Installment #40 Jack

Installment #40

Jack

Jack hurried to the first sheriff car that pulled on the scene. Leroy! Computer expert and hopefully the man with the answer. Formalities.  “Jack, I want you to meet Ferrel Buford. Ferrel has been a very big help. Has all this fancy equipment and lots of info coming over the wire on the way up here.”

Jack shook the proffered hand as he turned toward the house.
“Pleased to meet you, Jack. I think I have what you need.” He pulled a small notebook out of his pocket. “Well, at least it is sure going to help. But first, I got to pee. Some jerk driving like a maniac about ran us off the road. Damn hairpin curves scare the shit out of me anyway.”
Jack indicated the door Ferrel needed and poured coffee in a cup and offered it to Leroy. Ferrel returned very quickly and took the coffee Jack offered him.
“Now. The hacker is in Denver, but he is also around here close. Unless there are two of them, which I can not see, but there are two computers. The first one is in an office complex in downtown Denver. I have my company working on narrowing that one down.  Should have an answer on that in about an hour.  So the other one is up here on this mountain, but it is wireless and operates on a “hot wire” off of a satellite. Those are really hard to pinpoint.”
Leroy chimed in, “Is there any way we can get information on the people that live up here on this mountain? You know, where and if they work.  If they go into Denver regular. Things like that?”
But Leroy and Jack both knew the mountain backwoods code. Live here, do what you want, bother nobody and you become invisible.
“Oh, I got hold of the kid, Kevin. He is flying into Stapleton about right now.  George will pick him up and the helicopter will shuttle him down here. Don’t know what good he will be since he lives clear out in California, but he might know something, and it is his mother. Maybe she confided something to him that will give us a clue.”

Jack turned back to Ferrel. “Show me what you have. I sure hope we can get something out of it.” Ferrel opened the note book.
 “Red stars are on the Denver computer. Black are on the mountain computer. He started pinging in on her about 5 months ago. Not often. Just occasionally. Goes in, checks her emails, reads them, marks them new, and leaves. Cannot see where he does anything else at all, but he sure is keeping tabs on the redranger.” Jack stared at the dates.

“Do you by any chance have copies of the emails that were sent on these days? Especially….” He stopped as Ferrel stood and went to the car, returning with a folder which he handed to Jack. Quickly he found the one he wanted.

They were to meet at the Sheraton. That was the last communication between the redranger and Meg Parker. Redranger, aka Jeffery Eldon Purcell had arrived in Denver. They knew that much. They knew he had not kept his rendevous with Meg at the Sheraton. He looked back at the dates on the sheet.

There had been no action since the plans were made. Was it possible that the hacker did not need to check on Meg because he knew exactly where both she and Jeffery were now?

“This guy has Meg and Jeffery Purcell!” It was a wild guess and it was also a statement of fact. Jack Farley felt a cold hard knot forming in the pit of his stomach. He hated it when he was right and he knew he was right. And he knew the son was on his way. And he knew he needed answers. No, he needed Meg Parker to be standing in the yard waving when the helicopter landed. That was what he needed, but more than that, he needed to know how to make that happen. He needed computer locations and names on leases and, oh God, this was not looking good at all.

He turned to Ferrel Buford with a pleading look in his eyes. “We need a miracle. We are trying to chase waves in the air that we cannot see. I am afraid if we are not quick enough this woman and the man she was meeting will both die. You are the man that can make it happen.”

As he turned away, he knew that miracles do not always happen just because you want them to. And in the far distance he heard the beating rotor of a helicopter headed towards the little farm on the side of the mountain.

Installment 39 Fred

Installment #39

Fred

Fred switched on the miner’s light on his hat. Damn glad he had it on there. Well, it was always on his head except when he was sleeping. You just never knew when you might need a light and right now he sure needed one. This tunnel was black as old Coty’s ….well it was black alright. He took a few tentative steps forward. The tunnel was dark, and damp, and musty. He would have bet there were lots of spiders and centipedes and Lord only knew what. It was hard to believe that just a foot above his head the sun was shining very brightly, because down here it was another world. Well, this was no place to wishy wash about something. Just do it. Sooner you do it the sooner it was done. And Fred, although every fiber of his being wanted to turn and run out into the bright sunlight, pointed his lantern forward and walked determinedly forward.  Something was not right and by God in Heaven, Fred Himes was going to find out what it was and for once in his life, set it right.

He was amazed at how quickly he arrived at the back entrance to the house.  Sure seemed a lot further when he was digging the silly thing. He pressed his ear to the door and listened. Not a sound.  He knew the man was gone, but still the cabin was deathly quiet. Very slowly he eased the door inward. Nothing. Not even a drippy faucet. Absolute silence. Now the door was completely open. He looked around at the kitchen. Not a dish out of place. The towel hung on the oven door handle. The clock hand moved jerkily around. Fred stepped in the kitchen and closed the tunnel door behind himself. He moved stealthily across the kitchen to the bathroom. Empty. Living room. Undisturbed and empty.

There had to be a woman here somewhere. He had seen the man bring her inside. He very slowly opened the bedroom door and peered inside. No one. Fred stared in consternation at his face in the mirror. Where was she? He canvassed the house once more and then his eyes fell on the door beside the door he had come through. The root cellar! That had to be the root cellar. After he had dug the tunnel the man had altered it and instead of coming up the tunnel to the root cellar, he had come up the tunnel to the back door. Why had he changed that? Fred reached for the door and froze.

How many times had he pictured his father doing this exact samething? Only when he pictured his father he also pictured his mother. His dear, dead mother being placed in the wall of the root cellar by his father. How many times had he gone to the root cellar to get beets, or potatoes, or onions. How many times when the tornado sirens were screaming had he and his father gone to the root cellar knowing that was the one place the tornado could not touch. And not once had he even thought about what might be in the wall of the root cellar.

Never once had he dreamt that his dear sainted mother was sleeping her death sleep just a few feet from him and his father. His father knew. He knew all along and never said a word. When Fred had wished his mother would come back to them and voiced that desire to his father, his father had only said, “Quit dreaming, Freddie, if she was coming back she never would have left.”

Fred often wondered what had happened the night she died. Or was it day? He never even  remembered them ever fighting. Just mom looking sad and dad reading the paper. They never talked. How could his father have ever worked up enough emotion to kill his mother? His father and mother were both unemotional people. He stared at the door.  He was going to have to open it and see what was behind it. Slowly he grasped the knob and turned it. Well, not turning. Locked. Locked! That meant the woman, probably Meg Parker was behind that door and she was locked in there. If she was locked in there she was not a willing participant that was clear. He scoured the door frame for a key. None. The man must have the key.

Think! Think! He remembered back to when he dug the tunnel. At that time it had been through the root cellar. Now it was not. He jerked the tunnel door open, took a few steps and reached his hand out and felt the wall. A little further down.  More. There! The dirt was soft. The man had removed the dirt over there, placing it over here. By doing that he had altered the location of the tunnel. Not much, but enough so the root cellar could now be used as a prison for someone. Or a place to bury her. Maybe she was dead. With a furor he never knew he had Fred unsnapped the folding shovel that hung from his waist and began to dig frantically in the soft dirt. Very soon he had a hole through and could see inside the root cellar. All he could see was another wall, but he would be in the room very soon. And like a man fighting for his very life, he continued to throw dirt over his shoulder until at last the hole was big enough for him to slide through.

As he stood up and looked around he saw her clearly. Meg Parker lay on a small cot with a soft cloth on her shoulder. Chloroform! He moved the cloth, but Meg did not stir. Fred was unsure of anything at that moment. As he gazed down at the sleeping woman something stirred in his soul. Something very far back in the deep recesses of his mind fluttered and made him feel wanted. Something made him feel warm. He touched her cheek tentatively, then smiled. Funny, he did not remember smiling in a very long time, but now it felt rather natural. He knew what he had to do and as he reached for
the woman he felt like he had just come home from a very long and bitter war.

Meg Parker. Darling.

Installment #29

Meg

Meg let her computer boot up as she changed into her
pajamas. It had been a long day. A long and completely wasted
day. She had left home this morning thinking that maybe tonight
she would be in Eldon’s arms, but that had not happened. A
wasted trip to Denver and a long, lonely drive home. Daisy and
Elvira were happy to see her and that cheered her up a little.
They were such simple creatures. She would let them stay out of
the crates until she finished her computer work.

Forty-eight emails. She scanned the list and nothing from
redranger. Well, she was not going to write him. He had been
the one who did not show up and he owed her an apology at the
very least. She answered six questions. She had sold eight items
so she printed out the PayPal receipts, deleted the Item sold and
copies of the pay for your items. The remaining 18 were mostly
advertisements that had escaped the Spam filter and a few
newsletters and three forwards, “You have to read this it is really
funny! ” They weren’t.

She closed her email and put the computer into the sleep
mode and stood and pushed her chair into the desk. She got
the dog treats and walked to the crates. The dogs took their
bribes and ran into the crates to devour them. Meg looked at her
big, lonely bed and for the first time in a very long time she felt
totally and completely alone. She had never met Eldon, the
redranger, but she missed him. She felt that a very vital piece
of Meg Parker was missing. She switched on the television
knowing full well she would not sleep this night. Too bad
Johnny Carson was not on anymore. He had always made her
laugh. The television was programmed to turn off after one
hour if she did not tap the action button. Saved energy that way.
She watched the end of CSI and then burrowed into the big
lonely bed as the weather man started pointing at different low
fronts.

She did not get the details of the week ahead as her
head nodded and when the perky little blonde announced that
the Architect who was coming to Denver to add his expertise to
the new addition at Invesco Field had left Brattleboro,
Vermont, arrived in Denver had then disappeared into thin air.
But her ears were deaf and her body completely relaxed. Had
she been awake she might have made the connection between
Jeffery Eldon Purcell and the redranger, but she was not. She
was dreaming of a tall dark stranger who was eluding her even
in her dreams.

Installment #13

Installment #13

Fred


Fred frowned as he hung up the phone. Damn pesky
woman. What was she so afraid of anyway? If anybody was
small enough to get in that doggie door, they were sure as hell
too little to hurt anybody and the dogs could eat them in two
bites. He held the Hershey can in his left hand as he placed the
phone back on the wall with his right. He was not ready to let
this one go. For some reason this one was special.

Usually the money went into a hole in the yard as soon as
he had the time to dig the hole, but he wanted to keep this one for
a while. People would think he was nuts if they knew. Well,
what was nuts about keeping money in cans at home? Made a lot
more sense than handing it over to one of the twits at the bank
who would put it in a drawer and give it out to other people. It
was his and they should not have his money. They had explained
to him that every month he would get a total of how much he
had, much like the account his dad had set up for him when he
was very young. Only that was once a year. He had to go in and
set across the big mahogany desk from some white haired old
fart who droned on about the investments and the check he got
every month and how wonderful his father had been to do this.
Like he was a simpleton!

How much was in that account his dad still controlled
from the grave? He did not remember. More than when it
started. He snorted. Some day the state of Colorado was going
to get a shit pot full of money, courtesy of Fred Himes, Jr. via
Fredric Himes, Sr. He really should leave a note about the cans
in the yard, but why? They were his. Earned by the sweat of his
brow. If he wanted to bury them he could. He could burn that
money if he so chose, but no, he had made a memorial to his
god, who ever that was. Apparently, it was the almighty dollar.
No, because money had never brought him any happiness either.
It was the memory of where the money came from. Like the
$16,450 that was the money for the big barn he had built for that
gimp legged guy over the draw east of him.

Then there was $19,000 from that scar faced guy just
north of Meg’s farm. Now that was crazy. Dug a tunnel from his
root cellar straight west to the edge of the forest. Well, dug a
trench, covered it with planks and then dirt. Nobody knew it was
there. Well, he knew. And the scar faced guy knew. Seemed like
a damn waste of money to him. No equipment! No one must
know. Ok, fella, what ever you say. Wonder where he got that
big scar? It was a gruesome looking thing for sure. Ran from
above his left eye, well where his left eye used to be, across his
cheek and mouth to his right jawbone. What ever it was sure had
to have hurt. Didn’t bother Fred, though. He looked past stuff
like that, but he couldn’t help but wonder. Guy was a definite
loner. Or seemed to be. But he did go into Denver several times
a week. Sometimes he stayed there. Fred knew ‘cause they
shared the road in and out. Funny that he did not seem to have a
name. No mail box either.

Fred sat deep in thought at the kitchen table as he stroked
the Hershey can. His eyes stared into the darkness of the forest.
But he did not see the trees or the tiny forest creatures. He saw
his mother. His mother in her pretty red dress and her white
patent leather shoes. He saw the slash of bright red lipstick on
her mouth and heard her laugh. He heard the radio playing a
lively tune. “Come here, Freddie, come dance with Momma!
Make Momma happy!” And he rose and followed her to the
middle of the wooden kitchen floor. His Momma was so
innocent. She asked for so little, just to be happy. As much as he
tried not to, he would always love his Momma. A tear slid
slowly down his cheek and was lost in his beard.

Installment #12

Installment #12

Meg

Meg walked around the house. The workmen were gone.
She was alone. She had handed Fred the roll of bills and then
insisted he count it for herself as well as for him. She knew it
was there, but she wanted him to know as well. As she watched
him she was suddenly struck by how innocent and child like he
seemed. There was more to Fred Himes then anyone would ever
know. She had asked for a tour around the house so he could
show her what he had done. He explained about the double
welding and that it would take a cutting torch for anyone to get
inside. “So don’t lose your key or you will be sleeping in the
yard.” He had suddenly become agitated when he said that.
Strange. She turned back into the house then turned and watched
him climb into his Toyota pick up. Man that big had no business
in a little truck like that.

She checked her eBay sales and then frowned because
there were none. Business was sure down for some reason. She
clicked through to her store and then to the mark down manager.
Of course she had to sign in again. Ebay was very careful about
that. She selected several vinyls and then changed her mind and
selected them all. She marked them 50% off, selected the start
and end date and then clicked to save. That done she checked
her emails. Nothing very interesting there. She wandered to the
kitchen and stood at the sink. She really should fix some lunch,
but suddenly the idea of eating alone brought tears to her eyes.
Was this how the rest of her life would be? Eating alone,
sleeping alone, walking alone? What was the point? She
opened the refrigerator and picked out an apple. Then she
grabbed a handful of Cheddar Cheese squares. She took her
keys off the hook behind the door. At the clink of the keys,
Daisy and Elvira appeared, fresh from a nap!

“Come on girls! Let’s go for a little walk up the
mountain.” She picked her knap sack off the hook, put two
bottles of water and an empty plastic sour cream tub inside. “
Got everything you ladies need, so let’s hit it!” She put the
keys in her pocket, the knap sack over her shoulder, got a bottle
of water for herself, and lastly took her walking stick down
from over the door. It was a gift from Tom many years ago. It
was very sturdy and had a hummingbird etched on the side with
flowers. Very good for stabilizing herself as she walked and
sturdy enough that she could defend herself if need be.
The dogs ran ahead and sniffed everything in sight. Of
course they also had to mark their territory, because that is what
dogs do. It was a beautiful day and while warm it had a cool
breeze blowing down from the mountain. She picked a trail that
looked sort of worn and the dogs immediately joined her. Birds
flitted in the canopy overhead as they walked. Meg was always
alert to the possibility of a timber rattler so she kept the dogs
close.

Almost imperceptibly a change came over Meg. Her
footsteps slowed and the dogs came closer. What was it? She
could feel eyes on her. She turned around. Nothing. Daisy
stopped and her hackles rose. She stared ahead into the
underbrush. Meg stopped and strained her eyes. Nothing. No,
wait, there was something. Something about that big Pine tree.
The growth at the bottom of it was mashed down. Had a bear
been here? Could very well have been. It was wilderness and
there were bears. But the limbs had been removed. No, not
removed. Only some of them. It looked like a ladder the way
they were staggered. She stepped on the first one. Then up
another one. One more. She could set up here and be quite
alone. This branch made a nice broad setting place. She sat and
turned. Her eyes fell on her farm. A cold feeling of dread settled
over her. Was she the only one that knew about this place? She
quickly scampered down the limbs again and when she reached
the ground the dogs were staring at her quizzically.
She turned quickly and started back down the path. The
dogs fell in step behind her and did not run and sniff. They
could barely keep up with her. When she reached the edge of
the clearing she stopped. She opened the knapsack and got the
bowl and water. The dogs lapped greedily. Meg gave them each
a piece of cheese and then ate the rest of the cheese and the
apple. Her nerves began to relax and her mind began to clear.
Maybe it was just the spell of the forest. She looked down the
mountain. She could not see her farm from here. She looked up
to see if she could see the tree she had climbed. No. She was
going to need to delve into this a little further. Where did the
trail lead? Was there a house up there? If so, who lived there?
Who could she ask? Fred. Of course. He had been on this
mountain for years. He would know.

She knew she needed to proceed with caution when she
talked to Fred because he was one skittish little fellow. That was
all right. She was just curious. Now how to get Fred to the
house without alerting him. Of course! Now the only way
anyone could get into her house was if they used the doggie door.
It was in the wall going to the back yard. True her dogs were
small and so was the doggie door, but it could be possible. She
would have Fred build a metal cage that the dogs would exit into
for their “personal needs.” She would have plenty of time to
visit with him while that was being done. She glanced back over
her shoulder as she hurried down the mountain. She could not
shake the feeling that eyes were boring into her back.
When she reached the house she quickly entered and
slammed the door behind her. With shaking hands she found
Fred’s number, but before she dialed she took several deep
breathes and composed herself. The phone rang several times
before she finally gave up. She would try later. He did not seem
to have an answering machine. After several hours, he answered.
She explained her plan to him and he promised to come by the
next morning. She smiled as she hung up the phone. Fred was
so easy.

Installment #11

Installment #11

Fred

Ah, yes, this was going to be a good job. Even after he
paid for the wrought iron and the delivery he was going to pocket
over $3,000. He thought briefly of where to hide it. He had an
empty Hershey’s can on the shelf. That would work perfectly to
hold the bills, but where in the yard. He thought of all the little
cans buried here and there.  The area around the cabin was getting pretty filled up, but
he owned 12 acres so he was not going to run out of room any
time soon. It was just that he had a plan. The money he got from
his trust fund was plenty to live on. And dad had built this little
cabin and then left it to him when he died. No one else to leave
it to since his bitch of a mother had taken off with some salesman
and left him and dad to figure it out. He had been an
impressionable teenager when she did that. Both Fredric Himes,
Jr and his father, Fredric Himes Sr. had mourned the loss of
Marybeth Himes. It was not that it was a shock, quite the
contrary. Fredric Himes worked long hours in the factory and
then at his accounting job on the side and Marybeth was a young
woman and full of life. And she loved to dance and hang out with
party people.

So she was gone one day. Just gone. No note, no tearful
goodbye, just a slamming door while Freddie was in school and
Fredric was at the factory. Fredric donated her belongings to
charity and never spoke her name again. Freddie just envied the
boys who had a mother and wished someone would make him
cookies. No one seemed too surprised that he never dated. Girls
were not to be trusted. He learned to cook and keep house and
what good would a woman be anyway? He hung out in the
saloon and learned the tricks of the trade there.

He was a misfit in school so when he turned 16 years
old, he just quit going. Big waste of time. He mowed yards and
shoveled snow. He painted and fixed roofs and mended fences
and became quite the handyman. Very dependable. Did great
work and charged a reasonable fee. Strange bird, but honest as
the day was long. Then Dad built the house halfway up the
mountain not far from Denver. Built it for a vacation home.
Just somewhere to get away from the rat race that was his life.
But it was more to Freddie. To him it was an oasis away from
the pitying eyes of the people in Denver. The ones who never
had forgotten about how Marybeth had just walked away and
never looked back. Poor Freddie, raised by his Dad. No woman
in his life.

So they lived; the father in Denver and the son on the
mountain until one day the father stepped in front of a train.
Some said it was an accident and some said it was on purpose.
So young, only 47 years old. He had left a will and a very large
Life Insurance. The executor took over and a trust fund was
established for Freddie. The home on Larimer street was sold to
a developer. And then Freddie was dealt the crowning blow.
The house was demolished and the reason Marybeth had for
leaving was revealed. Her bones behind the wall in the root
cellar spoke volumes and her son now saw it clearly. His father
had not let her go quietly. He had not let her go at all. For all
the years Freddie had missed his mother, she was right out there
in the yard. And his benevolent father had put her there.

Yes, the mountain was where he must remain. The
mountain and his solitary life. Oh, and the cans of money. Those
were his monuments. When he buried one, he never dug it up. He
knew it was there. He knew who had given it to him and why.
That was all he needed. He had been doing this for 20 years and
he had no idea how much was there. It did not matter. What did
matter was that when he buried something of value, he
remembered. Not like his father. No, not at all like his father.
Freddie looked at his reflection in the window. He was
not a bad looking man at all. Just over six feet tall and a body
hardened by hard work and primal living. A diet of natural foods
grown in his own yard kept him healthy. Lots of water to drink.
A tender yearling deer on occasion, or a rabbit, or a dove
furnished him with needed protein. His dark brown hair was
shoulder length and his beard was full. His dark brown eyes were
alert, but they covered the confusion in his mind.

No woman was not exactly the truth. There had been that
one in Kansas when he was working construction. That was
back when he thought he was normal, before they found the
bones. He liked to travel the country and just taste life. He had
tasted that woman very deeply. He had wanted to stay, but he
couldn’t. Women were evil. They would tie you down and you
would have to work in a factory and be tired all the time. Then
they would just leave. She had been warm and willing and he
had thought about telling her about his mom and asking if she
was that way, but he knew better. She would just lie. He wished
he could remember her name. He could remember her body and
how she moved beneath him, but he could not remember her
face. When the last day of work came he was relieved. He had
grabbed his gear and headed back to Denver, secure in the
knowledge that she could never find him. He was right.

Then he smiled as he remembered her name. It was
Darling.

Yes, that was it, Darling.

Installment #9

Installment #9

Him

He sat in the tree with his back against the broad trunk.
From this vantage point he had an unobstructed view of the
small farm below. Of course the telescope was one of the high
dollar ones that could pinpoint and bring in a gnat if he needed it
to. He had not bought it for this particular reason, but rather to
study the heavens, but he liked to use resources he had on hand.
If there was ever a question as to why he had such a high
powered instrument he would just show them the notes in his
“The moon as I see it.” notebook complete with dates and
drawings.

What a beehive of activity it was this morning around the
house. It was very clear that Meg was having the house secured
for some reason or another. He thought back to his last visit and
tried to recall if he had left anything behind. Nothing. He had
seen the screen hanging loose last week and wondered about that.
It seemed that the screen had been loose for several days. It
seemed to go unnoticed until the idiot handyman had called her
attention to it last week. He would have been content to set here
in his little nest up in the tree and watch her farm down below
24/7, but he did have to put in an appearance at the office
occasionally. Jennifer was an excellent secretary and office
manager, but way too nosey for her own good.

He watched as the welders began installing the decorative
iron over the windows. He sure hoped it was to improve the
look of the place and not to keep him out. That was a waste of
time. Nothing would keep him out of her world. He had watched
her and Tom for years and he had loved her then as much as he
loved her now. How convenient for him that Tom had loved
hiking in the back country. How convenient that the avalanche
had swept down the mountain on that particular day burying Tom
under many feet of snow. Convenient? He laughed to himself.

Memories are precious things and the best part of the memories
is that they are all in the mind of the one remembering. He alone
knew how the avalanche started. How patient he had been that
morning shadowing Tom along on his back country trek that day.
He was way up the mountain and Tom down low. And then he
saw what he had been looking for. The snow was piled and
seemed to be trembling and just waiting for the signal. He gave
a shiver of delight as he pulled the starting pistol from his jacket
and at just the right moment, pulled the trigger releasing the loud
bang. Tom’s head jerked upward at the sound, but all he saw was
the wall of snow thundering down the slope directly headed for
him. He did not have time to even move. He disappeared under
a wall of white. He was gone.

The man gave a sigh of relief. Poor Meg. All alone with
that little queer son in Boston. She would need a man to take
care of her. But he would give her time. He had lots of that.
Not like he had friends to occupy his time. The job took very
little time and was quite lucrative. It all depended on the stock
market. Jennifer handled the paper work and all he had to do
was invest money and make money for other people. The more
he made for other people the more he made for himself. It paid
well enough that he had been able to buy this little cabin in the
mountains on 40 acres. Solitude. It was just a short commute
into Denver and far enough away from civilization that he was
not bothered by anyone. And that is how he had found Meg and
Tommy. He had met them on a walk in the woods. They had
nodded to each other. But Meg had looked directly into his eyes
and smiled. Not many women did that. Well, actually, none.
The scars he had brought home from Viet Nam usually stopped
people from coming any closer. He did not need anyone close.
Even his own mother had shuddered when she saw him. Her
mistake.

Installment # 7 & 8

Installment 7

Him

He watched her pull into the garage. He watched as the
lights came on in the house and imagined the dogs running to
meet her. The idiot that was tending the place had locked them in
their crates. He knew that was not right. When the overgrown
boy had left he had gone into the house and let them out. They
had not even barked at him. Was it because they liked him? Or
because he had let them out of their crates? Or because he had
given them a treat from the little jar on the shelf?
He had parked his jeep behind the chicken house. Then
realizing that the light in the chicken house shone on his fender
he had turned it off. The switch was located sensibly right inside
the door with easy access. Then he settled back in the seat to wait
for her to come home. Just to be sure she was safe. He could
have stayed at the airport and followed her, but this way was
better. This way she was coming home to him.
He watched her in the moonlight on the veranda. He
wondered what she was thinking. Panic seized him as he
realized she would know the light was not on in the chicken
house. What if she came to see what the problem was? What if
she found him there? He was not ready for that. When she
turned to go into the house he thought it best to leave. He
quickly turned the light back on and drove out of the drive in the
dark. As he reached the road he saw her returning to the
veranda. That was a very close call. He must be careful from
now on and not take any more chances. He pulled the light
switch on and the light flooded the road ahead of him. He gave
the Jeep more gas and began to hum a tune under his breathe. A
Garth Brooks tune. The one about the lonely woman and the
summer and the hot kid that got lucky with the older chick.
Then he laughed out loud.


Installment 8

Home

Meg grimaced as she settled at the computer. 63
emails. She ran the cursor down the list. Nothing from
redranger. She started with the junk, then the forwards.
Next she looked for the PayPal’s that announced that she had
received a payment. There were six of them and she quickly
printed them.
Then she clicked on the eBay “your item sold emails “
that corresponded with the payments. Those out of the way she
clicked on the other eBay correspondence. Six were questions
which she quickly answered. Two from peepster25 who told her
first how much she liked her new necklace and then the next one
wished her a good vacation. Eight items were ended and needed
to be relisted . At last she stared at a blank screen. She gathered
the items that had sold and loaded the shipping labels in the top
bed of the printer. Before she could call up the shipping list the
mail box clicked. Redranger. She opened the email and began to
smile.
“Meg?”
“Eldon?” And the conversation was on. She told him
how great the short vacation had been and how good Kevin
looked and how they had ran and gone to the Golden Gate
Bridge. It felt good to visit with Eldon. It was such a
comfortable feeling. No pressure. And she could set at her
computer in her ragged tee shirt and her gym shorts and he
would never know. Long distance, Internet romance, what ever
you called it, was exactly what she needed this morning.
He was the first to break off since he had to go to work.
It was after 8:00 AM where he was which was two hours ahead
of her time here in the Mountain Standard Time. So he must be
on Eastern Standard Time. She made a note to call Fred about
the light in the chicken house. Fred was the retired Marine who
helped out with odd jobs around this area. He lived a little ways
up the mountain in a small cabin and worked cheap. Fred was a
sad specimen as were many of the characters who lived on the
mountain. Not bad people, just sort of misfits.
“I will be in early tonight and we can catch up. OK? ;)”
Eldon always signed off with the little smiley face and Meg
always smiled when she saw it.
She tapped back an “OK” and headed for the kitchen.
She needed to make cookies for the luncheon on Tuesday for the
AIDS clients. Once a month she sponsored a social luncheon in
the conference room at the ACS office in town. AIDS Client
Services had been active since 1987 when the epidemic was
reaching new heights and help was not to be found. Currently
the office served 145 people, but only about 20 of them were
active in social events. The climate of the disease had changed a
lot over the years and now it was more a chronic disease as
opposed to a death sentence as it had been back then. It was
much easier in this day and age to get on Disability Income.
Meg was glad that Kevin was working. She could not picture
him sitting and waiting for the next shoe to drop. He had put
himself through college and he would put himself through life.
Meg gave Fred a quick call and made arrangements for
him to come by later in the morning to check out the light in
the chicken house. That being taken care of she headed for the
shower. She loved a nice hot shower especially on a cool
morning like today. Most mornings were cool here in the
foothills as were the evenings. That was one of the great
things about Colorado. Kansas had been hot and humid. True
she had never needed chapstick in Kansas, but then she rarely
used it now. Just some times. The humidity was very low in
this area so the heat and the cold did not affect her like they
had in Selda. She suddenly thought of her sister and instead of
the shower she picked up the phone.
“Eleanor! How are you? I have not talked to you since
forever.”
Her younger sister laughed softly. “Course not. You
just stay holed up out there and don’t talk to anyone. When are
you coming for a visit? You know Betsy is getting married
again, don’t you?”
“Well, how could I? Nobody ever calls. You know you
could come out here and see me. I always go to see you.”
And she suddenly remembered why she never called.
She was the outsider. Mom had always been close to the three
sisters. When Dad had left and moved to New Jersey with his
secretary, Eleanor, Betsy and Merilyn had turned their backs on
him and taken care of Mom. Meg had been in Montana then
and saw no reason to return. Mom was in good hands and
apparently so was Dad. Now Dad was dead and Mom was still
not going to let it go. Nor were the girls.
“OK, Ellie, let’s try to get together for Christmas. I
would love to have you all out here. Want to?” Eleanor
promised to talk to the sisters and Mom and let her know. So
Meg rang off and started the shower with warm water. She
stepped under the spray and turned the cold down a little. As
she relaxed under the hot water she reached for the soap. Her
hand stopped in mid air as she looked at the strange bar of soap
in the tray. Irish Spring? She did not use Irish Spring. She
bought all her soap from a girl on eBay who made it in her
kitchen. It was all coordinated. Tahitian Vanilla Soap, Tahitian
Vanilla Body Butter and Tahitian Vanilla Lotion. She had not
bought any thing else in the last three years. She suddenly felt
very vulnerable and small in her nakedness. She stepped
quickly from the shower and wrapped in her lavender towel.
The towel smelled of Irish Spring and she discarded it in a heap
of the floor.
What was going on here? Who had been in her home?
Was she alone now? The door bell chimed and she jumped.
Grabbing her robe she ran down the hall, pulling it on and
belting it as she moved. She wrenched the door open and
encountered Fred on the porch with his hat in his hands. She
must have been a sight because he stepped back and almost fell
off the porch. Suddenly she felt very foolish.
“Oh , Fred! I am sorry! I forgot you were coming.
Please excuse me. I must look a mess. Come in.” She stepped
back while opening the door wider.
“Oh, no, Miss. I will just go check out the chicken house
if that is all right with you. If you’ve got a problem I will get
right on it.” He hurried down the steps with a confused look on
his face. Meg sagged against the door jamb. What a damn fool
she must look like.
She left the door ajar in case Fred got back before her and
hurried down the hall to dress. She quickly grabbed a pair of
jeans and a flannel shirt, panties and white cotton socks. In less
than 10 minutes she was back at the door fully dressed and
watching Fred ambling across the yard towards the house.
She met him at the door with two cups of coffee.
She handed his to him and motioned to the glider. “Well,
Fred. What did you find?”
“Not a thing, Miss. Light seems to be fine and I
checked all the wires. Must have just been a trick of your
imagination or a gremlin.” He sipped his coffee and looked
toward the chicken house. “I did notice though that when I
walked by the side of the house on the way out there that you
got a loose screen right there on your garage.”
He gestured and Meg’s eyes followed his finger. Loose
screen? The whole bottom half of the screen hung loose. How
had that happened? As she realized how it had happened her
stomach went ice cold with dread. Some one had been in her
home while she was in California! Nothing was missing, she
was sure. She would check, but she knew suddenly that if the
intruder had meant to do harm to anything he would not have
taken a shower and dried on her towel.
In a very controlled voice she turned to Fred. “Yes,
Freddie, I want you to fix that, but let’s do this. Go into town
and get the screen and while you are at it, I want to burglar proof
this place. See Mr. Watts at the Iron and Metal place and have
something nice and sturdy installed. You work with him and I
would like to have it done sooner rather than later.”
Fred smiled. This would be a job worth doing. Put a little
money in his pocket. He liked money. If he didn’t like it, why
did he have it buried all over his property? He pulled his tape
measure off his belt and took a notebook and pencil out of his
shirt pocket.
“Yes, ma’am! I will get right on that!” He whistled as he
walked to the first window.

Installment #6..Meg

INSTALLMENT #6
Meg
Meg hurried across the lobby at Stapleton. Getting her
luggage out of this place was always such a hassle. How could
any place so modern and beautiful be so inept at the simple
things in life? As she watched for her plaid bag with the teal
ribbons, her mind drifted back to California. Kevin was keeping
something from her. She could feel it. He had avoided the gay
bars when they went out. Did he do that for her or for him?
Since learning he was gay and HIV she had educated
herself on the life style and the disease. It was quite a leap for
her Bible Belt mentality to make, but she had done it. Now she
was even comfortable with the fact that he was different. The
HIV was a different matter, but his health was good and that was
a relief. He tried harder than most of the kids she dealt with at
the HIV/AIDS center. She stomped her foot as she watched her
bag disappear around the carousel and chastised herself for being
so preoccupied. This time she was ready when it sailed into view
and very soon was on her way out the door with the little bag
17
bobbing merrily behind her on it’s tiny wheels.
The drive home had been uneventful and two hours later
when she pulled into her drive and hit the garage door opener
she was relieved to see the lights on in the house. She was sure
Brice had left them on so she would not have to return to a dark
house.
It was almost midnight so she decided not to go check on
the chickens. They were fine and she was tired. Daisy and
Elvira ran to meet her when she stepped into the kitchen. Icarus,
the haughty cat watched the dogs with disdain. Her time would
come later, after the dogs were crated and asleep.
Meg glanced at the computer, but decided against that
also. She was tired and hungry and just wanted the solace of her
own bed. She got a glass of milk and 3 cookies and headed up
the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom. Daisy stopped
suddenly and looked up at Meg. Meg froze in place. What was
it? Nothing. Nothing at all was different. No sound. Nothing
out of place. So what was it? She willed herself to relax. She
knew animals could sense fear and there was nothing to be afraid
of here in her home, in the hallway on the way to her bed.
She reached down and scratched Daisy behind her ears.
Then Elvira wanted to be petted and soon they all relaxed and the
fear that she had felt disappeared. She gave the dogs a treat from
the jar inside the linen closet, opened their crates and then closed
the doors behind them. She never latched them, just closed them.
Their crates were their security.
As Meg got her night gown off the hook on the bathroom
door she thought how nice it had been in California. She knew
she would need to think about a move before too much longer.
The farm was great and it was her home, but it did not make
sense at all to live out here in the boon docks with the nearest
neighbor almost a mile away. She did not need this big four
bedroom home and all the expense of the upkeep on it. The acre
of land was not enough to make a living with, but too much to
landscape and keep up with the weeds. And what were her
goals? What did she want to do with the rest of her life?
She undressed quickly and tossed her clothes in the
18
hamper. She pulled her nightgown over her head and then
walked to the French doors in her bedroom and pulled them
open and stepped out onto the veranda. The moon was full and
the view was clear. She studied the chicken house for a moment
and wondered at how boring a chicken’s life must be. What
would they think if she just went out and let them loose. Would
they leave? Probably not. More likely a fox would make a
meal of some of them. Best not to do that.
But something was not right. She thought about the
scene before her and could not quite put her finger on what it
was. She finally remembered her cookies and milk on the shelf
in the hall where the dogs were sleeping and stepped quickly
inside and into the hall to retrieve the snack. Then back to the
veranda to survey her kingdom. As she drained the last swallow
of milk from the glass she realized that what was not right before
was now corrected. The light had not been on in the chicken
house before. It was always on at night, but it had not been on
and now it was. How could that be? There was no one here to
turn it on, but it should have been on. Oh, silly, it probably had
some sort of short or something. She would check it out
tomorrow. If the lights were playing games, the chickens would
not lay. And that was their job. Everything had to stay on an
even keel.
As she turned and walked back into the house she just
missed the flash of moonlight on metal as the black Jeep
Cherokee turned onto the road and headed up the mountain.

I am currently on vacation!

Having spent a full year writing Long Ago and Not Very Far Away and publishing it online weekly, I was disheartened when I offered the ending to the story for $5.00 and only had one taker.  That does not amount to a very big paycheck for what I thought was a very entertaining and heart breaking story.   My paypal button is still laughing at me!

I will be back on this site at some point in time, but I think it is going to be as some sort of product or restaurant review.  Maybe I will share a few recipes with you.  I am working on another book, but I shall keep it under wraps and I am not going to either do it for free or invest another $4,000 .00 and not get a return on my investment.

I see a few of you check in here occasionally, so I guess  somebody actually read me.  Until I come up with something, hang in there. 

Long Ago and Not Very Far Away is still available.

This button will only be available until October 1.  At that time you will not be able to buy this at any price.  When you pay I will send you the installments in 7 consecutive emails so as not to overload your computer.  If you prefer a pdf. of the entire script let me know and I will go that way.

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Lou Mercer

Installment #50 Whoops! Where is it?

You could now be reading Installment #50    "And things fall into place"  like Alice, Debbie and Jeffery are.    All you need to do is click on the Buy Now button and donate $5.00 to the cause of Lou Mercer (although it probably goes through the "My Site" account).  This is my little way of validating my year of writing for your enjoyment.

This button will only be available until October 1.  At that time you will not be able to buy this at any price.  When you pay I will send you the installments in 7 consecutive emails so as not to overload your computer.  If you prefer a pdf. of the entire script let me know and I will go that way.
 

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Installment #49 Surprise!

     When Cynthia brought Tucker home the next morning they were surprised to see the pickup and trailer in the driveway.  When they opened the door the aroma of fresh coffee greeted them.  Cynthia had made coffee at home, but this was different.  This was Tucker’s home and the coffee smelled really good.  Mark greeted them both with a smile.  Then he hugged Tucker and turned to Cynthia.  “You guys get a cup of coffee and set on the porch.  I have a surprise in the trailer.”  With that he opened the door and went outside.

     Cynthia fixed two cups of coffee and started to the porch.  Tucker followed.  They sat in the lawn chairs and listened to thumping inside the trailer.  What was going on?  The  loading door was out of sight on the other side of the trailer, so they could see nothing.  And then they heard the roar of an engine.  Tucker leaned forward.  The big green Norton motorcycle that was in the picture on the mantle emerged from the back of the trailer.  Mark gunned the motor, slipped the clutch and shot off down the street.  Tucker laughed out loud.  “Oh, my God!  He got it running!  Look at it!  It is beautiful! “  He stood up and walked to the side walk.  Mark drove up to him.  The two men looked at each other and Mark revved the engine.

     “Well, Tucker, what do you think?  Does this bring back memories?”

     “How did you manage this?  Last time I seen that it was in a basket up on the shelf.”

     “Yep.  I stole it and this is what I have been doing for the last month.  I could not get the Norton insignia, so I hired a guy to paint it.  Now we are going to take a picture of you with this just like the one you gave Cyndi.  This will be 30 years later.  See if you have changed.”

     Tucker reached down and ran his hand over the gas tank.  “I loved this bike.  This was always my favorite.  I am very glad you did this.  This bike should live forever.”

     “Well, Tucker, that is the best part.   We are working on  putting the motorcycle museum right next door to the  photography museum.  Going to take a few years, but I think we can swing it. This bike is going to be the first exhibit.”  With that bit of news, Tucker could no longer hold back the tears.  He grasped Mark by the shoulder and the two men shared a brief hug.  Mark smiled at Cynthia over Tucker’s shoulder.

     With that Cynthia took her leave of the two men.  She knew they had a lot to talk about and she had things to do at home.  She kissed Tucker lightly on top of the head and started for the door.  There she stopped and turned.

     “I almost forgot.  We have to do something about Cleo.  Hospice was supposed to find her a home, but it does not seem to be happening.  Got any idea’s Mark?”  Mark looked at her studiously.

     “I can’t take her.  I would if I could.  Liz would kill me if I brought home a dog.  Hey!  Have you talked to the bike club?  Those guys might come up with someone in the club.”  Mark smiled.

     “Great idea!”  Tucker chimed in.  “I will call Dana tonight.  I need to talk to him anyway.  I want him to see the Norton.”

     And Cynthia was a little more light hearted as she drove home.  Why had she not thought of the motorcycle club?  It made perfect sense.  The club was a band of brothers.  Brothers through thick and thin.  She said a silent prayer to her God as she pulled into the car port.

     And back on Howard Street Mark and Tucker were busy making plans.  First call Dana about Cleo.  “I dunno’, buddy.  Let me ask around.  Send out an email.  Get back to you as soon as I know something.  Cleo is a damn good dog and she needs a damn good home.  Chin up, Tucker, I am on it.”

     As Mark busied himself in the kitchen throwing together a barbeque that he was sure Tucker would not turn away from, Tucker called Marge.

     “Marge, it is time.  I fell at Cynthia’s the last time I spent the night and I just can not do that to her.  I have to go into the nursing home.  It is the only solution.”  Marge sighed.  She had known this day was coming, but she was not sure she was ready for it.  Oh, she had checked out the ones Tucker thought he might like.  They had agreed on a very cozy one that seemed to be staffed with caring people and was priced in Tucker’s range, but still, a nursing home was a nursing home and it was where he would go to die.  It was so final.  She thought quickly.

     “OK Tucker.  Let me make a few phone calls.  Did Mark get there?”

     “Yes, he came this morning and he has the Norton running, if you can believe.  Call me back when you are ready.”  With that they broke the connection.  Tucker turned toward the kitchen and Margie dropped her head in her hands and collapsed in a sobbing heap on the settee.  That is where David found her later when he came in from town.

     “Oh, Marge what is it!”  He was not used to seeing her out of control and it rather frightened him, so he just held her as she told him about the conversation with Tucker.

     “He is ready to die, David.  He has already quit eating for the most part.  He wants to go into the nursing home and then quit eating and drinking altogether.  He has studied this and this is his way of hurrying things along. He is committing suicide in a very calm and rational manner.  I can’t stop him.  Why should I stop him?  It is his life.  He has been very clear from the beginning.  I wonder how Cynthia is going to handle this?  I have to go to Florida and she is going to be alone until I get back.”  Her voice trailed off and she shrugged her shoulders. 

     David, ever the stalwart one,   stared into space as he held his wife.  He knew it would fall to him when she flew to Florida.  Tucker was his friend and while he hoped Cynthia would be up to the task, he knew he would be there.  He was going to miss Tucker, no doubt about that, but life would go on for all of them. 

     “You know, Marge, it amazes me how Tucker is making this easy for us.  I am not sure I could do what he is doing.  Course he has been alone most of his life.  Never relied on anyone for anything, so why should now be any different?”  As he let her go and headed for the door, he added an afterthought, “I am not hungry tonight.  Want to just have the wine and forget the supper?  And what kind of wine goes with no upper?”

     Marge dried her eyes and followed him into the kitchen to open the refrigerator and stare sadly at a salad.  “Better make it white.”

******************************************************************

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This is the last installment I am publishing online free of charge.  If you want to finish the story you will need to click on the "Buy Now" button which will take you to paypal.  I have spent over a year on this book and this afternoon the last installment will be finished.  When you donate to me in the amount of $5.00 -15.00 you will receive a pdf. attachment of the complete book.
Bear in mind that this is not professionally edited and it is my first attempt at anything like this so I may need to work out some kinks.
Enjoy!    Lou Mercer

Installment #48 ....and time marches on

Installment #48

… and time marches on.

     Tucker watched the rental car as it backed out the drive and pulled on to Pearl.  Anton would be back.  He knew that.  He had tried to tell Anton goodbye and make it final, but his little brother was not making it easy.  And then there was Albert.  Tucker had not talked with him.  They were not estranged, just did not seem to have much in common.  Anton would no doubt fill Albert in on how bad Tucker was, but he would not call.  That was just how it was.  Tucker knew that.

     He smiled at Cynthia.  “Well, I guess I will be going home with you tonight.  My baby sitter just left.”

     “Looks like it.  What shall we have for supper?”  She asked the question, but she knew the answer.  The Cream of Wheat was the only thing he ate and he drank very little water.  He was so thin that it hurt her to look at him.  He was wasting away before her eyes and there was nothing she could do to stop it from happening.  So she filled Cleo’s bowl with food and gave her fresh water.  Soon they would need to find her a new home.  She could not take her to her house because she had geese that would suffer the fate of a big dog playing with them.  And the cat.  Cleo was part grey hound and did not like cats at all.  She sighed and decided to tackle the new home idea tomorrow for sure.

     Tucker snapped his fingers.  “I almost forgot!  Mark called today and he will be here this weekend.  He has a surprise for me.  Wonder what it is?”

     “Oh, I am so glad!  I know how much he means to you.  A surprise?  I have no clue what it could be.  Is he flying?”

     “No, he is bringing the pickup and a trailer.  I want to send some stuff back with him.  I am pretty sure I am not going to be staying here in the house much longer and I want to get everything of value into the right hands.”  He stopped and gazed out the window.  “Funny how I worked all my life for this and now it is just something to get rid of.  I did not think I would live long enough to get to this point.  I just don’t care about any of it anymore.  I did talk to Mark about taking me to the nursing home before he leaves.”  Cynthia caught her breathe.

     “What do you mean?  Nursing home?  I thought you would be here with me until, until, you know?”  She could not bring herself to use the word “died”.  That made it too real.  That was final.  She knew how Tucker did not like to be touched, but this time she put her arms around him and told him, “Tucker!  Just hold me because pretty soon you will not be here to do it.  I need you to hold me!”  And he did.  And he stroked her hair, and a plan began to form in his mind.  It was a plan that just might work!

     Little did she know how time was about to fast forward.

 

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Installment #47 Anton Comes to Call

So began the daily routine of Tucker being at home in the day and sleeping at Cynthia’s every night.  Cleo was home alone, but that was how it had to be.  Tucker rather enjoyed being in Cynthia’s home.  He had always felt comfortable there.  He liked her dogs and he liked the cat.  Apparently the cat liked him too, since she always leapt on his lap as soon as he set down.  The recliner was hard for him to get out of, so he was dependent on Cyndi to push the foot rest down.  Tucker had always been independent and never needed anyone, but now he let Cyndi do things for him.  He even ate a little Cream of Wheat every night and every morning.  He had the upstairs bedroom and she slept downstairs.  Once he even thought about how nice it would have been to share the bed. 

     On the third night of the new routine, Anton called.  Tucker had finally admitted that he was not well and it would be alright if Anton wanted to come for a few days.  So this phone call was to work out the details concerning the visit.  He would be coming on Amtrac since he was afraid to fly and did not want to drive.  He would arrive at noon on Monday and Cyndi could take 3 days off since that is how long he would be there.  Tucker thought not.  He was used to her.  He needed her.  Anton was his brother, but she was his what ever she was. Fiancee, he wished.  He liked the sound of it. Maybe he would tell her some day, but for now, just get the brother visit over.

     So, on Monday, Tucker and Cyndi were on the porch when Anton drove up in the rental car.  It was awkward to say the least.  Anton was shocked at the big brother who was now a very thin, pale big brother and it showed.

     Cynthia watched the body language of the brothers as they greeted each other.  It seemed very strained, but then this had to be hard on Anton especially.  He was 15 years younger than Tucker, but he would be without a brother very soon.  Surely he could see that.  There were 3 brothers and Anton was the only one that had married.  He had two sons and those were Tucker’s only nephews.  If the family name was to be carried on, it was all on Anton’s shoulders.

     Cynthia smiled as she saw Tucker smile at Anton and grab him in a bear hug.  Anton was taken aback and this made Cynthia laugh.  She knew Tucker was not a touchy feely kind of guy and she assumed from the look on his face that Anton did not expect this at all.  A simple hand shake was all he was used to having from his brother, but here he stood wrapped in his arms.  Anton had a lot to learn and Cynthia could only hope he was a fast learner.

     When the brothers broke apart, Cynthia took her leave and headed home.  Tucker knew she was as close as the phone and she assured him that she would be there if he needed her, or if he just wanted her there.  She looked in the rear view mirror and said a silent prayer that the visit would go well and they could say their goodbyes.

***************************************************

 OK, kids, push has come to shove.  This installment and #48 and #49 will be published here for you, but after that, I am on strike.  You like to read and I like to write so in exchange for a paltry $5.00 donation you will receive Installment #50 and all other installments in your email box.  So cough up using the Buy Now button below and we will all be happy.  This is my position...I like to know that I have readers who actually like my work.  This is my way of validating.  So far I have collected $5.00.  I will keep a tally going so you know just how rich I am going to wind up.  So, lets get that button to popping and make me a happy woman!

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Installment #46 And Time passed

     Cynthia spoke with Tucker every morning at 6:00.  He called her right on the dot.  She thought maybe he watched the time so he would not wake her before 6:00 and not a minute after so she would not worry.  Sleep seemed to elude him after he woke up sometime in the night to empty his bladder.  He used to turn on the television and watch the Fox channel, but he saw no reason to do that anymore.  He just waited for time to call Cynthia.

     His hospice volunteer had come at some point in time and seemed like a nice enough fellow.  Chas something or other.  Chas was short for Charles.  Usually Charles was shortened to Chuck or Charlie or something like that.  Chas was an unusual name for an unusual man.  He sure was a good cook and in a different time and place Tucker would have reveled in the meals placed before him, but not now.  Eating was pointless and the sooner Chas agreed the better they would get along.  So Chas cooked and created and Tucker moved it around his plate until Chas took his plate away.  He had researched this and knew that if he ate and kept his strength up, it would prolong the dying process.  He could see no reason to do that.  It was hopeless.  He would never be any better and death was inevitable.  He had thought briefly about suicide, but he thought that through and knew that Cynthia would be the one to find him.  She was the only one with a key and he could not put her through that.  By the time he was comfortable enough with Chas to think of suicide again, Margie has taken all the guns away.  So he just quit eating.

     So Cynthia came every morning and hospice sent workers to bathe him and help him shave and do the many things that they did.  Cynthia went home in the afternoon and Chas came by for several hours.  He and Cynthia had not met, but both asked about the other.  He guessed that was just another form of civility that was necessary to get through this ordeal.  Friends drove down from Denver and one flew in from California.  One friend helped him catalog his Japanese sword collection and mail it to a dealer in St. Louis. The house was getting emptied out and Marge was banking money.  He would need it when he needed more care.

     Cynthia went home every evening when he went to bed.  It was just him and Cleo.  He began to discover that he had a sensitive side he had not known existed.  Tears came easily.  That was not something he had ever done before, but now he noticed when the little Ford pulled away and the brake light flickered at the corner, that he was very sad.  Sad and afraid.  Afraid?  He had never been afraid in his life, but now he heard sounds and woke up shaking.  The second night this happened he decided to tell Cynthia.

     “Cyn, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I am afraid of the dark.  I get really scared when you leave me.”  He looked at Cynthia so sadly that she could only reach for his hand and with a tear in her own voice she comforted him.

     “Tucker, this is not unusual at all.  I have been studying this and it is very normal.  Let me talk to Marge and see what we can do.  I am pretty sure hospice does not send people out at night.  I have the dogs and my geese and ducks that need me at home, so I can’t stay.  Maybe you can come stay with me.  Marge will be here this afternoon and we will work this out.  Right now I am going to make you some tea and toss in a load of laundry.”

     Tucker smiled at her and she smiled back.  She would be there for him.  He knew that.  He did not know why.  He had told Anton several times about how she would wait when he wasn’t ready and never scold him.  She would pull weeds while he talked on the phone.  She would walk the dog when he was tinkering in the garage.  Was it because she cared?  He knew she had other things to do so it wasn’t because she had time on her hands.  She must care.  He tried not to think about it.  It confused him.  She knew he was dying.  No future there.  Maybe she was just a good person.  Who knew.  

     Marge listened as Cynthia and Tucker told her about the fear Tucker felt when he was alone.  Marge was not surprised.  Fear and dying often went hand in hand.  She was pleased that Cynthia would take Tucker home at night and bring him back in the morning.  That way he would still have the comfort of his own home all day and hospice would take care of him there.  She was pleased that Tucker felt comfortable enough with Cynthia to sleep there.  She had never known him to spend a night anywhere except his own house.  And she had certainly never seen the gentle air about Tucker that now was always there.  Tucker had always been rather selfish, but now he was giving.  Giving and kind.  He said nice things for no reason.  And it was not an act.  His whole countenance was one of a caring person.  Must be the dying process.

     So she returned to Denver, promising to return in a week.  She knew she was going to need to fly to Florida and spend some time with her friend Jean, who was dealing with health problems, but for now Tucker was her prime concern.

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Now you should know, that I have put over a year into writing this.  This is time I could have spent making things and selling them for real money.  So here is the deal...I write, you read and I am now asking for monetary compensation so I can continue to write instead of working.  If you like what you read and want more of it, there is a paypal button following this.  I have given you choices on how much you enjoy my writing and they are all three a mere pittance so I leave it in your hands now.  You will not receive anything, but I will receive money.  Money will enable me to keep writing.  No money will send me to the basement to sew. 
Have a good day and thank you for reading Long Ago and Not Very Far Away

 

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