been partying all night. They don’t know what you did but all five of them have told us, separately I might add, the very same story.  Also, the four other girls who were present told us the same thing.  Tanner, you might as well confess, clean up your conscience, and give these two grieving parents some closure.”

I told the Detective that I was being framed, that Randall, James, and John were the ones who had left with Wendi and Cindi, while Fred, Wade, and I stayed at the camp.  I told him that around 2:00 a.m. Saturday morning how Randall, James, and John had left with all six of the girls but had returned with Wendi and Cindi less than an hour later.  I told him about how they had raped the girls in the tent and had forced me to stay by the campfire even though I tried to stop them.

Detective Allison asked me why I had lied to the Sheriff and Deputy Lauderdale when they came to see me the first of the summer.  I told him that I knew how it would look if I told how I had seen Wendi and Cindi on Friday night, and early Saturday morning.  I also told him about the oath the five had made me swear.  I told him I knew it was wrong to swear but I also knew it was wrong to break an oath. 

The detective made me write out my statement.  Again, I simply told the truth.  Deputy Lauderdale took me to a private cell and locked me up.  Several hours later he came back for me and carried me back to the interrogation room where my Father and Mother were waiting, along with a man I had never seen.  He introduced himself as Matt Bearden.  He was a little shorter than me, maybe six feet, slim, and had curly black hair.  He wore a white shirt, no tie, blue-jeans, and a pair of Converse tennis shoes. 

Mother kept trying to hug me and Dad asked if I had anything to do with the disappearance of the girls.  Before I could answer, Mr. Bearden instructed me not to say anything.  He asked my parents to leave us alone.  He then asked me if I had been present at a party with Wendi and Cindi after graduation as all five witnesses had said.  I told him yes.  He then asked me to describe what had happened that night but to limit my statements to what I had seen and heard.  He wanted to know just exactly what I had observed with my five senses.  When I finished he told me that it looked to him like I was the scapegoat.  He told me how Nyra Sue Gibson, one of the four cheerleaders who were present most of that night, had come forward admitting she and three other Boaz cheerleaders had partied with us, and with Wendi and Cindi from Douglas.  Nyra had said that I was the one who drove all the girls home from the party dropping off her and her three classmates at the High School.  She said that I had driven off with Wendi and Cindi still in my car.  I told Mr. Bearden that was an absolute lie.  He said that the families of my five friends were all well connected in Boaz.  He said he suspected they were choreographing this whole story.

My bail was set at $500,000, so I stayed in jail.  My parents couldn’t post that type of bond.  Over the next six months I found out who I really was.  At first, I sank into deep depression and searched for a way to kill myself.  If it hadn’t been for Matt Bearden, my attorney, and Brother G, I would never have made it. 

Matt, as he made me call him, not only worked diligently on my case, he became a friend.  He came to visit me at least once per week, usually on Saturday morning, early.  He brought me law books and gave me homework of a sort.  He asked me to read one preselected case per day trying to figure out the key issues and how the appeals court had resolved them.  After the first week or two I started investing hours per week in this assignment because I knew Matt would have me verbally present each case to him during our time together on Saturday.  Every case I read seemed to have something to do with my own case.  Matt also brought me one novel per week.  Matt had a way with words and encouraged me to focus my pleasure reading on fiction.  There was something about In Cold Blood, To Kill a Mockingbird, and The Godfather, among many others, that steeled my mind, and stole my heart.  They gave me hope.  Just like the cases from the law books Matt had me read, the novels seemed to hold meaning to my circumstances.  After my second reading of The Godfather, I began to wonder if the Corleone family represented, at least in some ways, the families of the Flaming Five.  In addition to Matt’s weekly visits, he also reached out through the mail.  I usually received one, sometimes two, letters per week.  Each letter also included another homework assignment, this time a written assignment.  He would pose one or two questions about the prior week’s novel. What made this a little difficult was that I was already reading a new novel.  Looking back, I think Matt was training me to become a future lawyer.  They don’t have the luxury of working just one case.  They must keep up with facts and stories of maybe a dozen or more cases.  I never knew how much money Matt spent on me.  He furnished me with envelopes, stamps, a mountain of paper, and a ton of books.  He convinced me that writing was therapeutic and that untold power resided in simple words.  In a letter written two days before my trial, I told Matt that if he won my case that I wanted to become a lawyer like him.  I thanked him for caring for me and showing me how a real criminal defense lawyer defends his client.

It was Matt that managed my head during these four months.  But, it was Brother G, Gabriel Gorham, Gabe for short, that loved and innocently manipulated my heart.  He always came late Tuesday afternoon, and he brought along one of his Deacons.  A typical visit was both men with me in Interrogation One or Two.  The Deacon would give me a short report about my family, sometimes handing me letters from Mama El and Mother.  He would lead us in a prayer and then leave Brother G and me alone.  He used emotion, where Matt used reason, to motivate me towards hope.  I have never in my life been around anyone who could stir up my emotions like Brother G.  He preached a sermon to me every week.  Standing and strutting around the six by six cave.  Four months of sermons and the two that most carried me to the finish line at the end of my trial were the stories of Joseph and David.  Joseph in the Egyptian jail, and David’s fight with Goliath.  “Micaden, you are a modern-day Joseph, a man placed here in this jail by God Himself.  You see this as a prison.  It is not.  It is God’s schoolhouse.  God is calling you to a mighty work.  There is a town, a state, and a nation that someday soon will die from famine if you don’t learn the right lessons here today, tomorrow, and next week.  There is one, two, maybe ten Goliaths that will enslave and murder unhindered if you do not let God shape your heart for His righteous work.  And on and on Brother G would go.  Every week.  This continued until the middle of January 1973. 

I knew something was different when he showed up Tuesday morning.  By himself.  He announced God had called him to First Baptist Church of Jonesborough, Tennessee.  With tears in his eyes he gave me a scripture verse laminated on gold colored paper: “But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.” (Hebrews 11:6).  Before he left, we embraced and he said a prayer pleading with God to hold me fast in the palm of His hand.  As he walked out he said, “I love you Micaden and will see you again someday, if not on this earth, in Heaven.”  That was the last time I ever saw Brother G.   

My trial began on Monday, January 18th, 1973.  The State’s case was strong. My nine classmates, the Flaming Five and the four cheerleaders, presented flawless testimonies.  It was obvious to me they had spent much time rehearsing every detail.  Of course, it didn’t help when Sheriff Brown and Deputy Lauderdale told the jury how I had lied when I was first confronted three days after the crime. At the end of Thursday, day four of my trial, there was no one in Marshall County who would have bet on me, who thought that I had a chance in Hell of being acquitted.  No one, except Matt Bearden.

On Friday morning before Matt had a chance to call his first witness, Judge Garrison announced a recess until Monday morning.  He said that he and the lawyers had some legal issues to deal with.  Two deputies walked me back across the street to my cell.  Matt came to see me around 3:00 p.m., and gave me an update of what had gone on since I left.  He said that the Prosecutor was trying to stop us from putting on our main witness.  The Prosecutor was arguing that Shawn Taylor was not competent to testify since he was only nine years old.  The Judge deferred his ruling until Monday and said he would interview the child in his chambers before the trial resumed. I had not even heard of Shawn Taylor.

That weekend was the longest of my life.  I was ready for the trial to be over.  But, I feared what would follow if I was found guilty.  On Monday after a long interview in his office, the Judge ruled Shawn Taylor could testify.  My case and my future most likely rested on a scared little nine-year-old boy.  Shawn was brave.  He testified that he was inside the Dairy Queen early Saturday morning, the 26th day of May, last year.  He said he was sitting at a table in the dining room waiting on his father to finish up cleaning.  Shawn said that he saw Randall, James, and John drive into the parking lot beside a small blue car that had been there ever since he arrived.  He stated he recognized all three of them because he knew them from First Baptist Church of Christ.  Shawn said that Randall, James, and John had worked in Bible School the prior year.  He also described the tag James had on the front bumper of his GMC van.  He said it was a bucking horse rode by a pretty girl.  Matt showed Shawn a picture of James’ van with the front tag clearly shown.  Shawn told the jury that was the vehicle he saw.  Shawn went on to testify that Randall and John had gotten out of James’ vehicle with two girls and then had gotten into the blue car.  Then, they all drove off.  The Prosecutor on cross-examination tried to convince Shawn he might have been mistaken about who he saw.  Shawn held his ground leaving the Prosecutor rattled.

After my testimony, the Judge ordered a recess until after lunch, even agreeing for me to stay in an interview room off the courtroom while two deputies stood guard.  Matt’s secretary brought lunch while he stayed with me.  I appreciate how Matt treated me like an adult.  He didn’t try to give me false hope.  He said that Shawn had shot a big hole in the State’s case but that didn’t necessarily mean I would win.  He said that he had seen juries do surprising things.  He reminded me of what he had said at the beginning.  Going to trial was like walking into a tiger’s cage, dangerous.  At worst, you will be killed.  At a minimum, you will lose an arm, a leg, the side of your face.  But, for sure, you will be scarred forever.

The Prosecutor’s closing argument was predictable. He told the jury they had to conclude Wendi and Cindi were dead.  He also argued that they must ignore Shawn Taylor’s testimony.  The Judge reprimanded the Prosecutor when he said that the Defense had provided no proof that Shawn was even at the Dairy Queen that early morning.  The Prosecutor said the only reasonable conclusion was for the jury to find me guilty.  Matt argued that Shawn’s testimony created reasonable doubt.  Matt emphasized that all nine of the State’s witnesses declared that Wendi and Cindi left in my car from the camp.  He said, “hilarious, since Micaden’s car was a tiny Chevrolet Corvair, and it was parked at San Ann #1.”  Matt described how close a relationship the Flaming Five had with the four cheerleaders.  Matt reviewed with the jury my testimony of how Fred and Wade had threatened me with punishment and prison if I spoke one word about what happened on that fateful night.  Matt said it would be unfair and a violation of their oath to disregard Shawn’s testimony that it was Randall, James, and John who had put Wendi and Cindi in their Father’s car parked at the Dairy Queen.

Court went late that Monday.  It was almost five o’clock when the Judge finished charging the jury.  He called a recess until 9:00 a.m. Tuesday morning and ordered them not to speak with anyone about the case.  The jury deliberated for three days.  At 10:25 a.m. on Friday morning, the jury foreman announced the jury was hopelessly deadlocked.  After the Judge brought the jury back into the courtroom and strongly urged them to reach a verdict, the foreman asked to speak.  He said that there was absolutely no need to continue deliberations, that there was one juror who had made it clear that he would never vote guilty in this case.  The Judge ordered a mistrial.

Even though the Prosecutor could have retried the case, he never did.  I had dodged the biggest bullet imaginable.  I owed it all to Matt Bearden.  He was the one who believed in me and persisted in his quest to find the infamous smoking gun.  I don’t think Shawn Taylor’s parents would have ever allowed Shawn to testify if it hadn’t been for Matt’s ability to persuade them to have the courage to stand up against the families of the Flaming Five.  I walked out of the Marshall County Courthouse on Friday, January 29th, 1973, a free man.  Matt walked with me across the street to the jail to help me retrieve my things from my cell.  I reminded him that I had decided to go to law school someday.  As we walked out I promised him that I would treat my clients like he had treated me.

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

All Saturday afternoon I alternated between trips to the bathroom gaging and vomiting and trying to call Wendi.  I just couldn’t get her off my mind, nor could I get rid of the evil sickness that had settled in my gut.  I knew without any doubt that Wendi was the girl I wanted to marry someday.  I realized that many, maybe most, intelligent people would say that it was rather naive of me to think or say such a thing.  To these I would say, I have seen how she looked at me, talked with me, felt the sweet vibrations from the tone of her voice, sensed the honest touches from her fingers, and tasted the sincerity from her lips, even if the kiss was two seconds long as she was leaving.  That’s how I knew.  But that’s just half the story.  I needed to know if she still liked me enough to go on that date we talked about.  I needed to tell her how sorry I was about last night and how I tried to help her.  I so wanted to tell her that if she gave me a chance I would never fail her again.  At 10:30 p.m. I made my final call to Wendi.  Again, all I got was her answering machine.

My stomach felt settled enough Sunday morning to eat some oatmeal and toast.  But I didn’t feel well enough to go to church—at least this is what I told my mother.  On the way back to my bedroom I went by the den to try Wendi even though it was only 7:00 a.m.  A woman answered my call with a gruff hello.  I asked if I could speak with Wendi and she said, “Who is this?  Where is Wendi?  Do you have my daughter?”  I was shocked, almost speechless, and more afraid than I had ever been.  I finally said I didn’t know where Wendi was.  She asked me again who I was and how I knew Wendi.  I told her my name and that I had met her at Boaz Dairy Queen a few weeks ago.  Before she could say another thing, I realized how easy it was to lie.  The woman asked me for my phone number and told me that Wendi and her sister Cindi were missing, that they had gone to Boaz Friday night to hang out but had never made it home.  We talked a while longer with her getting more angry and sad every second.  After we hung up, I walked to my bedroom and fell into bed.  This was the first and only time I have ever experienced what I believe was a panic attack.

After an hour of cold sweats and hot flashes, twisting and turning in bed, and sitting on the floor against my desk breathing deeply, I got dressed and told Mom I had decided to go to church. 

I waited in the church parking lot for over an hour.  Fred and John arrived in separate cars about the same time and parked fifty feet or so away from me.  I got out of my car, slammed the door, and shouted towards them: “what did the five of you do with Wendi and Cindi?” 

They walked over to me and John said, “what the hell are you talking about?”

“I spoke with Wendi’s Mother this morning and she said that neither Wendi or Cindi ever came home Friday night.  What happened to them?  What have ya’ll done?”

“Hold on Tanner. You’re way out of line here.  Randall, James, and John dropped them off at the Dairy Queen early yesterday morning.  You already know that.” Fred said.

“I don’t know that.  All I know is the three of them left with Wendi and Cindi around 5:00 a.m. Saturday morning after all five of you took turns raping them.  I do know that.  And, I know that you all had a powerful motive to get rid of them.”

“Tanner, settle down.  Go home and keep your mouth shut.  You better start thinking a little more clearly.  If your mouth starts spewing anything about this you are cooking your own goose.  Don’t forget you were at Club Eden with the rest of us, and you had sex with Wendi before any of the rest of us.  If you don’t want prison, or punishment for breaking your oath you best keep your mouth shut.  Now, get the hell out of my face.”  John said.

I drove back home knowing what John said was untrue.  Wendi and I did not have sex.  Even though I knew exactly what happened at Club Eden I knew I was poorly equipped to defend myself against lies that would spring forth from the Flaming Five and their powerful families.  My family was an outsider, not connected socially or economically with the entrenched families of my so-called friends.

I hardly left my bedroom until Tuesday morning.  At breakfast, my Mother asked me why I was so depressed.  I told her that since High School was over I felt like I was out on the ocean on a piece of driftwood, being tossed about, without any direction or hope of ever reaching shore.  She said that was not true.  She reminded me that I was headed to Snead State Junior College in the Fall.  She encouraged me to get out and find a summer job.  After I finished breakfast I helped her clear off the table.  She said, “read the paper and you will realize how fortunate you are.”  I picked up the Sand Mountain Reporter and read the front-page headline: “Car of Missing Girls Found.” 

I read the article and learned that a county deputy had found a blue Plymouth Valiant registered to a Bill Murray of Douglas.  He had identified the car as his and the one his two daughters were driving Friday night when they left home and headed to Boaz to hang out with some friends.  The car was found abandoned in the woods off Little Cove Road south of Boaz.  There was no sign of the missing girls.

I had just brought the newspaper back to my room when Mother came in looking like she had seen a ghost.  “The sheriff is here asking to speak with you.”  I had no time to think or breathe for that matter.  I walked out the side porch to see two of the biggest cops I had ever seen.

“You Micaden Tanner?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know Wendi and Cindi Murray of Douglas?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know them?”

“I met them a few weeks ago at the Dairy Queen in Boaz?”

“When is the last time you saw them?”

“That Saturday night, at the Dairy Queen.”

“And you’re sure you haven’t seen them since?”

“I’m sure.”

“Nellie Murray told us you called for Wendi last Sunday morning.”

“I did.  I wanted to ask her out on a date.  She gave me her phone number at the Dairy Queen.”

“Do you know that Wendi and Cindi are missing?”

“I just read about it in the Sand Mountain Reporter just before you got here.”

“Mr. Tanner, you better not be lying to us.  We will find out if you are.”

After they left I almost collapsed into the swing.  I hated myself.  For some surprising and strange reason, I thought about the Apostle Peter and how he had lied about knowing Jesus after he was arrested.  I leaned back and looked at the porch ceiling knowing that my brand of Christianity was virtually worthless when my own skin was over the fire.

For the rest of the summer, between daily trips to Boaz and Albertville looking for a summer job, and reading the Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday editions of the Sand Mountain Reporter, I stayed in my bedroom trying to figure out what would happen to me when the cops found Wendi and Cindi.  Deep in my heart I knew that they were dead and that was all because of what the Flaming Five had done.  Every day I contemplated running away but something kept me home and believing that surely truth and justice were still alive.  

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Nearly every month since late Fall of our Junior year, the Flaming Five and I had camped at Club Eden.  The Five had brought countless girls to the Club, at least half of which I didn’t know.  Others, I did know, including every varsity cheerleader except Mandy Clements and Tracie Simmons.

I became a full member during the summer of 1971.  There had been two requirements, both required me to swear on the Bible.  I’m not sure what caused me the most trouble and hesitation, the swearing or the fear of the promised punishment if I broke my oath.  Every one of the Flaming Five had promised me that my life would be over within a few days of breaking the trust.  They didn’t say they would kill me but I took it as much.  The swearing was almost an identical issue.  I had been taught in church that I should never swear, but I also knew that a witness in a court case had to swear on the Bible to tell the truth.  After countless hours contemplating what I should do, and dealing with the pressure to belong to Club Eden and likewise to be friends with the most popular guys in school, I finally took the oath on a hot July 4th morning.  I swore that I would never disclose the location or what went on at Club Eden.

Not that I was ashamed of what I did.  At no time did I ever take advantage of a girl.  I never forced a girl to have sex with me.  In fact, I never had sex with a girl at the Club or anywhere else, including our High School graduation party that began during the late hours of May 25, 1972.

That night we strayed a little from our routine.  As usual, John, Fred, and I arrived first with the beer, food, and gear and started setting up to cook burgers or steaks.  Then, Wade showed up in his blue Blazer along with four Boaz High cheerleaders.  Behind Wade was Randall and James in his van.  A nearly new GMC Vandura that his father had customized for him. I think it was James who had the ‘Honey Wagon’ sign painted on both sides.  Two girls I didn’t know got out of the back of the van when Randall opened the door.  They all walked over and Wade introduced them as Cindi and Wendi.  We all pitched in and grilled a cooler full of rib-eye steaks to celebrate the occasion.  After we finished supper we all sat around the fire drinking beer and listening to music. 

Around 11:00 p.m. I got up and walked down to the creek and followed a path up stream to our make-shift outhouse to relieve myself.  When I came out Wendi was sitting on a rock by the creek with her feet in the water.  She saw me and called for me to come sit with her.  I did and we talked for at least an hour.  As we walked back to the fire pit she reached out and held my hand.  I had never had a date in my whole life.  My spine started to tingle.  I thought about trying to kiss her but I didn’t.

By the time we returned to the fire-pit the tent had no vacancies. Back and forth visits went on for the next five or six hours.  Cindi and the four Boaz Cheerleaders were a perfect match for the Flaming Five even though I suspect there was a lot of swapping going on.  Neither Wade, James, Randall, Fred, or John approached Wendi.  She sat beside me at the fire pit the rest of the night.  We roasted marsh mellows and talked about our likes and dislikes. 

Wendi was from Douglas.  She and Cindi were twin sisters and both cheerleaders for the Douglas Eagles.  She didn’t say exactly how the two of them wound up meeting James, Randall, and Wade at the Dairy Queen.  She said she got spooked and almost backed out when James told them they had to wear a black hood during their ride to the Club.  She said she was glad she didn’t back out, but only because she had met me. 

Wendi and I truly connected during the few hours we had together.  Her and Cindi’s father was a preacher but Cindi hadn’t fully bought into his Christian faith.  I shared with Wendi about my church life and when I was saved, but I also shared with her my underlying doubts.  I explained to her that every time I really got to thinking about how unbelievable a lot of the Bible stories really were, my doubts grew.  I told her that I had never expressed my doubts to anyone except my Grandfather but all he would say is, “Micaden, you can’t think, you have to believe.” 

I told Wendi the only thing I had ever heard my Dad say about his beliefs happened last December at the family’s big Christmas dinner.  My Dad and his cousin had gotten into an argument over the Adam and Eve story from Genesis and Dad said, “you are wrong Cleland; the theory of evolution destroys Adam and Eve and the whole of Christianity.”  My Grandmother gave my Dad a stern but quieting look and quickly changed the subject.  Wendi said that my father was “simply wrong.” 

It was weird that Wendi and I never fooled around even though there was temptation all around, especially from all the sounds coming from the big tent.  Even more weird was that we continued to talk about the Bible. We talked openly for several hours about Adam and Eve, Noah and the Ark, the parting of the Red Sea, a talking donkey, and on and on.  We also talked about how we liked each other and wanted to continue our conversation.  Wendi wasn’t as shy as me.  She asked me to take her to see The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly with Clint Eastwood that was playing at the Martin Theater in Albertville.  I easily agreed and we exchanged phone numbers.  At the time, I didn’t know what true love was but looking back I’m sure the first time I held Wendi’s hand something mysteriously special took place.  But, unfortunately, the unknown would remain.

Around 2:00 a.m. the cheerleaders said they had to go. Reluctantly, Randall, John, and James left in his van.  Against routine, Wade stayed with Fred and me as John seemed eager to leave.  About 45 minutes later James’ van reappeared.  I was surprised that Wendi and Cindi were still with them.  Randall looked at me and said, “they wanted to come back with us and stay the night.”

We all sat down again around the fire pit with Wendi sitting between Wade and me.  In just a few minutes John got up and grabbed Cindi’s hand and led her to the tent.  Fred tried the same thing with Wendi but she refused to go.  He got mad and tried forcing her to stand up.  I got up and told Fred to leave her alone.  Before I knew it, I was on the ground from a left fist Randall had thrown my way.  I managed to stand, but Fred was already half way to the tent tugging Wendi along behind him.  I tried to go after her but Randall, all six feet eight inches of him, along with James and John, stopped me.  I shouted, “are ya’ll crazy?  Wendi said she didn’t want to go.  Sex against her will is rape you idiots.”  Randall looked down at me with a smirk on his face, “Get over it.  Why do you think these two girls wanted to come back here?  Wendi complained that all you wanted to do all night was talk.  She’s ready to party.”

I was powerless to help Wendi.  I heard her screaming “no, no, no,” from inside the tent.  In a few minutes James left the fire pit and went to the tent and John came out.  I heard more screaming, from Wendi I think.  For the next hour or more the Flaming Five took turns with Wendi and Cindi.  When three of them were not busy in the tent they were guarding me.

Not long before the first signs of daylight Wade and Fred made me walk with them to the outhouse.  At first, I didn’t have a clue why they were doing this but I did imagine that they were probably going to kill me.  When we returned to the fire pit no one was there and the tent stood silent.  Randall, John, and James, once again, had left in his van with Cindi and Wendi.

The three of us sat by the fire.  I told them they knew what they had done was wrong, and that they were in big trouble with the law.  They each assured me that they had everything under control if I kept my mouth shut.  I told them I would not lie for them.  They reminded me that I had taken an oath to never disclose what went on at Club Eden.  I told them I never would have made the oath if I had any inkling that the five of them were rapists.

When Randall, James, and John returned, Wade asked if everything went okay.  John responded, “Wendi and Cindi are safe at home.”  I told them that I needed to go home myself.  They refused saying that we all needed to get some sleep.  Randall and James made me bed down in the cabin while the other three slept in sleeping bags out by the fire.  I later realized that I was made to stay inside where I could be better guarded.

Around 11:00 a.m. Wade and Fred cooked us a quick breakfast while the other three were packing.  By 12:00 noon we were finished.  I rode away from Camp Eden with John and Fred.  It was over twenty years before I returned.