“Harry gave you this yesterday?” Melissa waves her hand over the papers scattered over the bed in the “guest” bedroom.
“Not exactly,” I watch Melissa cock her head and recognize this as a sign of frustration.
“How did you get them then?”
“Harold, not Harry, shared some of it with me yesterday in his cave.”
“So, Harold gave them to you yesterday?”
“No,” I said then told her about the cave, some of the conversation and the violation into the crime scene.
“I thought maybe I might find something about a relative or friend who might claim his body or something.” That’s the reason I tell Melissa and gravitate toward now. It was more out of selfish curiosity before she holds me accountable.
“You need to turn that over to the police or something,” as she says the words, I sense a strong resistance to do so.
“What will the police do with this? It will be placed in a box or something and stored away as evidence at best.
“At worst, it will be discarded or destroyed. Either way, it’s like Harold never existed and we fail him in death as we did in his life.”
“He and his killers are all over the news, even nationally. I think he will be remembered for a while to come,” Melissa points out.
“No, the Harold I talked with and the Harold in here,” I wave one hand holding some pages as I wave my other over those on the bed, “is not Big Foot or some monster killed in a remote part of a city in southern Indiana.”
Since Melissa and I both have been employed in social service work, I believe she begins to understand. We talk it over for a little while discussing possible next steps. Somewhere in our conversation, I determine what that should look like.
“We’re Heroes, Not Murderers”
Owen Truman jumps to his feet in the interrogation room, “Why are you holding us? We were attacked by a killer, a beast. It was self-defense.”
“Calm down, Mr. Truman and sit, please. Try to understand. We have to be sure,” Detective Avery Theophilus gestures for Owen to sit back down.
In another room, another detective tries to reassure Gavin Simon that he is not being committed of a crime.
“We were attacked by Big Foot. We’re heroes, not murderers,” Gavin leans forward extending his open hands toward the detective.
“You still took a life and we have to be sure.”
“I want assigned a lawyer,” Gavin leans back into his chair.
“That’s not necessary at this point, Mr. Simon.”
“I want a lawyer.”
Two Pronged Plan
The next day begins routinely and at the allotted time, Melissa leaves for work. I set out on my two pronged plan concerning Harold Piegrand.
I have Ancestry (ancestry.com) to search family history. I use it to enter Piegrand into a search. There is no exact match but similar. I take some of those similar surnames and add Yakima, Washington. There are possibilities, but nothing definitive.
It occurs to me that Harold Piegrand may have been the name given to Harold by the orphanage. It seems too coincidental that the nickname for Harold is Harry which is a homonym of hairy and Piegrand is so much the same as Pie Grande translated from Spanish is Big Foot. It seems a bit cruel but possible.
I lose hope in finding relatives of Harold’s. If Harold was honest and correct, the orphanage no longer exists. Finding someone to claim his body, to mourn his death or even to have him live on through memories seems less likely.
Harold talked about Auntie Louise, but he never mentioned a last name. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure what their connection was. Maybe I can discover something in his journal about Auntie Louise, someone at the orphanage he befriended or a relative.
I seem to be hitting a dead end with the family, friend, acquaintance phase of my plan. But I must be more successful with the other part – proving that Harold is not a monster, a Big Foot. Harold’s life mattered as much as anyone.
It dawns on me that the key to accomplish both finding someone who cares and proving Harold’s worthiness is in the journal.
I spend the rest of the my day pouring over pages and “pages” of Harold Piegrand’s words.
Categories: Author Confession
I write about what I'm thinking or what I've imagined in an effort to regain that childhood imagination and marry with my many years of real experiences. I'm getting better at it the more I write.I am a published author of two romantic intrigue novels.My books can be found at Amazon.com or if you want a personalized copy, by emailing me at firstname.lastname@example.org.