The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

The breathtaking slap of warm, salty water brought a crushed and wounded Lynnette to her senses. With her two swollen eyes
the woman tried to look around, but all she could make out in front and from left to right were blurry splotches. The salty water
that was splashed into her face began to singe the bloody wounds that lacerated her nearly naked body.
She could feel her arms being restrained from above while her naked feet dangled beneath her. From her head all the way to her
toes felt as if she had been beaten with spikes. Every inch of her body was in pain. Her face was a blood soaked mess and her
clothes were nearly falling right off of her.
"Good evening, my love." She heard Livingston's voice draw near.
The man was actually standing right in front of her. The sun had gone down for the day, which left the cabin bathing in a subdued
warmness from a lantern that was burning within a corner of the room. The crashing waves outside weren't at their highest tide
as of yet. They sounded subtle and somewhat at ease still.
"Everyone has gone home for the night." Livingston said as he paced back and forth in front of Lynnette. "You'll have to forgive
my friends and their not so delicate approach with you. I had to stop them after a while before they ended up killing you
altogether." Livingston then caressed her face. "You're a rugged little thing, aren't you? I can tell that you've been through a lot in
your life."
Lynnette couldn't even feel her own tongue or face for that matter. Everything around her was nothing but shapes.
Lifting her chin up, Livingston said, "Yes...you were once a lovely little bird."
"Jose." Lynnette gagged on her own blood.
"Oh, your boyfriend took a nice, long dive in the sea." Livingston plainly remarked. "Did you know that this island is surrounded
by sharks? Nurse sharks, bull sharks; there's even been some great white sightings here and there. If that answers your
question."
Lynnette shut her eyes and tried not to imagine anymore calamity coming to Jose's already dead body that had been discarded
like garbage.
"Don't be too distraught, my love. People vanish around here all the time. One more dead body washing ashore won't exactly put
a dent in the economy." Livingston stood back. "Now, my friends and I are very busy men, so I'm going to try and make this as
painless as possible for you." He began to speak ever so politely. "We're not here to play a round of the Ministers Cat; rather, I

want some information from you. You see, ever since I returned, this American girl has been the talk all over town. And I am just
dying to know what makes her so popular."
"I'm nobody." Lynnette struggled to cough.
"Oh, come now, just like the old song goes, everyone is someone." He began to pace all over again. "You have to be someone,
Lynnette Glover, from Cypress, Ohio."
Lynnette's eyes could make out the three other men standing at various points in the cabin with their weapons drawn. Though
she couldn't focus on their faces, she could tell all the same that they were ready at a moment's notice to carry out any order that
Livingston had in mind.
"I want to know why you are here all the way from a place called Ohio. And please don't say for the luxurious beaches."
Lynnette dropped her head in agony at that second and slurred, "I was looking for someone."
"Who might that be?"
Lynnette considered her answer at first. Whether wrong or correct, she realized that whatever she uttered would end up getting
her killed.
Poking out his right ear, Livingston said aloud, "Who did you say you were looking for again?"
Lynnette held her breath for as long as she possibly could without losing conciseness. "Just take what you want from me,
please." She whispered.
"Besides a tight snatch, what do you have that I want?" Livingston's tenor grew sharp. "You came here searching for someone,
and I want to know who that someone is. Because the last time I checked, women from the states don't stay as tourists two and
a half months just for the fun of it. Who are you working for? The FBI? CIA?"
"I don't work for anyone."
"She lyin', mon," Philippe shouted. "She be lookin' for Arthur all dis time!"
"You know that, and I know that, but what we don't know is why she is looking for such a man." Livingston said as he once again
approached Lynnette face to face. "Tell me something, little girl, did you know that France, even till this very day, still performs
beheadings?"

Right then and there Lynnette's heart skipped just as many beats as it did months ago inside the old apartment building back
home. All the twisting and turning she was doing suddenly ceased.
"Thirty seconds. There was this doctor, who after a criminal was beheaded, took the dead man's head and called out his name.
The dead man's eyes connected with the doctor's before shutting all over again. The doctor once more called out the man's
name, and the man opened his eyes and looked at the doctor before he finally bled out, shut his eyes, and eventually died. Thirty
seconds, that's how long a severed head can live after it's been separated from its body."
Livingston then knelt down and picked up a long butcher knife from off the floor. Lynnette started to wiggle back and forth with
what little might she had left.
"Just in case you're wondering, I am trying to frighten you with true stories." He scraped his chin with the tip of the blade. "I have
taken both a woman's heart, and her life before." Livingston then reached into his back pocket and took out a Polaroid of Isaiah.
Lynnette didn't require much light in order to see her one and only purpose dangling in the man's hand.
"You wanna see him again? Tell us what we want to know."
"I'm here for Arthur Bushard!" She gasped.
Livingston turned around and began to walk away. "We know that already." He nonchalantly replied.
"I know what he is!"
At that very moment, all four men paused. Livingston turned around and grinned, "We all know what he is. He's a bloody man."
"No...I know what he turns into."
It was as if a bomb had dropped on every soul inside the cabin. Each of the henchmen handed one another penetrating stares
while Livingston skittishly stepped towards Lynnette's bludgeoned face.
"Come again?" He continued to grin.
"I said...I know what he turns into. Both he, and his sister. That's why I'm here."
"Hey, mon, what she gwan on about?" One of the other men began to back away.

"Be silent." Livingston chided the man without even looking in his direction. "Just what sort of rubbish are you chattering about,
girl?"
"You heard me."
"You know the Bushards?"
"Yes...yes, I know them."
"What, are you one of Arthur or Demeare's jilted lovers?" Livingston chuckled.
"Arthur and his sister came after me and my son. They both tried to kill us."
Livingston stood before Lynnette with a refined frown on his blushing face as to say he was at a loss for words.
"Who do you work for?" His voice quivered.
"I told you, I don't work for anyone!"
"Then how do you know about them?"
Crying, Lynnette replied, "They tried to kill us. My fiancé was one of them before he was killed."
"I...I can't, mon! I can't be here!" Another one of the henchmen began to become unhinged.
"Shut him up!" Livingston screamed at Philippe.
The tension inside the room was as thick as billowing smoke from a blazing inferno. Everyone gathered seemed to be either
overwrought or breathless. Lynnette could see Livingston nervously fidgeting with his chin while pacing a mad dash across the
floor.
"Hey, mon, how she know about—
"Be quiet!" Livingston yelled before facing Lynnette once again. "I'm going to entertain this a bit more. If you know about the
Bushards, how is it that you are still here to tell the story?"
"I...I saw Arthur kill his sister." She strained to say.
Livingston stood back and stared awkwardly at Lynnette. "He...he killed her?"

"Yes."
"But what about Demarae," Livingston pointed.
"He probably killed him, too." Lynnette slobbered onto the floor.
"So...how did you manage to survive them?"
Shaking her limp head, Lynnette exhaled, "God only knows."
"God, huh," Livingston shrugged his shoulders. "So, you know all about that famed clan. Tell us, just to make double sure we're
on the same page, you've seen them kill before?"
"Yes." She gulped.
Livingston assuredly nodded his head. "I see. Now tell me, have you seen their...alterations as well?"
Lynnette hopelessly dropped her head. Her mouth could hardly even move at that point, and her tongue was all but exhausted.
"Well, I just find it hard to believe that a person would travel all the way from the states to this island just to tell such a fantastic
story." Livingston approached Lynnette. "But I am surprised by all of this. I am quite surprised."
"We need to kill her." Philippe stammered. "If she knows about de Bushards, den she knows about our operation, too."
"Maybe not," Livingston said. "If what she says is true, then I'm pretty sure the last thing on her mind is our little operation. But
my partner is correct in one thing, we do need to eliminate you. If you've survived Arthur and his siblings this far, then you could
endanger our..." Livingston paused once more; however, his gasp was more elongated than ever before. "Wait a second," he
smirked, "are you the reason he came back here the other day in such a shambles?"
Lynnette lifted her head at that second and oddly murmured, "Other day?"
"How were you able to take his...it doesn't matter now." He relented.
Lynnette's feeble mind began racing at the speed of light. All she could focus on in her weak state was Livingston mentioning
that Arthur was back. Suddenly, everything, from leaving home to arriving in Jamaica caused her already nauseous stomach to
churn all the more violently. Without notice, Lynnette vomited all over the floor, causing Livingston to jump back somewhat. She
then looked up at the man, and out of a gut rage spat blood at him.

"I'm through." Her deep voice grunted.
Livingston stood before her with a look of misfortune written all over his sweaty face, as though he actually felt a swell of pity for
the woman.
"It's funny, in one form or another...we all meet the devil." His voice wavered. "Little Red Riding Hood. But nonetheless, you need
to be removed."
"We'll shoot her!" Philippe stepped forward with his gun pointed at Lynnette.
"No," Livingston halted the man, "the constables are still searching for the ones that set fire to the station. The last thing we need
is a bullet riddled body floating about."
"Then we chop her into pieces."
Lynnette watched as Livingston stood and pondered such an option before he walked over behind her. She could hear
something crank right before a portion of the floor beneath her slid away revealing only blackness.
Livingston, with his lantern in hand, came back around and stood in front of the woman once more. Lynnette looked down to see
blue water underneath her.
"Star-crossed lovers in an ocean paradise," Livingston stated. "One had to leave, which in turn left the other heartbroken. When
they were both discovered, they had washed ashore, side by side. Perhaps one day someone will write a romance novel of such
a fable. You're just not cut out to be a killer, I'm afraid. Goodbye, Juliet."
With that, Livingston handed the lantern to one of the men before taking his butcher knife and slicing the rope that suspended
Lynnette in mid-air, instantly sending her body plummeting into the salty water below.
With her hands still tied together, Lynnette didn't even attempt to hold her breath, she just let go and allowed the water to fill her
lungs while descending deeper into the sea.