Chapter 1: Preface

“I did so, Chet Morton!”

Chet laughed as his cousin Lydia led the way along the gravel road to the old bridge over the Black Warrior River.  Lydia claimed she’d spray-painted her name on the side of the bridge and Chet didn’t believe a word of it.

Lydia Morton was a pretty, blond seventeen-year-old.  She was usually quiet and reserved.  That was why Chet couldn’t believe she’d spray-painted on the County Line Bridge, even if the old bridge was closed to traffic.

Soon they were walking along the edge of the cement and steel edifice.

“Look here,” Lydia proclaimed when they’d reached the center.

“You really did it!” Chet chuckled as he pictured Lydia sneaking out on the bridge to paint her name in bright red letters, even if they were quite small.

The two turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.  Three young men, all in their mid-twenties, approached Chet and his cousin.  One was tall with stringy blond hair, another was dark skinned with dreadlocks, and the third had curly dark hair and a thin mustache.

“You got a light?” the blond man asked, holding out a cigarette.

“No…sorry,” Chet stated, trying to keep himself between Lydia and the three young men.

The trio looked at Chet and Lydia for a few minutes, and then started to walk away, toward the Hale County side of the bridge. 

“Hey,” the blond called out, glancing back at the Mortons, “if you find a lighter, it’s mine.  I lost it.”

Chet nodded and stood protectively beside Lydia.  They watched the three men walk off the bridge.

“Let’s give them some time to get out of here before we go back,” Chet suggested.  He and Lydia walked to the opposite side of the river, before heading back for the Hale County end of the bridge.

Five yards from the end of the bridge, two of the young men suddenly appeared again.  Chet and Lydia froze.

“You’re sure a pretty thing,” the curly-haired man purred as he approached Lydia.

“Leave me alone,” Lydia stated firmly.  The man continued to approach her, his gray teeth grinning evilly.

“Hey, back off you guys,” Chet moved to defend Lydia, even though he was terrified.

“Wha’cha gonna do, Fatso?” The man turned away from Lydia and faced Chest. He reached into his waistband and pulled out a switchblade.

The man continued to threaten Chet with the blade, while the stringy haired blond pulled Lydia away. 

Hearing Lydia scream, Chet fought back his own fears and tried to turn around to help his cousin.  From the corner of his eye, he saw the black man run onto the bridge toward where Lydia was struggling with the blond man.

Chet expected to feel a knife in his back, but instead something heavy hit the back of his head.  Before darkness overtook him, Chet heard Lydia scream again.

* * *

“Wakey-wakey, Fatso!”

Chet heard the taunting voice as he fought to regain consciousness.  He opened his eyes and saw Lydia huddled against the side of the bridge crying.  Her clothes were torn and Chet felt sick as he thought about what the men probably did to her.

“Can’t have you two squealin’ to the cops,” the mustached man said, grabbing Lydia and pulling the distraught, sobbing girl to her feet. 

Before Chet could even comprehend all that was going on, the man lifted the girl and hurled her over the side of County Line Bridge into the churning, muddy waters of the Black Warrior River.

“NO-O-o-o-o!” Chet screamed, pushing away from the blond man facing him.  He raced to the side and looked vainly into the dark water for any sign of his cousin.  He suddenly felt a shove from behind.

“Jump fat boy!” called the man behind him. “If you don’t, Mo will have to cut you!”

Chet knew it was probably suicide to jump, but he didn’t wait to see if the knife threat was real or not; he jumped feet first into the river.

When he finally hit the water, it felt as if both his ankles were broken.  Chet began swimming as best he could in the churning, frothing water.  The river was exceptionally cold and high from two weeks of heavy rain; and the rapid current quickly carried Chet downstream.

Chet called out Lydia’s name until his voice was almost gone.  Finally, he was able to make his way to shore and drag himself up the steep bank.

Hearing a car, the stout youth forced himself to move faster.  An old station wagon stopped and an elderly man emerged from the ancient vehicle.

Chet quickly explained that his cousin was somewhere in the river and he needed help.  Chet heard the man call 9-1-1 on his cell phone.  Exhausted from fighting the river and traumatized from the ordeal on the bridge, Chet allowed himself to drift into unconsciousness until the police arrived.