By Harold A. Bascom(During their investigation into the four Port Kaituma suicides, Yvonne Holder and Brent learn that all of the victims had gone for a jaunt into Jonestown and may have encountered something…)? ?One father recalled his son’s sobbing words, “Ow-Ow—doan do that to me—please!”“It was after that…” the father shook his head. “My son stop talking…and he would not meet me or his mother eyes. He stop seeing his girlfriend. He became a different person. He mother tried to talk to him—but he just stop communicating with everybody…stop eating… start using drugs to keep awake…“Then this night—I hear he crying out in he sleep again…” The father looked at his common-law wife. There was something very sheepish about his demeanor. He bent his head and his words were more or less mumbled.“Please? I didn’t get that,” Yvonne Holder said gently to the man.Then the wife spoke up: “It start to sound like somebody was ‘sexing’ he in the room—”The man’s voice shook now: “I start to rap on the door—pound on the door—but ah couldn’t get it…That was when ah decide to throw me shoulder against it—to break it in—but just about then a hear a sound…”“That was when,” said his common law wife, “Colin throw heself bodily out the window—and break he neck on the concrete slab by the stand pipe…”*“Vonny … even I have to say, that what’s going on here is ‘weird’ with a capital ‘W’!”“Definitely so…” Her cell phone rang. It was the regional Chairwoman. “Hi, Shelley.” She listened. “Okay—we’ll be ready. Thanks.” Yvonne put down the cell phone and tuned to her brother. “That was Shelley. She’s picking us up tomorrow—around midday.”“Where are we going?”“Matthews Ridge. There weren’t four of them that went into Jonestown. They were five—and the fifth is alive.”“And in Matthews Ridge.”“Yep … his name is Chauncey Timmerman.”“You’re telling me there’s another person who may well want to take his own life.”“God knows what state of mind this fifth young man might be in. I most definitely need to be talking to him.”*Matthew’s Ridge was Port Kaituma minus the waterfront. The home of Chauncey Timmerman rose aloof amidst the dereliction of simple houses in the street, hemmed in with overgrowth. It stood on concrete pillars; and built under it was an enclosed room. What stood out from it was its verandah from which a stocky, light-skinned man disappeared when the Land Rover pulled up. He reappeared through a door in the lower room, and greeted the Holders cheerfully, and invited them into his home. His name was Darrel Timmerman—father of the surviving Chauncey Timmerman.After the introductions, Mr. Timmerman took the psychologist and her brother into his living room, and then he called out to his son. “Chauncey!—They have some people here to talk to you!” Then he turned to the psychologist. “I was so sad to hear that four of my son friends kill themselves.” He shook his head. “Up to now I don’t understand it—all I know is that my son and everyone o’ them been into that place—and whatever it is that they do there or touch there or dig up there…” He shook his head. “Make them do what they do—maybe.”“Your son,” Yvonne Holder said.”Is he okay?”He turned and called out again. “Chauncey!—Boy they have people here who want talk to you!” He turned back to his guests. “Yes, he okay; very okay.”A slow, deep voice came back: “Coming, Daddy—I’m putting on something presentable!”And a young man—stocky like his father, and with a trace of beard that ran up to his sideburns came out, adjusting his T-shirt. He sat in a single chair next to his father.Yvonne Holder and her brother introduced themselves.“Please to meet you…”Chauncey Timmerman shook hands, while smiling and making eye-contact with them both. “But I don’t need crisis counseling.” He sat back, and for a moment stared to the ceiling.“Are you okay?” Yvonne asked.Chauncey Timmerman sat forward and interlaced his fingers as he gazed to the floor. At last he said, “I’m okay. I really, really, really don’t know what happened…” He took a deep breath. “But now …four people dead.”“Would you …” said Yvonne, “tell us about it—about what exactly happened?”The young man shrugged. “I don’t know what exactly happened—I can only tell you what we did…” He shrugged again. “Sean wanted us to make out as if we were on an expedition—a dig.” Shook his head sadly. “Sean thought that the big utensil that those people had to drink that cyanide-laced Koolaid from should be considered a dark artifact that ought to be in a museum or something—even if we only found the rusted bottom of it.”“You guys found it?” Brent asked.The young man nodded. “We did—but most of it was rusted.” He sighed deeply. “Now… all I can think, is that everyone who touched it now dead.”“Didn’t you touch it?” said Brent Holder.Chauncey Timmerman chuckled grimly. “I never expected to be talking weird stuff like this… never thought that anybody would connect these strange dots…” He shook his head. “But here we are…”Yvonne noted how he interlaced his fing