Ch. 6 - Embers of Fate - The Intricacies of Life’s Inevitable Journey
Have you ever hit pause on your Netflix binge, only to be caught up in the swirling vortex of what-ifs and the could’ve been of your own existence?
Oh, I’d bet my last cup of coffee we’ve all been there.
Each ticking minute, each fleeting year, are breadcrumbs marking the trail of our choices.
But what if you’d strolled down a winding lane instead of the expressway?
And why does time do this sneaky speed-up trick on us, nudging us to play a quick game of eeny, meeny, miny, moe with our life decisions?
Did your life stick to the script you wrote?
Or, perhaps you find yourself straddling both realms or hurtling headfirst toward an unanticipated plot twist that flips your narrative upside down, as I often find myself.
No spoiler alerts here, guys. Donna sure didn’t get any.
How does this casual flip of a coin, this pick-and-mix approach to life’s junctions, fit into what many have dubbed “God’s blueprint” or “the Universe’s grand scheme?”
Or maybe, there’s no blueprint, no grand scheme.
As I tread life’s intricate maze, these conundrums have buzzed like bees in my head forever.
And then there’s this case.
How can we ever get a sure-shot, bullseye hit on the whodunit and whydunit?
It’s enough to drive anyone up the walls.
I don’t know about you, but I try to dissect this case, conjuring up mental sketches and sneaking a peek behind the eyes of each persona. Even picturing Donna’s voice, one I’ve never heard, yet hoping I’m catapulted into her shoes.
But, friends, it is not my desire to shove you off into the deep end of an existential crisis before we even get started!
Buckle up for yet another thrilling ride, fellow sleuths, and thanks again for riding shotgun.
Let us return to a frigid Tuesday eve in January of 1993: A shadowy plot is bubbling under the radar, right in Terry Haynes’ blind spot. Terry has just got home from work and has tossed together a quick meal before bolting out the door to Moose Lodge for a rambunctious round of pitch. And it is suggested that he has no clue—absolutely none—that calamity is inching his way.
Did Terry have the best seat in the house for the upcoming disaster?
Then there is Jon Tompkins, Donna’s soon-to-be ex, all cozied up in his treasured Lazy Boy, hyped up for a football match. Little did he know that his already shaky domestic sphere was about to be shattered way beyond repair.
Meanwhile, Rod Franciscovich, Donna’s latest flame, was cruising down Walmart aisles with his bro Anthony, grabbing a few essentials: fabric softener, furnace filters, lightbulbs, and a chic case for his beloved CD collection—amid his mundane routine, a storm on the horizon.
Within the snug walls of their home, trust officer David Haynes and his wife Sarah are popping confetti for their little munchkin’s first birthday—if only he knew that Donna Tompkins, his loyal secretary, and her daughter Justine, were about to be engulfed in flames.
And Terry Haynes—having spread the holiday cheer with a religious card in a fancy frame he had gifted Donna—as he played pitch, could he have guessed it would be their last exchange?
Clutching that sacred card, tears painting her cheeks, did Donna realize she would soon meet her maker?
As she thanked Terry through her tears, hugging him tight, sealing it with a kiss on his cheek, was Terry hinting to Donna Almighty was right around the corner?
...maybe Terry had been implying that in God’s eyes, she would always be his?
There is no doubt life’s a mad ride filled with surprises at every twist and turn—so, let’s rewind and relive this last day of normalcy, shall we...?
Tuesday morning, January 12th: Donna’s alarm clock lets out a jarring beep at 6 am. Half asleep, she crawls out of bed and rushes to get the coffee brewing and prep for the day.
Rod, meanwhile, is snoozing away on the pullout couch in her living room where they had slept. Before leaving, Donna nudges Rod awake, telling him she is leaving him a spare key and to go back to sleep.
David Haynes, getting himself ready for work, his own pot of coffee, and my own dark roast in hand, I can’t help but ponder, had he felt a twinge of concern sitting alone at his kitchen table, did he sense their professional bond was on the brink of snapping?
Was he aware of the looming disaster—had he triggered the events that were about to unfold, himself, or any of the above, themselves triggered by lust, greed, revenge, or possibly that natural craving for power and protection?
I find myself chewing over a tidbit from that interview with David: Sarah, David’s other half, was she unable to swat away the green-eyed monster when it came to Donna.
A hypothesis has begun to crystallize within my mind: Could Sarah, despite David’s denial, have played a part in the tragedy?
Her awareness of Donna’s closeness with her husband was all too clear, no doubt.
Could she have orchestrated this horrifying event out of spite or jealousy?
If so, did David have knowledge of this, or was he as blindsided as the others?
Could it be that she’d connected the dots that would go on to shape the motive behind the chilling murders?
Yet, in his narrative, David swears that Sarah couldn’t harbor an ounce of envy toward Donna.
Was he blissfully oblivious to Sarah’s realization?
Or had Sarah opted to keep quiet about it?
That, my friends, is a fat question mark.
Once again, I must state rather boldly: I’m beginning to suspect that any of the four combined might have had a hand in the game.
One fact stands out in bold print: David was the first to discover the blaze. We all know this. But what about the other trio? How did they digest the spine-tingling revelation?
Let me paint you a picture—
Fast forward to January 13th, 1993: The clock strikes 6 am, and Donna Tompkins’s alarm should have broken the silence, though we can’t say with certainty if it ever did. Was it silenced by Donna or the perp?
Or had itself become a casualty of the inferno, melting to an ooze?
Meanwhile, Jon, every bit the dedicated farmer he is known to be, was up and about even before the first cock a doodle doo echoed.
And, despite the bone-chilling 20 degrees, wind chill dropping to a harsh -8 degrees, and gusts hitting a whipping 17 mph, he trudged over to his dad’s place for a frost-bitten day of milling feed.
Now, 15 minutes past 6, David’s brewing a fresh pot of coffee to share with his wife Sarah before she leaves early for work and before he wakes the kids. Sarah leaves by 7. Next, a flurry of activity getting the kids prepped for the babysitter before David heads to the bank, arriving around 8:15.
In contrast, Terry picks up his dad, and they set off on a 15-minute drive to the county seat of Lewiston, navigating the ice-encrusted highway. Terry has a court date at the towering limestone courthouse for an unknown criminal matter. Breakfast at Hilda’s Pantry is on the menu.
By the time the clock chimes 8:30, Rod is up and about as he ambles across the street to his brother’s place, picking up the laundry he’d left the night before.
Taking a long step back into the vast countryside surrounding the rural hamlet of Canton, Jon has a skip in his step. His tractor is his chariot as he navigates through fields painted white with snow, an unquenchable sense of optimism warming his heart. That evening he had a date with his daughter Justine at McDonald’s.
As the big hand hit twelve at 9 am, Terry stares down the gavel, tackling his legal snags. Simultaneously, David is told that Donna, his secretary, has pulled a no-show with the ATM drop she was supposed to arrive with nearly an hour ago.
He is nudged on by concerned coworkers to dial up her house, only to be greeted by the monotone drone of her soon-to-be-melting answering machine. With no time to spare, he throws on his coat and beelines for Donna’s place, only to be confronted by a fierce fire greedily consuming the building.
All the while, Rod is back home, blissfully unaware of the cloud of smoke now shrouding Canton in a dark haze.
A stone’s throw away from the courthouse, the Fulton County Sheriff’s Department is alerted about the fire.
At the same time, David’s boss, Max Scott, shows up at the fiery scene to witness David frantically breaking the windows at the back of Donna’s apartment—his frantic actions causing a ruckus, drawing the tenants and neighbors out into the chilly surroundings.
The neighbors watch, wide-eyed, as the firetrucks slide to a halt at the curb, their ears catching the Fire Marshal’s stern reprimand to David for making the fire more volatile.
But David is having none of it, scolding them right back for not getting into action.
A peculiar boy on the street, armed with a video camera, is documenting every move, capturing David’s fervent pleas for protective gear and oxygen, so he can go in himself.
David proclaims that he is more than willing to dive into the blazing abyss to save the mother and daughter within.
His despair fills the air, crying out that if Donna and Justine are trapped in that ominously glowing red room, they are surely already dead.
Fifty firefighters from two separate departments wrestle with the raging flames for close to two hours, and at about 11:25, as Terry and his father drive back into town, they notice plumes of smoke rising to the sky. The sight of trucks and an ever-growing crowd force Terry to slow down as he nears Donna’s, only to witness the tragic sight of two body bags carried to an ambulance waiting in grim silence.
Meanwhile, on the farm, Jon, having a chill ride on his tractor, spots something unusual: his parents stepping out of the house together to wave him over, an uncommon occurrence.
Confused, Jon parks his tractor, ready to investigate this curious turn of events.
As Jon hops off the old tractor, he sees his father’s solemn face drop the temperature another few degrees as he murmurs, “Son, it’s time to brace yourself and keep your composure.” The weight of his father’s pause hangs in the frigid air before he finally confesses, “There’s been a dreadful event at Donna’s flat in Canton.”
Jon blurts out, “Are they okay? Have they been rushed to the hospital?”
And his mother adds in a murmur, “The medical examiner has been summoned,” a sledgehammer hits Jon in his knees, and he collapses to the cold, hard earth.
Just after the clock strikes twelve, Rod is sprucing himself up for the day, looping his tie around his collar, while his roommate Scott is just rubbing his eyes in the basement. The sound of a car rolling into the driveway grabs Scott’s attention, followed by the strange occurrence of someone barging into the house unannounced.
Despite the muted voices, Scott is confident that it is Terry Haynes.
Above, Terry approaches a puzzled Rod, hand outstretched for a friendly handshake. But in a swift move, Terry pulls Rod into a heartfelt hug, a voice barely above a whisper as he relays the catastrophic news, “Donna and Justine are dead.”
Terry details the haunting sight of the bodies being retrieved from the apartment, leaving Rod in a state of shock, grappling to fathom the sheer enormity of the loss.
And Scott hears Terry’s farewell, a casual “Let’s grab coffee sometime,” before he vanishes as suddenly as he’d arrived, leaving a storm of unspoken sentiments swirling in the wake.
Summoning every ounce of courage, Rod dials work, and voice strained, he relays the gruesome news. He reveals that his girlfriend and her little girl had fallen victim to a horrific blaze. United in shock and grief, Scott and Rod pile into the Nissan, the towering columns of smoke billowing from the grand Victorian house near the railway guiding their way.
As he approaches the grim scene, sobbing, the sight before him promises to haunt his nightmares for years to come.
Note: As always, any theories about this case mentioned should be approached with caution.
And—we are left at that.
Phew, I am left with a heavy heart and somewhat speechless with this cliffhanger.
I am left squirming in my chair as I await the dive into forensic fire investigation, and their findings, and what they might reveal about the deadly fire at the Tompkins’ home, now blackened with chair, about an otherwise winter wonderland, now tarnished with rumor and worry.
Until then, keep theorizing, sleuths!
Cheers, and Safe Travels,
Tati