"Dora smiles and slowly turns towards the desk, she strikes a match, a burst of illuminated energy engulfs the room. She carefully lights the scented candles that alien the walls, within seconds the room is transformed into a glowing and inviting cavern, she continues lighting several more candles the ambiance now much more intimate, as the soft glow of flickering flames illuminate the room and the hunting lyrics of Sarah McLachlanís ďPossessionĒ softly plays in the background".
When was it the first time I met Dora Braxton? She seemed familiar to me, as if I had known her in another time in another place. Yet I had only met her a few months ago, a black and white photo on a message board. Yet within that photo, that incredible photo there lurked a secret, a secret hidden away for almost 30 years, and I was drawn to it, as a moth would be to a flame. She was beautiful, blond and blue eyed, with a body made for love, alluring yet reserved, a contradiction as complex and as sorted as this tale.
Our relationship began innocently enough two writers meeting on a message board provided by our publisher, a novel approach to staying connected. Who would ever imagine it would turn into an obsession, an obsession so intense that it would bridge whatever obstacles stood in our way, an obsession that would force me to relive a hunting past, an obsession that now threatens my own life.
She was a gifted writer, who seemed to have everything, beauty, talent and wealth, and yet her words betrayed her, reveling a need a wanting if you will. Whatever it was we both seemed to understand it. It was as if I knew her inner core, without even meeting her, and yet our passion for each other would eventually include hundreds of phone calls and span thousands of miles, just to be together.
We were as opposite as two people could possibly be, she was born in a small framing community in Black Ridge Arkansas, and I in the teaming tenements of the Bronx, and yet there was a bond, a bond that would transcend time and space, a bond that would pull me back to my youth, back to a young girl by the name of Linda Jenkins, back to where it all started.
A bond forged of love, lust and passion, a bond of mutual respect, of tenderness, a bond that seemed even in death could never be broken, and yet I soon came to realize like that incredible photo, Dora Braxton was an illusion a beautiful myth that came briefly into my life, burning white hot with passion and just as quickly extinguished, and soon vanished. And while it broke my heart I came to understand that there was another side to her and no matter how much she tried it would not stay hidden long.
It was a side as primitive as time itself, ingrained in her as a child. A mirrored past that Linda Jenkins also knew well, that of self preservation, of instinct, afraid to fully love or to trust completely, a side that needed to deny themselves of whatever happiness they might find, a side that would eventually grow silent and cold, and while they never knew each other in life, they shared a secret in death.
A secret locked away for over 30 years, the unsolved murder of Linda Jenkins and only Dora Braxton held the key to that secret, a secret that needed to be unlocked, so that Linda Jenkins could at last find peace.
Copyright 2004 Robert Amoroso