The Ghost of the Cusa River

A 2000-word Narrative Inspired by the Recovery of Allan Livingston’s Case

The morning mist hung low over the Cusa River, turning the surface of the water into a gray mirror that reflected nothing but silence. Jeremy Sides stood at the edge of the boat ramp, his breath visible in the chill.

“Forty years,” he murmured, tightening the straps of his dive gear.

Chris, his longtime friend and sonar operator, checked the last cable and gave a half-smile. “Forty years, and if we’re right, today we might finally give somebody answers.”

It had started a year earlier, in January 2022. Chris had been running sonar near the bridge when he saw something strange — a boxy shadow resting on the riverbed. He’d called Jeremy immediately.

“I think I’ve got a vehicle down there,” Chris had said.

Jeremy remembered the first day they dove on it. The current was strong, the water thick with mud. They found a rusted Ford Bronco, half-buried in the silt. The doors were closed, the windows intact. They couldn’t see inside. The vehicle had the right shape and color to match one that had been reported missing in 1983 — a brown Bronco belonging to a man named Allan Livingston.

That night, Jeremy had gone back to his motel room and pulled up the case file. Allan had been 28 when he vanished from Rainbow City, Alabama. He had left behind a wife and a baby daughter. The file was thin, no more than a few yellowing pages. Allan had last been seen at a convenience store. Witnesses reported an argument with a man named William Roth earlier that day.

But no body, no vehicle, no trace.

Until now.

Day Two: Confirmation

The second day on the water was different. This time, they had a plan: locate the license plate, confirm the VIN if possible, and call the authorities.

Jeremy slipped beneath the surface. The cold punched him in the chest, but he kept swimming downward, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the darkness. The Bronco appeared out of the murk like a ghost.

He brushed away decades of silt with gloved hands, searching the rear bumper. His fingers found the corroded outline of the license plate. He shone his light and squinted.

It was hard to read, but just enough of the letters remained to match Allan’s missing vehicle.

He felt a chill that had nothing to do with the water.

When Jeremy surfaced, Adam and Chris were waiting.

“It’s him,” Jeremy said, pulling off his regulator. “It’s Allan Livingston’s Bronco.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of history settling over them. Then Jeremy pulled out his phone and called the Rainbow City Police Department.

Day Three: The Professionals Arrive

By morning, the scene was alive with activity. Fire rescue trucks lined the gravel lot. Police cruisers blocked off the boat ramp. Dive teams in bright green dry suits checked their gear.

Jeremy stood off to the side, arms crossed, feeling strangely like an intruder. This was no longer just a search — it was a crime scene.

Two divers dropped into the water and swam down to the Bronco. Jeremy watched as ropes were passed, knots tied, lift bags inflated. Slowly, methodically, the team prepared to raise the vehicle.

One of the detectives, a grizzled man named Lieutenant Harris, approached Jeremy.

“You the one who found it?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Jeremy replied.

Harris nodded, his expression unreadable. “You may have just cracked a case that’s been cold for nearly four decades.”

The Float

When the divers signaled, the winch tightened, and the Bronco began to rise. Mud and bubbles erupted from beneath it as it broke free of the silt.

Jeremy felt his heart in his throat.

The vehicle breached the surface, coated in rust and algae, its windows opaque with mud. It was like watching a coffin rise from the depths.

The rescuers secured the Bronco and towed it to shore, setting it down on a flatbed. The crowd fell silent as detectives pried open the door.

Inside, partially buried in the river muck, were human remains.

The Identification

Weeks later, the forensic lab confirmed what everyone had already guessed. The remains belonged to Allan Douglas Livingston.

The news sent a ripple through Rainbow City. People who had been teenagers in 1983 were now grandparents, but they remembered the day Allan vanished. His daughter, now grown with children of her own, spoke to the press.

“I’ve waited my entire life to know what happened to my father,” she said, tears in her eyes. “Now we can finally lay him to rest.”

The Suspect

Police soon released another announcement: the man long suspected in Allan’s disappearance — William Roth Jr. — had confessed decades earlier to hitting Allan with a board during an argument. Roth had given multiple accounts of what he did with the body and the vehicle, none consistent.

But the Bronco’s discovery was the first physical evidence tying him to Allan’s death.

Roth was already serving a life sentence in Texas for a separate murder committed just two months after Allan went missing. His health had deteriorated, and he was living in a prison medical facility.

Prosecutors debated whether to extradite him back to Alabama to face charges. In the end, they decided against it.

“He’s never leaving prison,” Lt. Harris told Jeremy. “Justice won’t come from a courtroom this time. But at least we know the truth.”

Closure

Allan’s funeral was held on a clear spring day. The church was full, not just of family but of neighbors, friends, and strangers who had followed the story.

Jeremy stood quietly at the back, hat in hand. When Allan’s daughter passed by, she stopped to shake his hand.

“You brought my father home,” she said. “I can never thank you enough.”

Jeremy nodded, humbled. “I just helped the river give him back.”

Aftermath

For Jeremy, the case changed something. He had always said he did this work to give families answers — but this time, he had witnessed the entire arc, from discovery to closure.

A few months later, he returned to the Cusa River alone. He stood at the same boat ramp where they had first launched and stared at the water.

He thought of Allan — of the last drive he ever took, of the dark river that had kept his secret for 39 years.

And he thought of all the others still missing, still waiting to be found.

He zipped up his jacket and turned away. There were more rivers to search.

Epilogue: Justice and Memory

William Roth died quietly in prison less than a year later, never facing trial for Allan’s murder.

But Allan’s family didn’t see it as a defeat. His daughter had his remains buried beside his parents. On the headstone, she had carved a single phrase:

“Brought Home After 39 Years.”

Jeremy kept a copy of the sonar scan that had led him to the Bronco. He framed it and hung it in his office.

Whenever he felt exhausted, whenever the work seemed endless, he would look at that framed image and remember the day the river gave up its ghost — and a family finally got their answer.