The Switch Point

Book summary

In "The Switch Point," Kennen Clarke, a celebrated true crime documentary maker, confronts his haunted past in the small town of Ashter. Twenty years after the tragic death of Leonie Tilden, a lawyer's daughter and Kennen's close friend, at the local train tracks, Kennen's latest project draws him back to the unresolved case. As eerie sightings and a mysterious note link Kennen directly to the event, he delves into Ashter's darkest corners, seeking truth amidst the town's ghost stories and his own unresolved trauma. This gripping narrative navigates through layers of mystery and emotional depth, challenging Kennen to unravel a past that has long cast a shadow over his life.

Excerpt from The Switch Point

May 2017

The loud cheer filled the entire soundstage. Marty Gilwick popped the cork on the champagne, gold bubbling out and dripping to the floor. Glasses were poured and passed, a few more bottles less ceremoniously opened so everyone would have a sip.

A cheer of “Speech! Speech! Speech!” erupted and Marty glanced at Kennen.

Kennen smiled, shaking his head. “This one is all you, Marty.”

Marty nodded and started to the front, then paused and looked back at Kennen, serious. “Don’t run off. We need to talk about something.” As he turned, Marty plastered a smile back on his face.

Marty apparently gave a stirring speech, because the gaggle of crew members broke out into cheers whenever he paused for a sip, but Kennen heard none of it. He was busy eyeing the crowd. Was someone missing? Had something horrible befallen a crew member? Short of death, Kennen couldn’t imagine anything dimming Marty’s enthusiasm. They were celebrating; the fourth season of their investigative docudrama, Truth from the Shadows, was ranked first in the nation. When they first received the news Marty glowed like a proud new father. Kennen looked for his assistant, Gemma Jones. She gave him a flicker of her warm brown eyes then returned her focus to Marty. She was smiling and cheering. Clearly, if there was bad news, she was in the dark as well.

As Marty finished his speech, Kennen stepped over to the refreshment table which held trays of fruit, meat, and cheese. Greg Totmeier, the head cameraman, was loading up a plate, and Cora Tombs, the head sound tech, shook her head with a smile. “Leave some for Kennen,” she said.

Greg turned and gave Kennen his big jolly smile and a light elbow. “Eat up! They got the good stuff!”

Kennen started to reach for a plate when Marty caught his eye. “I’ll catch back up with you in a few,” he said, refilling his empty glass with red wine from a box.

“In trouble already?” Greg called after him with a good-humored chuckle.

Marty said nothing as Kennen approached, but instead headed back to his office. They seldom used the soundstage space; most of their footage was taken on-site, but Marty worked out of a small windowless office to the back when not on location. He held the door for Kennen and then went behind his desk, but he didn’t sit down. He bent over and pulled out a bottle of Scotch from his desk. He tilted it towards Kennen, who lifted his red wine and shook his head with a smile. As he poured, Kennen sat down into one of Marty’s overstuffed leather chairs. He started to cross his legs but then had to stand and move aside as Marty came around, trying to squeeze by in the tiny space to the other leather chair that sat opposite the desk. Both men settled back into their chairs, though Kennen felt anything but comfortable.

Marty sat his Scotch on the desk and rolled up both sleeves of his button-down. His skin glistened slightly; it seemed the alcohol had warmed him up. Kennen sipped his red wine. It was pretty terrible, but the earlier glasses of champagne kept him from suffering too acutely from its shortcomings.

Marty retrieved his glass and lifted it with a smile toward Kennen. Kennen tapped his wine glass lightly against Marty’s tumbler. Both men smiled and drank, and as the sour bite of the wine dried out his mouth, Kennen hid a grimace that had more to do with Marty’s smile than the drink. The joviality from the stage floor was gone from Marty’s red face; this expression was contrived.

“Okay, so what is wrong?” Kennen asked. “Did something happen with the Connelly case?”

The season premiere of Truth focused on the story of Ben Connelly, a child that had gone missing in the late 80s in Jersey. Connelly’s case had gone unsolved and, over time, became another chapter in the mythology of the Jersey Devil. That was until the show’s researchers had picked it up. The show focused on unsolved cases that suffered from being trivialized by supernatural explanations. Their investigations had revealed not a devil, but a child molester who was already in jail for other crimes. He disclosed where he had hidden the body, and the Connelly family was finally able to put their young man to rest. That is what the show did; it cut through the bullshit. It made these cases real again and made the real monsters pay, not the mythical ones.

“No, no. No issues there. We’re still the heroes and all.” Marty chuckled halfheartedly.

Kennen waited silently while Marty took another sip of scotch.

“Do you remember when we started? People joked about us being grown-up Scooby-Doo. But there are no jokes now. Top series in the nation, Kennen.”

Kennen still waited, not sure what to say. He dug through his memories of the last few weeks, wondering if he had done or said something to upset Marty. He came up empty.

“You’ve never mentioned a ghost story from your hometown.” Marty made this statement to the far corner of the room.

“Well, Marty, that’s because I’m not aware of one,” Kennen answered honestly after a pause. He tried to think. Was there a well-worn story that he had forgotten about? Taken for granted? Every town had one, sure, but what was Marty on about?

Marty sighed. “Well, I’ve recently heard differently.”

“So, what have you heard about Chicago?” Kennen asked.

“Well, on some lists, it is in the top ten of the most haunted cities,” Marty said. “But I’m not talking about Chicago. I’m talking about Ashter.”

Ashter was a small suburb of Chicago and not what Kennen considered his hometown. He had lived in Chicago until high school. His mother had died and his stepfather had moved them out to Ashter. As soon as he was done with high school, he got the hell out of there. He had no interest in returning.

“What do you remember about Ashter?” Marty asked.

“No ghost stories,” Kennen said firmly. Maybe what Marty had heard had traveled along the grapevine and got so twisted that it was ready to rot right off. Maybe it was the shit in his wineglass right now. Maybe he could get away from this just as easily as pouring it down the drain. “I don’t know what you’ve heard from some dark hole on the internet.”

“The research team has already talked to the producers. They want something huge for season five. What better than a story from the host’s hometown?”

“I only lived there for a few years.”

“All the same. When you were there, you ever hear about a girl named Leonie Tilden?”

“What have you heard?” Kennen wiped his face blank before looking squarely at Marty.

Marty took a sip of his scotch. “What I’ve been told so far was that she was murdered, there were issues with the arrest, so her case never actually came to trial, and, this is the part where the producers perked up too, that she might have been running from a ghost. A wailing woman.”

“I have to tell you, I hadn’t heard that about the case.”

“But you have heard about the case then?”

“Marty, Leonie was a good friend of mine.”

“Shit.” Marty paused to take a long sip. “I was afraid of something like that.”

“Well, now you know.” Kennen stood, retrieving his wine and heading for the door.

“Kennen, wait. I’m so sorry.”

Kennen turned and gave a half-smile to Marty. “You couldn’t have known, Marty. We’ll just forget about it.”

“What do you mean forget about it?”

“Well, I mean, they’ll have to find another story. Another investigation.”

Marty sat still, looking stonily at Kennen.

“Well, come on, Marty. We can’t have me investigate that. It would be completely unprofessional for me to investigate something I have a history with.”

“I told the producers we should talk to you first. You know what they said?”

“What?”

“They said it didn’t matter.”

“What?! How could it not matter? And anyway, there isn’t anything to solve. They know who they think did it.”

“That’s the issue. They only think they know. Without a trial—”

“Then I’ll just say no. Hell, I’ll break contract. What will they do then?” Kennen knew there was no reason to raise his voice at Marty, but he couldn’t seem to swallow it back down. The wine glass shook in his hand.

“Kennen, I don’t think the producers are going to back off on this. You walk away on this? The scandal and attention will pay for itself. They’ll just see more dollar signs.” Marty looked like he was about to fall apart. He opened his mouth, shook his head again, then closed his mouth again, looking away. “I can’t ask you to stay in this situation. I won’t stand in your way if that’s what you want to do. But understand, they will do it with or without you. If you want to have your say…”

Kennen wanted to throw his glass. To dash it across Marty’s desk, letting the glass and wine break into one. But Marty was right. Kennen started to feel the room closing in on him. He could walk, but the producers had the scent of blood; this story was not going to disappear. He could walk away, try to look like he stood on a pedestal of professionalism. But he would know it would truly be built on cowardice. Or he could stay and sacrifice himself to his past ghosts. Both choices were untenable.

“It’s your call, Kennen. I’ll understand either way.”

“I have to warn you, Marty.”

Marty turned his face slowly up to Kennen.

“These ghosts might be real.”

Marty gave a nod and raised his glass to Kennen. 

July 2017

Kennen stood at the window of his Ashter Regal Hotel room and looked out at the old street. The new old street. The buildings were the same, but the names were different from what he remembered. What used to be a hip bar called 673 was now The Red Dragon Chinese Restaurant. The dark and mysterious Weller’s Bookshop was now a thrift store, well-lit by fluorescent bulbs with a number of tattered stuffed toys sitting in the window. The corner store, which before had simply been known as The Drugstore, was now a Dollar General. Its main entrance had been moved to sit parallel with the street, and the original doorway that had faced the corner was bricked up. A busker sat in front of the lost doorway on a metal folding chair, playing his saxophone, case open and littered with a few coins.

There was a soft knock at the door. Kennen opened it to find Gemma there, a leather bag of files hanging from her shoulder and a laptop cradled in her other arm. A pen was tucked behind her ear, disappearing into her glossy black curls. She was wearing her glasses, the brown frames a shade lighter than her eyes, which usually meant she was ready for research work. Kennen stood aside for her to enter the room. She went straight to the meager table that was part of the amenities offered in the suites of the Regal. Once she set down her laptop and dug out a few files the table was pretty much full. She sighed.