Henry Franks(57)

Damage estimates range into the tens of millions, but thanks to the efficient evacuation of the islands, the human toll was remarkably low. “A couple of fender benders and minor accidents,” said police spokesperson Carmella Rawls. “The tragic death of local resident William Franks, who died during the storm, has led to the successful resolution of the vicious murders which have plagued Glynn County this summer.”

“Blunt force trauma,” said Major Daniel Johnson at a hastily called press conference in the aftermath of the storm. “Mr. Franks is the final victim of Richard Adims.”

Adims, 41, a former resident of Waycross, had been institutionalized at Georgia Regional Psychiatric Hospital after being found unable to stand trial for a series of beatings due to mental incompetence. In May, Adims was transferred to Turning Point Hospital after biting off a part of his tongue in an apparent suicide attempt. After attacking a guard on the transport, Adims escaped and had been on the loose ever since.

Dr. Jason Rapp, Chief of Staff at the GRPH, released a brief statement to the press: “Due to a computer error, Richard Adims was mistakenly classified as an N-VO, Non-Violent Offender. In the confusion after the unfortunate situation earlier this year concerning the supervision of patients, this misclassification went unrectified. Funds have been requested from the State discretionary account to assure this does not happen again.”

Repeated calls to the Georgia Regional Psychiatric Hospital for additional information went unreturned.

The body of Richard Adims was found in the debris after the storm in a subdivision on St. Simons Island. The alleged cause of death is puncture wounds that police spokesperson Carmella Rawls says Franks was able to inflict upon his assailant.

“It appears that the suspect, Richard Adims, intended to seek shelter with relatives, who, unfortunately for William Franks, live next door to the Franks’ residence on St. Simons. But Mr. Adims went to the Franks residence instead, where he once lived with his first wife, Margaret Saville, a local psychologist. In the struggle,” Ms. Rawls said, “Mr. Franks suffered a severe blow to the head from the pipe that allegedly was used by the suspect in previous attacks. In self defense, the victim was able to fatally wound his assailant.”

“The people of Glynn County and the Golden Isles are eternally grateful for all of the hard work and dedication of FLETC, the various police departments, and the many people who gave of their time to aid us this summer,” said Mayor Monroe.

William Franks is survived by one son, Henry, 16.





thirty four




The funeral was larger than he’d expected. Police officers coming to pay their respects, a sizable contingent of journalists following behind local politicians, and numerous strangers coming together as a community after the storm. Relatives of other victims attended; most left without saying a word but some approached, resting a hand on the casket or offering Henry a tentative hug.

He stood with Justine and her parents as William Franks was laid to rest. Bandages still covered Justine’s arms, but her fingers were soft and warm and never far away.

As the casket sank into the welcoming earth, Henry looked around, shading his eyes from the sun. September’s heat burned down, erasing the memories of the storm despite the broken trees and the blue tarps covering homes that had lost roofs. In the distance, a lone woman leaned against a grave until long after the other mourners had left.



They found her sitting in the freshly turned dirt, facing the space where a tombstone would be someday. The sun was low in the west and his elongated shadow fell across her as Justine’s fingers slipped out of his hand.

A twig or two was caught in her hair, the dirty brown strands hanging limply against her shoulders as she rocked back and forth on the ground.

“Mom?” he said, the word soft and quiet in the stillness of the empty cemetery.

Her rocking stopped and her head jerked up. The scar around her neck caught the fading sunlight as she turned to look at him. A smile spread across her face and her eyes, almost a match of his own, glistened, but try as he might, he couldn’t remember anything more than what the photos in his scrapbook told him.

“Henry,” she said, the word broken and harsh.

Next to him, Justine wrapped her fingers around his arm and gently pushed him forward. He stumbled with the first step, then ran to close the distance. Christine’s arms, wrapped protectively around him, held him in a fierce hug as she whispered his name into his hair.

His mother lifted her head to look at him as the sun set behind them. She rested dirty fingers on either side of his face and smiled. Releasing him, she reached an arm out to Justine and pulled her closer, placing Henry’s hand into Justine’s with another smile.

“Henry,” his mother said.

Through his tears, he watched as the moon lit her face. She touched the dirt and looked back at Henry. “I’m sorry,” she said, mouthing the words since few sounds would come through her damaged vocal cords.

From behind the fall of his hair, he studied her face, the pale skin and its necklace of scars.

“Remember me,” his mother whispered before dropping to the ground.

“Mom!” Henry said, but she was beyond hearing him. He pulled her up to rest against his shoulder and brushed his hands through her tangled hair. Blood dripped from his nose to land in the dirt of the grave as his mother died in his arms.