BORN INTO A CRIME FAMILY

 

BORN INTO A CRIME FAMILY

            I am not sure how to tackle this title; I picked it from a list I keep and today is as good as any to attempt it.  I really can only progress through this by using my flashbacks and cataloging what I have journaled too this date in my life which would be May 7^th, 2025.  This timeline will cover all five decades of my life and took me almost three decades of recall to collect this much information.  My flashbacks tell me that these crimes began with Max Shelton who would be my fraternal Grand Father on Roberts side.  What I have been able to deduce is that he was participating in sadistically sexual crimes from an early age.  That evidence comes from stories my fraternal Grand Mother Edith Shelton would share while she struggled with what we would eventually find out was Alzheimer’s.  This little old lady who never spoke that often would tell me these long stories about the family and people I never knew.  This was not enjoyable for me when I was young, but Robert wanted to have a conversation with Max, and I was left to watch her often in different rooms of the house.

            This story involves how Ediths father owned a great deal of land in and around Sherman Texas and Max was one of the ranch hands that worked for him.  He was a poor hay seed plow boy that did whatever the job of the day was.  She explained that he had asked her out on a date and that they went for sodas.  That night he raped her, and she lived with fear that her father would find out.  Then of course the baby began to show, and the details didn’t matter, she had to marry Max.  That pregnancy produced twins that died as infants.  I am sure that when you must marry your rapist the stress that would induce would make carrying babies to term very difficult and keeping them alive would be even harder.  At this stage of my life and her decline many other facts about the family continued to be shared.  Robert and Max were having many of these one-on-one conversations and my job was to keep Edith away from them and listen to all her stories if it kept her in one spot.  I likened this responsibility to the work of an orderly or nursing assistant in a nursing care home.  Completely age inappropriate for the task at hand but when did my age ever matter in the dynamics of this family.

            Since Max had this behavior at his working age and felt confident enough to stay in town after the assault allows me to believe that he had this behavior and talked his way out of situations like this before.  From that I will hypothesis that max had developed a comfortableness with such actions and in his mind, he may not have seen his actions as wrong.  Then, of course, he was able to marry into wealth and the family would hide his secret and create a cover story for why nuptials had to be carried out in such a hurry.  I did see a picture that Edith pulled out from a drawer in the sitting room of her house.  It was a young Edith, maybe age 20, who was dressed in a black dress.  She told me all about how she was forced to wear that color, or the preacher wouldn’t complete the ceremony and that she was wed out on her father’s ranch and not in a church.  She continued with how she attended church every Sunday hoping for forgiveness, but Max never attended.  It was during these conversations that she began to refer to Max as the ‘dirty old man’ and she continued to refer to him this way until her death.

            Many times, in my life as Glenda sought retaliation toward Robert, I was unceremoniously dropped off at Max and Ediths house for weeks at a time.  I would stay there until they either drove me back home or Robert would come and get me.  My days mostly revolved around meals and sitting on the couch in the den making no noise and with no television playing.  At times I did go with Max to feed the cattle and as I have written in my journal I was at their house when Max conducted his sex slave and human trafficking business.  I am at a loss as to how to differentiate these two terms since they both fit and one was used then and the other is a more modern umbrella term used today.  His operation seemed simple the phone would ring, and he would take down notes about what Mexican woman and girls had showed up to work what fields.  He would pay for delivery to a variety of different cowboys that came to the house and some of them wore holsters with what I referred to as cowboy guns.  They were always nice to me and answered my questions about the name of their horses and when was the last time they shot a snake.  Sometimes Max wasn’t home, and Edith would invite them in and write down how many females they had kidnapped and where they had been imprisoned.  Then she would count out the money and these men would leave.

Occasionally when these cowboys were pulling their horse in a trailer I would be allowed out so that I could pet the horse.  Often these cowboys’ family members and children were in the truck, and I was introduced to them as well.  This behavior was as common as a neighbor dropping off a pie.  I just felt a release I remember these visits by the cowboys, but I never recalled the conversation about the females and the stories that Edith and Max would laugh about when they discussed how hard certain women fought.  It was the joy in all their eyes that confused me, as I was deducing that these where not bad men caught for cattle rustling but women beat and tied then moved to a holding place.  I was realizing that these cowboys where the bad men and not good men catching criminals.  I am unclear on how my brain separated out the beginning and end of the visit from the content about brutality.  It’s true that I was already a wash in dissociation and my brain had already created an amnesic box.  My subconscious simply deciphered what was best for me in this event and then took a parenting role.  I was allowed to be in awe of a cowboy in the beginning then amnesia took the conversation out and allowed me to go and pet a horse.  Fascinating how on point that part of my mind was and how in this event it hid the content while not requiring that I become frozen in place.

On occasion while I was there, I would watch Max escort in girls maybe age ten and they would be beaten around the face and crying.  He would have them by the arm and on more than one occasion Edith would use their names when she would instruct them to stop crying or to sit further back on the couch.  This command of sitting further back on the couch seemed so important to Edith, she did not comfort these girls, and I heard more than one call her Mrs. Shelton when they attempted to ask her questions.  Max would be on the phone from the time he arrived at the house, and he would be talking about prices and there was always an argument about delivery and how they wanted Max to transport these girls to them.  These conversations would lead to Max raising his voice and then slamming the phone down.  It was with this behavior that I would start going into dissociation, but I continued to see and hear as my amnesic box filled.  What I looked at in the room as I slipped into dissociation was so crystal clear that it hurt my eyes. What I heard was so sharp that I wanted to cover my ears, but my arms had gone weak.  Then from that intense sensation of focus all was gone and I sat like I was in a trance which I was.  Lots of time passed during these episodes when I would come to, the girl was gone or sometimes they were asleep on the same couch as I but now they had been tied with ropes.  So many times, these girls used proper names for Max and Edith but not one that I can recall in this writing attempted to run or act defiant in anyway. 

            I was awake and alert on several occasions when men arrived and some would have business suits on while others had riding chaps.  These men did not visit with me and while they where in the house they where never offered to sit and visit.  They just stood by the door that exited to the garage and watched as Max unlocked the door that led to where he had deep freezes.  He would either pick a bound girl from the floor or open the lid to a freezer and have these men pick the girl out.  Those girls in the freezer where always shivering and their skin had a blue ting.  Some of them gave no response and Max would yell that he had told them to hurry up since he was going to put them into the freezer.  These men would at times argue price but then Edith would make a noise causing these men to turn then cock a hammer to a pistol, and I even saw her pump a shotgun on one occasion.  She stood further back almost to where the desk sat.  She would have this look on her face that she was daring them, to argue more since she wanted to shoot them.  I don’t have any memories of her ever shooting any of those guns but right now I am recalling how frightened of that face I was.  To me this was Glenda’s monster face that occurred right before she would start chasing me to attempt to kill me.

This is turning into a journaling entry lol, so much is processing through and my clarity about these scenes is releasing so much tension.  I have had a long day of writing this will be my 9^th straight hour, and I didn’t think I would have had the energy for a short story.  The poem I wrote earlier entitled ‘Held captive in my own mind’ was very productive for me and led to releases that I couldn’t have obtained otherwise.  Now as I chronicle the time span of my biologicals criminal careers I am finding this to be as therapeutic as it was intended to be informative.  I have recalled girls coming out of that freezer before and the shaking discolored condition that they were in.  I also have had previous recalled memories of men receiving envelopes of cash, but they were law enforcement.  I had an inkling of how involved Max and Edith were in this profession but what I am recalling now adds layers that I didn’t expect to find.  It seems that there was a community that assisted Max and that he had layers such as informants, catchers, law enforcement, morticians and buyers.  The catchers are new to me, but all the other hierarchies have been exposed before.  A thought that is coming to me now, that was shared with me when Robert was working on his filings to sue my aunt by marriage, Stella Jean, for theft.  Involved these two large amounts of cash that had been piled away in two safety deposit boxes located in Sherman Texas.  Robert estimated it to be over a million dollars, of course he is the one suing for recovery and he easily could have buffered that amount as he was looking to claim all he could.  What I am wondering is if that was where they stashed the criminal money since they couldn’t put it in the bank. 

            The way that these images are presented in my head would be similar to my mind having a 15/15 eye vision score.  I know that the standard is 20/20 but these images have an acuity to them that seem much sharper and as if my mind gained sharpness contributed to my need to survive.  I have heard that predators gain enhanced focus as they target prey, this must be my enhancement when my mind feels I am in danger.  Like when a mother experiences super strength in defending their young.  Again, I am at that debilitation that haunts me, though these girls names are said out loud and in front of me I cannot recall them.  I am no longer in that abusive house and have acquired so many more skills than I had before I began that journey.  Yet, my subconscious blocks the recall of names and in time I am sure that the reason will be revealed.  I cannot fault my subconscious it has been able to get me this far in life simply by the choices it has made for me thus far.  At this moment I would like to bring acclaim to my amnesic box it has stood the test of time and seen me through many of a perilous journey as I survived these two and so many others.  These two-trauma induced coping skills that originated long before my birth became my lifeline to enduring and hopefully overcoming eventually the psychic wounds that have been inflicted upon me.

            It is within this womb of deceitful jeopardy that Robert and my uncle Joe Max were born and endured the same as I.  The evaluation of this abuse if placed upon a scale would in my opinion equal out.  The abuse that I suffered at the hands of Robert was less than I believe Robert had to endure at the hands of Max and Edith.  Then you add Glenda and any deficit that I may have thought was present disappears and her abuse style adds such a large amount to my trauma load in so many diverse ways.  That upon analysis by future scientists with more data collection from many more sources than just my brain.  May find that she tilts that evaluation and then history will hold that my life held more suffering and challenges than his.  Please speak loudly to the world when that is deciphered since I am sure that I would have passed on by then lol.  I learned long ago to never compete your traumas with others who have suffered as well, it simply turns into a race that only the permanently dysfunctional would want to win. 

I do recall that there were so many events of my brothers both older and younger attempting to one up one another back when we discussed the abuse openly.  My debate was that I simply wanted to share and discuss the craziness that we all endured since I had no one else to talk to about these events and one or both of these two had been their when these events occurred.  Their debate was always who endured more and thus had the right to complain at all.  It’s a strange philosophy but these two shared with me many times how since they had agreed I was not the most abused then I should stop discussing it and move on.  I felt so much better when I shared with one or both of them and apparently this became a trigger for them as they attempted to put these unprocessed and unexamined traumas behind them and into their box of denial.

Over the course of time what has arisen as the response they have to their past has been unique to both.  My older brother will blurt out things about our past without specifics.  An example occurred several years ago where I was sitting behind my older brother in his converted garage that he uses as an office.  I was sitting and using a computer to print something and then he just uttered out loud, ‘I don’t think anyone would believe what we had to live through’ then he just went silent.  I have learned from being around him that he detests conversations unless he has asked you to engage.  Thus, I sat there in this silent focused moment of heightened attention and waited to see what cues would be offered to engage.  Nothing but silence and I just listened to the printer spit out my papers and said my goodbyes and departed the scene.  For that brother that was as close to a confession as I could have ever hoped for in the relationship he and I have now.

Regarding my younger brother, I have learned to keep my distance and not allow him to be alone with me, this is easily accomplished in the current relationship we have, I don’t talk to him and haven’t for years.  At Glenda’s remembrance that occurred at Michael’s house he was there, and I just didn’t engage and left early.  His coping mechanism is to save up any and all aggressions he can and attempt to whisper them out if others are close.  One time around the time that my older brother was getting married I rode along with my younger brother in his truck and got a full blast for the whole drive not only about what he thought of me, but he went down a family list as well.  The level of aggression and intent to harm that came out of him was so similar to Robert and Glenda that I had a difficult time focusing and just sat there while his rage washed over me.  Funny how this intent is to share a longitudinal story pertaining to the crime family I was born into.  Has, now led me off track and into the confines of internal family dynamics as they exist today lol.  Me and my brain taking the disorganized journey of the learning disabled.

Back on track with the discussion of the crimes that I have recalled related to Sherman Texas and the childhoods of my father and uncle.  I have had a flashback where I was very young and toddling around the bed of a pickup truck when a man wondered up and had intense words with Max.  Then Max and Edith laughed and mocked Robert for not being able to bury a body deep enough to avoid detection.  That body was apparently the daughter of the man who had words with Max and required that Max pull out his pistol before the man and his family walked on down the dirt road.  This family was dressed as if they were poor and may have been walking from farmers’ fields where they would have worked for the day before heading home.  I cannot recall exactly but Robert’s defense to these confrontations was that he was only 12 years of age.  I may have the age wrong, but he was about that age when he was left to dig a grave that would avoid detection and had to move a dead body into that hole all by himself.

Joe Max and Robert often had drunken arguments when we were camping, and I learned a great deal through flashbacks about how at a young age which was never specified these two were left to bury bodies on the acreage and had to stay overnight and sometimes days until Max returned to pick them up.  This event has been documented in my journal, and its existence allows me to offer the thought that Robert and Joe Max were watching crimes occure just as I was at a very young age.  Though they were not made to participate when very young I believe that their brains were adapting trauma strategies to help them endure.  Roberts became multiplicity and I am unaware of Uncle Joes since every time that I interacted with him he was drunk.  This is not an exaggeration I watched him stumble and slur his way through every holiday, hunting, and camping event that he and I attended at the same time.  There were many other events I was not in attendance at, but the family members all told the same stories about how Joe Max passed out while doing this or fell over while doing that.  Everyone laughed but his daughters did not, and I was way too deep into dysfunction to have insight enough to know that this was an embarrassment to them. 

There is a gap of knowledge that occurred while Robert played baseball at Texas Christian University where he earned his engineering degree.  Added to this is some stint where he served in the United States army.  He never spoke of these days and thus I have no knowledge of what he did while in the service or if he acquired any victims associated with the military or TCU.  I am sure that he was still taking victims since I doubt Max took a break from exercising his proclivities and earning his ill-gotten gains.  If ever law enforcement would take me seriously and begin the arduous stages of a longitudinal investigation that information could be gained and from the list of the missing a tally deduced of which ones may belong to him.  This is a peculiar thought I had not placed this part of his life into a chronological map before.  I have been so busy dealing with my flashbacks that this stage within his timeline evaded my focus.  In reality I cannot offer a typology to this era of his criminal development and except for the acknowledgement that I can testify to the fact he had many artifacts of TCU memorabilia and military gear in the closets of the house of hate.  This is all I can attest to that backs up his claim that these periods of time produced evidence one would collect from having participated in these activities.

Many flashbacks have given evidence to the fact that Robert and consequently me traveled back and forth to Sherman in relation to conducting Max’s and Edith’s bidding.   Both Max and Edith were alive and cognizant at this time and just as mean as usual.  During these episodes Robert was still helping Max run his barn parties.  Then from time-to-time Max would kidnap children that Max couldn’t handle an example would be the three country girls that he somehow found walking down a dirt road.  He had them held at the Dorchester hay barn and I believe that they must have come from somewhere close since that black man in his jeep pulled up looking for them.  Then when he was taken hostage, he kept shouting out loud over Max and Robert to the girls that others were looking for them.  Also, Max wanted to get these girls moved from that barn versus torturing them there.  Now something that I have never been able to connect involved was how Max was able to contact Robert and have him arrive at the Dorchester barn to assist, cell phones didn’t exist.  My bewilderment involves the issue surrounding when he called.  Did Max already have his captives or was he planning to abduct them and called in advance.  It happened quickly at the house Robert received a call and then he told me to get in the car and off we were driving in a hurried fashion.  I don’t remember us speaking to one another if my memory is correct and Robert was in that mood of his where I know something bad would happen to me if through questioning, I aimed his intensity in my direction. 

Then at other times Robert and I were required to attend Max’s dates that he held in the visiting room with corpses that I believe he acquired from a funeral home.  I was shaken to my core and had a hysterical panic attack when one of these dates’ bodies fell over, and all the moth balls came out of her mouth.  Then some girls that Max had to move out of the area had to be transported to the DFW area to put space between the ongoing search and the selling of the child.  On top of this Robert would take me to help Max torture information out of woman who where chained by the neck to trees and isolated out on various ranch acreages.  Then of course some of these victims had to then be relocated and buried elsewhere.  Max also showed up in Irving unexpectedly when he had too much heat on him and he couldn’t go directly home.  He would simply bring his cargo to Irving and be parked outside of the house or calling our house phone waiting for Robert to get home as he hid somewhere else around Irving as he waited for Roberts help.  This connection also involved Joe Max making Max aware of witnesses and victims that planned to testify.  This would lead to Robert and I driving around what seemed to be endless dirt roads in vehicles that did not belong to us and often smelled of secondhand smoke.  Then out there in the boondocks we would come across Uncle Joe or Max who were driving separate vehicles that I had never seen before.  We would group up and scout areas for miles and miles and then group up again later in the day.  If the house, farm, or ranch had been located then Robert would have taken care of the issue or we would follow Max or Joe Max to the address and Robert would take care of it then.

While these trips to Sherman Texas were taking place Robert’s business was taking off and more and more victims were being collected while there was an increased presence of law enforcement coming to the door for their envelopes.  My dissociation was constantly triggered and some constant behaviors that I exhibited at these early ages were as follows:

1)      I could never remember my routine. I took many beatings for not recalling instructions as adults in my life had routinely brought to my attention.  Every day seemed like a new day to me since I had forgotten all the rules from the day before.

2)      At this time, I also had the most difficult time staying in my play areas at whatever childcare place I was sent to.  They had areas that we would rotate to and from.  Then after so many minutes they would tell us to rotate again.  I was in and out of conscious states, I remember carrying large building blocks into the bathroom and wondering where I had gotten these from.  Then suddenly I was being dragged out of the stall with my pants down by the arm.  I was screaming my loudest as I didn’t know who this woman was, even though she had been my teacher for weeks, then as she made me stand half naked in the middle of the carpet we used for circle time.  I would continue to try and bolt back to the bathroom since that was where I started and I wanted the safety of the stall.  These children’s faces were not familiar to me, and I did not know where I was.  This led to me being placed in a large car seat that had no padding and was more like a hard plastic oval with a deep seat.  This item was located down the hall for the special education students who were throwing tantrums.  The seat was deep so that once your butt slid down inside you couldn’t get out without assistance.  I escaped many times and eventually they just let me stay in the bathroom stall.  Then later after I was all cried out and exhausted a very kind voice was heard from the other side of the stall door and I unlocked it.  The face of Mrs. Ray was there smiling at me, and I recalled who she was, she had been my babysitter for over a year.  She took me home and I never recalled these events until just now.  The reason for a great deal of my panic was due to my belief that this woman who had dragged me by the arm was trying to kill me in front of these children.  Why else would someone I don’t know pull me out of a bathroom stall and drag me naked in front of a bunch of laughing children.  To my young mind my conclusion made sense.

3)      Then there were the times that I would make it, through the day and led outside to a porch area at the school and told to wait for Mrs. Ray.  I remember that I had a small paper sack and that as I was looking at it, I felt that I needed to deliver it.  Mrs. Ray had a son who delivered pharmacy sacks to people while riding his bike.  I thought it was so cool to have that job and to be able to ride your bike all over town, while I was still on training wheels and limited to Mrs. Ray’s backyard.  Meaning that delusional thought had a basis in some fact that was also in my head.  So, with a sense of importance, I set off and crossed the street in front of Lee Britian Elementary.  I carried that bag like I had a mission and at any moment now I was going to find that house and make my delivery.  I knew that numbers were written on those pharmacy sacks, and I looked for them on my sack and I saw none.  This panicked me a small amount since my brain began to whirl with the belief that I was going to get into trouble at my fictional job.  Then I became very confused and began to look around and I made circles in that one spot on the sidewalk.  Then as I stared back at the school, I had only made it down a few houses, it began to dawn on me that this paper sack contained my crafts for the day.  I could see Mrs. Ray’s car, pull up and her standing in front of the school looking through the bushes for me.  I panicked and began crying out loud and screaming as much as I could as I ran toward her.  I didn’t want her to leave me, my young belief system told me that if she left, I would die.  In my head where these large black birds that stood taller than myself and they would peck me to death as they pulled me apart.  I made it to her, and I had expended so much energy experiencing my terror that I fell into an exhausted delirium in her car, begging not to be fed to the birds.  Once again, I blurted something that alarmed yet, another caretaker and once home I was interrogated by Robert and Glenda as they made my tiny body sit in a chair from the kitchen table.  When I looked at them confused or told them I didn’t know Glenda would slap my bare legs with a wooden spoon.  There could have been many dissociative events that led to amnesic storage during these interrogation sessions.  I feel that the interrogation about a topic I no longer remembered with the added physical pain that delighted Glenda and having this take place after dinner and bath then right before bed.  This had to be the clencher that solidified all this content being pushed into the amnesic box for my self-preservation. That torture session with the wooden spoon played a role in this memory being categorized as amnesic content.

4)      I am recalling now that after I would wake up at home having spent time with Robert away from the house and regardless of the time of day.  If I had fallen asleep and then woke up to urinate or simply just stirred awake.  That I would automatically believe that I was in the wrong house and then I would leave through the front door and begin to wonder about the neighborhood.  The place I was leaving, which was the house of hate, was not my home; for some reason I believed that ghosts had told me that I had to go.  I was frightened of ghosts, shadows, and witches at that age and even though I was covered by my blankets I could hear them talking to me as if they had their mouths just inches from my ears.  Freighted is not the exact feeling I would describe but I was filled with an intense sense of haste.  No matter what I was wearing I would leave the house, and this included nakedness since many times that I arrived back home after having been with Robert my pants where soiled.  This could have been part of the dissociative menu of symptomologies that amnesic states carried or simply that he knocked me out by backhanding me as he often did.  Out of fairness we should add that I was young, and he did not care for me, or my needs, and it could have been connected to him not allowing me to stop somewhere to go to the bathroom.

Then the elementary ages began, and things got worse, not as bad as Junior high school but a step up from those pre-school years.  As I moved into first grade at Lee Britain elementary, I began to stay all day at school and then walk to Glenda’s class at the end of the day.  These began the days when Robert and Glenda were fighting, and Glenda would stay so late at school that my new friends became the janitors.  I would go from classroom to classroom with them and help them empty trash cans and then sweep the rooms and the hallways.  At times they tired of me and would push me out exit doors that locked themselves and I would end up permanently outside.  These janitors were old and probably didn’t like all the questions.  Then there was a low IQed man who never talked and thus I never worked with him. 

            Once outside all I could do was wonder around the playground and way out on the asphalt tarmac it was really lonely, and many strangers used the area as a crossover to avoid the long way around using the corners.  This means that there were many possible abductors that could have snatched me up.  Odd how my life has been constantly risky around very dangerous people and true I was abducted but Robert and/or Glenda always got me back.  My time at this elementary was kindergarten through third grade.  I don’t remember exactly what grade I was in when the abductions from this school began.  I will try and put these in order, but it will take an investigation that will never happen, it seems for these to be outlined.  Let’s begin with the following:

1)      One of these abductions involved a student teacher that Glenda had promised to give a ride home too.  I don’t know where in the building she worked but I saw her in the hallways from time to time and though she said hello I had no idea who she was.  Then I was sitting in Glenda’s room when she showed up talking about being ready to leave.  I sat there as her and Glenda talked and then the conversation about relationships took place and I was looking right at this woman when she openly talked about her divorce and how it was at times the only solution.  I remember this for two reasons, first when I was young divorce was like the word sex, you didn’t say the word or talk about the subject.  Second, was how Glenda’s mood changed, I could feel her rigidity and I started to dissociate.  I know this since after Glenda dismissed herself and left the room this woman attempted to talk to me.  I couldn’t answer her questions or even remember them now.  Not one sentence could I form in reply to her.  Then when Glenda came back, she had that sinister smile that appeared much like the Cheshire cat.  My dissociation was so intense then that I couldn’t rise from my chair to leave the room.  I saw Glenda wasting time as she kept looking out her classroom windows.  Then she scooped up her purse and materials and grabbed me and we were racing out the door.  This occurred so quickly that several times my legs dragged as Glenda was pulling, and I never felt anything absolutely no pain.  Then she stood me up and I saw Robert crossing the grass with his big smile and moving quickly.  Glenda said, “this is my husband Robert” then as the woman put her hand out Robert grabbed it and slammed her hard in the face with the fist of his other hand.  She went down and then back up on his shoulders and off she was carried to the trunk of his car.  I was put in Glenda’s car and fell asleep and thus another memory was stored in my amnesic box.

2)      This one involves the older lady who I felt worked in the front office somewhere since that’s the only door in the school I saw her go in and out of.  I did see her many times enter and leave Glenda’s classroom but that was not where this person originated from.  I also witnessed this woman have angry words with Robert about how he treated Glenda and a few times I saw shock on Robert’s face due to how he was ambushed with such intensity.  After those incidents Robert didn’t hold back, he was just as vicious as she was with word choice and intent.  Not sure why Robert was around the school during the school day, but these encounters took place in the hallway and inside Glenda’s room.  Each time he came I left with him, but I do not remember where we went, he was extremely angry and once in the car my dissociation set in and it all was just a blur.  Investigators will need to correspond to my schedule to Roberts work schedule and then cross reference missing people.  Which will not work since Sgt. Jim Alford destroyed files and hence forth all the missing are not accounted for.  Later I was with Robert when we would sit in his car and watch houses.  I knew he was looking in a certain direction but unaware of what we were really doing.  Then there was movement at the door and Robert moved the car from down the street to right in front of the house.  He was out and I was watching, it was a bright and sunny day, and our car windows were down, but the temperature felt good.  Then that woman appeared dressed differently than at school and Robert went for her and she darted back toward the door after having come down most of her sidewalk.  Lots of screaming and she was fighting hard, but he used a technique that he used on me often.  He would simply bear hug you around your rib cage and not let you expand for a breath.  This took tremendous strength to hold a grown woman off the ground and bear hug her until she went limp, but I watched him do it.  Thinking more about this and I am leaning toward the belief that this was an alter,  I don’t think Robert alone possessed the strength to hold a grown woman off her feet for the duration of time it took her to go limp, then as if not exhausted by that exertion carry her to the car and place her in the trunk, not once setting her body down to catch his breath and showing no signs of being winded once in the front seat.  Then we drove out to his dumping grounds close to DFW airport and this event was one of his rage interrogations.  He made sure she was conscious and was screaming at her reminding her how she had said this or that during their interactions.  This woman did not back down nor lessen in what intensity she could bluster.  To me as the professional that I am and so many decades working in psychiatric hospitals, I really feel that this woman was bipolar.  Her intensity was constant every time these two met and she would not yield even while being tortured.  Robert can really lay a beating upon you, and I have never seen any man face him through such an intense round of torture and not yield.  Robert has taken the fight out of almost every person he has gotten a hold of and most definitely those that he had a personnel issue with, and this woman was high on Robert’s vengeance scale.  I don’t believe that she had this level of fortitude. I believe that this was her depression-based rage at the world targeted at someone she had been craving conflict with and given permission to attack in a social justice type manner.  I often witnessed these intensities with bi-polars either at assessment or while on the psyche unit.  Only meds could get them to stop raging toward a target, often it was the judgment of other through religion but in later years it began to become crucifixion of others concerning their political beliefs.  Honestly those two arenas are interchangeable, and I think it was the media that played into which was manifested as the focus.  Early in my psychiatric career in the 1990’s hyper-religiosity was common since so many people still went to church and donated to evangelists.  Then toward the 2020’s politics became the media focus that made the most money and creating anger led to people donating to political campaigns.  As a Mental Health Tech I had to referee between bi-polar patients and their different interpretations of the bible.  What was worse involved the bible motivated patients ganging up on the other patients due to their belief that others where not as motivated as they where to follow gods word.  Later as a clinician and assessor, I worked diligently to steer clear of political talk.  However, the CEO of that hospital had a policy that all TVs must remain on fox news and that included the day room television on the unit and that stirred marginally calm clients into a fury and would relight a fuse that we had been working days to put out.  This woman’s biology now was enabling her to endure and not yield to these attacks.  Finaly the throat was cut, the blood spewed and before she went limp Robert pushed her off into the ravine and I heard all the usual limbs crack as her body fell and eventually came to rest. 

3)      Again, not sure of the order but this one involved the woman that Robert held with the greatest contempt out of these four.  Glenda and I had exited the school and we were walking toward the back parking lot when Robert appeared and they began to argue and tussle.  I call it a tussle since I know that both of them can rage and fight with tremendous force, but they were not damaging each other, just pushing and pulling was occurring.  Then this woman appeared, and I think she may have come from the portable buildings this woman apparently had witnessed what was occurring and it was her scream that stopped Robert and Glenda and then moved my head from looking at them to looking at her.  Robert approached her in an aggressive manner, but his body was not poised to hit her, and his approaching speed was manageable and not excessive as if he was planning to tackle her.  To me in that flashback it seemed that he wanted to intimidate her and scare her into getting out of their business.  Then something that was shocking and impressive at the same time occurred.  This woman was not intimidated, and I saw the bottom of her shoe as it extended between his legs and beyond Roberts buttocks and her toes reached above his pant pockets and equal to his belt.  The sound from Robert was a lot like a mooing cow cut off in mid expression of an alert call.  Lots of air burst out and then stopped just as quickly and with as much force, that had to have made his lungs burn.  Then Robert’s force forward made him bump this ladies body but she didn’t step back and I’m not sure what she did, but his head came up so fast and in an irregular fashion that the momentum pulled him off his feet as his knees crumbled.  For a split-second Roberts’ body was in a fetal position in midair and as I watched there was this hovering impact of his knees coming up and head now slamming forward as having extended his back acted like a recoiling mechanism and sped this scissored impact of one body.  A midair collision where the impact and recoil were caused by and damaged the same person.  I have never been able to catch this movement in such slow motion before in my mind’s eye and it’s so therapeutic to me as I now can visualize this creation of anatomical modern art creating and consequently destroying itself.  I am finding such a feeling of confession in this mental image.  Right now, I feel less like a scared small boy and more akin to a sculptor who more fully understands his craft.  I cannot alter or change these images nor the movements that they are confined too.  However, I can feel differently about them and preserve them as lessons versus traumas.  Yes, they all originated as traumas and were hidden due to their traumatic overwhelming power that they had in my psyche.  But this one scene has given up its power now and soundly defeated Robert’s mystique as a highly successful killing machine.  The lion of the plains who had been capable of taking down a herd of hippopotamus in a family group or a lone bull elephant in musk has been reduced to a crash test dummy forced to do acrobatics that made him appear weak and impotent as ignited by a crotch kick successfully landed by an elementary school teacher who was intervening for the greater good.  In her attempt to save a fellow teacher from a man she considered so low that she could face off with him and plan an escape leaving him wallowing in the dust.  Now that climatic scene of a movie style impact that foiled the plans of the central evil character must move to the misshapen and defeated attempt of the hero of our conflict as her plan to save the damsel fizzles and then reignites with Glenda’s rage aimed at the maiden with golden intent lol.  This layout of a horrific event in action has for a moment evidenced that the commitment of a positively minded interloper can in time allow the child victim of these events (i.e. myself) to reevaluate their spectrum of incoming jagged and sharp glass shards projected through a siphoning Lense.  Altering its theme of insurmountable odds to a moment of mischievous mimicry that exists between the pounding tidal waves of incoming sinisterness.  At this moment in my mind Robert has been defeated by our unexpected entry from stage right.  However, that end begins with Glenda’s attack which consequently will be joined by Robert as she screams for his help and insists that he help her.  No man would be entering any fray anytime within that day after such an impact.  I would imagine that ninjas themselves would have crawled into the foliage and taken their own lives to avoid being caught after such a blow registered them as out of order and aligned them with mission failure.  When Roberts’ body rose to a fully erect level and engaged this magnificently heroic lady of action, I knew that it was not the Robert that I had known.  I didn’t have alter awareness yet, but a child can tell when a parent is not who they once were.  This body suit of a man formerly identified as Robert entered the fray alongside Glenda who was losing as she attempted to punish this woman for what she did to Robert but also was attempting to keep this woman from escaping the scene.  Then as quickly as all this began it ended, and she lay motionless and as if this feminine body that to me seemed taller than Robert was hoisted atop his shoulders from a stiff legged position using just his arms to get her up above his waist before aligning himself through bent knees to move the weight from upper body to full body stability.  Then as if nothing burdened this persona off walked this body suit from the field of valor and toward the car where this gallant interventionist was unceremoniously dumped into the trunk.  That field of valor belonged to her and only her, she entered and was triumphant based upon her understanding of the situation.  I doubt this teacher of children had ever encountered dysfunction to this level and her passion for serving the greater good blinded her from placing her own safety first, ensuring her defeat and resulting in the acquisition of self and body to someone who could be called the victor but engaged in a route of less dignity than the pursuer of a selfless rescue.  So many words to describe the integrity of a profound soul who dedicated her working life to the betterment of others and will be losing her life due to the spontaneous act of selflessness in the battle of what she thought was a conflict between good and evil.  In these words, I tried to pay homage to a great soul who has filled me with an alternate perspective.  Robert and Glenda operate in the traumatizing zone of the attacking taker while if I choose, I can enrich my life with the mysticism of a person who embodied many if not all the traits that my soul does and which has allowed me to achieve happiness versus becoming one of them, referring to Robert and Glenda.  Now the table has turned and like all the others she is now owned and will endure one of the longest sacrifices to Robert’s ego that I have ever witnessed.  This woman was not allowed to be buried in the backyard of the house of hate with so many others.  I am not sure of the factors that contributed to this, but I suspect that the search for this victim was beyond compare, to some of the others.  I didn’t get the sense that Robert could move as freely as he wished with this victim and that he went to the brothers who also sold sex slaves for ideas.  This advice or simply need of necessity led to her being placed into a box created by oddly shaped wood of irregularity, not fine finished boards from a tool center but discounted roughly hewn pieces most likely bought as scrap.  The boards were thick but unfished and splinters abounded across their skin.  Robert took me to a small barn at the brother’s plant nursery and spent time shoveling dung of some type, off of this rectangular box.  Then he sat upon it, and this made no sense to me, why would we travel there to move fertilizer only to sit on a box in the middle of this small barn that smelled like the stock yards.  Then Robert began talking and I was looking all around as to who I might not have seen.  As I stared back at him with as much curiosity as caution, I witnessed fingers pop up through a knot hole in the wood.  I was frozen and as they extended further out, I noticed that they were dark like a monkey’s paw and there now was a rasping coming from inside the box.  In my child’s mind I thought Robert had captured an animal and that it was going to one day come home with us, then as the dissociation began to set in my final thoughts of clarity was to ask myself if I wanted this thing to live at our house.  I am tired. I have been up since 4am and typing since 6am.  This ability to pull the past from my amnesic mind and decipher it into digestible parts has been 55 years in the making and it exhausts me.  I must continue and develop more endurance so I can finish this book in a reasonable amount of time.  There were many visits to this casket for lack of a better name.  The conversations ranged from taunting to Robert telling the person inside about how many people were looking for her and how her family had been asking Robert and Glenda so many questions.  Then at times Robert would cry and share his struggles with life and how sad he felt and that no one understood him.  Those monkey fingers would appear again and that raspiness continued in earnest and as if there was a sense of urgency.  Then the day came when I was in the kitchen area of the house of hate, and I saw all these bobbing heads walking by the window in the utility room.  I went outside and these men had carried that rectangular box into the back yard and Robert was waiting.  These are separate flashbacks and when this box arrived, I did not remember it from before and I was excited.  Often Robert would bring hunting dogs in crates and boxes and as a young child I thought it would be another puppy or dog I was eager for either one.  Then with a heavy crowbar Robert began to pull off boards and some cracked and broke as they came off.  Then I froze as this long, black and thin arm rose from inside the box and Robert took it and pulled what was brought up, resembled what I thought at first was a twig and limb creation of something akin to a Halloween festive ornament.  Robert kept talking to it and Glenda was calling my name, but my head wouldn’t turn, and my muscles wouldn’t work.  Then these men who were dressed in jeans and t-shirts produced a rope or came over to help Robert with a rope and as it dangled Robert made a noose and put it around this things neck.  This body, so to speak was black in color and so thin that it truly to me looked like a combination of sticks and not human anatomy.  Even the hair was black and in strands that looked thick as spaghetti noodles.  Then Robert and these men pulled as hard as they could and I heard the tree ache.  He barely was able to get this elongated thing to hang off the ground and then he wrapped his arms around it and hung on using his body weight to pull it down, the extremities touched the ground, and Robert bent the legs and kept trying to fold this entity and then stopped.  My scenes are not as clear since I have processed these images and the way the process benefits me is to remove them from intrusiveness and then into clarity.  That process is in full effect here.  Then as the rain and wind increase and the sky darkens even more these men take everything away.  I recall how this woman’s dad came to the school while I was playing outside and grabbed me up as he was banging on the back door trying to get Glenda to come out and answer questions.  Then in another segment that occurred at this stage of development while I was attending this school involved the women of her family asking Glenda inside her classroom while they stood at her desk, if they could come over and discuss the missing woman.  When they were at the house, they were blunt and to the point they just wanted her body back.  Robert and Glenda both played the Christian card and kept attempting to get this family to kneel on the floor with them and pray for her return.  It wasn’t an academy winning performance, even I could tell that they were mocking these people.  After they left Robert and Glenda where being very morose.  I confronted them like the little sherif I wanted to be and then something happened, and I was out and found myself on the floor that night left in the same spot that I fell.  I didn’t learn more content from this retelling, but I did experience far more closure than before and an excitement of witnessing goodness in all of its self-sacrificing glory has advanced me as the human being I am aspiring to become.  This will not make sense to anyone else unless they have my condition, but I am so glad that today I had this experience recalling and growing from these events.

4)      The final one that I can recall disappeared from this school but not the final one in this time period.  A little Mexican girl who may have been 8-10 years old.  Nightfall had occurred and I was sitting in the green car parked behind the cafeteria at Lee Britain elementary.  Glenda was standing outside the car, and she needed to return to the cafeteria since there was some function she needed to attend.  There were many cars parked in all the spots and along the street.  Robert had stopped this car on the driveway to the rear parking area.  Then this small figure walked by Robert as he stood outside the car.  It was just that quick that he decided to snatch her and then the sound of the trunk and the jostling of the car as the lid closed.  Robert drove fast and soon we were in the driveway of the house of hate.  Then Robert was out, and the trunk was open he carried that body inside.  I could see from the porch light that it appeared to be a small Mexican girl with long straight black hair.  Then I was working at the door to get out and for me these doors were heavy, and we were parked on an incline.  Once I made it in, there was no Robert and no girl.  I sat down on the couch and then the door opened, and it was police officers dressed in blue.  About 10 came into the house and they passed me and were looking all around.  Robert walked out of the kitchen and met them, and they pushed past him as they headed to the garage.  I could hear Robert’s voice echoing from the garage and through the kitchen and into the living room.  Then all these officers huddled up outside and they came back and forth for a while.  I never left the couch and as always, I was just so impressed that they were police and that they had holsters with guns.  Then they all seemed to just dissipate.  Not a lot was said they searched and then there were fewer and fewer of them.  Then Glenda arrived home, and her and Robert were in the living room being intense with one another.  Then Robert went back to the kitchen and into the garage and I heard the side door slam, and his car started up and he was gone.  Glenda just went to her bedroom, and I just sat there, I was immobile, and I couldn’t lay down I was frozen in the upright position.  I believe that this flashback has something more to tell me since I cannot recall what exact moment pushed me into dissociation. 

This rounds out the disappearances that I recall from this school but not all the abuse I experienced there.  One day this man who told everyone he was a soccer coach showed up and was acting like he was our gymnasium coach, and we had to listen to him.  There is more to this story, but he was a pedophile and into boys and was constantly trying to get them to go into the coach’s office with him.  He did this with me when my teacher had sent me to drop a note off in the gymnasium.  This soccer coach followed me down the sidewalk behind the gymnasium and continued to demand that I go to the gym office and continued to tell me that I was in trouble and that I had to do what he said.  At that time, I had never delivered a note and had never been allowed out of the classroom except for special education classes.  I was not going to disobey my teacher or mess up my mission and I would have physically resisted that man if he had grabbed me lol.  It’s the truth I was so excited about earning this opportunity and my teacher told me that she was going to trust me since it was a big deal to walk outside and around the building versus walking through the halls.  Once I got past that pedophile, I felt so accomplished that I just knew my teacher would have been proud of me had she seen what good choices I had made. 

            In addition to this an event occurred totally orchestrated by Glenda.  Due to being a teacher’s kid, I was up at the school often and many times I was lended out to other teachers to help carry things around or hold these rolls of what they called borders.  Basically, the teachers had to decorate their classrooms, and these paper machete linings went around their various boards that they decorated as the seasons changed.  I held the bundle and followed them as they put staples into the cork board and outlined things.  It is not difficult but tiring holding your hands out from your body or over your head for long periods of time.  When the children were out of class on holiday or for the summer various people would wander up from the neighborhood to fill out applications for assistant teacher or janitor if a position was open.  I was left in a room tasked with moving and stacking chairs against one wall so that the floor could be cleaned.  I had accomplished this, and I waited for Glenda’s return. 

She showed up with an older black lady that was bent over to a degree and walked with a limp and her words were not complete.  I believe she was a person with special needs and had arrived as one of the people looking to help to earn some cash.  Glenda had that sinister smile and pointed at me and told this lady that I was the boy that wouldn’t listen.  This woman stepped up to me and said something intense but with a lot of what sounded like mumbling.  I did hear the word ‘move’ but move what or move where I was clueless and I was looking at her intently as I shrugged my shoulders.  This was a sign of defiance to her, and she clocked me with her arm, I moved, and she didn’t get too much of an impact on me, so she doubled down, and this time came at me with tremendous intensity and made a sound similar to when a power lifter commits to raising a heavy weight. 

That sound and her movement impacted me at the same time and my feet left the ground and I was knocked at full throttle into all the chairs and desks that I had been stacking.  The noise was immense, and all that work came crashing down on me.  Her accelerated arm hurt my body and the impact with the floor felt like my skin burned as my flesh scrapped across the floor.  Then the avalanche of desks and chairs contacted my head several times.  I found myself trapped below school furniture and unable to breathe as my mouth and lungs were fighting to breath while simultaneously screaming due to the pain.  Through my tears and while I lay on the floor, I could see other teachers rushing into the room and they helped me get out of this situation while Glenda laughed maniacally.  Again, this scene came back to me in flashback form after being held in my amnesic box.  However, I do not know at what time or exactly what event led me to dissociate.  Maybe time will give me more details later.

Then one summer I was told that I would be changing schools, and I would be attending Thomas Haley elementary for the fourth grade.  I didn’t have any issues with this it was just around the corner versus across the city.  Glenda kept telling me how much smarter those kids would be and that I was going to have a difficult time.  Up to this point in my life school was just a series of doing work sheets in class or walking to and from the special education department.  I had no homework and spent a lot of time just being moved around within the building.  I was so dissociative so frequently that days passed quickly and then it was like the week would jump.  I lost track of days and then in the classroom we were doing Friday activities which meant that all the stars a child had acquired allowed them to turn them in for prizes.  I never received prizes since I was never there to earn them. 

I had no facet of expectation since I couldn’t remember anything.  Many times, when we did class activities that required a buildup of knowledge throughout the week or six weeks, I was so clueless that I either sat there or they assigned a girl in the class to help me.  I couldn’t be assigned a boy since I wanted so badly to have friends that when another boy was close to me, I just got excited and wanted to horse play.  That didn’t go well for the boy since I was raised rough and had developed a high threshold for pain and they often started crying while all I wanted was to have a friend.  My lack of memory also came into play when it came to holidays or spring break.  I literally had no concept of impending events even though all the decertations had changed.  To me suddenly it was this holiday or that holiday and I sat spellbound as we had parties or activities that to me were total surprises and exciting distractions.

While at Thomas Haley these very odd events began to unfold.  I finally had a bike and instead of staying until 6pm at Lee Britain because Robert and Glenda were fighting, I got to ride my bike to the house of hate or simply walked.  This freedom to roam put me out in the neighborhood and many times I was waved down by adults who were asking me if I had ever seen a girl that looked like this or a girl that looked like that.  This didn’t seem odd to me. I felt this was no different than when you lose your dog, you’ll eventually find them and everyone will return home.  The difficult part was that I caught myself blurting things out, to this day I do not know what I said but it made these people’s eyes open wide and then pursue me to my house.  I remember thinking that I was in trouble and that I had to get away from these people.  There was just this filter between what I blurted and my ability to recall whatever it was.  This same behavior happened at Thomas Haley and twice official looking people arrived and took me out of class to accompany them to the office to answer questions. 

One was this short man in a matching three-piece suit that had bushy hair and a fully grown mustache and beard.  Glenda found out that he was asking me questions and she barged in the office located at the front of the school and took me down the hall by the arm.  She grabbed her purse, and we exited at the end of the hall and then started driving.  I don’t know what time this all happened, but she took me way over to the old side of Irving and we ate at a lunch spot.  She kept making phone calls at the diner and pay-phones and then we pulled up in front of a house and my gym coach, from Thomas Haley, opened the door.  Glenda gave me to him, and he took me into a bedroom, and he whipped me so hard with one of his belts that I was screaming my loudest and then Glenda barged in and told him to stop because she thought he was going to kill me.  When we got into the car my skin felt like it was burning and when I pushed my thumb on it, I could transfer blood to other parts of the car.  The skin on my arms and legs felt like tissue paper that hurt when I brushed it against anything.

The second time involved a dark-haired woman in her 40’s that had brought a police officer with her, when she interviewed me, who was balding but had black hair and a black mustache.  The conversation was brief, she asked about my home life, and I explained in a childlike fashion that I wasn’t supposed to talk about it.  Then she asked me if I wanted to live someplace else with a different family.  I didn’t know what this meant I thought she was talking about a sleep over with a friend.  I said yes and was very excited and then she released me to go back to my classroom, and I remember dancing and singing and humming the whole way back.  I know that I am missing some stages here about what happened at home after they found out about this interview.  Then nothing more until one day Robert said we were going hunting, and I was excited and looked around the car for the rifles but didn’t see any and thought that they must be in the trunk.  Then we parked somewhere I had never been and had to park the car on the opposite side of a fence. 

The road, if I am remembering correctly, was all white rock like a county road would have been.  Robert walked fast and I tried to keep up then the road went up like atop a dirt dam but Robert went down behind the dam.  The grass was tall, and I fell behind and then when I caught up, he was on the other side of this large log that was laying away from other trees.  I’m not sure how it got to where it was since I didn’t see a stump and it was a very thick log.  I had to circle around the log and then I saw a naked woman who had her arms stretched out and was tied to either end of this log.  She was talking to Robert and as usual he was threatening and mocking his victim.  I froze and then her head turned to me, and she said my name in a voice that I recognized but couldn’t place.  She was talking to me in a kind and nurturing way and then Robert jumped on her chest with both his feet.  She was supposed to be scared and looking at her face he had already roughed her up and then she was here talking to me like the child saver she was. 

So many women didn’t buckle under Robert’s torture and in their final moments that spoke to me more lovingly than either of my parents ever had.  Robert had to get the focus back on him this event was about revenge and since she was still alive and he was mocking her about who was looking and the efforts being made meant that he wanted this moment and was willing to take risks to have it.  This place he hid here was new and on some type of government land due to the fencing and white rock.  This place behind the large dirt dam meant no hunters and no grazing livestock which meant no ranchers.  He must have been saving this destination for a special victim or one of his crimies suggested it to him.  Basically, she would not yield, and he couldn’t seem to wear her out enough to bring her to terror.  Thus, he ended her life with a slit throat.  What sticks with me after so many years and just now came filtering through was when she said. “Sorry I couldn’t get you to that happier house” Wow the emotions that this is bringing up and I am now recalling how this woman had been into my classroom and watched me.  She was introduced as the teacher’s friend and then sat next to the teacher’s desk as the teacher led the class. 

This was in kindergarten a few times and then she appeared again when I was in first grade.  She always had a long blue dress of various shades with dark blue shoes that didn’t clack when she walked in the hallways or around the classroom so I’m guessing a sneaker of some type.  She often walked with me to the special education room and watched me there.  I really paid no attention to her, she would continually try and talk to me, and this upset me, and I would walk away or in the hallway I would run to wherever I was headed.  She tried to sit with me at lunch in the cafeteria and she said something that upset me so much that I pushed away my tray and pulled up my knees and started to sob intently and loudly and I kept telling her to stop asking me questions. 

Then after this event, which took place in first grade, she disappeared for a while, and I would see her at the school from time to time talking to other children.  I even saw her talking to the tall girl who I journaled about who talked in different voices and had a very young voice that asked me at the water fountain where she was.  After that the tall girl was gone and I never saw her again.  I so look forward to these writing sessions.  It holds so true for me that when I write to others with the intent of explaining my past, more of ground shards of the broken glass that makes up my psyche exposes itself an thus allows me to feel a release and consequently become even happier than before.  One day I would like to know who this lady was with this new information that’s unfolding out of my amnesic box.  This may have been a fifth murder victim associated with Lee Britian Elementary.  I am having flashbacks of more detail that I placed in my journal and now in my mind she is definitely a fifth victim. 

My mind is a rush with various images and thoughts and how this young boy who was in my kindergarten class was comforted when he cried because his mother went missing and no one knew what to do.  This young child was allowed to leave early and that blue-dressed lady who I figure must have been a school counselor would come and take him away by the hand.  Because his trauma was known he received compassion, which is exactly what he should have received and since mine was not known I was determined by the powers that be, to be incorrigible and thus punished for actions they didn’t understand.  I am remembering now how I sought refuge in that bathroom stall whenever I was dissociating and became unaware of my surroundings and afraid of all the noises happening around me, it was as if I had bionic hearing and I could hear all the conversations in the play area.  That time when the teacher yanked me out half nude was the day that the teacher told me that she had taken the toilet paper out of the stall and that I would need to ask for it before I went to the bathroom.  This meant nothing to me since my behavior of hiding in the stall was a dissociative action of safety and disconnected from the day-to-day instruction of the classroom.  Then I found myself in the stall and I remember that I moved my bowels.  Most likely since my dissociations and reality were disconnected and logic would be that I was in there to poop.  I couldn’t find any toilet paper and then as a child will, I began to wipe my feces on the side of the stall.  I was lost in using this medium to draw a face, it was like the more I smeared the more the face showed to me.  It was not really being artistically developed, but it appeared to be more of a looking glass methodology where the more you swipe your hands the clearer the picture in the mirror became.  It was a face of a woman who had been kind to me though I couldn’t remember knowing her or anything about her than she had helped me at some point in my life.  Then I was yanked out and presented to the class half nude and screaming a bit like a newborn baby. 

This short story had really grown, and my amnesic mind has become involved in the content more than expected.  I was informed yesterday that my adlibs in my work distracted the reader and that I should remove them.  My view is that since I am learning disable and mentally ill that my process is unique to what others may construct out of a similar life.  I am writing to people like me not the general public and as they have their unique voice I have mine and I process deeply when I follow my minds rhythm versus producing for a critic or as I have in the past an academic professor.  I have also declined the well-meaning feedback that my writing is too gruesome for publication.  My intent is to find my people and build a community for those that have suffered similarly to me.  I have no typology to mimic, process to research, or professional to consult.  My whole life I have created my own solutions and consequently salvations.  My blueprint to life is one that I cherish since it offered me more purpose, progression, and intimacy than anything else in my existence.  I am also aware that my mind is struggling with sequence and that my content seems lost in its direction.  I am choosing to leave that in since this is my amnesic brain jumping and I want others like me to feel less alone when they attempt to write and experience similar results.

To continue with the Thomas Haley part of my life I recall how the abuse at home was intensified due to Robert attempting to diversify his product line.  Examples included taking more special orders from perverts about who they wanted to have kidnapped and where they wanted them delivered to.  This also had the hidden pay structure of disposal that was discussed later in the process usually when the pervert was in crisis mode and willing to pay substantially more to rid themselves of evidence.  Robert was still involved in helping Max with his barn parties and he and I traveled a great deal during this time between Sherman and Irving Texas.  Slaves were transported both ways for sale and disposal.  The intension of purpose during this time had increased due to Max’s proclivity to acquire victims he could not manage without Robert.  By management what I mean is that Max could still take advantage of crimes of opportunity in relation to abduction.  However, he had grown too old to manage victims physically for torture and often when Robert loaded me into the car and we hastily arrived in Sherman Max had acquired more than one victim and that type of management takes additional help.

Abductions from the neighborhood both in Sherman and Irving had grown and Uncle Joe was playing more of a part with crimes in Sherman.  Uncle Joe so wanted to fit in and be accepted by these two, but he simply was not cruel enough.  Robert and Max would openly mock Uncle Joe and they united over their rejection of him it seemed a necessary part of the Max and Robert dynamic.  If Uncle Joe was rejected, then Max and Robert could be closer, and Max had more of a hold over Robert and could leverage him to do more gruesome acts while being at his immediate call.  It was also at this time that more of Roberts’ crimies were coming by the house as well as law enforcement.  The officers always came to the porch and knocked, and Robert would grab their envelopes and hand them out.  The crimies never got out of their car and if they saw me outside, they would call for me to go get my dad.  Many times, as I was sent away from the car and told to go inside, I could see Robert poking his head into the open window of the car and then I could hear him make comments.  Examples would be,‘if that’s what they’re paying then take it’ or ‘you can get more than that’.  These phrases at the time meant nothing to me, they were the same type of quotes that he would say when he was talking about auto parts or firearms.  Of course, now I know differently.  I believe that these scenes became locked in my head as a repressed memory since I knew these men where dangerous and when Robert was around them, he became more alpha than usual which made him more of a threat to my wellbeing.

Sgt, Jim Alford was more involved in our lives as he helped Robert while attempting to acquire his own slaves.  Several times he called Robert over to his house which meant I had to go.  Glenda was really attacking me a lot in her attempt to get Robert to let my older brother come home and if I didn’t leave with Robert then she would attempt to brutalize me so she could show Robert the results of her work when he would return, all the while trying to convince Robert that she was going to kill me if he didn’t allow my older brother to come home.  While I was at Sgt, Jim Alfords house he often had kidnapped teen age girls usually from the old side of Irving, I deciphered this according to their statements that they attended Nimitz high school.  These girls were chained in the garage to his dune buggy frame. 

Robert refused all these girls for sale due to specific issues, first was Sgt. Jim Alfords proclivity to beat their faces and as a result tear slits into their cheeks and mouth.  Second the buyer that Sgt. Jim Alford had lined up lived in Irving or too close to Irving and Robert felt that they wouldn’t sell for much due to facial damage and that they were too big of a risk since they knew too much.  I also have a suspicion that Sgt. Jim Alford had introduced himself as a police officer to lure these girls into his car or maybe he pretended to arrest them, that would create a complication since if rescued or if they escaped, they knew where to find Sgt. Jim Alford.  The facial wound limitation makes sense to me, but Robert was selling girls abducted from Irving and sold to buyers in Irving as part of his pick a victim program.  This either has a component that I have not yet remembered, or Robert was playing some type of power game.  Just note that there is no doubt that Sgt. Jim Alford looked to Robert as his father figure of perversion and followed him without question.  He wanted to live up to Robert’s standard and gain his approval and lived in Robert’s life at a great disadvantage due to his subservient affliction. 

During this time searches by police increased and I didn’t always know why they were there, only that many blue and tan uniforms had arrived and they didn’t speak to Robert or Glenda even though Glenda was yelling at them and asking questions.  Then after all this commotion which I watched from the stairs or seated on the furniture they would exit the house and reconvene in the front or backyard and have a meeting of the minds and they would either search again or drive away.  Some had odd tactics such as bringing their flashlights into the house during broad daylight and then using the beam to illuminate the door frames.  They would intensely follow the beam as they circled the door frame, what they were looking for was never revealed.  Others pulled out furniture cushions and flipped things over, they seemed to be testing the weight of furniture as if a body could be hidden inside.  Some searched the back yard with great intensity as they stared at the ground.  It was more than looking for a grave perhaps they thought they would find an outlined hatch to a hiding hole. 

The foundation of the house as it touched the dirt was tapped with their boots and cracks in the exterior wall where followed and they had their flashlights out again attempting to peer into these crevices.  I watched these events since I had been sent outside to hold the dog’s collars so they wouldn’t run away as the gates to the backyard were opened and closed as officers came and went.  During the backyard search there must have been 10 officers walking and staring at the ground or running their fingers across cracks in the exterior wall.  Though I was starry eyed and thought that this was a dream come true to be around so many law enforcement officials I had to fight the pull of dissociation to not fall asleep and I felt the disappointment that none of these men would acknowledge me.  It was like they had collected some information from somewhere and were following a lead from someone they may have flipped.

Robert was always coy during these investigations and walked around as if he had no cares and often had a glass in his hand that he was sipping from.  He walked freely between the house and the backyard and encouraged the officers to look deeper into crevices and taunted them about missing something that he believed they should have concentrated upon.  Then the focus changed to the tree trunks, and they gazed into the canopy above and when they did this Robert would sneak up behind and stand next to them and say out loud, ‘whatcha looking at’.  Not once did these officers acknowledge him or speak to him about his behavior.  Then another powwow and they all left through the side gate that Robert shut behind them and then from inside the fence he did his usual insulting and daring them to come back while including statements like, ‘get out and stay out’.  I think he was drinking alcohol since now he was stumbling and muttering and now that the tension of law enforcement being there had released his composure broke and he was trembling and crying and unable to physically make it back into the house.  Glenda had to come out and help him back into the house as she was whispering things to him that I couldn’t hear.  I just stood there for a lost period of time, and it was only the dogs licking my hands that brought me to enough of a conscious state to let their collars go. 

The rest of the day and into the night Robert and Glenda worked on the phone and went from yelling at people to both sharing the receiver to listen to someone talk.  Notes were hastily written, and other numbers were called and then more information gathered as Robert spoke, and Glenda wrote on a paper tablet.  I was frozen and stuck in this standing form where I could only lean against the couch, I had no ability to bend my legs or at my waist.  My head turned to see Robert and Glenda when they were loud but when they were listening at the phone receiver then my head would rotate to stare at the wall that divided the living room from the garage.  I was semi-conscious, and I remember now how I liked the feeling, there was no fear or hunger, and I just floated in a spot that was comfortable.  It felt like I was asleep but watching through a bubble window that floated.  Then Robert and Glenda were talking to each other like they were in unison and agreement this was uncommon, and my bubble turned to watch them.  Then Robert was walking toward my body and past my floating conciseness, my gaze was from behind and above as he opened the closet across from the master bath.  He was digging inside and taking out clothes from the closet rod, putting them on the couch next to my body.  Then out came the wooden extenders for the kitchen table.  He was digging deep into the closet, and he had pulled something lose and this smell of dust entered the room.  He was crouched down, and his buttocks was settled upon his heels in the position of a deep squat.  He then moved one foot at a time further and further into the back of the closet as he committed his arms to the darkness.  Then his body began to twaddle back out of the space it had committed too, and he was pulling a long black tarp or bag. 

This yanking continued and Glenda had walked over and blocked my hovering eye.  Then they both pulled, and that bag was in front of my body and resting in the center of the living room.  This was a long black duffle that had a zipper on the top that ran the length of the bag. The sides and bottom were all dusty, the lower on the bag the thicker the dust had smeared.  The bottom was all off white with what appeared to be a chalk substance that had been ground into the bag by dragging it across the floor.  Then on the sides of this bag where lighter streaks of the same chalk.  Robert was now on his knees and Glenda was standing up behind him.  My eye in the sky was still in the same spot but the level of clarity was having trouble focusing as the dust had been disturbed from the closet and floated in the air.  Glenda was coughing but didn’t leave Roberts side. 

Then as Robert struggled with the zipper, I could hear sounds from inside the bag.  Robert started to talk very kind and said, ‘hey there child’ then this head of long black hair started to rise from inside the bag and Robert had his arms reached in and he helped this form out of the bag.  He pulled her free and then sat this small child upon his knee as he now had one knee down and one up.  He rose and carried a child of maybe age 3-4 across the floor to the opposite chair.  He was talking to her and trying to get her to respond and said, ‘did you have a good sleep’.  The air was thick with the smell of urine and fecal matter.  When she was removed from the bag this wet moldy scent was released.  I am guessing that her sweat, and urine had mixed with the dust that was prevalent in her hidey hole.  The way that law enforcement concentrated their search outside the house leads me to believe that they had vague information but not specific details.  The confessor must have been outside the inner circle and working perhaps as an informant and had developed secondhand information in hopes of some type of trade of pending charges.  Time will tell if I know more and thus the wait begins.

  Then he moved her hair back and this was an astonishingly beautiful tan child with these hazel blueish eyes and perfect facial bone structure.  She had these leather sandals on her feet, and it was obvious that her toenails were done with the color white and had small orange flowers painted upon the nails.  This child appeared to be a girl who would grow to become a model she was simply too beautiful to ever have a normal life.  Her hair and toenails showed that she had been very well cared for and it was obvious that someone would be missing this child.  This was what all the commotion was, and this is why they were looking for someplace hidden.  Someone gave law enforcement information, and they attempted to act upon it, and they just looked in all the wrong places.  That’s why Robert was drinking liquor and walking around outside.  He needed to calm his nerves knowing that he had a live child hidden and he needed to taunt the cops to help steady his nerves by distracting himself.  Then when they left it was such a close call that his anxiety got the better of him and his façade fell apart.  Glenda must have been distracting law enforcement on the inside of the house through all her attacking questions.  I wonder which crimie tried to plea out his charges and to what level if any Sgt. Jim Alford played a role in confusing the details or misdirecting the content of the information.

Again, here we are you, the reader and I, the writer, discovering another flashback that has allowed me to find more of my past while feeling that stress released which signals to me that this was real and confined parts of my psyche to keep it hidden.  I now have more of myself back and as I sit here, I feel content and ready to continue to write.  This process is a lot like a scavenger hunt for me with clues that appear only as I stumble across them while following a direction that I was guided toward by a different stimulus.  Maybe this is more like a booby-trapped path with trip wires that were set for different reasons than to deter my progress.  More like an easter egg of content that I am rewarded with when I make it this far into my psyche. 

This paragraph will be like a captain’s log lol from star trek.  I continue to try and complete the task that the title of this work insinuates.  Just a life spent with a crime family.  However, my brain continues to interrupt itself with content from my amnesic mind.  I thought this title would be easily accomplished and I would have moved on to additional poems or answering questions from a different preprepared list.  What I am accomplishing I have never done before seems that I have serendipitously involved myself is a process whereas I attempt to complete a structured task of historical content.  I then release a far more hidden assortment of trauma than I once thought I possessed.  I am sifting sand from my conscious mind to complete a task that subsequently disturbs the sand enough to reveal traumatic treasures that then require raking to expose them completely to the light.  I am taking two steps forward and then transcending the third step forward much like a monk takes a transcendental leap.  My conscious, unconscious, and amnesic mind are all in unison as I move forward through this particular writing task.  Leading to the question, ‘just what have I achieved’?  To me it seems that this writing task has exposed more evidence to the proclivity and productivity of the criminal accomplishments of Robert and Glenda.  The trauma they caused me has led to an amnesic terrarium box with multiple layers of repression and as I recall the upper levels of my layered mind to complete this activity the deeper and undiscovered remnants of additional crimes are brought into discovery.

In this same time period, the murders behind the Irving golf ball driving course occurred.  That’s seven victims whose bodies were disposed of in the heavily wooded area across the creek from the driving range.  The impulse of Robert was staggering not only in the damage he could do in a limited space of time but the craftiness and instantaneous planning that went into the body of his abductions and how well he put together disposal and conclusions to massively murderous events.  The golf massacre lasted no more than an hour from abduction to relocating the van and car then pulling the bodies into the thickest part of the woods.  A whole immediate family and part of an extended family all gone and never found as far as I have been able to determine.  Robert was like a shark that evening, the lady showed up at the driving range afraid and in desperation because she couldn’t find the exit to get to the DFW airport to pick up her husband.  Her only error was that she stopped at the end of the row of cars as Robert and I were getting into the car and that emotional suffering she possessed, to Robert, was like a wounded fish in the sea that he as a predator had to consume.

He smelled blood and attacked her at the moment I was trying to get into the car and before my butt could hit the car seat, off we were driving in her van and relocating the crime scene to a wooded area behind the creek at the end of the driving range.  Then a car with two elderly people showed up and I believe that this car had her parents inside and they too met their end as they walked to the van, now relocated to the woods to see what they could do to help who I presume may have been their daughter.  The murders, if I recall correctly, were over by then inside the van and then these two elderly people were added to the pile and all of that carnage took maybe 20 minutes and most of that was spent waiting for the old couple to transvers the woods and get close enough to the van that Robert could ambush them.  That time period in the van along with the ambush was the body of his work and then the rest of the hour was simply cleaning the crime scene by relocating vehicles and hiding bodies.  This was one of his fastest murder sprees with this many victims from start to finish that I can recall.

It’s now time to lay out the timeline for my junior high years, I am dreading this part of the structure. It was by far the most abusive and traumatic period of my life with carnage coming from so many directions that I truly am at a loss of what to begin with.  There is a lot of overlapping and a depth of complexity that I fear I will be adding another twenty-five pages to what was meant to be a short story.  As I contemplated this next entry of victims I am left pondering if I entered enough of the victims lost from the time periods before and for those I am not recalling. If their families ever read this, I would like to apologize now.  Let it be known that where I start and with which victim I finish with it is not a value statement nor am I organizing by possibility to solve.  Many of these cases will never be solved since it would be too much money and the authorities will eventually stop exhuming bodies by labelling them cost-prohibited.  Not everyone gets to go home and in reading this please just know that I did not make that decree, but the system will unless the media makes it happen through constant accountability.

The most prolific offender during this time of my life outside of my father was the Vice Principal of my school, Sam Houston junior high.  I remember this man coming to the house when I was young and he was always wanting pretty white girls elementary to junior high age.  He was my constant bully for eight hours a day at five days a week for three years.  Even when I had thought I had escaped him the teachers that where in alignment with him made sure to pick up the slack.  Then even when I thought I was safe from them since in my young mind I didn’t see them I still had that feeling that they were lurking around every corner.  This vice principal blamed me for so many incidents that he swore I had messed up for him, but I have yet to recall any memories where I somehow messed up his business dealings. 

This man is responsible for two van loads of what I have deduced must have been orphans from a catholic entity since they all were wearing matching outfit of blue bottoms and white tops with these small black shoes that all matched in style.  Also, when I searched the internet, I could never find children who disappeared in a van.  I found children who disappeared in a school bus but not a van.  Also, these two vans that delivered these children on two separate occasions were matching in style, make, and color.  The first van load had about 15-20 children with boys and girls, they were a mix of white and brown children.  They died in the rain on a cold day through gun shots, stab wounds, and partial decapitation.  Then the girl’s bodies were sold to a farmer that arrived with his son and large white barrels that had writing on them, but I could never read it.  The boy’s bodies were placed down the hill and below the gymnasium.  There were three graves, but I never entered the underground area, so I have no idea how deep.  I do know that when you’re facing the school that the grave that sits on the left-hand side has three black-haired boys stacked one atop the other.  Their heads are directed toward the school and all their feet are directed toward what was then a basketball court.

The second van load was already unloaded, and the children were piled in the rain and it was difficult to make out how many bodies there actually where.  Some were not completely dead and crawled out of the pile and that’s when they were assaulted with the shovel and fully decapitated and most lost their faces so their skulls will have frontal damage.  All these children went into that B team practice field that I use to practice upon, but I do not know how many graves.  It was foggy and the vice principal attacked me so viscously that all I could do was lay sitting up next to the rear tire of the van.  I doubt these children will ever be exhumed unless this pope who they say is American makes a personal appearance at the school and says empowering words.  There is no muti-national corporation on planet earth who has a stronger history than the catholic church when it comes to covering up child abuse.  Just typing these two paragraphs has worn me out and I want to go home.  I cannot since I need to stay awake for my 6pm therapy session and I’m going to name drop now.  I just met a journalist here at Starbucks and his name is Joshua Fechter from the Texas Tribune and he allowed me to send him my cold case request.  He is busy typing a story about Princeton and its recent growth and when he is done, I am hoping that maybe he will interview me for a story, and this could be my chance to start solving cold cases and reuniting the victims, with their loved ones.

Connected to this man are also the Mexican sex slaves that he ordered and tortured in the boy’s locker room on weekends in the evenings.  Also, he allowed perverts who had been molesting family members such as nieces to be ‘disappeared’ before they could talk about the abuse.  I had seen this happen several times where young girls who wanted the abuse to stop had threatened to tell someone so the perverted family member would bring them to Robert and hire him to disappear them.  How these perverts escaped conviction I do not know since I would imagine everyone would know they were the last to see their family members alive.  The two older brothers who also ran a sex slave ring used that locker room to collect and trade slaves.  They traded Mexican girls who were so new to having been sold by relatives that they still had their traditional Mexican dresses on while handcuffed to a chain.  The girls that these two brothers collected at the locker room where always white girls meant to be disappeared.  This whole system was discovered by me when I was dropped off by Robert on a Saturday for a B team football game, but I got the date wrong.  I was able to get into the locker room and then I fell asleep atop the tackling dummies by the furthest rear exit door.  I was awoken to screams from a girl and I sleepily made my way out to the main locker room and saw the Vice principal pushing a restrained Mexican girl into the center shower head.  That was the shower head that would get so hot that in the winter we would turn it on to make enough steam to heat our locker room.  He continually said she was dirty and kept pushing her into the scalding water.  Then he saw me staring at him in shock and with my jaw all a slack as I was now in dissociation.

He gave me a huge beating and kicked me so many times in the stomach that I thought I was going to burst and die they’re on the floor.  Many things happened during that event, and they are all in my journal but for now let’s just skip too the final part.  I was dragged outside the exit door closets to the coaches’ offices and dropped into a cold puddle that had been made by the same rain that was still coming down.  The Vice Principal got in a few more kicks and then left me there.  I eventually was able to stand and with my amnesia at full effect I was wondering how I had gotten to where I was.  I simply couldn’t make sense of it and theorized that I may have fallen asleep and now I had to walk home.  So that’s what I began to do with no jacket and soaked to the bone from that puddle.  I was all alone walking in the driving rain while it was cold enough to see my breath, and no one stopped to check on me. 

Once I made it home my whole body ached and I was shivering, it felt like inside my bones were frozen and crackling like ice cubes.  I crawled upstairs and made it into my bed, and I was covered up and asleep when I was woken by Robert.  He told me ‘That man will never touch you again’ I had no idea what he was referring too, and I fell back asleep.  No one was home when I arrived, so I was not sure where everybody else was.  The beatings from the vice principal did not stop he moved from beating me in the bathrooms and the hallways too beating me right next to the upstairs exit doors and then throwing me down the fire escape stairs.  This man would step into my path whenever I was walking past him to make me walk around.  My days were so stressful that my grades were low, and I went to summer school every year when I was in junior high.  I was a constant visitor to the school nurse since I felt like I had the flu and just wanted to go home to sleep.  If you don’t have a fever, then they sent you back to the classroom.  The nurse was a small person and when you sat in a chair having your temperature taken her eyes where level with yours and to me, she just would glare and make the most intense monster face in her attempt to make sure I got the point as to how much she despised me.  It wasn’t that I always asked to go to the nurse’s office it was that I slept through out my classes due to exhaustion and complained of muscle aches and pain whenever asked what was wrong with me.  The stress and beating had taken their toll on me, and I couldn’t function.  I was pulled out of bed in the morning by Glenda and then pushed out the door and she would lock me out.  Slowly and with painstakingly purposeful steps I slowly made it to school which was two miles away.  I was often late and all I really did for most of the day was fall asleep.  Many times, I had been awakened by toilet paper balls thrown at my face since I had fallen asleep in the bathroom sitting atop the commode with my pants up.  The level of disdain from teachers was high or they went the other way and simply acted as if I didn’t exist.  Many times, teachers walked past me as I was being assaulted by many boys in a group and my books were kicked down the ramp.

There was a teacher who was a new arrival to the school year and may have been a substitute.  She had asked me questions about my bruises and scratches and even continued to interview me when the boys in the classroom protested and started telling her that I was the school loser and not to waste her time.  This was up in the English hall and after all these questions I rotated to my next class.  Then at the end of the day I was told to go to the office that Glenda had come to get me.  When I was walking up the ramp from the gymnasium area, I saw Glenda and she was walking away from the office.  I was following behind her and then I witnessed her turn and walking shoulder to shoulder with the teacher that had asked me all those questions.  Mrs. Alford was close by and had her arms crossed and was glaring at this woman as she passed.  Glenda was screaming how I wasn’t abused, and that this woman better not report that I was.  This woman was making the same angry face and was just as much into Glenda’s face as Glenda was into hers.  Then this woman’s daughter walked up with her books held to her chest and seemed upset and that teacher and her daughter exited through the front door.

It was on another day that Glenda took me to this women’s house through the back-alley entrance. It was just up at the end of twin falls in what we called the bird streets.  Then after Glenda entered the garage Robert showed up and that woman went into the trunk of the green car.  He disappeared with her, and I never saw her again.  Now this memory was processed long ago so in the future if data is needed, please use the initial journaling of the flashback since that has all the accurate detail.  Another teacher that tried to assist me was my math teacher Mrs. Lillard.  She was shy and soft-spoken, but she tried to get me to talk many times about my home life and as soon as she did, I would literally run from her.  Sometimes to get away from her I would take the fire exit stairs on the second floor even though doing so would result in detention the following day.  I spent a lot of time in morning detention and in the winter, it worked to your benefit since they had to let you into the warm school to sit in detention and on miserable days that was just awesome.  It also helped me to avoid the bullies that would plentify as the time for bell to ring grew closer.  Once they group up, they started to look for victims and if I was in detention then they couldn’t find me.

I remember many times how Robert or Glenda would give me small envelopes with messages for either Mrs. Alford, the wife of Roberts’ main crimie, or the Vice principal.  Those letters would just weigh so heavy on me and make the walk to school more of an unbearable task that I had to overcome.  Some notes made them happy, and others made them look so angry that I was trying to get away from them as fast as possible.  The envelopes usually had a handwritten note and then some cash.  My thoughts are that Robert was using me to avoid an argument with them and only gave them part of what they were expecting.  On a rare occasion I was called down to the front office and the Vice Principal would give me envelopes to take home and at times I was introduced as ‘that’s his boy’ to men that I had never met but these men most often looked like teachers a few looked like construction workers.  They would put that envelope in my backpack and tell me not to open my bag and usually I would receive some type of threat but never encouragement.  No matter that the envelope said Robert on it Glenda was the one that always opened it and then counted the money and either told me to go play or made me sit at the kitchen table as she made angry phone calls saying certain names over and over as if she was trying to locate someone, again names elude me.  Then when Robert arrived home no matter what the hour Glenda would show him the amount and the note inside and sometimes Robert would leave that moment in an angry mood and be gone for, I don’t know how long since I fell asleep.  This envelope thing to me is new but I am recalling it vividly and how scared I was that I would get mugged by the older kids and then get beaten at home.  When I received these missions, they often let me leave school early and then I did not wait around for my friends. I walked at a quick pace, since I did not want to fail and receive a beating.

Sgt. Jim Alford and Robert worked with great intensity and scheming to acquire enough slaves to host their own barn parties.  This took the form of three distinct strategic moves.  One involved the acquiring of blonde girls to sell to an aristocratic type of offender.  I only met him once at a wedding reception for very wealthy people, he was extremely well dressed and adorned with jewelry and spoke to Robert and Glenda much like a lord of the manner would speak to a field hand, in a roundabout but professional manner he let them know that he would not be paying the price discussed and that his associates would be concluding the deal as he returned to the reception.  This had been one of the deals that would have moved them into a more organized crime arena and improved their profits and the reliability of a continues income stream.  It didn’t work because these associates hijacked their load and took all the slaves and paid them a small amount.  Then Robert tried to pay the other crimies which involved a lesser share, and these crimies pulled guns on him and took it all. 

Another scheme that was occurring simultaneously involved the active intention of running their own barn party somewhere toward Grand Prairie Texas with two older and more well-established slavers.  Sgt. Jim Alford and Robert had dressed in their finest red neck country attire and Glenda had dressed me in new clothes that she felt made the three of us look more like a team.  All the perves had shown up and money was collected, and the brutality was starting and then I recognized the cheerleader kidnapped from our house in a fortified wooden box.  A series of events occurred, and Sgt. Jim Alford had to put some people down including the cheerleader to regain order in that barn.  Then the night was over, and we all returned to twin falls the men where defeated and I was in complete dissociation with an active feed sending all content to the amnesic box.  I was the reason it all went wrong and if Sgt. Jim Alford hadn’t stepped in with his pistol those perverts would have ended me. 

I was responsible for so many deals gone wrong and Robert who killed others for much less would never kill me.  Glenda wanted me dead, but Robert wouldn’t allow it and thus I continued to live in this altered state of consciousness with people of that era attaching the only term they understood that in their opinion applied, the label of retardation was attached to me over and over and worked at times to my favor but more often than not my detriment.  This reluctance to kill me when in his world I so richly deserved it leads me to believe that he was exercising love toward me in the only way he knew how.  It often felt like I was the runt of the litter born to the alpha wolf and that purely by natural selection I should have been left for dead as the pack moved on since I just didn’t have what it took to exist in that world.  Yet here I am after all these decades chronicling his exploits simply as the only method, I know to rid my psyche of these horrific images and live a little longer.

The next money-making scheme during this time involved family members wanting to get rid of other family members.  Specifically, anyone that was in line ahead of them to inherit but not always.  Revenge played a role but a few times it was older relatives attempting to rid themselves of the responsibility of an infirm family member that they could no longer care for or due to mental illness had grown violent and there had been too many close calls.  In addition to these types of murder for hire there was the damaged female rape victim that had been assaulted by family members, and no one could bring themselves to put them out of their misery.  Maybe they had gaping head wounds, but they could still talk, and the family members worried about the sheriff finding them.  Included in this was females who had been tied up so roughly that their arms where black with strangled blood or their necks wobbled and could not stay erect, but they still managed to live.  Most of the time family members of the soon to be deceased were involved in bringing the victim too Robert or they let them into the house or barn when he showed up to carry them away.  Many of these injured females could talk and consequently beg and spoke in a delusion way of all that happened to them and that they never thought their favorite family members that they trusted the most could turn on them.  I just sat beside them if they rode in the vehicle and though I stared out the window my dissociation turned my head when they talked.  Again, I was taken as a passport into lands unknown, where a single man would have been suspect but a father and son raised no suspicions. 

I am sure that I am missing victims and situations that allowed Robert to make money.  This is not a complete account simply what I can recall as my mind attempts to collect data from flashbacks that were once hidden and then entered my brain like a storm.   Now they exist as summer rains with a gusty wind that makes you feel cold in the heat of summer.  This time in my life is when I faced my own personnel death with greater frequency and intensity than at any time in my existence and the only reasons I survived involved some inward resilience that I was born with and Robert’s reluctance to kill me.  He would have killed my older brother, and Glenda knew this threat was real and that’s why she worked so hard to keep him away from the house. 

My genetics played a huge role in my survival I was born tougher than anyone thought a boy could be and then with a personality that didn’t challenge Robert for authority and that greatest of my gifts dissociation that resulted in an amnesic box that I have never known the like of.  Great dysfunction runs in my gene pull and the intergenerational trauma brought it out in the worse way to those that were susceptible to the fight aspect of the response algorithm.  Granted that fight response contorted itself into a sadistic commitment toward damaging others who hadn’t harmed you since Robert wouldn’t face off with his traumatizer and Glenda couldn’t since her mother died at an early age forcing her dependence and then her father died before she could stand up to him and made an attempt to deal with her traumas.  Since Glenda was so physically tough and could fight with great intensity and didn’t back down, I am wondering if she learned that by having to fight her father off after her mother’s death?  She had been trained by someone to be physically tough, and I suspect it was that relationship.  My schema on the continuum had fighting from time to time but then when soundly beaten or overwhelmed by horror my psyche chose to freeze and then fade.  This action removed me from Robert and Glenda’s radar as their hypervigilance searched for threats.  True Glenda tried to kill me even though I was no threat but that was out of revenge since she couldn’t find a way to get my older brother home.  She wouldn’t divorce Robert because as she told me she expected a pay day after his parents passed away and if you look up the divorce filings she thought there was seventy million dollars hidden in gold and silver that she wanted her share of.

Now the days of Mac Arthur high school begin not a cherished time in my life but by no means as difficult as junior high.  It was during this time as I moved from one school to the next that something happened in the crime life of Sgt. Jim Alford and Robert.  At this time, I do not know what it was and as always, I simply await time to tell me if I will ever know.  Both houses on twin falls were on a kind of lockdown, at least for me.  Robert was home a lot more frequently and he was so paranoid that all the curtains stayed closed, and he spent his time going back and forth to the front and back windows to look out and see if he could see them.  On and on about ‘them’ remember my amnesic mind had blocked all memories of the serial killing, slave trade, and murders for hire and all of the law enforcement involvement that occurred around it.  Meaning that I had no idea who ‘they’ was, what I did know was that I had to be sneaky if I was going to escape out the door during the times he was home.  If he caught me then he would race me back and forth to the windows and make me look for ‘them’ then he would make me sit at the kitchen table for hours.  During these days of his intense paranoia, I never saw Glenda or my younger brother. I figure she took him with her when she escaped and left me to deal with this active psych patient.  If I made it outside, I couldn’t go to the Alfords house since it was just as intense over there and Sgt. Jim Alford would drag me into his bedroom and threaten me with his handgun under my chin to kill me if I spoke to the police.  Again, I didn’t know what he was talking about, and he would get my nervous system in such a frenzy that I would urinate and defecate in my pants.  Then Mrs. Alford would kick me out and send me home and I had lost all my bearings and would either sit between the houses due to dizziness or I would go home and walk right into another chaotic situation and would be sat at the dinner table for hours.  Then Glenda and my younger brother would show up at dark and their breath smelled of food and often my younger brother had a soda cup and candy in his pocket from the movies.  Then Glenda would make me get in the shower fully clothed and make me wash out my pants and I had to stay in there until she was satisfied.  Her satisfaction came long after the hot water had run out and I stood in a cold shower while in full dissociation constantly forgetting why I was there in the first place.

I was in football and attended two-a-days in the summer with Robert Alford, the son of Sgt. Jim Alford.  He drove me back and forth for early morning and then late afternoon practices.  Robert was just as unhinged as his father and would start fights for no reason and often had a 4x4 vehicle that he would suddenly race off the paved road and have you bouncing around so hard depending on where you were seated that you were amazed you didn’t fall out.  School was difficult since none of my clothes were new, and all my classes were now called basic versus resource which was the term for special education.  I found the older girls at school to be so beautiful that I couldn’t talk around them.  Which didn’t matter since they were so verbally assaultive and if you got in their way in the hall they could throw so many verbal insults your way that I couldn’t understand the first one before the third or fourth was entering into the air and then they were gone and I stood there in a daze and found out that some of the other kids would remember those insults and then throw them at you for days afterward.  My only defense was to keep my head down, when they started into their rants, I needed to look at the floor and make as much distance away from them as I could.  Again, my experience in public school was that the pretty girls were the meanest and could get you bullied for no reason from their fan base.

There were pedophilic teachers and coaches that you had to steer clear from.  The kids talked about them openly in the hallways and then kids I had in my class level would tell me about close calls.  One of the football coaches would appear like clockwork when we were taking showers and had attempted to offer help to various kids as they were trying to get dressed.  From what the other kids told me he was really focused on helping them with the zippers on their pants.  Then there was a female history teacher that not only had sex with the football coaches and talked about it when students asked but also made herself available to boys in the senior class.  So many open confessions about these and other teachers’ behaviors but no one ever stopped them, and they were there the entire time that I attended that school. 

There were times when Robert had abducted girls that when I saw them, I recognized them from high school and they recognized me and begged for my help, but this interaction just pushed my psyche further into the freeze and fade zone.  These girls where not special orders Sgt. Jim Alford was supplying them and wanted to rekindle that sadistic thing that he and Robert had in common.  Then there were times that Robert would show up at the end of football practice driving my grandfather Max’s truck and I immediately would stop talking to my friends and without a word but in deep dissociation I would climb in the truck.  On those days we would drive for hours and sometimes sleep in the truck at gas stations overnight and the task was always burying bodies.  Most of these bodies where dismembered and placed in burlap or canvas sacks.  Blood would rock back and worth as we came to stop signs on the days that it rained, I could hear it hit the back of the truck and often felt its impact.  This sloshing I am sure leaked out through the tail gate but not once during these excursions did, we get pulled over. 

Eventually I would be left in the woods with these bags and at times there were as many as six large bags the size of full black plastic garbage bags.  They had the decomp odor, and I learned that I needed to dig holes close to them and make these holes significantly deep and over my head or I would be digging multiple holes, with six bags it took two grave size holes or one extended hole, if the earth was rocky then I had a small folding army shovel that I could get down into the hole to get the angles needed to pry these rocks up and out.  Some rocks had to stay in the hole depending on how large they were and at wat time during the dig I came across them.  If toward the end of digging, I would be too weak to push them above my head to get them out of the hole.  Sometimes my holes were so deep that I piled rocks in the corner and then I would run at them and leap to get my hands over the edge to begin climbing up.  If it was raining, then I couldn’t dig deep since it would be too muddy to crawl out and I learned this the hard way and Robert showed up the next day and I was shivering in the bottom of a grave in about three inches of mud that I had churned up trying to get out. 

I had exhausted myself to the point that I just gave up and laid in the mud expecting to drown since it was pitch dark and the rain never ceased.  When Robert arrived and pulled me out, he was showered and shaved and had changed clothes and smelled like cologne.  Then he sat in the truck while I continued to dig a shallow but longer hole for all the bags.  These bags were stitched closed with a thick dark twine type thread.  Someone had been up close and personal with these bags as they filled them with what I thought were body parts since when I had to move them it didn’t feel like a whole body but pieces of bodies, sometimes long strands of hair were caught between the bags and stitching. 

If I had to push them into the hole often it was like pushing a sponge and juices would just roll out of the fabric and onto your skin.  These juices were all decomp, and you had to be careful not to touch your face or the liquid would transfer to somewhere around your nose and the dry heaving would start.  My theory is that my body would sense that it needed to eject something rotten.  Even though it was outside your body it filled your nose and mouth with its fumes and then your body would continually attempt to reject what wasn’t really there.  This would cause your stomach to spasm which would then lead to your lower back going out and your lungs feeling like they were on fire.  The next day your rib cage and clavicles would be so tightly bound due to the muscular use and abuse that many times when I woke up the next day, I thought I had asthma, since I couldn’t catch a full breath.  This flashback of content has led to a satisfying release and made all this writing worth it. 

The reason I dug so close to these bags was that I could roll them in using the shovel as a lever.  If too far away some of these bags had to weigh more than 100 pounds and there was no rigidity to them, and I would have to press my chest and back against them as I pushed them in resulting in blood transfer that led to me riding in the back of the truck if I smelled too much like decomp.  On the way home Robert would wash the back of the truck out and douse me as I stood with my arms apart often in the cold while a powerful spray nozzle tore at my skin.  My dissociation helped a great deal since I was confused if I was human and if this man was really my father and I wasn’t sure if I actually knew him or was, he taking me to my family.  When you’re that far gone you feel no physical pain, the cold has no effect, and that razor water makes no impact to your pain receptors.

Life at home calmed since I was too big for Glenda to choke but she would still attack me and on more than one occasion I had to dodge her attempts to stab me from behind.  She still ranted and raved about my older brother and how much it cost her to pay for him to have a place to live which at that time was UTA college.  It was a constant with her to complain about money and limit the expenditure for me and then have my older brother arrive at the house and a roll of bills as thick as a fist would be placed in his hands and then he would be off again.  My younger brother and I would watch this and often sat in shock that there had been that much money in our house.  My younger brother would then do a stand-up routine where he mocked the situation about how hungry we were and how all that money that went out the door with my older brother had made us so poor.  It was great material and all improvisational and he and I would go back and forth while Glenda would yell at us to stop.  We just kept going since it was the only way for us to make sense of the absurdity of our current situation.

Fights still happened and my younger brother was large enough now and had enough anger built up that he engaged in his rage often.  One of these incidents involved a sawed-off pellet gun that he had painted black that he had been using to shoot people in the neighborhood. According to his stories he had put saccharin tablets inside this 12-inch barrel and then would walk up and shoot other kids, but the tablet would turn to dust and thus there was no evidence that he had shot them outside of a red welt.  Then he went on to explain how he would ridicule them about telling and that they should toughen up.  This was a page out of both Robert and Glenda’s play list.  Then the day came that he was raging at me. These days happen often, and I knew to get out of the house and away from him. 

This time was the first thing in the morning, and I was still half asleep as he woke me up looking for his computer disks since he wanted to play a game.  I was ignoring him as I sat on the commode in the second-floor bathroom.  He was walking back and forth in front of the bathroom door that I had shut and locked.  Then I could hear his octaves change and he was raging more than usual, and Glenda was calling up the stairs trying to calm him down.  I knew that I needed to hurry but there was still the issue of getting past him without getting thrown down the stairs.  Then the door was slamming open and my younger brothers foot that he kicked with was slamming down on the floor and he had that sawed off black pellet gun and it was even with my face as I looked down the barrel and then his foot hit the bathmat and slipped forward and the barrel dropped and he shot me in the foot. 

The blood geysered and then oozed all before I could stand my voice sounded tired and exhausted as I said out loud, “he shot me” as I answered Glenda’s call as to what was that, her reaction to the sound of the gun.  Immediately my younger brother was yelling excuses and Glenda was blaming me for having antagonized him.  Then I limped downstairs and off to the Emergency Room we went, and I had to surgically have the pellet removed and then stitches and I limped for about 3 months as the wound healed.. All the time having to be cautious that my younger brother didn’t slam atop my foot with his heel as he felt that I was milking the pain for sympathy.  Just for the record no one at that house or anywhere in my life showed sympathy for me.  Thus, there was no milking of the situation to occur since no kindness could be gained. 

Then my younger brother and Robert would end up in physical fights and one of these poured out into the front yard and my younger brother jumped up and kicked Robert in the mouth and his front teeth came out.  For the longest time I thought that Roberts’ actual teeth had been knocked from his mouth.  I found out years later that it was actually his front bridge plate and that he had lost his front teeth long ago.  It was never discussed so I never discovered when this loss of teeth occurred or the story behind it.  During the fray Glenda had dove into the altercation attempting to save my younger brother and then was pushed against the small window ledge at the base of the stairs and broke two of her ribs.  I had been asleep on the couch when this fist-a-cuffs had started and was once again half asleep as I was having to engage in another act of family violence.  I was woken and then found myself with my arms wrapped around Roberts body in a bear hug out in the front yard as I attempted to stop him from attacking my younger brother and as a result offering my younger brother a chance to escape which he took.  After attempting to hit Robert in the head with a sawed-off piece of broom handle that Robert had placed in the yard with a string to help a bush grow. 

These domestic violence events continued between my younger brother and either I or Robert.  I had to always be on guard, and I had to make sure that I didn’t fall asleep anywhere while he was around or like Glenda, he would attack me in my sleep.  This is how my high school days were spent, and I dated no one during any of my public-school career since my time was spent focused on what would happen next and how I would deal with it.  None of my brothers or I brought girls to the house, we knew from early childhood how inappropriate Robert could be and we had been trained as children that if a girl scout came to the door that we called Glenda and not Robert to the door. 

My younger brother and Glenda formed an emotionally incestuous symbiotic style bond where they spoke for one another and many times my younger brother acted like the man of the house and attempted to make house rules and discuss with me my future plans for life.  This time was gross and often that repulsion was evidenced by both my younger brother and Glenda sitting side by side at the kitchen table making their schedule for the day like a married couple or them both standing in the front yard and my younger brother pointing out sticks and leaves and Glenda hurriedly picking them up as if the two of them where an old retired couple caring for the lawn.  All I wanted was to get as far away as I could and then I transferred from UTA to Texas Tech in Lubbock Texas feeling that I would learn more about child psychology there than at my previous college. 

I was deceived but once I was in Lubbock I refused to return home and stayed for a few years as I found the distance allowed me a safer place than being in the metroplex.  This was when the third divorce had been filed between Robert and Glenda and according to her it was so that I would return home.  To my knowledge no actual paperwork was filed it was just more chaos.  I have no memories of murders that extended beyond my high school years, that doesn’t mean that Robert and Glenda stopped, only that I was out of the circle of homicide and family violence and my time at Texas Tech started my healing cycle and placed me on a projectory to grow from the trauma versus having to endure it. 

After my graduation from Texas Tech, I was accepted into graduate school at UTA’s school of social work and began my path to becoming a clinician who focused on children’s welfare.  While attending UTA I participated in therapy at the student health center, and I experienced my first flashback in that psychologist’s office.  Those flashbacks centered upon memories of my child abuse traumas and offered more insight into the homicidal attempts made by Glenda where I was choked into unconsciousness and left for dead on the living room floor.  Then after I had graduated, I still suffered these profound depressions with alternating anxiety attacks.  I found another therapist and then in 1999 the first memory of murder appeared and began the projectory of my life’s journey to solve these murders and send the victims home to loved ones where they can be buried with their families.

This is the longest short story that I have written to date and perhaps it turned into a long story lol.  This focus upon the longitudinal crime spree of sexually sadistic homicides and selling of slaves though horrific, offered me a sense of release.  It has taken me many writing sessions, some lasting more than 11 hours, to fill these pages and attempt to include all the victims that I could recall from a mind that I have been training to process and forget the traumas from the past.  What a saga, in the beginning I tried to escape my memories only to find that the only way out is through the valley of amnesia.  Long ago before the first flashback pertaining to murder was the psychoanalytic depiction in my mind concerning the brights and the dims.  The dims lived deep in the valley and when they came to the top and released their secrets then they became brights.  This was a fascinating introduction to the theme of how my process was going to work.  One day I hope to have the money to transcribe that tape and write all about it in a future book.  I leave you the reader now hopefully with more understanding of the life I survived and the anticipation of the bodies to be discovered and perhaps one day the exploration of the brights and dims and how they foreshadowed in 1999 what I am continuing to accomplish in 2025 and will be until the year that I die.  Hope you enjoyed and my confessions help you on your trauma journey.