The Article by Jackie Zufall (reading like a writer .TXT) 📖

and there that tomorrow I am leaving as soon as Ron leaves for work. I am going to Dallas to find my boy, Once I am safely away I will call Mr. Simmons and tell him to go ahead with the exhumation.

July, 1985
I don’t know what day it is, I’ve been sick off and on for weeks now, at first I thought it was the flu or stress, but then I start to feel better and it hits again, the Doctors don’t know what to make of it, just some flu bug that won’t let go for some reason.
I’m to weak to try to go far and so I told Mr. Simmons one day when he came calling, that until I am well enough to get out of here, I cannot allow him to pursue exhuming James as Ron would find out and then I would not be safe.
Besides, ever since I’ve become ill, Ron has gone back to being the man I fell in love with, has quit drinking as he used to, and is very caring and attentive to me, I just don’t think Ron is the man they want, nor James the victim, Ron takes care of me now, he has a nurse come when he’s at work to care for me and cook for me. When he’s home he does it all. So how could he be the monster that Simmons is looking for?
Anyway I can’t think about that anymore, unless Simmons can come to me with more proof, I just can’t risk it, if they exhume James then it shows no proof, it will just infuriate Ron to know I suspected him of something he did not do. Unless there is more proof then I cannot risk ruining Ron’s and my newfound close relationship.

October, 1986
I know it’s been forever since I wrote. I have my good days and my bad days, the bad outweigh the good of course, I’ve seen specialist and still there seems to be no rhyme or reason to my illness, on the bad days, which seem to get worse as time goes on, Ron watches and worries over me almost as a parent would a child.
On the occasion that I have a good day we take short drives to enjoy the fresh air. I haven’t heard from Mr. Simmons for some time now, either he has given up or is still looking for more proof. As this is a good day Ron is planning on a nice romantic dinner for us tonight. So I shall put this away again as he will be here soon. I thought of destroying this since I feel this has all been written in error, but something keeps me from doing it quite yet. I will write again soon, I promise!

January, 20th, 1987

I know I promised to keep writing or destroy this, but it has been a long, hard winter for me, I can barely get around now. It took me quite a while to get here to Paul’s room to get this out. When I stepped in front of the dresser mirror I was appalled to see what I have become.
I have lost so much weight that I see bones poking out every place I look. My hair is thinning terribly and has been falling out for months. I don’t know how much longer I can hang on like this.
I don’t know when or even if I will have the strength to get in here again, but just in case, Paul, I love you very, very much, I want you to know that your father and I are so proud of you, I almost called you several times but I don’t wish for you to end with memories of how I look now, I know whatever this illness is, it is not going to ever go away and I just don’t think I can take another day of this.
Remember the good times and know that I love you and will always be proud of you!
Mom
1-20-87

February, 2nd,1987
I feel this is close to the end, I just feel the need to say my goodbyes as I can’t fight to go on any longer. I had to crawl here and barely had strength left to open the window seat. I can’t write anymore. I’m sorry Paul for every thing. Good bye my son I am going home to James and we will wait together for the day we can be with you again.
I love you!
Faye Zimmerman,
Feb, 87


Chapter Twelve


Tears fell as Paul read his mothers last words to him, it certainly would seem by all accounts based on what she last wrote, that maybe she had committed suicide after all, he thought. Yet something in the back of his reporters mind he could not quite put a finger on, but something was making his alarm bell go off. He laid the book down on the coffee table by the couch where he had eventually ended up as he paced around reading his mothers journal. He sat silently for a time then got up and went to the sewing room, he grabbed his laptop and returned to the living room, removed the cord from the phone, he plugged it into the laptop. For the next couple hours he poured over archives from his papers website. Finally as he was about to give up, he found what he was looking for. The headline read…

Ten years after mans death
wife convicted of poisoning him

Paul remembered it well as he had been the reporter that covered the story. Skimming the article to refresh his memory, he saw now why his mothers journal had set off his alarm. In the article it told how ten years before, the man had died after what had been ruled a suicide with an overdose of antidepressants. It was initially thought after battling an unknown illness for over a year the man could no longer take the illness, the weight loss, and the loss of his hair. The family felt he did not want to be a burden on them any longer, so he had ended it all. No autopsy had been performed as it was ruled a suicide. Years later the husbands mother and siblings decided to have his case reopened following years of disturbing feelings they got from the widow. Police finally got the evidence needed to convict her of poisoning him to death.

Paul leaned back a moment to let this information sink in, suddenly a thought occurred to him, he sat back up and looked at the date the article had been published, with a great chill, he realized that it had been about six months before his mother had fallen ill according to her journal.

Suddenly he was like a madman running in circles, he went through every room in the house, he looked in the shed, he was not sure exactly what he was looking for. Finally he thought, the one place I forgot to look for things when I was cleaning out Rons things was the basement. He remembered that Ron used to spend a lot of time down there, and he also knew his mother hated the basement, thinking back to his childhood, his mother had insisted hookups be installed on the back porch for the washer and dryer after dad enclosed it, and built the deck off the back of the house. He made his way down the cellar stairs, pulling the string at the bottom of the stairs. Suddenly the room was lit up bright, there were boxes everywhere, glancing around he noted on an old work table there was what appeared to be one of those portable personal file boxes that was locked with an old rusted padlock, taking the box with him, he went back upstairs, put the box on the kitchen table and walked out through the wash room to the back door, walked across the deck and down three short steps then on to the shed. He was beginning to feel lightheaded with thoughts of what the box might contain. Looking on the wall at the tools hanging there, he took down a hacksaw, and returned to the house and proceeded to begin sawing on the padlock. Thirty minutes later he opened the box.

There were several files, he pulled them out, laying them on the kitchen table in front of him. The first several contained Rons birth certificate and some tax papers and a bunch of other junk. When he reached the “F” folder he found his mothers will along with a life insurance policy for $50,000 dollars, everything was left to Paul. He remembered asking at the time if there was a will, Ron had insisted they had planned to but never got around to it. He made a mental note to himself to go see a lawyer to inquire if he could still claim the insurance money.

Going on through the files, he finally reached the “P” file, there he found the one thing to make his blood run cold.

First he looked over a report from an investigator in Dallas from shortly after he had started working at the paper, he realized that Ron had known practically the whole time where Paul was and never let his mom know. At the back of the folder, folded up, was the very article that was at that moment glaring back at him on his laptop in the living room.
Suddenly, he felt very, very sick, he realized with sudden horror that his stepfather had killed his mom, using his own article for guidance in doing so. “It’s all my fault”, he thought to himself.

He let the clipping fall from his hand as a loud knock came from the front door, looking at the clock he saw it was after midnight, he went to the door puzzled as to who could be knocking at this time of night. As he crossed the room he saw Abby on the other side of the glass, motioning her to come on in.

“What in the world is going on”? Abby asked, noting papers all over the kitchen table through the door, the journal and laptop on the coffee table, and the steady stream of tears pouring down Pauls face. “I’ve been calling for…”, she started, when suddenly Paul was in her arms bawling like a baby, they slid to the floor embracing, and that’s how they remained for nearly an hour, Paul holding tight and crying, Abby rocking him gently, trying to sooth him, not asking a thing for now. Allowing Paul time to calm down and collect himself.

When finally Paul had calmed down, Abby suggested she get them both some coffee and he settle on the couch and relax. He walked to the kitchen table, picked up the will, life insurance, the detectives report and the news clipping. He returned to the living room and sat down waiting for Abby.

“Here you go Paul”, said Abby as she handed him a cup of coffee. She sat down next to him and sat her cup on the table. She turned to Paul and waited for him to say something. Instead he handed her the pile of papers, confused she glanced at them then looked back at him.

“It’s all there”, he said, “all the proof that Ron not only killed my mom, but also my dad”. Abby’s face turned white as it sank in what Paul had just said to her. Paul continued, “I found my moms journal earlier tonight, and read it all”, after a brief pause he continued, “from what I read in her journal and on all those papers…oh Abs it’s my fault