She looked over my shoulder. The photo showed what looked like The Sisters of the Frozen Rosary Home. The color had faded. It was a group shot. There were seventeen people in all. In the middle, was a man, holding a small boy, with a teddy bear. The boy from my polaroid. The man looked a lot like me.

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Next to him was a pretty blonde, in a summer dress, she was pregnant. They were leaning on the hood of the red Chevy truck that now sat parked outside this very building.

I recognized five other faces. All much younger than I’d last seen them. All of their faces circled in red marker; Mayor Skinner, Crawford, Dr. Jensen, Vern and standing next to the blonde, Annabelle Murphy. There were two other boys with the mayor. Their faces were also circled, the Skinner brothers.

Fred came into the kitchen. He still looked pretty shaken. The photo didn’t help.
“Isn’t that the truck you’re driving now?” he asked. “Why are their faces all circled?”

“Yes, and I don’t know. Do you recognize the people in the middle?” I asked.
“Well, that looks a lot like the boy in your photo, and that’s your bear, but the man and the woman I’ve never seen in my life,” Fred said.

“But you’re so connected here,” Leeanne said.

Fred smiled. “But, twenty years ago, honey, I wasn’t,” Fred said. “I wasn’t even welcome here. For ten years, I spent my inheritance to keep this store open. No one would even come in. Being gay in rural Oklahoma wasn’t a cool thing to be. So, no, I wouldn’t have been invited to a party like this.”

He looked sad.

“In fact, the only person in this photo who would have spoken to me, if they knew ‘what I was’ was Annabelle. She never cared. She just loved people,” Fred said.
I studied the picture. Eight faces I recognized, one was me, six were dead, one was left.

“I need to go to El Reno,” I said.

I didn’t wait for a response. I picked up the photo and went down the stairs. I took the Chevy. I’d just gotten it back from the auto shop in Hobart, with new glass in the back window.

The drive to El Reno was just under two hours. My GPS took me as close as it could. I could see the prison from there. I guessed federal law must prevent navigation any closer. I drove into the lot and found a space marked ‘visitor’.
It was spooky how much the yellow, limestone structure looked like so many courthouses, churches and train depots dotting the Oklahoma landscape. The prison was a mix of architectural styles. It had begun during Oklahoma’s wild west days as a territorial prison and been a prison ever since.

There was a square guard tower with angled windows, looking down on all sides. Next to a huge building in the center, with a cupola rising like a steeple, or the clock tower of any of the surrounding county court houses.

I passed through a metal detector and a grim, but polite guard frisked me. I stood in line between stanchions, with elastic straps extending to mark the space I was allowed to inhabit. A large man with a machine gun slung across chest stood against a wall, watching me, but not watching me.

“Next,” a small woman behind bullet proof glass looked at me with a blank face.

“Yes, I’m here to see Harold Skinner,” I said. Using Hal’s full name.

She looked down at a computer terminal built into the desk and punched buttons.

“You’re too late,” said the guard with the machine gun.

“I’m sorry, when are visiting hours?” I asked the woman behind the glass. She didn’t acknowledge me.

“Too late, because Skinner did the dutch,” the guard said.

“What? I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means,” I said. I turned toward the guard.

“Keep your hands inside the ropes, sir,” he said.

“ID please?” the woman behind the glass said.

“I don’t,” I started to tell her.

Then I remembered, that’s how all this started. I didn’t think the conversation with anyone here would go as well as my time with Big Daddy Crawford.

“I’m sorry, I must have left it at home,” I said.

“I can’t help you without a government issued ID,” she said. “Next.”

“Wait,” I said. I tapped the glass. “Doing dutch, what does that mean?”

She looked up, no expression. “Next,” she said.

“But, I don’t understand,” I said.

“You heard the lady, sir, move along. She can’t help you,” the guard said. He turned toward me, his hands sliding into position on his weapon.

“Your friend offed hisself,” the man behind me said.

I turned, he looked like he would know.

“What?” I asked.

“Suicide, dead,” he said. “Now, can you go, please, before they shut this whole line down and I don’t get to see my son?”

I couldn’t have been more in shock if the guard had shot me. I shuffled toward the door and out into the parking lot. I climbed into the truck, the photo clenched in my fist. It must have been more than an hour before a young guard approached the truck. He tapped on my window.

“Sir, you need to move your vehicle,” he said.

He pointed to a sign. ‘Two-hour parking’.

I just stared at him, what he was saying not quite sinking in.

“Sir, if you do not move your vehicle, I’ll need you to step out and show me some ID. You cannot be here without authorization,” he said.

I started the truck. I unclenched my fist and put the photo in the glove box. I backed out and headed for home. At least I had one, now. In one way, I was starting over. I had one more clue than I’d had before. Two photos, instead of one, and the medallion. In another way, I was already found.

I turned on the radio. A female country artist I didn’t know, sang about revenge. “I dug my keys into the side…”

I smiled. Worried about a life I didn’t remember, while the one I had was waiting for me back in River Grove. What kind of a weirdo was I, anyway?

More Dalton West Coming Right Up!

If you enjoyed 9 Seconds of Freedom, You'll love Dalton's continued Adventures!

With River Grove reeling from the recent events, Dalton West steps up to become the town's sheriff. But a mysterious package, containing a photo of him, in a tux, with a bride, threatens to destroy the fragile happiness he's building for himself with Leeanne.

Can he solve the mystery of the girl in the photograph? Will this be the end of a beautiful romance? And what about the pretty, young, mysterious loner who's been feeding crows in the park and making sizable deposits in a secret acccount at the River Grove bank?

With Leeanne on the warpath, and the town needing him more than ever, it might not be the best time for sinister elements to come looking for the missing profits from the dead mayor's gambling ring. Can Dalton find the cash, solve his own mystery and save the girl in time to keep River Grove from going up in smoke just in time for Christmas?

8 Minutes to Christmas Starts MONDAY!