The second man I targeted was named Joe Dan Taylor. I strolled by his table one early morning at the local coffee shop just off Main Street and asked him if I could read his newspaper when he was done. He seemed pleased that I had paid attention to him considering he was not a handsome man. He was sitting at the counter alone eating breakfast before his shift at the slaughter house. Joe Dan asked if he could join me for a cup of coffee and handed me the morning paper. As he sat down across from me in my booth I was thinking how I would work him. Joe Dan was in his late teens or early twenties it was hard to tell because of his bad skin. His thin blonde hair had too much brill cream in it and he had a tooth pick was hanging off the side of his mouth. It was apparent from his bad grammar that he was a high school drop out. When he asked me questions about myself I was vague and turned the questions back around to him .It was easy to get him to give me his life’s story because he was flattered that a pretty girl took interest in him. Joe Dan was from Jacksonville lived with his grandmother, drove a ford pickup and listened to Elvis Presley records. He bragged a lot about his job at the slaughter house and how much money he was making. I quickly guessed that horse murder paid better than pumping gas at the local service station. I asked Joe Dan some more round-about questions and was disappointed to learn that he had only been working at the slaughter house a month. Joe Dan stared his job after my sister died so there was nothing much he could tell me. Trying to end the conversation quickly I asked Joe Dan how he could slaughter all those poor innocent horses! If looks could kill Joe Dan Taylor would be on death row! He slammed his hand down on the table and leaned in towards me. Joe Dan gritted his teeth and said in a low mean voice “They’re only Throw Away Horses!”

I regretted what I had said immediately I wanted to get rid of him not make him mad. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up as Joe Dan left the coffee shop in a huff. The older waitress that owned the coffee shop her name was Karen. She came over to me and gave me some unsolicited advice. I think Karen was trying to help me she seemed genuine enough. Karen said in a low drawn out voice “Stroud’s slaughter house brings money into this town child. Folks around here are real sensitive about the slaughter house. You won’t be making any friends here if you ask what goes on inside that plant.” I nodded and kept my head low exiting the coffee shop I did not want a mob chasing me down the street. It was clear I had gone too far. On the way back to my motel room all I could think of was that phrase “Throw Away Horses!” Sharon finished telling.

There was one more pearl of wisdom Karen and some of the older residents of Ouchalowcola kept to themselves about the history of the slaughter house. Long before the Spanish, Ouchalowcola had not been just a simple Seminole Indian village that had been lost in the foot notes of history. It had been the place where a Seminole village was deeply divided between its old chief and his rival a holy man who had many fowlers at his side. The chief took his best warriors to raid the holy mans camp in the middle of a moonlit night. The raid ended in a blood bath with of half of the tribe killed .For reasons they kept to themselves no Seminole would dare walk those grounds again. Stroud’s slaughter house was built over the vary ground where the massacre had taken place.

AND

I remember the night when little Julie Goodman took ill. She was only ten or eleven and  was so small and frail for her age due to the kidney disease. It was just seconds past midnight; I had taken Julie’s temperature and charted the results. When I turned off her light I saw a group of people surrounding Julie’s bed. They walked out of thin air into the hospital room. I felt a cold rush of air sweep over me as the group approached the child’s bed. The clothes they wore were outdated, with some from the last century. They were all white and I could see through them! One of the women looked straight at me! She knew I could see her! The five figures formed a circle around Julie’s bed. I sensed the love and concern they had for the child. Knowing this, my fear and shock dissipated.  As I closed the door behind me and left the room, I didn’t try to stop it; I knew little Julie’s time had come. She died two hours later in her sleep. Her death was peaceful and she wasn’t alone!