Forty-three years had passed, and it was now early September in 2014.
Tiffany Carlson and Howie Anderson were still officially labeled as missing. It was never discovered that they were buried in the woods outside Haneyville during that August night back in 1970.
For the first ten years after the kids were missing, everybody in town had their own theories on what happened.
One of the main theories was that Howie ran off to Canada to avoid being drafted into the Army and being sent to Vietnam. This was Rock's theory, and the vast majority of the town folks were in agreement with him. For a while, that placed a little shame on George and Betsy Anderson.
Ernie and Kathy Carlson and George and Betsy Anderson gave up on trying to locate their missing children. They were now in their eighties and did not have the strength anymore to pursue that disappointing activity. They figured the kids wanted a better life away to Canada and wanted nothing to do with Haneyville. But could never understand why since they both provided them a good home.
Way down south, the news of those two missing kids from 1970 never reached Florida.
One such person who never heard about these two missing kids was Donovan Kirby. He was a thirty-three year old and lived in Melbourne, Florida.
Donovan was a handsome man with short blonde hair and blue eyes. He worked as a reporter for the Florida Today newspaper writing articles about local crime.
But Donovan's true passion was writing crime fiction stories. He had completed two so far and did not have success with getting a publisher to publish them. So he went down the eBook route on the Internet. The two stories were not best sellers but brought in a small monthly income. They were titled Confession and Public Enemy Hud Hudson.
It was in the evening on Wednesday and Donovan sat in his den in lazy boy chair with his laptop on his lap. He stared at a blank Word file. He tried to type something down but stopped. He tried to type something but stopped again. "Crap," he cursed out while he hated these frequent writer's block moments.
He got out of his lazy boy chair with his laptop in hand.
After he placed the laptop back in its bag, Donovan headed over to the closet of the den.
He opened the closet and removed a small case. He opened up the case and inside was a Conn Constellation silver trumpet.
After Donovan placed the mouthpiece in the trumpet, he walked back over to his lazy boy chair. He started playing his trumpet, which was another hobby he began ten years ago.
He started to play the introduction to Glenn Miller's In The Mood song.
After thirty minutes of playing his trumpet, he put it back in the closet then headed off to the bathroom and got ready for bed. He could not shake off his writer's block.
Donovan fell asleep an hour later. He tried to come up with a great idea for his third eBook story. He still drew a blank.
Then Donovan started to have a dream.
In Donovan's dream, he was a young guy with long blonde hair parted down the middle.
He sat in the passenger seat of a 1962 Buick Special. He smoked on a joint.
Then he passed the joint over to a sexy young girl with long brown hair an big soft brown eyes. She took the joint and started smoking on it.
He looked at the girl. "I love you," he said.
She glanced at him with the joint in her right hand.
Donovan woke up from his dream and thought nothing of it. He closed his eyes and drifted back off to sleep.
Thursday morning arrived, and Donovan sat in his lazy boy chair in his den, drinking some coffee and eating a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. He had the Channel 13 news channel on his 50-inch TV.
"This drought has been hitting the whole south hard for the entire summer months," said weatherman Carl Curt from the TV and pointed to a map of the south were all the rainfalls across all the southern states were 0.00 inches. "There have been reports of the levels of lakes and rivers dropping to an average of ten feet," Carl added to his viewers then paused. "No rain is in sight at the moment."
Donovan's iPhone rang with the old fashion phone ringtone. He smiled when he saw the picture of Lindsey, the caller.
"Hey," he answered the call and was not in the mood to talk to his girlfriend.
"Hey, baby, I'm at the Orlando airport. I just got through security, and I'm heading to the train to the terminal," Lindsey replied from his iPhone.
"Okay, have a good time, and I'll see you on Sunday," he replied.
"When I get back, we really need to sit down and decide on a wedding date. Mom's bugging the crap on me for trying to plan," she said.
"Okay," he replied but did not look thrilled, as he started having doubts on marrying Lindsey.
"I will love you."
Donovan hesitated but knew what would happen if he did not respond. "Love you," Donovan replied, then disconnected this end of the call.
He grabbed his remote and turned off his TV.
He got up off the lazy boy chair then headed out of the den to get ready for work.
A little while later, Donovan left his house and drove off to work in his blue 2012 Honda CR-V.
While he drove down U.S. 1 in Melbourne, he saw the Harbor Buick dealership off to his left on the west side of the road. The Indian River was to his right.
While he passed by that dealership, Donovan spotted a shiny blue 1962 Buick Special parked out in the grass near the road. He liked what he saw then soon forgot about that car while he headed a little farther down the road.
A little while later, Donovan arrived at his cubicle in the Florida Today office.
He sat down at his desk and glanced at the framed picture of him and his fiancé Lindsey Barnes a sexy brunette. It was a picture of them at Disney's Magic Kingdom in Orlando taken last year.
He turned on his computer, ready to work his next assignment.
"Good morning, Donovan," said Hank Jasmer his Editor the second he entered Donovan's cubicle.
"Hey, Hank."
"There's a conference going on over in Orlando for suppliers of police equipment and workshops. There's going to be lots of police chiefs and sheriffs from around the country. I want you to head over there and come back with a story," said Hank.
"Okay, can I get a cup of coffee first," asked Donovan.
"One cup then hit the road," Hank replied then he walked out of the cubicle.
Donovan sighed as he hated assignments out of Brevard County.
He grabbed his coffee cup then headed out of his cubicle.
Thirty minutes had passed, and Donovan was inside his SUV heading north on U.S. 1.
Rusty and Buddy sat in Rusty's Weld-Craft JON boat over in Lake Haney in Tennessee. They were not too far from the sandy bank of the lake.
Rusty stopped his boat and dropped his anchor.
He looked at the bank and got a little depressed. "Looks like the lake level has dropped by five feet," he said.
Buddy looked at the bank and saw where the water was usually higher last year. "Yep, this fucking drought is brutal," he replied while he stared at the bank of the lake.
"Oh well, let's hope this drought has the bass really hungry," he said while he grabbed his fishing pole.
"I hope so. Last week was a bust," Buddy said while he grabbed his fishing pole.
"Yep, but the beer was good," Rusty said while he cast out his line.
"Yep," replied Buddy while he cast out his line.
Rusty opened up the Coleman cooler and grabbed two cans of Budweiser beers that had been on ice for a few hours.
Rusty popped opened one of the cans and handed it to Buddy.
Rusty popped his can opened and they both took a drink.
Rusty and Buddy drank their beers while they waited for some bass to take their bait.
Thirty minutes and Rusty and Buddy were on their second cans of Budweisers. The bass was not biting today, and they were disappointed, but the Bud's helped.
Then Rusty glanced down at the water as something caught his attention. "What's that down there?" he said while he pointed down at the water.
Buddy looked where Rusty pointed. "That's weird," he said while he saw what gave Rusty some concern.
"I think we should tell the Sheriff," Buddy said.
Rusty nodded in agreement and started reeling in his fishing line.
Buddy started reeling in his fishing line.
Meanwhile, back in Orlando, Florida, Donovan had arrived at the Orange County Convention Center off International Drive.
Donovan walked around one of the exhibit halls and saw hundreds of vendors that were showing off their products to help the police officers around the nation.
Then Donovan stopped at a vendor's booth for uniforms.
He looked at the uniforms and jotted down some notes about the different vendors in this exhibit hall.
He turned to leave, then stopped after he almost knocked into another man.
He looked and saw a man around seventy years old. It was Sheriff Rodney "Rock" Riley from Haneyville, Tennessee in his light brown uniform with dark brown tie. He had three cigars that peeked out of his right shirt pocket. Rock had gotten a little flabbier over the years, and his black crew cut was now a thinning white-haired crew cut. But he was still an intimating man.
"Excuse me," Donovan said while he looked Rock in the eyes.
"No problem," replied Rock.
Then the two men glanced at each other for a few seconds.
A cold chill ran through Donovan's body while he looked at Rock' eyes. There was something familiar about this old law enforcement officer. Donovan saw the "Riley" name tag pinned to Rock's shirt.
"Do I know you?" asked Rock while there was something strange and familiar with Donovan.
"No sir, I don't recall meeting you," replied Donovan and that chill dissipated then followed by a light, sharp pain in the middle of his chest. Donovan cringed in pain.
"Are you alright?" asked Rock when he noticed Donovan was in a bit of pain.
The pain quickly vanished from Donovan's chest. "I'm fine."
Rock and Donovan just stared at each other while they tried to recall where they might have met in the past.
The cell phone clipped to Rock's belt rang.
Donovan walked away while Rock removed his cell phone and flipped it over. "Yeah," Rock answered the call.
Donovan turned around and glanced back at Rock.
"You what?" Rock said into his cell phone and looked concerned.
Donovan discreetly eyed Rock.
He noticed that the pinky on Rock's right is missing at the knuckle while he looked concerned while he listened to his cell phone call.
"Do not contact anybody from the media until I get back home," Rock said then disconnected his end of the call.
Rock glanced back at Donovan and did not appreciate him staring at him. "What do you want?"
"Nothing," Donovan said then he rushed away suddenly being intimidated by that old man.
Rock rushed away and looked concerned with his cell phone call.
Donovan spent another four hours at the conference then headed back east to Melbourne.
After he arrived back in his cubicle at the Florida Today newspaper office, Donovan immediately started writing his article about the conference and downloaded the pictures he snapped with his Nikon D3200 digital camera.
His workday was over, and Donovan had submitted his story on the police convention in Orlando.
He left the office and drove his CR-V drove south on U.S. 1 to head home.
Donovan drove past the Harbor Buick dealership and eyed that restored 1962 Buick Special again.
While he drove farther down the road, he could not get that old car out of his mind.
Donovan turned around when he had the opportunity and drove back to the Buick dealership.
Donovan pulled his CR-V into the dealership and parked.
He got out and walked over to the Buick Special parked in the grass.
Donovan walked around to the front and loved the mirror-like finish on the chrome bumper.
He walked around and loved the flawless shiny blue paint job.
He peeked in the driver's door window and saw that the blue interior looked brand new.
"She's a thing of beauty," said Larry, a middle-aged salesman.
"She sure is," Donovan said and knew a salesman was right behind him.
"Let me open her up to you can check her out," Larry said and removed a car key from his pant pocket. He unlocked then opened the driver's door then motioned for Donovan to sit inside.
Donovan sat in the front seat.
"You can take her for a spin if you want," said Larry.
"Okay," replied Donovan and looked forward to driving this antique while he took the key from Larry.
Donovan started up the Buick while Larry got in the passenger side of the front bench seat. He buckled his lap seat belt.
Donovan buckled his lap seat belt.
He placed the car in reverse and slowly backed out of the grass.
A little while later, Donovan drove the Buick Special south on U.S. 1. Its engine purred, and it drove like a dream.
"The car was restored and a new engine installed," said Larry while Donovan drove farther down U.S. 1.
Donovan loved the feel of this car.
A little while later, Donovan drove back to the dealership.
He did one last walk around the car admiring the antique.
"What do you think?" asked Larry silently praying for a sale.
Donovan glanced in the driver's window for another glance at the inside. "I'll think about it," he said then gave Larry a smile.
Larry smiled back but inside he was pouting he lost another sale today.
Larry headed back to the showroom while Donovan walked back to his CR-V.
Later that night, Donovan just put away his laptop. He racked his brain for ideas for his third eBook, but that writer's block won again.
He went to bed and drifted off to sleep.
It was not long before Donovan had a dream…
Donovan was in the rear seat of that red 1962 Buick Special. That sexy girl with the brown hair sat next to Donovan, and they were hip to hip.
They were at the drive-in and the movie Bloody Mama played with Shelly Winters and Robert DeNiro.
Donovan and the girl started kissing. It turned passionate.
Donovan slipped his hand under her gray Best of 1970 tee shirt. He smiled when he felt the erect nipple of her right bare breast under her shirt. He got a boner.
Donovan had a smile on his face while he dreamt about feeling that girl's bare breast.
The sound of a Harley Davidson motorcycle outside his house while it raced down the street woke him up.
Donovan looked around and realized he woke up from his dream. He was disappointed and closed his eyes. He fought hard to return back to that exact moment of that dread.
The sexy dream did not return.