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The Story I Never Told

$20,000, a serial killer and the night that changed my life.

By Lex RoesnerPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
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When I was twelve years old, two things happened. The first being I found my dog dead in my neighbor’s field. I loved that dog. The second thing I’ve never told anyone—until now.

It was 1955. I was living with my grandmother outside Evansville, Indiana, just a stones throw from the Indiana-Kentucky boarder. Actually we lived in Vaughan, but nobody has ever heard of Vaughan so I always say Evansville. My mother died bringing me into this world and my father three days after V.E. Day trying to save the world. So it was just Gran and I in our little yellow house. The Taylor’s grew corn across the road and the Gokeys’s raised sheep to our right. My first job was helping with the sheering and lambing at the Gokey’s place. Boy, I loved that job.

Anyway, I’m wafflin’. It was a Friday in February and I was looking for Fish. That’s what I’d name my dog. I’d just finished my supper and Gran had promised to let me stay outside until I couldn’t see the hand in front of my face. Gran always said that, but that night I was elated because the sky was clear with the moon big and full. I knew I’d be able to see my hand long passed dark. Of course, I didn’t tell her that.

I was also excited because, Gran had been keeping me indoors since Christmas. There’d been a string of robberies that ended in killings in our area. As a result, Gran was bound and determined to keep me safe. It had been quiet for a while and she had finally leveled out.

I’d built a teepee in the woods across the street that lined the very back of the Taylor’s property. The back of their farm was the perfect place to play when you didn’t want to be disturbed. So I grabbed my mittens and raced off. I figured Fish would turn up as I jogged through the dust of snow.

I remember the sky was beautiful, especially for winter time. One of those sunsets that seems to just be showing off. And that’s when I found Fish. I would have walked right past him but his collar happened to reflect the sun and it caught my eye. I stopped dead in my tracks. There was blood everywhere. The snow around him looked like the cherry snow cones I got from the drug store in town. Above his front shoulder and on the side of his neck were two bullet holes. Someone had shot my dog.

I’m not ashamed to admit that big tears fell immediately. Fish had been my best friend. He walked me and the Gokey twins to school and back everyday. He even scared off a bear that wandered into our backyard! If you’ve ever seen one of them dog films, like Lassie or something, that was Fish. Boy, I cried and cried.

As I wiped tears from my eyes, I noticed a blood trail headed for my teepee in the woods. I can’t tell you what went through my mind right then, but I got up and followed that trail. Old man Taylor had been teaching me how to hunt and track the last two autumns. I guess instinct just kicked into high gear. Maybe it was wanting revenge or maybe I was afraid the same person was gonna destroy my teepee, but I headed for those woods just as the the sun crossed the horizon line.

It wasn’t a huge blood trail. Just a few drops here and there, but it led me into the tree line. I knew instantly, whoever this was, had found my teepee. It was only yards away. I looked down and picked up the biggest stick I could find. Then I approached as quietly as I could.

When I was just outside, I squared my shoulders, spread my stance wide, and took a deep breath. I was holding my branch out in front of me, ready to swing at the first thing that moved. Then I stormed inside yelling, “Why’d you kill my dog?”

“Wait! Wait!”

I stopped right then. It was a lady! I remember thinking she was more beautiful than my history teacher, Miss Delnay, who was the prettiest woman my schoolmates or I had ever seen. She was kneeling in the middle of my teepee with a lit silver lighter in front of her. She’d ripped off a piece of her dress and was trying to wrap it around her upper arm which had a big gash. Two small black bags and an old carpet bag were lying next to her.

After getting over the shock that she was the most beautiful dame my twelve year old eyes had ever seen, I pointed my stick at her chest and asked her again why she killed my dog. The confused look that crossed her face made me lower my weapon.

Her bottom lip quivered and big fat tears ran down her dirty cheeks. I stared at her baffled as she burst into sobs.

“You can’t cry!” I yelled at her.

“Why not?” She whimpered.

“Because you killed Fish!”

“I didn’t kill your dog. I think he saved my life!” And she broke into fresh sobs.

I’d only seen school girls cry, not grown women. And school girls always stopped crying when you ignored ‘em. So I just stood there until she stopped. It seemed like forever. I sat down in front of her, put my hands under my chin, and just stared at her. Hoping she’d run out of tears, I waited. She eventually did. When she’d been quiet for what I deemed long enough, I asked her how Fish had saved her life.

She told me. Her name was Billie Kelley and she was on the run. Her fella back in New York had joined a local gang in Hell’s Kitchen. Here she got a little vague on details. Something had happened and she saw her boyfriend killed, but only after he had hid two black bags in their ceiling. He gave her strict instructions not to open them.

Before her fella was killed, she discovered she was in the family way. And when he was murdered, she knew she had to leave New York. She’d hitch-hiked all the way to Evansville. Now she found herself in Vaughan. She said she had cousins in Henderson, on the Kentucky boarder, and was hoping they’d be willing to pay her way to Baton Rouge where she had an Aunt or something.

To make a long story short, she’d caught a ride with a hitchhiker on his way to Rahm, which is about halfway to Henderson. The man was charming, handsome and called himself Bud. A few miles into the trip he’d asked her about her bags. She told him they were just her luggage, but she instantly had a terrible feeling. A few minutes later, he’d pulled the car along the side of the road. He told her he had to relieve himself, but as she put it, “something told me to run.”

She grabbed her bags, opened that door and fled. Bud chased right after her. She screamed for help. Then he pulled out a revolver and fired barely missing her. He fired again. The bullet sliced through her skin and she fell. He jumped on top of her and was about to put a bullet through her forehead when a dog jumped on him and latched onto his arm. At that point, she got up and ran for the woods. She told me she heard the man scream a couple times as the dog continued to attack him. Then she heard gun shots and everything went quiet.

Billie hid her luggage under some brush then climbed a tree as high as she dared. She watched as Bud searched for her for the better part of thirty minutes. Eventually he gave up. She got out of the tree, discovered my teepee and then I found her.

“Your dog, saved my life. He would have killed me.” She told me earnestly. “I saw it in his eyes.”

We sat in silence for a while as Billie tried to stop the bleeding at her arm. I got up and tied the rag around her wound as tight as I could.

“So what’s in the bags?” I asked out of curiosity.

“I honestly don’t know.” She told me.

“You haven’t looked?”

“Those bags got my Cal killed. I knew he wouldn’t want me to leave ‘em, but I don’t have the courage to look.”

So I asked if I could. She froze for a moment and just stared at me. That expression, deer in the headlights. She epitomized it in that moment.

So I told her, “What if there’s guns or someone’s fingers! Your fella doesn’t seem like he ran with a great crew. You never know.” I waited.

She nodded and then stared at the ground as I got up. Scooting over to one of her bags, I took a deep breathe and unzipped it. As I looked inside, my mouth nearly hit the floor. She must have caught my gaze because she jumped over to me. The bag was filled to the brim with rolls and rolls of twenty dollar bills.

Our eyes met once again as she grabbed the second bag. She ripped it open to reveal even more rolls of cash. She also pulled out two passports. I leaned over and pulled out a little black notebook, like Sam Spade might use. Opening it, there was an inscription on the first page.

It read, “Billie, I hope I’m there with you when we open this. But if I’m not, this is for our kid. We’re getting out of here.”

I handed Billie the notebook then went back to staring at the bag full of money when she started blubberin’ again.

“I want you to have one.” Billie sniffed suddenly. “I want you to take one of the bags. I wouldn’t be here without you. Your dog died saving my life. Plus this is more money than I’ll ever need.”

I gaped at her in shock. She was serious. She handed me three rolls of cash and then me made me promise I’d bury the rest of the bag under the teepee and not touch it until I graduated high school. She told me to use it for college and other things in the future. The rolls she gave me I was told to tell my Gran that I’d found beside the road. Which I did and though suspicious, Gran believed me.

I sent Billie to the Gokeys. I found out later that they housed her for the night and drove her to the bus stop the next day. I’ve tried for the last few decades to track her down but have had no luck. I have no idea what happened to her.

I did keep my promise. When I graduated, I deposited a chunk of the cash in my bank account every week. It totaled to $20,000 minus the $300 she gave that night.

The next month four people were murdered during robberies near us. The police eventually caught the man. His name was Leslie Irvin. He confessed to having been the one who killed the two others around Christmas. I had a friend in school who’s uncle knew Irvin. Apparently he was handsome, charming and went by Bud. I have no idea what Irvin planned for that night he picked up Billie, but to this day I believe Fish not only saved Billie’s life but he saved mine as well. Irvin died in prison back in ‘83. Cancer, I think.

Oh, I should mention I did break my promise about the money once. The Taylor’s boarder collie had pups the next summer. And yes, I dug up that bag and used $32 to buy one. I named him Bill.

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About the Creator

Lex Roesner

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