Excerpt

1. Unguided

The Chattooga’s ice cold waters blanketed our skin, but as the adrenaline pumped through our veins, no one voiced concern. The brilliant summer sun loomed above, warming our chilled bodies and created cascades of diamonds across the water’s surface. Fueled by gravity and pure mountain springs, the Chattooga River calmly begins its flow down nature’s geologically defined course. On that day, like every other day, it would gather its violent inertial forces, gaining strength and power with each mile. The calmness would eventually turn into a frothy, mad, turbulent stream which poured over boulders, resembling the claws of a great beast. Jagged rocks stared back like a mouth full of fangs as the river’s saliva sprayed and foamed. A thing of beauty and worthy of great respect, the river proved itself over and over again. It never disappointed and always kept us guessing.

“Paddle right! Paddle right! Stop … Stop paddling! Hold it … Hold it … Everyone-paddle forward! Paddle forward! Here we go! Left side-paddle back hard! Everyone-paddle hard forward! Hard forward-three more strokes! Awesome job guys! …YES!”

“Let’s paddle up there to the right and take a break. I need to size up the next rapid. This will be the last one for the morning and then that should take us to lunch. This last one’s gonna be a challenge.”

Forming the boundary between Georgia and South Carolina, the Chattooga’s winding course is a Mecca for thrill seekers and nature lovers. The movie Deliverance was filmed there in 1971 which attracted paddlers from all over-some unprepared or unaware of the many hidden dangers. In 1974, Congress designated it as a “Wild and Scenic” river which protected and preserved the bordering wilderness areas. Nourished by streams and tributaries along the way, the Chattooga’s wrath-filled waters end as quietly as they begin. From its origins within the North Carolina Mountains, the river meanders some 57 miles and then joins the still waters of Georgia’s Lake Tugalo.

Paddling and floating all morning, we presented our air-filled vessel to the last rapid of Section III-the famous Bull Sluice. This rapid had a 14-foot drop followed by 6-foot and 4-foot successive drops.

Hopping out of our raft, we surveyed the scene thoroughly.

“Well, what do you think, Clark? You want to portage around?” My friend Dave Merwin peered at the rushing current. His voice expressed an edge of doubt.

“I think we can take it. The water’s moving faster than usual and … ah, come on … we’ve been down the Sluice several times. May have to paddle harder. Time things sooner, but we can do it.”

“Alright, Carmichael-if you say so.”

“Come on, Dave. What’s wrong?”

“Ah, nothing. Just got a weird feeling about this trip. Have you noticed how high the water is today? No, something just doesn’t feel right to me.”

“It’ll be okay. I assure you.”

“Like I said-if you say so.”

We would finish the morning with that final plunge and take a lunch break afterwards. Two rafts ahead of us, the other groups had completed a perfect run through the rapid. Most people portage around that point in the river, but not us. We loved the rush, the thrill of danger and the irresistible call, battling the raging blue vein of nature.

Thrill seekers they were; I never knew a more daring and crazy set of men. Though I may have questioned some of their motives, I never questioned their courage and annual commitment to our trip. Keith Myers came for the danger and to prove that age had not reduced or reversed his masculine strength or endurance. Jeff Whatley came to spend time with his son, but also to avoid a long, largely ignored honey-do list. Jerry Larson was there for the camaraderie and support; he recently faced a nasty divorce just over a month before. Several were looking for a new challenge, a way to escape life’s ruts and routines. Still, a few were simply there to check one more item off the bucket list.

Why was I there? Truth be known, probably for some of the reasons aforementioned, but I would never admit that to anyone. I loved rafting and how it made me feel inside. I never felt so alive and never felt so much control of my being, my joy and vitality. It was me against nature, and I liked to win.

“All right, Pastor Clark. Let’s do it.” Jake, one of our older youth, proudly swaggered to the raft. His lean muscular frame brimmed with raw energy; it was contagious. The young man’s spunk inspired a last minute adrenaline burst. We launched the raft and floated toward the graceful chaos of the Sluice. The rapid’s roar grew steadily-as did our speed-down the great churning, unimpeded stream. To our right, towered a mammoth boulder, and below the rapid to the left lurked Decapitation Rock.

“Okay. Aim the raft back toward Georgia. Left side-give me two forward strokes. One. Two. Now-all paddle forward four strokes!” Everyone responded perfectly to my commands.

Although not a pro, I had navigated this river countless times. Year after year, I brought our men and youth down this mighty course. Year after year, fathers and sons added to their scrapbooks and etched lasting memories in their minds. My old summer job as an Ocoee River guide had taught me well. The Chattooga was a good bit different however. It brought new surprises with each trip; nothing about that river stayed exactly the same. Yes, we had capsized before, but fortunately no one ever suffered loss of life or serious injury. Thank God. The famous rapid presently facing us was similar to many others, and I was sure of myself. A surety that bred confidence. A confidence that we would plow through unscathed.

“Okay, guys. Everyone-give me three forward strokes. Lean in toward the center and hold on.”

I studied the currents direction and steered our raft toward the rapid’s edge. The Sluice grabbed us, violently dragging the raft straight down the rushing waters. Committed. No turning back. Done. It was a perfect run, and before we knew it, we had caught up to the rest of our group who were resting and devouring their lunch along the bank.

Dave looked back at me, and I couldn’t resist saying, “You still got that weird feeling? Was that a blast-or what?”

Dave answered back, “I knew we could do it, but don’t forget we haven’t seen anything yet. That last section will be the test.” He just had to remind me.

“Okay, let’s not think about it for now,” I said. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“Sounds good to me. This old man could sure use a rest.” Dave wiped his brow and then his glasses. He tried not to show it, but the look of concern could not be erased.

Lunch lasted about an hour, followed by my traditional group devotion. Oh, the joy. Each year I savored this trip, especially the devotional time. Our annual adventure attracted fathers and sons, not only from our church, but from all over the community. Approximately ten years before, Dave and I had decided to make this trip an annual tradition. An annual quest. The first time there was only six of us and one raft. Ten trips later that one raft transformed into eight or around fifty-six people.

Nature abounded with messages about God and messages about man-some messages just have to be experienced. The Bible itself was littered with stories from the natural world. So it was important that I expressed my thoughts the right way, leveraging our outdoor setting and our experiences together. I couldn’t have asked for a better setting or a better group of men.

“Okay, everyone gather around. Come on guys.” Using hand gestures and eye contact, I directed the boys and their dads to sit down and face me. This took time; the herding of cats might have been a little easier. Some were reluctant to participate, and some were surprised we even did a devotion. But I had them-where else could they go? In the corner of my eye, I spied one young man lagging behind the group. His tall, lanky frame stood out among the rest of the crowd. He moved slowly, as if he was dragging an invisible weight behind him.

“Okay men, time for the devotional.” I paused. “Come on Luke-you’re holding up progress?” My son Luke broke into a trot with his usual playful grin. I tried to shoot him a patient glance as he quickly found his place in the group. He thought I hadn’t noticed, but I always did. A pastor’s son always lived to endure both suspicion and high expectations; it was a great duty. A duty fraught with many struggles.

Luke endured those struggles well, but not without some failures. Many pastors chose to ignore those struggles or wished them away, but I didn’t. I had seen too many young men in Luke’s position grow up resenting their fathers and living a rebellious life. Several families and ministries have been destroyed by a severe lack of priority and patience. Patience. Discretion. I tried to carefully exercise both with God’s first gift from the womb. Luke was special.

Maintaining a deep devotion for God, the boy-or rather young man-modeled the Christian walk. A born leader, he was very active with the youth ministry. Every Sunday morning, he led the youth band and inspired the young people to worship God. An able guitarist, Luke possessed a natural talent on loan from the Most High. This talent had opened many doors for him to minister. It attracted many admirers. He made friends with most of the other boys and even reached out to the loners in the group-the outcasts.

“Hey! … stop! Cut it out!” One of those outcasts looked back searching for a stealthy sweetgum ball thrower. “Whoever’s doing that needs to stop. Those things have points on ‘em-you know?” Some younger boys answered back with farting sounds blaring from their armpits. That raised some laughs from a few of the dads-including myself.

I brought two fingers to my mouth and whistled loudly. It worked. Silence-finally. The boys stared at me with their tired eyes, and I started into my mini sermon. Unlike my formal Sunday morning sermons, this one was informal, and I tried to tailor it to the audience of primarily young men. No need for flowery words or clever sayings. These young men needed an illustration, and the illustration had been roaring under them all morning.

“I’m very proud of all of you. Section III was a tough run, but we still have Section IV ahead of us. I see everyone made it through, and I assume everyone listened to their guides.” I glanced over and saw our professional guides, who nodded in agreement.

“I want to share an important section of scripture with you this morning. This first part begins in Romans chapter 7. I’m titling this devotional ‘O wretched man am I’.” That got several chuckles, as we all felt pretty wretched after five long hours negotiating the Chattooga. Several boys were exhausted and motionless, and I’d already lost two dads to an after-lunch siesta.

“As some of you already know, Romans is written by Paul. Many of you are getting old enough to face some huge temptations.” I picked up a sweetgum ball and looked at the hiding troublemakers in the back.

“God promises us a way of escape. You just have to watch for it. It’s always there. Sometimes the way is obvious and sometimes it’s subtle.”

“But,” I paused and tossed the sweetgum ball to the troubled young outcast. “But the character that He’s building inside you … well, that may be your only escape at times. Romans talks about renewing that spiritual character. You must renew your mind.”

I shared my thoughts for about twenty minutes and read through the entire chapter of Romans 7, explaining to the boys the many inner struggles they would encounter as they grew into manhood. I explained to them that even the great Apostle Paul knew the inner struggle between good and evil. He described it as the Law of Sin-a law we could not ignore or escape. But Romans does introduce a Law that can counteract it.

“Look behind you. See that great rapid we just came down? At some point, all these rapids have a point of no return.” I picked up a stone and threw it into some still waters.

“You probably noticed that your guides stopped in the calm waters to survey the rapids ahead. I like to call these waters the ‘pools of decision.’ We all face decisions everyday of our life. There is no doubt-you will face temptations just as sure as we will face more rapids this afternoon. You must decide how you will face them, how you will escape them. God will show you the way if you’re listening, if you’re paying attention.”

Our experience on the Chattooga formed a wonderful analogy. That great river was similar to life, drawing us and pulling us into some dangerous situations, leading us into some potentially messy outcomes. Just as nature slammed us with its violent, harmful forces, even so, fleshly forces and spiritual forces collided with us every day.

“You guys have seen and felt the forces of these waters. They are strong, and so you can’t fight them; you must outsmart them. Listen to your guide. He directs where the raft is going to go.”

“But, Pastor Clark …” One of the young men interrupted me. “But, Pastor Clark where is your guide? I noticed that your raft doesn’t have a guide.” Several Dads busted out in chuckles.

“Ah, you’re right, but I think you’re missing my point. I have experience with these things, this river. I’ve been down it countless times. What I’m trying to say is don’t follow where the currents lead you; follow your guide. Don’t follow this fleshly body and fleshly mind. Men, we all face this situation, this raging river inside us. There is a way out.”

As I concluded my talk, I decided to leave the boys hanging on verse 24 and one final question: “Would there be any escape from this quandary?” A quandary we are all born into.

“Okay, let’s pray and when we get to the end of Section IV you’ll hear…” I said in my best Paul Harvey voice, “… the rest of the story.”

2. Swept Away

After the prayer, Dave walked over as the sons and dads dispersed. “That was great, Clark. You’ve really got a way with words-how DO you do it?”

“When you’ve preached over a thousand sermons, and written a couple of books, I guess you learn a few things, but don’t let me fool you-I still have much more to learn.”

Dave turned and stared off into the river’s scenic valley. “Man, you couldn’t have asked for a better place to share a message.”

“Or a better group of guys,” I added.

Dave grabbed my shoulder, smiled and said, “Keep up the good work,” and the old man strode away with his signature swagger, though a little less energetic. Age and experience had taught him caution, a key to long term survival.

Luke strolled up as I retrieved my gear. The expression on his face primed my curiosity. “Dad?”

“Yeah, son.”

“Would it be okay if I ride with you and Jake?”

“No.”

“What … why?”

“Don’t go there. That’s not a good idea. You know we don’t have a guide. Look, do you see how high the water is? Jake and his granddad are both experienced rafters and it’s goin’ to be a tough section to run. No. I’d feel better if you stuck to your raft. You’ve got an experienced, trained guide, Luke, who knows what he’s doing.”

“But Dad … I really want to go with you. Like you said, you and Mr. Dave have run this river for the last ten years. Have I got to remind you that I’ve run this section the last three?”

Again, I denied his request, but he continued to beg, imploring me with many arguments. His persistence served him well. After hearing his constant pleading, I finally caved and allowed him to join us. I confess. Even after ten successful runs, I still felt nervous about this section IV. I had never ventured down this stretch with the water so high. The river’s anger ran violently that day, unable to be calmed or composed. A reckless stranger, a tireless bully, it was hell-bent on reeking havoc despite its endless beauty and technical appeal.

“Promise me this, son.”

“What’s that, dad?”

“You do what I tell you and no messing around. You hear me?”

“Yes sir, I promise.”

“I’m not kidding. This is going to be a tough run.”

“I know. I know.”

The professional guides imparted some last minute safety reminders as we began our next trek down the river. They guided the other rafts well and knew endless data and details about the river and its surroundings. They knew the name of each rapid, the location of each rock and what greeted us around each bend. Not one dangerous condition escaped their attention. Their skill and patience brought people home safely, and they made the trip ten times easier. So why didn’t I have one?

With muscles rested and appetites quelled, we pushed off once again to the watery roller coaster ride. The simple, but elegant blue raft carried us gracefully, sandwiched between joyous squeals and certain death. The carefree boys continued their frolicking behavior the entire time. Jake and Luke began to slap their paddles against the river’s surface, spraying the men in front with cold water waves. “Okay, Jake, time to get serious. We’ve got some big rapids coming up.” Dave gently prodded the boys to focus. I could tell he was nervous.

“Dad-look.” Luke pointed to a large tree laid over, jutting out from the bank.

“What do you see?”

“You don’t see it? Look toward the middle of that dead tree.”

Stretched out along the tree was a long dark form. It was a water moccasin. “I see him now. Let’s ease the raft back to the right. Yeah, he’s a big one. Good spot, son.”

We presently paddled down a calmer section of river and soaked in the sorted colors and diverse ecosystem which lined it. The edges were fringed with Mountain Laurel and Rhododendron, broken occasionally by huge oak trees partially toppled by an eroding bank. Like massive arms and hands, they caught and held runaway logs, dead fish, and a countless variety of river debris. They also served as resting spots for the ancient looking turtles which quickly slipped off as we approached. Even amidst that great escape, it was amazing how the cares of tomorrow would drift back into the mind.

“Luke, are you going to be ready for the youth band tomorrow morning?” I asked.

“Well, we practiced last night. How late do you think we’ll get back home?”

“Probably around 12:30 tonight.” I answered.

“I guess we’ll be ready. How about the sermon- you ready for that?”

“Don’t you worry about that. I’ll take care of the sermon-got it all up here.” I pointed to my temple and smiled.

“Dad, when are we going to hit the next rapid?”

“We should see it coming up pretty soon. I believe we’re getting close to Woodall Shoals.”

“What a view. Look up there.” Dave pointed to a bird circling in the distance.

“That a vulture?” I asked.

“No, I think it might be an eagle,” he said. “Yeah, Clark, I can see the rapids now-almost there. Get ready for some action, boys, and be careful.” Dave readied his hands on the paddle and solidly wedged his feet in the raft.

Ahead of us lay the final stretch of the mighty Chattooga. How awe inspiring. In seven miles, we would finish the course and float into Lake Tugalo’s still waters. Our joy swelled as the most exciting- and treacherous- section of the river pulled us to it. This part of the river had rapids ranging from III to V. Dangerous. Relentless.

The most dangerous part was a section called Five Falls. Over the years, several people had died in a watery grave along that run, and yet there we were, cheating death as so many rafters did every day. Death always seemed like a distant possibility in the heat of battle; in the sphere of today. We were invincible in the moment; it was our exploit, and nothing would stop us. Experience, wisdom, thrill, and the odds spurred us along with confident spirits, strengthening our resolve to conquer the challenge screaming back at us.

“Clark, I think we need to get over to the right.”

“No, I think we can stay to the left. With the water so high, I think we’ll just glide right over those rocks.”

“I don’t know. Sure looks different than before,” said Dave.

“Trust me- the left side is where we need to go.”

“If you say so.” Dave shook his head with an uncertain look, but then he leaned forward, ready to engage the rapid.

The raft glided smoothly over the rocks and descended into a three foot drop. No one was left dry, but we were all refreshed and recharged for the next set of rapids.

Determined, and proud, we pressed on, happily having the time of our lives. Fathers and sons bonded sportively on their memory-making machine. Our rubber vessel managed its way through Woodall Shoals and then on to Seven Foot Falls followed later by Deliverance Rock and Raven’s Chute. We glided through a few more rapids, advancing our way to the beginning of Five Falls. Pulling into a shallow pool, the group rested, and we needed to bail water from the raft. Jimmy White, our head deacon, was there, resting with the boys assigned to his charge.

He sat upon a large tan rock with feet tangling freely, and for some peculiar reason wore his helmet backwards. His yellow, unfastened life jacket gapped wide open, appearing to be two sizes too small for the big boned man. Jimmy was a gifted story teller and usually kept us in stitches the whole trip. He was our comic relief and … a very good man. He led our deacons well and served as a key player on our annual trip.

Each year, Jimmy was awarded the duty to supervise the rookies. True to his custom, he was sharing a spell-binding story with the group of new comers. Luke and Jake glanced back toward me with a silent snicker then jumped out to join the other boys. I knew it. Jimmy was scheming-conjuring up his special brand of tomfoolery.

Avoiding my gaze, he waxed eloquently as I paddled our raft into the still waters. “You boys need to keep a careful look out for the mountain men in these parts. They hide up there in the hills.”

Jimmy pointed slowly to the mountains with a serious expression. He timed every pause perfectly, and the inflection in his voice created suspense.

“Two years ago we were takin’ a break just like you’re doin’ now. One of the boys wandered off into the woods. We yelled and whistled for him … no answer. I searched high and low for that young man, but we never found him. But … I did stumble across a couple of those weird mountain men.”

I bit my tongue and tried to look away from the storyteller. Jimmy continued, “Those men were sadistic, dirty, toothless, stinky and I knew they were lyin’ to me. One of ‘em held a rifle, and the other carried a banjo … was wearin’ the missin’ kid’s hat. I very carefully eased off back into the woods and then ran as fast I could back to the raft. I never looked back. Gunshots sounded behind me, but I blazed a new trail that day.”

The boys peered at Jimmy with mouths open and eyes alert. The hook was set.

“You know boys, I don’t want to scare anybody, but they say that sometimes when you listen real hard you can still hear that boy yellin’ for help … I’m serious.”

He jumped down from the rock and looked sharply up the ridge. “What was that? Did you hear that? Is someone movin’ up there? Wait a minute … I see someone movin’ up there behind a tree.” Jimmy held the most genuine expression and pointed to a large oak tree. As if on cue, Luke started making banjo music with his mouth. A few of the dads doubled over with laughter, unable to hold it back any longer. Jake followed up with a long string of squealing sounds.

The younger boys began staring at their dad’s, confused. “What’s so funny? Was that just a joke or something?” One kid asked with a scornful, yet relieved look. When Jimmy finally calmed down from a laughing fit, he addressed the youth. “You mean you’ve never seen the movie Deliverance? You know, with Burt Reynolds?”

“What’s Deliverance, and who in the world is Burt Reynolds?” The kid sounded back with a dunce expression and a shrug. That created another laughing spell, and Jimmy roared so hard that his side began to hurt. The storytelling deacon had once again completed his mission. The hilarious moment tapered, and Jimmy along with his boys and their guide pushed off to tackle Five Falls.

We all watched nervously as their raft moved through the roaring obstacle course. Their guide was good, and he made it seem so easy from our vantage point. A piece of cake. They made it through the rapids with no trouble whatsoever. If Jimmy White could get through it, I knew I could as well. I stared over to Dave who swallowed hard and tried not to pierce my gaze. Finally, it was our turn. We each took a deep breath and paddled steadily to the first rapid.

“You ready for this?” I smiled at Luke and he nodded affirming with an excited grin. The raft crept along much the same way a roller coaster would do just as it was about to crest the peak. Each person sat poised, ready for my direction, counting on my experience to get us through.

My heart began pounding as I yelled calculated orders to the other six paddlers. Committed to the current’s strong will, we entered the Entrance Rapid okay, but something felt wrong. A terrible, unexpected dread seized me, and Dave’s previous concerns suddenly flooded my thoughts.

With the water level so high, I lost my bearings; the river upset my ability to think clearly. The raft stole my control and turned it over to the river. With no warning, the woods began to spin around us. Rocks swung into us, punching us like a skilled boxer; we were almost down for the count. Entering the Corkscrew, Murphy and his band of gremlins showed up. The raft spun uncontrollably and suddenly was upside down, spilling us all into the bubbling white torrent.

“Dave! … Dave!” I yelled as the cold waters pulled me under. Silence. Darkness. My body tumbled in a deathly whirlpool.

“Clark! … Clark! Grab hold. Clark! … Cla-” Silence again. The blurring surroundings held me captive, and I struggled to move my body toward the vague light. The walls of water were like the walls of a coffin. I felt doomed. Just then, my feet found a solid surface, and I sprang away with all my might.

Breaking the water’s surface, I reached again for Dave’s paddle. It slipped through my fingers as the river dragged me back down. This cycle went on two or three times.

Exhausted. Desperate. Enlightened. A sudden idea calmed my panic. Contrary to my natural tendencies, I dove deeper and escaped the hydraulic trap. The prior training and prior experience had paid off. A few seconds later, I popped up to the surface and managed to swim to the bank. I sat there, panting and coughing. We all watched as our raft was washed downstream. Then … real panic hit. My heart turned ice cold, realizing that Luke was no where in sight.

“Guys! Where’s Luke? Does anyone see Luke?” Their whole focus had been on saving me as I fought the river. We frantically searched the waters, trying to locate my sixteen year old son. “Dave! Hurry! We’ve got to get down stream-”got to find him. Maybe one of the kayakers spotted him and grabbed him.”

“Take it easy, Clark. I bet he’s down the river a ways just resting and waiting for us to pick him up.”

“I hope you’re right.” Of course, he wanted to encourage me, but there was no way he could hide the doubt embedded in his eyes.

Dave and I scrambled down the bank until we came to a group of kayakers who were holding our raft. One of the men told us they had spotted someone being swept away through Crack-in-the-Rock. A couple of kayakers chased after him. We leaped into the raft and paddled all the way to Dead Man’s Pool. At the pool’s edge, I noticed something familiar. A paddle. A helmet. Luke’s paddle. Luke’s helmet. A kayaker retrieved them and handed them over. The other men present just shook their heads and shrugged there shoulders. No sign.

We followed the river for half mile until it spilled into Lake Tugaloo’s calm waters. “He’s got to be here somewhere Dave. He had to make it this far- surely.”

“We got several people looking for him, Clark. Jimmy’s up there ahead of us somewhere. Don’t worry; we’ll find him.” The sun was making its way closer to the west, and we continued to paddle, following the edge of the still lake. I noticed that Dave had stopped paddling.

“What’s that?” Dave pointed in the distance. A hundred yards down along the lake’s bank, we spied a huddle of men. It was an unusual sight.

“Not good. That’s not good,” I nervously rattled off and began plowing the paddle into the water.

We drew closer, and I noticed someone lying flat on the ground. One man hovered over the body doing chest compressions. Several others were kneeling, and one man was talking into a radio. Jimmy White stood on the bank, staring at me with a downcast face. Suddenly, a terrible fear seized me. This ominous gathering of men could relay only one meaning. It was Luke.

“No! … No! … Luke! … Oh, dear God, not my son! … Not my son!” I leaped from the raft, throwing my helmet and life jacket aside. Frantically, I dashed to my teenage son’s side and began to weep. My chest felt like it was in a vise, and I couldn’t breathe. Taking his hand, I stared at him in horror and disbelief. His skin was deathly blue, and his body lay lifeless in the sand. The exhausted kayaker continued for several minutes, attempting to bring Luke back to life, but he was gone. No more.

I grabbed my son close to my bosom, crying incessantly. My friend Dave tried to console me, but all to no avail. Nothing and no one could calm my soul at that moment. For an hour, I wept like I’d never wept in my life. The flowing stream of tears seemed infinite. My life force was slowly being drained away.

Memories suddenly flashed through my mind. He lay there crying in his crib at the hospital. Then followed an endless series of firsts. I saw his first steps, his first birthday, his first fish, his first hunt, his first car. On and on, those cherished mental pictures saturated my thoughts. Suddenly, a man in uniform wearing a stethoscope interrupted my trance. The medics had arrived to take my son away, and so we began that awful despair filled trip back home.

Empty. Confused. Devastated. That day a darkness and hopelessness fell over my soul and struck my faith a severe blow. From that point forward, my life would never be the same. How I wished I could have paddled back in time and prevented that moment from ever happening. The Angel of Death visited us that day.

A formless mist appeared above the lake’s surface as the sun’s departing rays ended the day on a cruel note. With glassy eyes, I stared blankly into the growing gloom.

Where was God? Why would He allow my son to be taken from me that way, unexpectedly, before his time? Luke had so much potential, so much promise. A young man destined for great things. The invested time and memories with my precious son seemed futile now. Cut short. From that day forward my life would change course. Life itself would become like that river-full of unpredictable rage, unforgiving, merciless.
Copyright 2010 Stephen Johnson. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

Ginny echoed that interpretation.”The reality is that he found you so lovely, Lisa, that he envied you. He went beyond desiring you; he desired to become you.”  Ginny looked at Lisa to see if her words had been consoling and was rewarded with Lisa’s warm smile.

Lisa got out of her chair, moved over to Ginny, and embraced her. “It’s not only Jasmine who thanks you. I’m grateful to you as well for what you have taught me about myself.”

“Careful there,” said Jasmine, “you may be friends, but that’s all.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, Jasmine, Ginny is definitely not my type, but then neither are you any longer.” Jasmine flinched and Lisa reacted to it. “Oh, does it hurt?”

“It feels like I put it in a pencil sharpener. . .  Now, why had I never thought of that?” He grimaced. “How it can hurt when I no longer have it is beyond me, but the doctor said that is good. He said I’m going to want that part of me to have all the feeling it’s capable of having. It’s only that it’s now been relocated. It’s no longer where it has been, but it’s now in an even more intimate part of me than ever before. He promised that day by day the pain would subside. Eventually it will reward me with the sensations I want it to have. It will have those sensations my lovely Ginny can help me to have.”

The conversation between Jasmine and Ginny was making Lisa a trifle uncomfortable. “Have you had any other visitors,” asked Lisa,”from the American School?”

“No, they don’t know me as Jasmine. They knew only a kind of weird Jasper. When I return I’ll be a new math teacher, Miss Jasmine. The superintendent, Freddy Fox, knows what I’ve done, and I expect he’ll stop by. He’s told me my job will be waiting. He’s already indicated that he’s let it be known that Jasper has been called home because of some emergency.”

Read more about The Goats from the Sheep and David Danielson HERE.

Copyright 2010 David Danielson. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

By the time the branches of the old elm trees lining the midtown streets of Sacramento had leafed out with a fresh cloak of green, Josh was nearly overwhelmed by his wretchedness. It was then he thought about an escape to the mountains, to the places where he and Becky once found contentment in the good years of their marriage.

He began to frequent the stores that specialized in light weight camping and hiking equipment. Summer was nearly at hand.

Read more about The Mountain of Seven Gables and Earl Rogers HERE.

Copyright 2010 Earl Rogers. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

The years since I had last done aerobatics began slipping away, just as the ground had slipped away during our climb. I grew younger deep down, right into my bones. My soul became lighter. Soon, I was laughing with the sheer joyful freedom only this type of flying can provide. The planet, which hung above the canopy at that moment as if it were some fantastic chapel-ceiling mural, had been given a new/old perspective. The world was suddenly a place filled with happiness, challenge and adventure.

My mind began replaying events from my flying history.

Aerobatics in formation, breaking out of the cloud tops into the dazzling brilliance of crystal sunlight, my first loop, the initial flight in the airplane I built, my first solo flight, all these images paraded across the pallet of my memory. It felt as though a former life had suddenly surfaced and spilled its wonder into the present. I was so
completely immersed in the emotion of the moment that it took me a while to realize Alex had been hooting in shared glee.

“Let’s go home,” he suggested. When I checked the clock, it said we had been airborne for almost an hour. It seemed much shorter, but the fuel gauges confirmed that it was indeed necessary to make our way back for landing. I set up a shallow descent and turned to the heading that Alex provided. The throttle and prop controls moved to their cruise positions as he manipulated them from the rear seat.

The air maintained its silky smoothness until we reached eighteen hundred feet above ground where we punched through some strange turbulence. It felt as though we had driven a car over some tight “washboard bumps,” then it smoothed out just as abruptly. Once more, we were running clean and steady.

“What the hell was that?” I demanded.

“I’ve got it,” Alex answered, taking control. He swung us back into the disturbed airflow while he elaborated. “I think it was some turbulence off, a, helo. Probably an E-H if it’s out this far. Now if I can just, find, its, trail.

“E-H?”

“Enforcement Helicopter.”

I watched, fascinated, as he punched through the wake several times in the next couple of minutes. We gradually spent longer and longer in the helicopter’s burbled air until Alex roughly matched the course it had flown. It reminded me of a predator stalking prey. A shark scenting a blood trail.

But a nagging uneasiness gnawed at the back of my thoughts

Read more about Songs of the Archaeopteryx and Keoki Gray HERE.

Copyright 2009 Keoki Gray. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

“Where’s the whores?” an angry voice, hollered, ricocheting off the steep canyon walls.

Minds stirring, the men’s labors stopped. “I know she killed Andy,” a voice drawled, “but she’s awful handsome.”

Arguments ensued: “Hang her,” a testy voice shouted. “She killed our friends.”

“She’s too handsome to hang!” a miner said as he stared at her stilled body.

“Ain’t we forgettin’ somethin’?” A deep voice heightened as a miner said, “It was a fair fight. You ain’t got no cause to hang her.”

“Yep,” another miner said, “She’s too purty to hang.

A gleam in one miner’s eyes grew. He grinned and said, I reckon she’s the marrying sort.” His hands fidgeted with gold weighing his pockets down.

“You have to pay,” James loudly announced.

“What fer?” miners shouted, their anticipation growing.

“Is she alive?” an anxious man asked.

“How much does it cost if she’s dead?” a crusty old-timer asked, surveying Kitty’s still form.

The men watched as James dragged Kitty toward a nearby stream and then submerged her mud-laden body carefully into the slow-moving water.

The men stared with lust in their eyes as mud disappeared, exposing Kitty’s natural attributes.

“Huh?” Kitty came instantly awake. “Get off of me!” she hissed, her brain still foggy.

Everybody stepped back, their eyes widening. A deep silence set in as leering grins formed on each face.

The cold water teased her, offering instant relief, reminding Kitty of simple pleasures. Goose bumps formed on her skin as shivers shot up and down her bony spine.

With deep… long… sighs…Kitty willingly disrobed.

James’ eyes darted from her to the gaping men, who seemed lost in her beauty. His eyes, too, settled on Kitty’s lovely body.

Refreshed and comfortable and with her eyes half opened, Kitty lightly said, “Thank you.” Then she offered James a tiny smile.

With his heart pounding, his thoughts changed. Slowly he asked, “Ma’am, have you ever been to San Francisco?”

Kitty, filling with anger, screamed, “Turn away! Where are your manners! I thought you were a gentleman.”

Holding tight to her exposed breasts, she jumped from the water. “Get away!” she screamed. “You’re just like the rest.”

Men eased back, keeping their distance.

“I’m not a whore!” she insisted, grabbing her soaked clothes and quickly dressing. With her heart racing, her hands fumbled for her hidden gun. “Back off!”

“You heard the lady. Back off!” James eased the triggers on both barrels of his shotgun. “You can’t have her!” he shouted. Lifting the rifle, he challenged any man to touch her.

Kitty enjoyed the protection.

“You men need to get!” he said again. “Take that gold dust with you.”

Ugly murmurs grew. Men, heads shaking, stepped away.

His eyes steady on the men, protecting her in a way James never thought possible, he said, “Ma’am, you’ll like my soft bed.”

Kitty’s heart raced. Fatigued, but grateful, she threw a glance and a warm smile at James saying, “I’m grateful for your hospitability and I’d love to marry you.”

James studied his surroundings. ”Can you cook?” he questioned.

“Kitty placed one hand at her waist and calmly said, “Of course.”

James nodded. “I got beans and bacon. Can you cook that?”

“Why…” Kitty’s heart leaped as she studied James’s fancy clothes and soft hands. “When was the last time you had biscuits?”

James’ voice softened as he said, “Back in San Francisco last spring.”

“You’ve been there?” Kitty’s eyes suddenly filled with emotion, “Is it as pretty as I’ve heard?”

James studied her petite figure, nodding. “Rooms have spring beds, and there are more cars than horses on the streets.”

“I ain’t…I’ve never seen a car,” Kitty corrected her words, eyes swollen with wonder.
“You are the prettiest picture I’ve ever seen.”

Read more about Bodie or Bust and Debbie Madison HERE.

Copyright 2008 Debbie Madison. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

INITIATION DAY
1

“Kick him in the junk, kick him in the junk,” a young freckled boy around the age of ten coached excitedly.  He did not care that his books fell as the two brawlers backed into him.  Other children cheered as the two boys wrestled.

There was not much to watch, at least to Penelope.  Her friend was much smaller than the other and looked scared to death.  Was it one or two minutes that passed as he tried to scurry away?  She could not tell.  She begged to get kids to break it up but no one would.  To the others, there was nothing cooler than a pair of kids duking it out on the playground.

From out of nowhere a scrawny kid about the same age charged foot first at the bigger boy. It caught the boy by surprise and allowed the thinner kid, Timmy, a chance to escape.

Penelope hurried to her friend and attempted to stop his bleeding lip with her light blue dress.  She did not know where the teachers were and hoped that the wheezing that sounded in her friend’s breath was not a sign of a broken rib.

The bigger kid got up and shook the look of shock off of his face.  “Somebody’s gonna pay,” he insisted with fists in a ball and not much sweat on his brows.

The laughter of children filled the air as they realized who the “hero” was: Kane.  Kane always tried to stop fights and defend the innocent.  Penelope was the only one other than her friend who was glad that it stopped.

The heavy set kid laughed as he realized his enemy’s rescuer was the scrawny kid that always failed miserably to protect others, the kid who had no other redeeming quality.  “Well, look who is here to save the day, Kane the Turd Pain.

“So, Weenie Boy, you think you can take me on?  You can’t fight your way out of a wet paper sack.”

Kane was used to the insults.  In fact, he was used to always getting brutally trashed by everyone he tried to fight.  It never stopped him though.  He could never let someone be hurt if he was around, mostly because no one ever tried to protect him.  Hopefully, he could change that someday although his life never hinted to such a possibility.

“I’m not scared of you, Brian,” Kane said with dorky conviction.  His uncombed bangs got in his face a lot and he had to push them away several times to get a better look at his adversary.

“I don’t know if I can flatten a pancake any flatter, but I’ll try,” the bully said and charged.

Surprisingly, Kane moved out of the way to avoid a head on straight punch.  After a dozen or more fights Kane learned that body punches were not much good so he took what little might he had and slammed a fist hard at the back of Brian’s head.  It caught Brian well but the cracking in his frail hand sounded dangerous.

Brian let out a brief “ow” and rubbed the back of his head as he spun around.  Kane was excited although the pain in his hand was immense.  Sadly, his excitement drained when Brian laughed and punched Kane hard in the face, busting his nose open.  He then pinned Kane by sitting on him and started to punch the sides of Kane’s head.  Luckily, Kane switched his arms and hands from side to side to catch most of the blows.  Only four connected to his head before the new principal of the school scooped up the larger boy to put an end to the punch festival.

“Break this up right now,” Principal Kinner demanded.  He looked down at Kane and noticed the blood from his nose, the immediate clusters of black and blue along his wrists and forearms, and what looked to be a dislocated right thumb.

The kids on the playground started to walk away giggling about another one of Kane’s famous failed attempts at breaking up a fight.  Like every other time they would talk for days about the abuse Kane took and how feeble he was.  That would follow with jokes and put downs about how poor he looked, how ugly he was and how uneducated he seemed to be.  Then, they would wonder why Kane only changed his nothingness ways when someone else was getting beat up.

“What is wrong with you?” the principal yelled at the large boy.  “Look at that boy!  You could have killed him.”  The statement was not entirely exaggerated.

Brian put his head down even though he had a smile on his face.  “It ain’t my fault he’s a scrawny weakling.”

Kinner wanted badly to slap Brian across his chubby face.  He could not stand the injustice of bullies picking on weaklings.  He was mature enough not to get physical with Brian but still thought of how satisfying a good punch in his mouth would be.

Feet from the area where Kane was mauled the boys gym teacher stood with hands behind his back.  He was another one that enjoyed school fights.  Kinner saw him and shoved a disgusted look in his direction.  With a voice of unapproval he told the gym teacher to take the bully to his office.

As the gym teacher took Brian to Principal Kinner’s office he thought about Kane.  The boy never said much, walked like he had no purpose, and looked as if carrying his books would kill him.  On the rare days that the special education students would play in the gym he observed Kane as barely being able to dribble a basketball.  No matter what Kane did in the gym he only had the attention to do it for a couple of minutes.  After that he would get winded and sit the rest of the time.  It was sad to him but finding out why Kane was that way was not worth his life.

Kane moaned and found the strength to sit up.  It was the first time that school year that he went out at recess.  That was only because his homeroom teacher’s assistant used a cleaner that made his chest wheeze.  Every other time during recess he would rest his head on a desk and zone out.

Once Penelope had her friend on his feet they walked over to Kane.  The boy did not really know Kane, only the jokes that people made about him.  He would never talk to Kane again in his life but at that moment in time he was genuinely thankful.

“Thanks for saving me,” Timmy said to Kane and helped him to his feet.

Kane was in too much pain to talk so he nodded as best as he could.  Of all seven hundred and forty three kids in the school Penelope was the only one who talked to Kane.  She considered Kane a friend although the only contact they had with each other was art class.  Even those who Kane jumped in to help did barely more than walk away.

“It’s not his fault,” Penelope explained to the principal as her teary eyes looked into his deep, blue ones.  “Brian was picking on Timmy and Timmy called him a fatty so Brian grabbed him and started fighting him.”

“Okay Penelope,” Kinner believed, “I’ll take care of Brian Sherwell.  I’ll help Kane to the Nurse’s office if you’ll help Timmy.  It looks like he has a nasty cut too.”

On their slow trek to the School Nurse, Kinner recalled a similar event from his previous principal job in Charlotte, North Carolina.  He had pulled off an amazing feat of gaining the respect and friendship of the middle school students there.  When occasional fights would break out he would separate them and discuss the reasons it happened with them.  If a kid still had a problem he allowed the kid to punch him in the stomach or spend a few minutes on a punching bag in the gym.  Though only one had decided to use his stomach the sheer gesture made him cool to the kids.

“Not below the belt,” Kinner would warn and get his stomach ready.  Although no muscles showed through his stomach not much fat layered over it.  It was evident when he would lift his shirt up to punch his own stomach to show the kids that he could take a punch.  In fact, his nickname was Not Below the Belt.

Kinner also had an infatuation with high school basketball.  He would actively offer support and help out with the coach so that his students could achieve the best possible chance to go on through high school.  Often times his son, who was in elementary school at that time, would be allowed to play with the middle schoolers due to his height which was obviously a gene passed from his mother, being a decent basketball player herself.

His thoughts temporarily turned to his life before his job at this school.  The divorce was final, his bank account was back to zero, and having no children or family meant that he had to be alone finally.  It made him scared to a degree but he would deal with it.  Whenever he could get rid of enough hurt he would try to find another woman, hopefully without a son.

Why did things have to happen that way? Kinner thought.  One simple mistake, one that other parents have made, caused his life to shift.  For being such a great person with kids of all ages he should have been able to prevent that disastrous, life altering day with his son.

Kinner’s thoughts quickly turned to the condition of Kane.  Kane had a “broken” look to him.  What was the deal with his health, his family life, his school work, his parents, even his sleep patterns?  A genuine sympathy for Kane swept over him.

The damaged crew finally made it to the School Nurse.  At first he stared at her long, smooth legs that disappeared underneath her black skirt.  The button down white top she wore looked brand new and it reminded him of a model he had seen not too long ago in a Playboy magazine.  They had chatted only twice and the conversations were very light.  Beauty intimidated him slightly so he had not talked to her much.  Besides, the way she carried herself made him think that he was out of her league.  Plus, she looked much younger than he was.  Since their eyes met it reminded him of his ex-wife and it caused him to stare but not pursue.

After the school nurse took care of Kane’s wounds she let him rest and sent Penelope and Timmy back to their classes.  It wasn’t the first time she had to tend to Kane’s wounds and was sure it wouldn’t be the last.  In all honesty, she did not know how he came out of every severe fight with such an image of inner strength.  It was contradictory to his regular condition.

“Anita,” Kinner called as Kane slouched in a cozy sofa.  He motioned for her to follow him out into the hallway so that Kane could not hear.  “That boy took quite a beating.  I’m concerned.”

“Oh, don’t worry about Kane,” Anita said as she wiped her glasses with a handkerchief, “no matter the amount of pain inflicted on him, he pulls out of it every time.”

“So you’ve done this before with him?”

“More than I can count, Mr. Kinner,” she answered and observed his semi-narrow chin that jutted out for a second.

Kinner looked puzzled.  After twisting his mouth in thought he said, “I want to know more about this kid.  He doesn’t look like he’s in good shape at all.  It’s like he’s malnutritioned.  And dirty.  What do you know about his parents?”

Anita quieted her voice and looked around as if it was dangerous to speak about him loudly.  Her pulse quickened slightly and visible sweat dripped sparsely along the bangs of her long, dark hair.  “I don’t know his parents at all.  He is in bad shape.  I don’t know if he is abused or not.  He definitely is malnutritioned, he bruises easily, he has barely enough strength to lift his own school books and he doesn’t ever have lunch.”

Kinner’s mouth dropped open.  “How is that possible?  How can someone do that to their kid?  Has anyone done anything about it?  Has anyone investigated or talked to his parents?”

Kinner’s quick tempered reaction startled Anita.  She hesitated to say anything and looked around again to make sure no one was around to listen.  She had heard all sound leave the hall and a feeling of emptiness exploded all around them.  In an almost whisper she said, “I don’t think you wanna go snoopin’ around, Mr. Kinner.  Everyone who has pried into Kane’s life has come back scared speechless for days or wound up dead.”

Kinner looked puzzled.  The thought of Kane’s family being aliens crossed his mind.

Anita paused, looked around once again and shivered twice before she spoke.  “Everyone stopped talking about him.  At first, those who did became, I don’t know, brain washed or something.  If anyone does talk about him it is brief and very quiet.  You know the Music teacher and the Janitor?”

Kinner never met the music teacher.  He did think that the Janitor acted strange, as if his mind was not all there.  He had thought that it was simply drugs.

“They are the only two left alive who talked about it and tried to do something about it.  In fact, only Janice and I talk about it now and it is always in the open and quiet, and very brief.  Even briefer than our conversation.”  She shivered again and her voice began to crack as if the water in her body was about to dry up.

“Do you know the real reason you replaced the old Principal?” she allowed herself to ask.  “He investigated Kane’s family.  He went insane and tried to kill himself.  He failed and stayed in the hospital for three days before he died.  They say that every night he would scream until his voice gave out.  The screams were so loud that often times it would scare other patients.  The poor man was observed acting out what was happening to him in his nightmares.  The cameras got his antics on tape.  It was as if something was in the room with him, torturing his soul.  But nothing appeared on the tapes.  The way his body moved could not be done without someone else in there.  The doctors had to use tranquilizers on him.  On the third day he was found with his eyes opened, his mouth stretched unnaturally, and his body dried up like a raisin.”

Kinner had a hard time believing it.  He was told that the other principal accepted a better job in Rhode Island.  He even joked about it since he could not recall anything cool about Rhode Island.  It was like one of the Dakota’s.

“Ms. Baker,” Kinner said politely, not realizing his voice was quiet also, “that’s far fetched.  I am going to talk to Kane about this.”

“Oh, please, don’t,” Anita pleaded sincerely.  “I put myself in danger by telling you about it.  I simply wanted you to know these things so you will not wind up like everyone else who was too curious about Kane.”

Kinner smiled.  “I’m a pretty tough guy.  I’ll take my chances.”

Anita looked heartbroken.  She thought that she was talking to a dead man.  “Mr. Kinner, I tried to warn you.  Please do be careful.”  Her voice had finally all but given out.  The change in her voice, posture, and look of cleanliness had diminished greatly from what they were at the start of their conversation.

“I’ll be careful Ms. Baker,” Kinner assured.  He was momentarily freaked out due to her contrast in appearance.  He did not recall her loosen her shirt, play with her hair, or run a race to cause that much sweat.  “Trust me.  I’ll see to Kane now.”

Anita sighed and turned to walk away.  She shrieked when she saw a water bug.  Being the chivalrous guy that he was, Kinner squashed the bug under his mighty dress shoe as if it were an example of how he could handle whatever situation Kane might bring to him.  Anita made an ugly face at the sight of the guts that piled from the bug and walked away.

Kinner noticed the bug crawl in desperation to the crack under the border.  Instead of finishing it off he allowed it to crawl away and die in misery, much like he hoped Kane’s parents would do if they were the horrible people he had pegged them to be.

When Kinner walked into the room he noticed that Kane’s nose had stopped bleeding and he had better movement with his arms.  The fact that Kane was stretching and yawning was proof.

“So Kane,” Kinner called with a smile as he sat next to him, “that was quite a beating you took.  How are you feeling?”

Kane blinked rapidly as he tried to fight tiredness that slipped under his radar.  “I’m feeling better.”

“Good, good,” Kinner nodded.  “You know, jumping into a fight isn’t always the smart way to be a hero.”

Kane nodded his head in a fashion that led Kinner to believe he had been told that before.  In fact, everyone told him that he was no hero of any sort.  He wondered how that could possibly be true since he did, in fact, stop others from getting beat up.

“I will say that it was noble of you, to save someone who you don’t even know,” Kinner smiled.  “Does heroics run in your family?”

Uncomfortable silence fell.  Kinner shifted twice and wondered if Kane would answer him.  He thought about what Anita had told him.  Did Kane automatically shut down when anything about his family was mentioned?  Finding out more about Kane would be harder than he thought.

Suddenly, a look of unquestionable sadness came over Kane’s face.  Kinner got the impression that Kane thought about his question for a while instead of ignoring it.

“Actually,” Kane said, “it doesn’t.  That’s why I do it.”

Kane’s voice gave the impression that he was constantly depressed and there was a detection of severe dehydration in his scratchy voice.   When Kane spoke he seemed to stutter a bit which led Kinner to believe that Kane could not speak the words in his mind quick enough.

Due to Kane’s simple answer Kinner had deduced quite a bit of speculative information.  Kane’s dad and mother didn’t seem to be protective on any level.  It also seemed that Kane did not want to be like them in any way.  Since Kane put himself in danger to help a stranger out it proved that he also cared about another’s well being.

Unexpectedly, Kane smiled at his principal.  “I want to go back to class now,” he said with a slight bit of cheer to his voice.  He was proud that he did what he did and that someone finally saw it his way.  As out of the ordinary as it seemed, Kane might finally have a second friend in his life.

“If you’d like to talk some more I can keep you away from boring ol’ homework all day,” Kinner offered with a friendly smile back.

Kane kept some of his smile and looked down at his feet.  “I ain’t too smart as it is, sir.  I’d like to be like the other kids.”

Another wave of deep sympathy for the boy came over Kinner.  It was clear to him that Kane needed a friend, a father figure, and a break.  He had high hopes that he could give it to him.

“Besides,” Kane added, “I don’t want you to get hurt too.”

Kinner looked puzzled.  “What do you mean?”

Kane ignored his question.  “Can I please go back to class?”

Kinner frowned for a second and nodded his head slowly.  “You may, Kane.”

Kane got up and headed for the door.

“I would just like to say,” Kinner suggested, “if you ever wanna talk about anything, want help in your schoolwork, or even how to avoid some punches, come to me anytime.”

Kane grabbed the door knob, turned his head with a hint of a smile and said, “Thanks.”

Kinner watched Kane exit the room and sighed.  It was clear what his next order of business would be: use the restroom.  Then, he would give Brian’s parents a call and conclude the afternoon by seeing what he could uncover about Kane, legally.

2

Art class was the only class that Penelope and Kane shared.  They shared art supplies that the teacher, Mr. Adams, gave to them.  At first, the only reason she would talk to Kane was because they had to sit next to each other and share the big table.  She had always known that Kane was labeled a loser but after actually talking to him he didn’t seem like much of a loser at all.  In fact, she admired his determination and let him know straight up that she would not make fun of him like everyone else.  She even lost a brother when she was nine years old and had a trace of hope that maybe Kane could fill that position.

Kane enjoyed her company.  He knew that she was poor as well and had a slight dirty look to her.  It might simply have been because of how red her hair was.  Most days she wore pigtails and even though some kids said that sponges were scared of her Kane thought nothing of it.  She always wore dresses and they were either light blue or pink, nothing else.  Although there were only two dresses that she owned she had matching shoes for each.  Kane pointed that out and it actually made her feel better.

Just last Christmas Kane received the first Christmas present of his life that he could remember.  It was a popcorn necklace that Penelope made for him.  In return, Kane painted her blue shoes so they would look brand new.  It worked for the most part.  Sadly, when she asked what happened to his necklace he had to tell her the truth: a rat had eaten it while he slept.  Over a course of a week of waking him up every night, the rat succeeded.  However, he kept the string that it was on and left it in his desk so that it would not be misplaced at home.  (The full truth was that Kane kept it hidden under his mattress.  The one rare time he woke up in the middle of the night he put it on and accidently fell asleep.  A rat did eat it though and left the droppings on his bedding to prove it which was a good thing.  If his dad would have seen something like a necklace of any sort on his neck Kane would pay dearly for it).

The art assignment that the young teacher gave them to do was to draw a typical day in their life and express it with colors.  He wanted them to focus on colors more than the objects.  His idea was to see how they felt about their lives as opposed to what really goes on in them.

Penelope tore off a piece of paper from her sketch pad and slid it to Kane.  “Thank you for saving Timmy today.”

Kane leaned forward and brought the piece of paper the rest of the way to him with very sore fingers.  He straightened it and grabbed the bag of colored pencils.  He looked up at her and said “you’re welcome.”  He then stared at the pencils not knowing what color to pick to start his drawing.

Penelope could tell that Kane was in deep thought.  His nose looked pretty bad and his hands seemed tender when he touched things.  At least he still has all of his teeth, she thought.

Kane looked up at her when she asked him to give her a blue pencil.  He handed her the whole bag and slouched forward.  “I hate these stupid assignments,” he huffed.

Penelope smiled.  “Well, I like them,” she smiled.  “My mom said that when things look unhappy she draws stick people in her diary to help her be happy again.  So, I think Mr. Adams has a good idea.  You are hardly ever happy Kane.  Maybe you should draw like that.”

Kane sighed.  “I just ain’t happy, Penny.  I don’t do anything.  No one likes me and my dad is…”

Penelope looked intently at him.  She knew there was something mean about his dad and hopefully he would finally spill something out about him.

“Only you make me happy,” Kane said instead not realizing it.

Penelope blushed.  She didn’t have a crush on Kane but thought about asking him to go to a school dance with her so she wouldn’t be so bored.  Knowing that little tidbit of information made her ponder a crush.

“Well, maybe you should draw with the colors I remind you of then,” she suggested with a smile.

Kane looked at her funny.  He did not know what she meant.  He had honestly not known he had said that out loud.  For a moment he thought that she had read his mind.  Then, as if a book was slammed shut next to his ears he jumped, receiving startled attention from half the class.

Penelope jumped as well but not near as noticeably.  “What’s wrong?”

Kane did not know.  He actually forgot the entire thought of her making him happy.  “I don’t know.”  His eyes were wide awake.

“You’re acting strange all of a sudden, Kane,” Penelope diagnosed.  She took a light blue pencil from the bag and began to draw a horizon of an afternoon sky.  In the sky she made squiggly lines in stretched, puffy patterns that represented white clouds.  Then she filled in the rest of the sky leaving room for a bright yellow sun.

Even though Kane forgot about realizing that Penelope made him happy he remembered the assignment.  He did not know what to draw and even less what colors he would choose.  He wanted to do the assignment because he wanted to have grades like the other kids.

After five minutes of silence and barely controlled thought Kane found himself staring at Penelope.  In his hand was a pink pencil.  There was no memory of picking it up but he decided to doodle with it.  No more than ten seconds passed before the tip broke.  He sighed and grabbed the first color he could get his hand on which was a light blue pencil; the one Penelope drew her skyline with.  Again, after about ten seconds the tip of it broke off.  Aggravated, he grabbed another one which was a different shade of blue.  For some reason it broke as well.  Within two minutes the tips of all the colored pencils except the one Penelope gripped had broken.

Penelope looked up as Kane let out a word that sounded like a cuss word.  She noticed that all the pencils were unusable.  “What in the world are you doing Kane?”

She looked at his paper and noticed that there was a lot of light blue and pink and then a collage of other colors.  The pink and blue looked like the color of her dresses but the others she was not sure about.

“I don’t know what happened, they just kept breaking,” Kane explained truthfully.  Slight fear came over him not because of the unexplainable breaking of the pencil tips but because his project might be doomed.  He opened a bigger, black bag to find all of his crayons had melted.  It was strange to him because they were in perfect condition when he pulled the small bag of colored pencils out.  The only thing left were regular pencils and black pens.

“I don’t get you sometimes,” Penelope said as she rolled her eyes.  She was done at that time and Kane saw her picture.

“What’d you draw?” Kane asked looking for some inspiration.

She described it to him.  The clear blue sky with a bright yellow sun and two white, puffy clouds transcended over a patch of light green grass where a pink blanket laid.  On the blanket were two brown baskets and a sidewalk led from it to a simple red house.  Standing next to the blanket were her parents and a younger male figure who was her dead brother.  She drew herself on there as well with three arms so she could hold each of their hands.  In the distance was the school with a bunch of heads filled with black.  The heads represented all the mean people at school and was distant because she puts it out of her head as far as she can when she’s at home with her family.

“So what is yours about?” she asked Kane with a weird look on her face.

Kane shrugged his shoulders.  “I don’t know.  I tried doodling to see what came out but they all broke.”

She giggled.  “Well you better hurry; class is over in twenty minutes.”  She picked her paper up and took it to the teacher.

Kane was extremely nervous.  None of the other kids would let him use their stuff and he was too embarrassed to ask the teacher.  A wave of depression hit him.

The second hand on the clock grabbed his attention and passed filling his nerves with daggers each time it ticked.  He did not want to fail another assignment.  Sure, some of the other kids in the class were “special” but he did not have a handicap other than his learning.  But he was the only one failing.  It was art class, for crying out loud, the only class normal and special students attended together.

Ten minutes had passed before he pulled himself from looking at the clock.  Penelope and several others were playing board games and he had nothing.  He did not know what happened to the time.

Then, an idea hit him.  He grabbed some clear tape from his bag and his pad of construction paper, followed by some scissors.  He cut out a thin rectangle from a brown sheet of paper, a thinner rectangle out of white, a small circle out of a piece of light pink paper and taped them to a black piece of construction paper.  He then cut three cloud shapes out of the white paper and taped them onto the black as well.  In the white clouds he took a pen and put the letter Z three times in each.  When he finished he took it to the teacher.

Mr. Adams looked up from his book when Kane put his assignment on his desk.  He greeted Kane with a smile and picked it up.  A strange look came over his face and out of respect he did not laugh.  Instead he asked, “What exactly is it that I’m looking at?  It looks like a boy sleeping in a bed at night.  Am I right?”

Kane nodded and smiled.  “I broke all my colored pencils and my crayons melted so this is what I had to work with.”

Mr. Adams finally laughed a small spurt.  If Kane’s story was true then his assignment was truly clever.  “So, is this you?”

Kane thought that it was a dumb question.  “Yes.”

Mr. Adams nodded.  “What does it represent?”

Kane sighed.  “The only time I don’t feel like a dummy is when I’m asleep.  I don’t remember my dreams but I know that I am safe while I dream.”

Mr. Adams smiled and suddenly felt sick to his stomach.  He quickly put the paper down and tried to hide the ache with a smile.  He was actually impressed with how Kane was able to come up with a backup plan for his dilemma.  However, he felt that he was prying on Kane’s life and didn’t want to end up like the others who asked too many questions.  He didn’t think about that when he gave the assignment.

“What’s wrong?” Kane asked not realizing it either.

“Nothing,” Mr. Adams lied.  “I think your project is the most creative I’ve seen.  I’ll give it an…” He wanted to give him an A but didn’t want any flack to come from it.  Instead he gave it a “C-”

Kane had a happy look come across his face.  It was the highest grade he had ever received in his life.  What made the smile last for a few seconds was the fact that his project was something he thought of suddenly when his pencils broke.  He was forced to do something quick and succeeded with good results.

After those few seconds of smiling a pain started to fill his head and he had to stop.  He turned and went back to his table.  He had to rest his head in his hands and wondered if the pain was from his sore nose.

A minute before the bell rang Penelope went back to the table and asked what his grade was.

“I got a C minus,” he said attempting a smile through his pain.

“Wow,” she chimed in with a smile of her own.  “That’s good for you.  I got an A+.  But what did you draw?”

Kane quickly explained the predicament, how he fixed it and what his project was.  She had slight hope that it involved pink and blue.

“So you really only feel good when you sleep?”  She questioned.  “How do you know that you feel good if you’re asleep?”

Kane leaned back in his chair and put his hands on his pants.  “Actually, I don’t.  I just know that I’m not unhappy.”

Penelope shifted in her chair and looked uncomfortable.  Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something else but stopped.

“What is it?” Kane asked confused.

Quickly, Penelope asked nervously, “Would you want to walk me home today?”  Kane’s comment about her being the only one that made her happy sparked something deeper in her than she knew.  She did not like to not act on things like that.

Kane was shocked.  He didn’t know what to think of it.  His response was slow and came after the sound of the bell.

“I don’t know if I can,” Kane truthfully told.  “I don’t want to get in trouble if I’m not home right after school.”

Penelope sighed.  She predicted the answer but hoped anyway.  “That’s okay, I understand.  I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

She quickly walked away and Kane pondered her request for a few seconds.  He actually wanted to but didn’t want something bad to happen to her for being around him.  He sighed heavily, picked up his bag and waved good-bye to his art teacher.  He walked slowly to his Homeroom for the last class of the day, barely able to keep a grip on his bag due to his sore arms.

3

Principal Kinner returned from his successful restroom visit and took a seat at his desk.  He secured a phone conversation with the bully’s parents that resulted in a course of action that made him happy.  Next, he grabbed a notebook from his second drawer and took his fancy, gold and black pen out of his pen holder next to his matching name plate.  The first order of business was to make an action plan for investigating Kane’s history.

He was able to jot down three notes; talk to Janitor, talk to music teacher, and talk to the Special Ed teacher.  Before he could jot another note there was a knock at his door.  He closed his notebook and leaned back in his chair.

He fixed his black tie and straightened his light blue dress shirt.  His appearance never mattered much to him although he realized that people in the business that he was in took a wardrobe as a sure sign of how a person was.  The stereotype sickened him.  If he had it his way it would be a loose tank top, blue jeans and flip flops, not that his extra few pounds would look good in a tank top.  His ex-wife used to say that he was not overweight and he truly was not.  He was always intimidated by the construction workers he used to work with before his new life as the principal of Pleasure Ridge.  Hopefully, this second principal job would be more forgiving than the last.

“You may enter,” he politely greeted.

A tall, muscular looking man with a light, stone gray business suit opened the door.  Kinner glanced at the man’s white shirt underneath the coat with blue pinstripes and a matching tie.  His black dress shoes made loud noises with each footstep as he approached.

“Mr. Kinner?” the man asked with a deep, intimidating voice as he took off his sunglasses exposing dark brown eyes that were only two shades lighter than his very tanned skin.  He slipped them onto the top of his clean shaven head where a tattoo that looked like an insect was painted.  The big man looked at Kinner with no smile.  “Mill Andrew Kinner?”

Kinner had lost his smile almost entirely but stood up to greet the man with a handshake that was not accepted.  “That’s me.  Mill’s a stupid name though so I go by Andrew or Andy for short.  My parents wanted a girl instead of a boy so they changed the name from Milly to Mill.  I just told you that in case you cared.”

“Mr. Kinner,” the stranger reiterated showing no sign of accepting his hand shake, “My name is Albert Rice, from the Board of Education.  I know that you are new to this school and wanted to welcome you aboard since I was not at the meeting or the interview.”

Kinner looked at his own outstretched hand and wondered, then, why it was not accepted by the burly stranger.  He put it down finally and said “then how do you do that, seeing how you don’t shake hands?”

Albert looked at him with no expression and answered simply, “by saying welcome aboard.”

Kinner laughed.  His first impression of the oversized bastard was not good but now he was sure there was no way to like the man.  “Well let me say thank you by telling you to leave now.”

Again, there was no expression from the steroid infested man.  “Mr. Kinner, our school is a public school.  Our money comes from the number of kids we have, and the number of days they attend.”

“I am aware of that,” Kinner interrupted.  “We have the best attendance record in the state at this school.”

“The school also receives money to help the slower learning kids with passing the annual aptitude test,” Rice continued.

Again the principal interrupted, “Those scores are not bad by any means.”

Mr. Rice sighed at that interruption with slight agitation in his voice.  “We feel that if the scores were lower more money would come into the school to help funding for other projects.”

The new principal of Pleasure Ridge School was appalled to hear that news.  His face turned red and he found it hard to keep from yelling.  “Are you telling me you want these kids to be dumber?  That you want the progress of those who have helped this school be what it is to take a plunge?  All in the name of more money?  We have an excellent facility here!  There is absolutely no reason to need any more money.  Besides, I turned in a budget plan and ideas that would save this school one thousand dollars a year.  One thousand dollars!  Isn’t that enough?  What the hell does this school need that much money for anyway?”

As Kinner said that his pointed finger emphasized the Phone Mate Answering Machine, the Model 400.  When Kinner was first shown the ten pound machine he was stunned.  Not only did the reel-to-reel tape hold twenty messages, it had an earphone that allowed for the retrieval of private messages.  The school recently purchased it.  The machine had only been out for close to a year.  Surely, a secretary would have been a better investment.  No one told him what happened to the old secretary.  He would never know that she had helped the old principal investigate Kane and was dealt with accordingly.

His mind quickly thought of the security system in the school.  The school had an advanced security camera system that had to be expensive since VHS tapes were not known to the general public very well.  More money my ass, he gritted in thought.

Finally, a smile came across the greedy man’s face.  He enjoyed the anger that the principal felt.  It made him feel good.

“Mr. Kinner, you only have fourteen Special Ed students in a school of seven hundred and forty three.  In fact, you have a student by the name of Goodman Kane Arthur who is the lowest scoring child in the nation.”

Kinner’s chest filled heavily, quickly and rapidly.  “You mean Kane Arthur Goodman,” he corrected but it did little to make him feel better.

Albert turned his head slightly with a confused look and simply said “hmm.”

Kinner, still pissed beyond what a normal person could control interpreted, “Are you wanting me to have more of my students achieve those scores?  Mr. Faggot Ass Rice, I intend to bring him up to par with the others, not have others fall to that level!”

Principal Kinner’s newest enemy rotated his shoulders like a weight lifter getting ready to max out a dead lift.  “Mr. Kinner I am not asking you.  I am telling you that it is in everyone’s best interest that young Kane remain the way he is and that the school needs to benefit from the funding that low test scores will bring.  I might go as far as to say that lives may depend on it.”

“Is that a threat?” Kinner spit through closed teeth.  “I would fight to the death then if it came to that.”

The evil Mr. Rice smiled.  “You were a good choice after all, Mill Andrew Kinner.”  He brought his sunglasses to his eyes once again.  Before they were completely in their proper place Kinner could have swore that he saw Rice’s eyes flash red.

“Good day, Mr. Kinner,” Rice said as he exited the office calmly.

Mr. Kinner could not stand in place for long.  He wanted to fight the inconsiderate man no matter what damage he would acquire.  He had never been through something like that before and could not take it lightly.  The deep breaths he took did not control his anger very well.

Barely more than twenty seconds passed before his anger got the best of him and he ran out of the door.  “Hey you bastard,” he screamed loudly.  “You get back here or I’m gonna kick your overstuffed ass!”  He would have cussed more but he did not see the man.  The hall was way too long for him to have gotten to the door that fast.

“Ass meat,” he cussed and ran down the other end and around the corner since it was the only other place Mr. Rice could have gone.  As he rounded it he saw no one.  For the next ten minutes he opened all the doors to all the classes asking if anyone has seen “A dinosaur of a man in an expensive suit.”

No one saw him.

Kinner did well not to alarm anyone.  The only sign that gave a hint to the principal being upset was that he scratched his head through almost non existing hair.  With no luck he returned to his office to call the Board of Education.  Upsettingly, he had to leave a message and a bitter one he left.

When the phone was on its hook he stepped over to his personal water fountain and drank deeply.  He decided to calm his nerves after kicking the air twice in disgust.  It actually hurt his feelings that people existed out there who did not care about the well being of a child and their future.  He decided to punch the wall and gave himself a mighty pain in his hand before he decided to continue his investigation on Kane.  The recent episode fueled his desire to help Kane even more passionately and the music teacher would sing whatever notes he had left to sing in order to help him close the Kane mystery, right after the janitor gave him some answers.

Copyright 2008 Daniel C. Morrison. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

Prologue

24 September 1696

There was no escaping the hurricane’s fury. Disaster struck when the center mast snapped, toppling with a thunderous crash as the doomed ship listed hard to port, exposing its massive keel. The hull’s planking splintered inward from the pounding of the raging seas, flooding the cargo holds, forcing the crew and passengers to scramble from the shelter below into the teeth of the violent storm. Solomon Cresson, a stout member of the crew, was the last to climb the twisting ladder to the deck above. With the Captain of the ship missing and presumed lost, Cresson took charge. He shouted above the gale, ordering all aboard to stay with the ship for as long as there was a structure to grasp. The listing vessel was aground in the shallows, beam to sea, being smashed by fierce waves and buffeted by driving winds as the passengers clung to the fallen rigging, struggling for survival against the rushing flood, and collapsing timbers.
By first light, it was over. Those not drowned or washed to sea were greeted with the spectacular view of a white sandy beach, two hundred yards from their wrecked merchant ship, The Reformation. Twelve souls had been lost. The survivors, battered, bloodied, and exhausted, salvaged what they could from the ship. A single long boat, lashed to the bow, was all that remained of the original four, the last hope to cheat death once more. The crew heaved it overboard and shuttled passengers, bodies and a meager supply of provisions ashore. Cresson made the last trip alone, carefully concealing a wooden crate containing a fortune in gold and gemstones, the property of the shipping company. He had planned the theft long before the ship left port.
Rowing toward shore, with thirty yards of surf to conquer, he stared in horror as a band of Jobe tribesman rushed upon the stranded castaways. As the small boat scraped the sandy bottom, Cresson tossed the box carelessly into the shallows and charged into the center of the skirmish. Knowing they were in Spanish territory, he roared at the attackers, mixing fluent Spanish with intimidating gestures. The ruse worked and the Jobes abandoned the survivors to return to their village. With the reprieve, the crew and passengers prepared for the long night ahead while Cresson secretly retrieved the treasure from the sea. Hidden from the others, he buried the gold behind a dune, which aligned with the broken masthead of the listing ship.
As darkness fell, the warriors, led by their Cacique, returned. Unable to resist, the outnumbered survivors were herded to the tribal village, stripped of all possessions, and held captive. Killing the stranded travelers was not an option for the Indian King, as the Spaniards controlling the area would view such a slaughter as an act of aggression.
For weeks the group was routinely beaten, degraded, and deprived of necessities by their captors. Despite being a prime target of the cruel treatment, Solomon continued his attempts at intimidation, using demanding tones, and threatening antics. Seeing the swaggering Cresson as a potential danger, the King ordered him to leave the group and proceed northward to St. Augustine, where the largest Spanish colony had been established. The remaining captives would be released an agonizing week later. This decree played into Cresson’s hands, allowing him to collect the gold before starting his journey toward the massive fortress, Castillo de San Marcos.
Following torturous weeks of lonely perseverance, Cresson, feverish with infection, and suffering with painfully blistered flesh, finally caught his first glimpse of the Spanish settlement. Emaciated, and pathetically weak, he confronted a new dilemma, realizing that the Spaniards would steal his fortune upon arrival. Pain, hunger, and exposure would be endured for yet another night while he devised a plan to protect the treasure he had labored to carry.
Choosing an area of heavy brush, at the edge of a clearing where three rivers converged, two miles south of the outpost, Cresson made camp. Fear of discovery overwhelmed his need for the warming benefit of a fire. The sacrifice of comfort ultimately saved his life.
Beneath an orange colored midnight moon, nearly one hundred natives from the Timacua tribe assembled at the river’s edge and marched to within yards of Cresson’s hideout. He was startled from his restless sleep by their approach. Quickly and silently, he crawled deeper into the snake-infested thicket, desperately stifling his panicked gasps for breath with one callused hand. From his new vantage point, he could see that the natives were giants, all standing at or near seven feet tall. His pulse quickened and his body trembled, certain that death was imminent when he realized that the fortune he had hefted for so many miles lay partially exposed at the edge of the clearing. Its discovery would surely bring about his end.
Cresson watched as a secret tribal ritual unfolded. Hoisted upon a litter of palm fronds and pine branches was the body of a leader of great importance. With menacing chants, five holes were dug, one in the center of the clearing, and four just beyond. While the fierce looking warriors surrounded the center gravesite, the corpse was gently and reverently lowered into the pit and arranged as if seated. The four given the privilege of carrying the body, silently completed the honorary duty of filling the grave. Cresson could never have anticipated what followed.
The pallbearers, showing no trace of fear or sadness, climbed into the four remaining burial pits, assumed sitting positions, and calmly folded their arms. Once properly situated, the tribal elders proceeded to bury the men alive as the rhythmic chants changed to sorrowful high-pitched wails. Two hours following the start of the eerie ceremony, the Timucuans marched off in a somber procession to waiting canoes and paddled south through the darkness.
Solomon Cresson, using only his bare hands, buried his stolen prize in the freshly dug soils of the gravesite, at the feet of the noble warrior, silently vowing to return one day to retrieve it.

More than three hundred years later……….

1

Southbound Yankee

Jack Rackham spent summers with his grandparents in the ancient haunted city of St Augustine Florida. Through the years, his grandfather shared with him endless stories and legends of pirates, ghosts, and long lost riches. Learning everything possible about treasure hunting was their primary hobby, spending visits together trying to outdo one other with their knowledge and collection of tales and related oddities. Jack thought Pop cheated, by making up wild yarns that couldn’t be traced to history. He never minded. Pop’s tales were always outrageously entertaining.
Pirates and lost treasure were a part of the family’s heritage and had motivated Pop to work through a maze of difficult clues, leading him to his first discovery of a fortune in gold coins and artifacts. The resulting wealth made it possible for Pop to retire and pursue his love of treasure hunting and storytelling full time. Jack benefited from Pop’s good luck, sharing the pleasures of sun, sand, and surf while investigating stories and mysteries that he hoped would someday lead to his own successful search for gold. At the age of nearly sixteen, he had found his passion.

It was the night of June 14th and Jack was flying the red-eye to Jacksonville Florida. His flight would not arrive at JIA until one-thirty-five in the morning. It was late for his grandparents to have to pick him up, but he knew they wouldn’t mind. Chances were he and Pop would sit up until dawn trading outlandish stories anyway.
“Please fasten your seatbelts as we prepare to land.” The long awaited message came over the intercom. “We will be on the ground within ten minutes.”
Jack rummaged through his carry-on and found a black doo rag and eye patch. He would greet his grandparents in style. There was no doubt they would laugh, they laughed all the time. After touchdown, he tied the bandanna in place and slipped on the patch. They went well with the heavy gold hoop in his ear, but he wished he had more than just the light blonde stubble on his chin to make his appearance more authentic. It would be the start of the non-stop teasing that would go on for the next ten weeks. He couldn’t hold back the smile as he exited to the concourse.
“Well, if it ain’t Cap’n Kidd,” said Pop. “Maybe next time you could pick a later flight.”
Nan squeezed her way past to reach her grandson. “At least let him get to the house before you start your nonsense. Jack, you can’t possibly get any bigger or better looking.”
It was true. He was a good-looking kid with bright blue eyes, a perfect smile, and thick blonde hair touching the top of his shoulders. Standing tall at six feet two inches, he had broad shoulders and a well-defined upper body that tapered to a thin waist. It was common for girls to stare and smile.
“Hi Nan. You too old-timer. I half expected to see you with a peg leg by now.”
They hugged tightly before marching off toward the baggage claim. As the doo rag and eye patch were tucked into the carry-on, Pop asked if maybe the earring should join the rest of the costume, earning Pop a quick poke to the ribs and a wink from Nan as he mumbled the suggestion.
“Next year you’ll have your license and I plan on leavin’ a car at the airport so you can drive yourself. I’m gettin’ too old to be keepin’ up with your crazy flight arrangements,” announced Pop. “A man doesn’t stay this good lookin’ for this long without plenty of shut eye.” Pop never passed on the opportunity to offer an exaggerated opinion of himself to his grandson.
The man was in remarkably good shape for his age. Favoring cargo shorts, tee shirts and flip-flops, he carried a deep year-round tan to go with his craggy features, while the ever-present baseball cap, with logos describing tropical locations, helped hide his thinning hair. Pop’s goatee, now pure white, combined with a pair of intense aqua blue eyes, made him appear intimidating despite being a shade less than six feet tall.
Jack laughed at the thought of either of his grandparents admitting to getting old but played along. “No problem you ole geezer, but I want to know ahead of time what kind of car you plan on leaving for me. A new red Jeep would work.”
“After that geezer crack you can bet it’ll be somethin’ real nice, maybe a Ford Pinto with faded paint and mismatched hubcaps. Geezer indeed. I can still run circles around you, and don’t you be forgettin’ it.” Pop was trying not to grin as he worked to gain the advantage. Jack wasn’t fooled by the bark. The smile never left Pop’s eyes.
The ride from the airport took less than an hour. Pop had set the cruise control at eighty-five and they were running with the truckers. “We drive faster down here than the dad gum Yanks from up your way.”
As they passed through the gates to the estate, Jack noticed that all of the lights were burning throughout the house. Pop complained that he didn’t own the electric company but Nan would never leave her home looking dark. It had to appear warm and inviting for her grandson’s arrival. While pulling the Escalade into the garage, Pop groused, to no one in particular, about the bugs splattered on the grill and windshield. He was meticulous about the care of his vehicles.
Nan dismissed the grumbling. “Don’t worry; you’ll have it cleaned before anyone is awake tomorrow.”
“That’s beside the point. Why I let you talk me into buyin’ a black vehicle, I’ll never know,” complained Pop. “Nothin’ but work. You just can’t keep the blasted thing clean.”
As they entered the kitchen, the coffee pot started to brew as if on cue. “Looks like I misjudged the trip by a few minutes. I was wantin’ a fresh cup of high test waitin’ for me when I hit the door. Well, I suspect, my dear Jackson that you’ve managed to make up some tall tales chock full of the usual blarney and I’ll have to listen and pretend to believe ‘em.”  Pop always used Jack’s real name when getting down to business.
“Blarney my eye. I’ve uncovered cold hard facts that will lead me to one of the biggest salvage operations ever seen around these parts. It’ll make your find look like something picked up by a weekend beach walker with a metal detector.”
“That’s great news. When you’re filthy rich, us geezers won’t hafta drive all the way to Jacksonville to pick you up.”
“We weren’t called geezers, you were. Don’t include me,” Nan scolded. “Jack, can I fix you something? I’ve stocked up on all of your favorites.”
Despite the late hour, Nan looked like she was ready for a day out with friends. Her blonde hair, never out of place, helped give her the appearance of someone fifteen years younger. Pop joked that her youthfulness cost him three hundred bucks a month.
“Unless you have some of that datil pepper cornbread sitting around somewhere, I think I’m in good shape.”
“Boy, you know Nan already has that cornbread baked and ready for you to inhale. I’ve been tryin’ to get at it since it came outta the oven but had to wait ‘til your sorry butt got here. You’d think you were the king of this castle ‘stead of me.”
Nan sighed patiently. “Don’t pay him any mind. He’s as spoiled as they come. I’ll get you some Jack, and I guess I’ll get some for the geezer here, along with his coffee.” She kissed Pop lightly on the cheek. “How does that sound sweetheart?”
“Awwww I don’t know. I can’t afford to be puttin’ on any weight. Don’t forget, I’m about due for a peg leg any day now, ‘least accordin’ to old Calico Jack here.”
Jack couldn’t help but laugh at the banter. It was always the same and the winks and nods between his grandparents never stopped. They were like kids, totally devoted to one another. There was much to look forward to, old friends, the beach, the ancient city, and most of all, his very own boat, Bad Latitude.
True to form, Jack and Pop sat up for a few hours catching up on stories and discussing big plans for a couple of offshore fishing trips. The Kingfish were tearing it up just off the coast and the ten-day forecast was borderline fantastic. Pop thought it best to wait until midweek to go after the big one. He knew Jack would want to spend a couple of days looking up friends and spending time surfing off Crescent Beach. The fish would be ready for anything tossed their way. Jack trudged off to the boathouse just before daybreak to get some much-needed sleep. He smiled to himself, wondering if Pop would clean the Escalade before hitting the sack.

The home was situated on the Matanzas River, about a mile north of Crescent Beach. It was set back two hundred yards from the very scenic highway A1A, which separated the property from a thin strip of dunes running along the ocean. Pop had built the Spanish style house with an eye on entertaining and had included immense windows, high ceilings, and large spacious rooms with lots of ceiling fans. Nan had insisted on tile throughout with fancy moldings, window treatments, and finishes. The mix of glass, rattan, leather, and tropical themed paintings made each room unique and comfortably elegant. She was very fussy about her tropicasual look. The wrap around front porch with its thick columns created an inviting appearance. Behind the house was a huge screened porch where Pop’s tiki bar was arranged to give guests a perfect view of sunsets beyond the waterway. A lanai covered the pool, which was surrounded by a series of waterfalls and lush tropical plants.
Pop had added a two-story boathouse and garage off the dock where the toys were kept. There were four hydraulic lifts under roof, used to keep the boats out of the water when not in use.  In the outermost lift, Pop kept his thirty-eight foot Donzi that he had named Laffin’ Gaff. Next to the Donzi was Nan’s favorite, a blue and white custom-built Hurricane deck boat. The family used it to cruise the waterway, tow skiers, and anchor in small coves to swim and cook out on remote beaches. A pair of Jet Skis filled the space next to what Jack thought was the most spectacular boat on the water, Bad Latitude. It was his very own twenty-two foot Cobia center console, rigged with every possible option, including a high performance Yamaha 250 horsepower engine, bright blue T-Top with polished brass rocket launchers and a killer sound system. Pop had insisted that Jack take the Coast Guard boating classes the year before and surprised him with the boat on the very day he had passed the course. Jack’s dad had not been amused by the extravagant gift but Nan had smoothed things over, as usual.
Covered inside the garage was Pop’s pride and joy, a completely restored 1940 Chris-Craft wooden speedboat. Pop had named the boat Deb’s Temper to placate Nan when it became clear that she wasn’t very happy about the purchase. Through the garage, a set of stairs led to a spacious apartment above. Wood floors and rustic walls accented the space that was divided into a TV/game room, bedroom with bunk beds, and a small kitchen. On top of the boathouse, extending beyond the dock was a deck with picnic tables and lounge chairs made of teak wood. The deck was located out of direct view from the house, providing a hideout for Pop, where he would sneak off and puff his cigars, avoiding Nan’s constant reminders of the health hazards of smoking.
It was the boathouse apartment where Jack stayed and hung out with friends. Nan and Pop had accessorized it with a huge flat screen TV, comfortable furnishings, XBox, PlayStation, and plenty of DVDs. Total responsible behavior was the non-negotiable rule for him and his friends to be allowed to use the rooms without strict supervision. This would be Jack’s second summer living in the apartment as if it were his own and he would make sure that everyone behaved so that the privilege would not be lost.

2

Wave Riders

Jack left the house at eleven-fifteen following a huge breakfast and a let’s review the rules chat with his grandparents. Wearing his favorite Billabong trunks, a sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of Reef flip-flops, he hustled out to the dock and hopped aboard a bright yellow Jet Ski. In a matter of minutes he was blasting south through the Matanzas Inlet into the ocean, and hooked a left turn north along the shoreline. At the midway point of his favorite surfing spot, he gently nudged the small watercraft into the shallows and secured it at the edge of the beach.
After vainly scouting the area for friends, Jack pushed the Jet Ski into the surf planning to run a few miles north toward the pier at St Augustine. As he climbed onto the watercraft, he was suddenly grabbed from below the surface, causing him to lose his balance and splash backwards under the waves. He was released just as his hands touched down on the sandy bottom and scrambled to his feet, coughing and sputtering on the salt water.
Jack was startled to find his best friend Kai, leaning casually against the Jet Ski with one arm draped across the seat. Kai carried a smug look as water cascaded down his face.
“You idiot,” laughed Jack. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Yeah right, almost. Were you headin’ somewhere lookin’ for someone like me to pester?”
“I was hoping to avoid your ugly mug for the whole summer. How’ve you been Kai?”
Kai’s parents, former professional surfers, had chosen the unique name leaving him the constant and annoying chore of explaining the pronunciation, which rhymed with sky.
“Things have been good Rackham. Can’t complain any. Nan told me you were ridin’ this way so I waited ‘til you anchored up, so I could hide out and scare the crap outta you. I’m glad to see I haven’t lost my touch, but you always were a wuss.”
“Yeah right, so I’m a wuss. Where’s everybody hanging out?”
“They’re all up at Pelican Point, near my house. You wanna take a run up that way and get this party started?” Kai didn’t wait for an answer and climbed onto the back of the Jet Ski.
“Sounds good to me.”

They jetted through the surf until they reached the St. Augustine inlet, where Jack took a slight detour. Turning into the bay, they cruised alongside the ancient Spanish stronghold known as Castillo de San Marcos. The fortress was built in the 1600s by the Spanish to protect the city’s citizens from attack during the days when Spain controlled Florida. Navigating through the maze of sailboats moored in the calm harbor, Jack noticed a girl with shiny blonde hair walking along the outer seawall of the fort, close to the water’s edge. She was the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes on and he couldn’t help but gawk and smile. Her movements were graceful and carefree. She wore a strapless white outfit that showed off new tan lines, and, as the Jet Ski passed by, she offered a shy smile of her own and a tiny little wave, using only two fingers, acknowledging his attention.
“Look out you moron!” yelled Kai.
Jack faced forward just in time to see that they were on a collision course with a large wooden sailboat. A quick correction and too much throttle almost landed Kai in the bay.
“How ‘bout I drive while you check out the scenery. I’d kinda like to live long enough to graduate. You can’t drive with your head in your rear end.”
“Did you see her?” stuttered Jack, oblivious to Kai’s ranting. “Didja?”
“You mean the blonde walkin’ along the wall? The one watchin’ you makin’ a total fool of yourself? Geez, I guess you’re in love ‘cause she smiled. How do you know she wasn’t smilin’ at me?”
“Why would she smile at a runt like you with those dreads and shabby shorts? You’re even getting a blubber gut to go with that flabby looking chest.”
There was nothing flabby about Kai, but Jack knew which buttons to push when he wanted to irritate. Kai was nearly a half-foot shorter but had a muscular build. Having lived on the island his entire life, his skin was deeply tanned and his dirty blonde, bleach streaked hair was curly enough to be mistaken for dreadlocks from a distance. His green eyes matched the color of the surf.
“I don’t have an ounce of fat on me butthead. Let’s go back and see who she was wavin’ to.”
“Nah, let’s cruise to the point and see who’s around. Like you said, let’s get this party started.”
Jack gunned the Jet Ski along and whizzed past the fort and the moored boats, cutting across the small bay. He was smiling, thinking about the girl walking on top of the wall. His first priority of the summer would be to find out all about her. If he had his way, it wasn’t going to happen with Kai anywhere nearby. Hopefully she wasn’t a tourist getting ready to return home.
Arriving at Vilano, the boys secured the watercraft on the bay side of Pelican Point and walked the short distance to the ocean. It didn’t take long for Jack to be surrounded by a group of his old friends, all making suggestions about the best way to fill the rest of the day. Surfing topped the list and Kai jumped in a jeep with his buddy Caz to run back to the house to grab a couple of boards. Since Kai’s parents owned the biggest surf shop on the island, he always had the latest and most high tech custom boards available. When he returned, Jack borrowed the Ocean Arrow and they kicked out to join the others. The waves were nothing special but the water was a warm eighty-four degrees and the sun was doing its best to burn through five layers of skin.
For three hours, it was like old times. The surf was crowded and there were plenty of decent rides. Between sets, they hung out on the boards, making jokes and busting on one another with good-natured insults.
Grant, a gangly sixteen-year-old, paddled over to the group. Jack was busy describing the girl at the Castillo to his longtime friends, Valerie and Nina. “We’re gonna roll down to Crescent Beach later. You guys are gonna to be there, right?” interrupted a hopeful Grant as he eyed the girls.
Kai spoke up for everyone. “Yeah, ‘round seven o’clock, we’ll be there.”
“I can’t make it until later. I’m going to see if a friend of mine can come,” answered Val.
Nina looked puzzled. “What friend are you talking about?”
“I think Talia might want to party with us, but she already told me she was going to be busy until about nine.”
Jack was curious. “Who’s Talia?”
“Nina, we have to get going or we’re gonna miss our ride,” giggled Val. She paddled away, totally ignoring his question.
Jack shrugged it off. “Kai, these waves are starting to suck. I need to get going anyway so I can get the Jet Ski back. You stopping by the house or are we meeting at the beach?”
“I’ll meet you at the beach. I’m gonna hang for a little longer. Throw the board in Caz’ jeep for me.” Kai was staring in Val’s direction as she stroked her way toward shore.

Jack carried the board to the Jeep and carefully leaned it against the padded roll bar in the back. He walked around to the point, hopped on the Jet Ski, and was on his way down the coast. Thirty minutes later, he docked on the floating platform below the boathouse and climbed the ladder.
After a quick shower, a change of clothes, and a couple of sandwiches, Jack walked down the brick pathway toward the garage. Sago palms, banana trees, and tropical plants of all shapes and colors lined the walk and patio. Nan took great pride in her gardens. They provided plenty of backdrops for her photography hobby. Several of her photos had been published in local and national magazines. Jack recalled a time when she captured a pygmy rattler in a juice container, to get close up shots of its markings and colors. She sent the pictures to one of Jack’s cranky aunts when the aunt was trying to mooch an invitation for a visit. The talk of a visit ended abruptly, much to Nan’s relief.
Pop was in the garage tinkering with his fishing tackle while secretly puffing away on what he would call a collector’s item cigar. Jack didn’t know much about cigars, only that they smelled lousy and Nan complained whenever Pop lit one up.
“What’s up Pop?”
“Just tryin’ to make sure that everything’s ship shape so we’re not out on the water pokin’ ‘round searchin’ for the one rig that might snag this year’s big one pal.”
Jack chuckled. He knew Pop was all talk about the big one. The truth was, Pop wasn’t much of a fisherman, despite the fancy equipment and rigging. His grandfather always enjoyed taking friends and family out, but spent most of his time aboard playing captain and first mate so everyone else would have fun. When teased about his normally bad fishing luck, he would offer a myriad of excuses before grudgingly admitting that it was Nan who had the real knack for the sport.
“Pop, I was studying some stuff about the massacre at the Matanzas Inlet back in1565 and I think there’s a good chance there may be some shipwrecks nearby. The French were trying to get control of St. Augustine and this guy Jean something…”
“Ribault” interrupted Pop. “His name was Jean Ribault and he led six hundred men from France to what was then known as La Florida to reinforce Fort Caroline, up there in Jacksonville, so the Frenchys could take over entire the territory from Spain. He was on a mission to attack St. Augustine when a hurricane wiped out his fleet of ships.”
“Right, and while the French were trying to attack St. Augustine, the Spanish took over Fort Caroline.” Jack was getting warmed up now.
“I don’t want to bust your bubble kid, but those ships were blown way off course and wrecked near Daytona and Cape Canaveral. Besides, I doubt they would have carried anything of value on an attack mission. The inlet only became famous because of the slaughter. The French soldiers that survived the shipwreck, were on foot tryin’ to get back to Ft. Caroline when the Spaniards intercepted them and massacred them there at the inlet. The word Matanzas actually means place of slaughters. Admiral Pedro Menendez de Aviles led the attack. I’m sure you’ve heard that name before.”
“That’s the name of Kai’s high school, Pedro Menendez. Why would they name a school after someone that slaughtered a bunch of people?”
“First of all,” explained Pop patiently, “Menendez was only defending the territory. He was the founder of St. Augustine. The school is named after the founder, not for what happened at the inlet.”
Jack was disappointed. He thought he had picked up a lead on buried treasure and Pop had shot down his theory with some basic history within minutes.
“Jack, it’s like I told you, when treasure hunting, historical clues are studied as part of an entire puzzle. All of the pieces have to fit. Any inaccuracy, even a minor detail, can throw you way off course. You’re not far off the mark though when you suspect that particular area for a stash of loot. Once you had settled in I’d planned on runnin’ an idea past you, to see if you’d be interested in tryin’ your hand at a real search.”
“You kidding me Pop? That’s my all time dream.”
“Well, we’ll have to map it all out and you look like you’ve got somethin’ already planned. Let’s get together in a few days when the dust settles. Now, just so you know, my part in this little escapade is to advise only. You’re gonna to have to track the clues and do the work. I’m also assumin’ you’re gonna need some help, so your friend Kai is probably gonna need to be part of this.”
“As long as that’s okay with you, sure,” answered Jack.
“It’s okay with me or I wouldn’t have suggested it. He’s a good kid, even if he does have weird hair. The most important thing to remember is you gotta keep your mouths shut. Don’t be blabbin’ it all over town or every nerd with a metal detector will be crawlin’ all over the place.”
“This is totally awesome Pop. How long have you been sitting on this?”
“Oh, ‘bout 10 years.”
“Why didn’t you go after it yourself and why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“I’ve already had my fair share of adventure and made plenty of money while I was at it. I was savin’ this ‘til I thought you could handle it. I think you’re ready now. It’s time for you to get into the Rackham treasure huntin’ game. Anyway, you’d better get your butt in gear and get goin’. We’ll talk later, when I’m not so busy putterin’ around.” Pop looked at Jack with a mischievous smile. “Now you know why we live here. I had to keep an eye on your gold.”
“Why can’t we do it now?”
“You’ve got somewhere to go and there’s a lot of stuff that I’ll need to explain.”
“I don’t have to go. It’s just a party on the beach. We do that all summer.”
“Okay, then let’s just say I want the suspense to build.” Pop waved him away and turned back toward the tackle scattered on the bench top, signaling Jack that the conversation was over.
Jack knew better than to pry anymore and left the garage to begin his short walk to the beach. Smiling at the thought of his own chance at a real search for gold, he wondered just how long Pop would make him wait before sharing the clues and details.

He reached the access ramp to the beach and walked south past the condos toward an already blazing fire. There were several Jeeps and jacked up four by four trucks parked along the bottom of the dunes. Jack always joked that his friends’ rides were red necked up because of the oversized tires and loud exhaust systems. As he approached the group, he wondered how long it would take the St John’s County Sheriff’s Department to pay them all a visit. The sheriffs were usually cool, and, with the exception of a few exercise freaks, the kids would have the beach all to themselves.

Read more about BAD LATITUDE – A Jack Rackham Adventure and David Ebright HERE.

Copyright 2008 David Ebright. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

Introduction

The dark haired man looked quizzically at the piece of clear metal on the table. It had all the properties of real steel, except that it was transparent. He had to find out how it was made.
“Seth, where did you get this?” he asked the pale teen who had shown it to him.
“Back home in the market place, Professor. We have all kinds of things made with it.” Even though he was almost 14, and short for his race, Seth stood as tall as the Professor.
Professor Theo picked up the sheet of steel and looked at it from all angles. It was cold like steel, heavy like steel, but transparent. His mind just couldn’t wrap around the idea. “How is it made?”
“I don’t know. It’s made on the island of Tubal,” Seth replied. Then knitting his eyebrows together he added, “It’s a very bad place. I’ve never been there. Maybe my grandmother knows.”
The phone at the other end of the lab started ringing. The Professor reluctantly set the clear piece of metal down and walked over to answer it.
“Marge, it’s good to hear from you; is everything okay?” He listened. “Ben is still having a rough time of it; well, we knew it was going to take time.” He listened, knowing Ben was still dealing with his sister’s death from the previous summer.
“I thought your move to Washington, D.C. was going to help. It didn’t? So, what do you have in mind? Marge, I don’t know what to do with a 13 year old boy here.” The truth was, he would love to have Ben come and stay if it weren’t for the secrecy of his work. “Yes, I know Seth stays near here, but with his grandmother, not me. Fine, he will be 14 before he comes, if he comes”¦..Okay, let me think about it and I will call you back in a couple of days.”
“Was that your sister?”
“Yes, she and her husband were offered a chance to go to Turkey to a new archeological dig, and they want to know if I would take their son, Ben, for the summer. The thing is, I would love to. He’s a good kid, and we could have a lot of fun.” He loved Ben as if he were his own child. The fact that he knew he probably would never marry and have kids of his own, added to his closeness with his nephew. Ben was a great kid, and until his sister’s death last year he had always been easy going and fun to be around.
Seth knew who Ben was through letters and IM (Instant Messaging). The Professor had introduced the “˜pen pal’ idea to the boys last Christmas. Since Seth was staying with his grandmother, which was far from his own home, the Professor thought he might like communicating with someone his own age.
“So, are you going to let him come?”
The Professor was leaning against the desk, lost in thought. “I’m not sure” he said slowly. “I think I could trust him not to tell anyone what he sees here, but I don’t want him knowing where you come from.”
“I know he doesn’t like it in Washington D.C., he told me so on IM.” Seth stood there staring at the Professor. He was hoping he could finally meet Ben face to face. “Also,” he said hesitantly, “I think there is something else bothering him that he won’t talk about. Do you know what it is?”
“I do, but I think it would be best for him to tell you when he’s ready, so don’t go probing around for an answer.” The Professor tried, unsuccessfully, to look stern at the tall, pale youth. “He’s had a hard time of it this year. You know if came, he would figure out something was going on. How would you handle that?”
“Do you trust him?” Seth asked, knowing that was the real issue.
“Of course I trust him!”
“Then let him come. If he learns anything he won’t tell.”
“And you would have someone here to get into trouble with,” laughed the Professor. “˜H-m-m-m, a visit from Ben might help Seth, too.’

Chapter 1

Mr. Robinson had pulled the “˜short straw’ this week, giving him the responsibility to watch over the kids staying after school for detention. Most of them weren’t bad kids, just a little too much energy and not enough outlets. He figured that while they were in detention they could work on homework, and if they didn’t have homework, then, they could read a book.
He was surprised to see Ben Javan here. Ben was in his third period geometry class. The detention list said that he had been late to his history class a number of times. Something didn’t add up. Ben was always on time for geometry, and seemed to be a good student.
He got up from his desk and started walking up and down the rows, looking at what the students were working on. When the bell rang, the students jumped up to leave class.
“Ben Javan,” he thundered above the ruckus the students were making. “A moment of your time please.” Ben stopped, then turned and walked over to him, and looked up. “I see you are here because you have been late to your history class. What’s going on?” he asked looking down at the small boy.
Ben got red in the face. “I’m just late.” He hoped that would be enough since he knew that no one crossed Mr. Robinson. Most of the students were afraid of this tall man with gray hair and eyes. It was said the man could stare wallpaper off the wall, and those eyes were now trained on him. Ben was determined not to say anything, nor look away.
Mr. Robinson knew the reputation he had with the kids, and he had worked hard over the years to encourage it. So it surprised him that this small boy would try to stare him down””though judging from the boy’s red face it wasn’t impertinence, just determination. Realizing Ben wasn’t going to give him more information he dismissed him. He wondered what the problem was as he watched Ben leave. Maybe he was just having trouble adjusting to the change in schools he thought. Quickly he gathered up his stuff and left the empty room.
When Ben reached the outside door he saw that the last bus had already gone. Now he had to walk home. It had been a hard day and he had been picked on again. How long was this going to happen? It didn’t matter what he did, he couldn’t make it stop. He had tried fighting them, even getting a good punch in on Matt, but they were bigger and overpowered him. If he went a different route to class, the two boys found him and made it worse. One time he had made the mistake of saying something about the trouble to his History teacher, Mr. Weber. That’s when he found out how much of a “˜teacher’s pet’ the two boys were. He had been told, in a voice the whole class could hear, that he needed to stand up for himself like a boy, and not come “˜tattling like a girl.’ The giggles from some of the students made him burn with embarrassment. The glares from the girls were directed at Mr. Weber. It didn’t matter even when the two boys had dunked him, upside down, into the toile
t, Mr. Weber wouldn’t do anything to them.
“˜Maybe I deserved it. After all I did let my five year old sister die,’ he thought.
Ben’s parents had told him that it hadn’t been his fault, but when they had gone for a hike, he was the one who had volunteered to stay in camp while she took her nap, and he was the one to leave for a few moments to “˜take a leak’.
“˜Why had she picked that time to wake up? She must have been scared when she came out of the tent and didn’t see anyone. She should have just stayed in camp and we shouldn’t have camped so close to the river either, but that had been his idea too. He just wanted to be able to stay near camp when he fished.’ Unshed tears blurred his vision.
The ranger had found her body just a little ways down stream snagged in the roots of an old tree and told her parents that she must have slipped into the water fairly quickly. The noise of the rapids down stream would have drowned out any screams for help.
Ben thought being picked on must be God’s way of punishing him for letting her die. Last year he had been Class President and this year he couldn’t even make a friend in school.
He turned the corner and walked up the empty driveway to his house. When he unlocked the front door, motion sensors picked up his movement and turned the entry way lights on. Too discouraged to even eat he went up to his room and flopped on the bed. “˜I hate it here’, he thought”¦
He was searching the woods for something he had lost, but he couldn’t fid it. He had to find it, he had to. Who’s crying? Why doesn’t someone help her? Why is she crying? Oh no, she’s in the water. Why can’t I get to the water? Why can’t I move? Oh God, don’t let her drown, please don’t let her drown!
“Ben, wake up, Ben!” a voice called. Ben lurched up, his eyes unfocused and wild when they opened.
“Are you okay? You’re damp with sweat.” His mom reached over and felt his forehead””no fever.
“I””I’m fine Mom, just a bad dream,” he said pulling away from her.
“Another one?” she asked. “What was this one about?”
“I don’t remember.” He got up and headed for the bathroom, her eyes followed him until he closed the door.
She had worried about him ever since her daughter’s death. Ben had been close to his sister. His cheerful and easy going nature had become sullen and moody from carrying too much guilt for something that wasn’t his fault. She wished she could get through to him; even their move to a new town hadn’t helped. At the last teacher’s conference she was told he was given to mood swings. Since she hadn’t told them about Mary, they figured it was just “˜that age’.

Several weeks passed with Ben getting picked on at least twice a week. The last time they jumped him was on the way to art class. The art teacher, Mrs. Hodges, wanted to know what happened, but was unable to get Ben to respond. She did catch his sideways glance at Mike and Matt and put it all together. The two boys were called aside after class and Ben made it to his history class safely and on time. The glare he got when they walked in late let him know that he was really going to get it the next time.
The next day as he cut through the gym between art and history class Mike and Matt came up behind him and dragged him into the boy’s bathroom. Several boys ran out as the two dragged him into the larger handicapped stall, his shirt ripped as he struggled. Matt held him with his arm painfully twisted behind his back while Mike peed into the toilet. When he finished zipping up, he grabbed Ben by his other arm and belt, and between the two boys they flipped Ben’s struggling body upside down. Matt flushed the toilet and they lowered him until his hair swirled in the yellowed, foaming water. Ben had hit the back of his head on the lip of the toilet and then again on the floor. One hand went to the sore spot on his head, the other grabbed at Mikes pant’s leg.
“Ah-h, did the little boy’s hair get wet?” Mike jeered, and with his free foot kicked Ben in the stomach. “That’s what happens to stool pigeons,” he screamed. Ben balled up trying to protect his body.
“We better go, Mike, before someone comes,” Matt said nervously.
“Yeah Matt, we don’t want to be late for history again.” The boys raced out of the bathroom.
Ben heard them leave before getting up from the floor. He walked to the sink, rinsed his hair, being careful of the tender spot. His stomach hurt as he bent over at the roller towel on the wall to try and dry his hair. They had never kicked him before. Moving back over to the mirror he lifted his shirt and saw a bruise starting to show on his pale skin. The final bell rang as he quickly finished combing his damp blond hair back into place. Ben ran to his class, hesitated, took a deep breath and opened the door. Mr. Weber stopped in mid-sentence and glared with disgust.
“What’s your excuse this time?” he sneered, ignoring the torn shirt and wet hair. “Well?”
Ben saw the two bullies in the back of the room glaring at him. “I, I”¦” he started to say. A couple of the other kids snickered pointing at him.
“Shut up and take your seat.” The teacher wrote out a tardy slip and handed it to Ben. “Apparently detention means nothing to you Mr. Javan; let’s see if a trip to the Principal’s office improves your ability to show up on time.”
History had always been his favorite class until he moved here. Now he dreaded the class. Walking over to his desk he sank down, hoping to make himself invisible. One kid passed him a note, and his face turned red when he saw the word “LOSER” written in large letters on it. It hadn’t been like this back in West Virginia. There, he had friends and spent his free time playing in the woods. This move had changed everything. Now, he was a “˜loser’.

At the end of the day, Ben looked through the door to the school office and saw a red haired boy sitting in one of the chairs, scuffing his shoe on the tile floor. When Ben entered the boy looked up and mouthed the word “˜loser’ before looking back down and continuing to scuff his shoe. Ben sat down and fidgeted. He heard the wall clock ticking the seconds away. If he didn’t get through with this soon, he would miss his bus again. He looked up as the door to the inner office opened.
“Ben, come on in,” the Principal said.
Ben followed the Principal into his office and was directed to sit in a wooden chair in front of the large wooden desk. The Principal then walked around the desk and sat down in his leather chair. Ben sat focusing on the floor not daring to look up, his hand protective over his hurting stomach.
The principal scanned the file in his hand. Ben Javan, eighth grade, good in school, never in trouble, some health issues. He looked at the smallest boy in the school sitting in front of him, his shirt was ripped and dirty in places. He then noted the boy had his arm covering his stomach. He knew what was going on; he’d seen it all too often. He could even guess who was behind it, but he couldn’t do anything unless he could get the boy to tell him names. “You okay?” he asked.
“I””I’m fine,” Ben answered somberly. He continued staring at the floor.
“Then why are you holding your stomach?”
Ben winced as he dropped his arm.
“I can see you’re not fine,” the principal added in a firm, quiet voice. “Let’s see.”
Ben pulled up his shirt to show the ugly bruise on his lower stomach.
“Okay, what’s going on? Mr. Weber tells me you come into his class late and today your shirt and hair were wet.”
Ben continued looking down at the floor, his face flushed. It seemed like life was just getting too hard. The silence was loud. Briefly he looked up to see the principal staring intently at him, just staring and waiting. Ben’s heart pounded in his chest. The principal continued to wait for him to answer the question.
“I’ve been picked on by a couple of boys,” he said. His shoulders slumped with this admission. It was out for everyone to see, he couldn’t defend himself; he was a nothing. “They catch me coming through the gym from art class. I’ve even tried going different ways, but they find me anyway.”
“Ben, look at me.” Ben had been afraid to look up, afraid he would see the same look Mr. Weber had before he berated someone. Instead, what he saw was a look of compassion.
“Listen Ben, it’s hard enough to fight off a bully, let alone more than one, and if something isn’t done it will only get worse. Will you give me their names?” This could be a turning point. He knew that several kids were being picked on, but he hadn’t been able to get any of them to tell him who was doing it.
Ben knew he had to make the choice. If he did give out the names, the two boys would pick on him even more, and if he didn’t, they would continue to pick on him anyway.
“Ben, you have to trust me. I can’t help you if you won’t tell me; but, if you give me their names I can make sure they don’t pick on you again.”
Ben hesitated; again the principal was just staring at him, waiting for him to make the next move. His shoulders sagged in resignation. “It’s Mike Cummings and Matt Grant,” he mumbled.
Finally, he had names. Now he could do something. “I promise you they will not pick on you again. You may go now.”
Ben walked out of the office, past the red haired boy and ran down the hall, out the main doors, only to see his bus pulling out. Now he would have to walk home again. At least it was Friday and he wouldn’t have to face school for the next couple of days.
Clouds had rolled in during the afternoon, and the light drizzle coming down reflected Ben’s somber mood as he walked toward home. He thought about how bad life had become. First he let his sister die, and then five months ago he had to leave his friends and move to a different city and start a new school in the middle of the year. It just wasn’t fair. Why did he have to trade his little mountain town for this big, dirty city? He hated it here! The only friends he had now were in his church’s Youth Group, which was on the other side of town and none of them even went to his stupid school. Until his sister died he couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. Now it seemed the tears were always waiting to betray him.
The only good thing that had happened, since moving here, was making friends with a boy named Seth, who lived in Alaska near his uncle. Uncle Theo, his mom’s brother, was his favorite person in the whole world. There had always been a connection that defied understanding between them. When his uncle had come to D.C. for Christmas, he had a letter from Seth that contained a request; Ben remembered it word for word:

Dear Ben,
I know your name because your uncle, whom we call the Professor, told me. I am Seth. I spend a lot of time with my grandmother because of an illness. There are no other kids here and it is not possible to write my friends back home. I am looking for a pen pal. The Professor thought you might be interested. He said you had just moved to a new town and might not have many friends there yet. He also told me that we are the same age, even born on the same day.
If you are interested in being a pen pal, send a letter back with the Professor.
Seth

At that time, Ben was feeling like there was no one in the world who wanted to be friends with him. He had shut down with most of his friends after his sister’s death and moving here had isolated him even more. At the time the letter was given to him he really needed someone. The fact that help came through his uncle made it even more special. It was just like his uncle to come to the rescue and not even know it.
Ben decided it would be cool to have a pen pal, and sent a letter back. A week later he got another letter from Seth. Soon they were writing every other week. For some reason, maybe because the friendship was only through letters, Ben felt he could tell Seth anything, well””almost anything. He hadn’t told him about his sister. He did tell Seth about being small and how he was being picked on at his new school and how he wished he didn’t know anyone taller than himself. Seth had written back expressing how angry he was when he learned how Ben was being treated. Last month Seth had gotten a computer and had learned about Instant Messaging. He wanted to know if Ben wanted to talk on-line. This started a whole new line of communication between them. “˜Wait until Seth hears about today,’ Ben thought as he got closer to home.
Wet and tired, Ben stood in front of his house; the windows were dark and no cars in the driveway. “Great no one’s home, a perfect ending for a rotten day!” he muttered. Today was his 14th birthday and his mom had been hinting about a big surprise for him. His parents were archaeologists and frequently, when they were working would lose track of time. It wasn’t that they were neglectful, just caught up with a new find from Turkey.
Unlocking the door, he went into the dark foyer with a long hall where he dropped his backpack and kicked off his wet shoes. Lights came on as the motion sensors picked up his movement, living room on the right, stairway on the left, junk food straight ahead ““ that was the direction to go. The kitchen was a big room set up to cook for a lot of people and to entertain in as well; not that his parents had time to entertain. The fridge not only held food, but the front of it had become the communication center for the family. It was the main way he and his parents communicated since moving to D.C. Ben stopped to turn on his computer before going to the fridge to get something to eat. After grabbing a pop and some lunchmeat, he spotted a new note on the door.

Happy Birthday Son,
Your father and I have meetings until 7:00. Get cleaned up; there will be a taxi at the house around 6:45 to pick you up. It will take you to the restaurant where we are going to have dinner. Look nice.
Love,
Mom

“I guess they did remember after all,” Ben said aloud then looked at his watch and saw it was already almost six. He was going to have to hurry. Cheered up a little, he ran upstairs to take a shower. Having a bathroom off his bedroom had been one of the few perks of living here. The warm water felt good on his sore body. Drying off, he looked critically at his reflection in the steamy mirror and what he saw was a short, skinny boy with almost no muscle, blonde hair, and a large ugly bruise on his stomach. He thought that by 14 he would have changed a little more.
The doctor had started him on an experimental treatment a year ago, when he had fallen so far off the growth chart that someone had finally noticed. They told him the shot, would make him grow, but so far all it had done was leave a bruise on his butt cheek where they gave him the shot and make him tired. If the pain of the shots were related to how tall he would get, then he should be ten feet tall by now. He complained to his dad when he didn’t see any changes and was told it would happen when it happened. Looking at his reflection he had to admit he had grown some, but he was still shorter than everyone else his age and he still didn’t have much muscle. “˜Oh well’ he thought. Going over to the door frame he stood with his back to it to measure and see if there had been any real growth. Turning, he was disappointed to see his hand was at the same mark as last time. Throwing the towel on the floor he went back to his room to get dressed.
He had just tied his shoes when he heard the taxi honk outside. He grabbed his coat as he ran out to the waiting car.
“You Ben Javan?” the driver asked through an open window.
“Yes.”
“Hop in.” When he saw Ben hesitate, he hollered for him, “Hurry up the meters’ running, and”¦, oh yah, hold on where’s that note?” The driver searched through a mess of papers sitting on the seat beside him. “Here it is, I’m supposed to tell you “˜tree house,’ whatever that means.”
That was the code word Ben’s parents used if they sent someone to get him. He quickly jumped in and the taxi sped off though the busy wet streets of the city. It stopped in front of a large blue and black building Ben knew well. It was the Planetarium.
“This here is where I was told to drop you. You’re supposed to go inside.”
Ben stood on the sidewalk in the drizzle as the yellow taxi sped away narrowly missing another car. The door to the building was locked when he tried to open it, he knocked and waited. An older man in a guard uniform came to the door, unlocked it and then opened it a little ways. “What’d you want?” he asked gruffly. “Can’t you see we’re closed?” Then he looked closer, “Hey, haven’t I seen you here before?”
Ben looked up at the guard, unflinching at the gruffness. “I come a lot. I’m supposed to meet my parents here.”
You Ben Javan?”
“Yes.”
The guard smiled as he opened the door wider. “Then come in,” he said in a friendlier voice. “You need to go to the showroom. Oh, and Happy Birthday!” He relocked the door and shuffled back to a desk that had been just out of sight and sat down.
Ben walked towards the showroom door. How many times had he come here over the last five months? It was one of his favorite places. Back home he was able to go outside and see the stars. Rarely could you see them now because of all the city lights and smog. The big domed room was behind two sets of doors. The first set had to be closed before the second set would open. This kept out the outside light. When he opened the second set of doors he saw his parents and three of his friends from back home. They were all sitting around a big table.
“Surprise” they yelled.
Ben just stood there; he couldn’t believe his friends were here. He hadn’t seen them in five months. Noise erupted as the boys rushed to greet each other.
After the noisy greetings were over his father looked at him. “We know you like this place,” he said, “so we reserved it for your party.” The table was loaded with pizza, buffalo wings, chips and cake while the stars twinkled overhead.
When they had finished eating, presents were pulled out. His friends had chipped in together and bought him a wireless keyboard and mouse for his computer. All four boys were busy looking at it when Ben’s mother tapped him on the shoulder and handed him the present from them. He opened the box and found an envelope inside with a card and an airline ticket to Alaska.
“What’s this?”
“Your father and I are going on a dig in Turkey this summer,” his mother explained. “We figured that with the turmoil in that area it would be wiser for you not to go with us. Theo agreed to have you come up and stay with him for the summer.”
Ben didn’t know how to react. He had hoped to talk his parents into letting him go back to West Virginia to spend time with his old friends, but he really liked the idea of staying with his mysterious uncle. None of the family had ever been to his place in Alaska. Every time they got together, Uncle Theo had been able to push off the next get together to someone else’s house. But he always came to Ben’s house for Christmas. His presents were always as unusual as he was. Last Christmas Ben had been given a small plant with broad translucent leaves, that glowed like foxfire. He had taken it to school to show his science class, since they were studying botany. Neither his teacher nor a colleague from the local college had been able to identify it. Ben had hoped it would help him make friends; instead it isolated him as a “˜geek’.
“When do I leave?” he asked his dad.
“One week after school is over.”
That night, the boys stayed up late watching movies in Ben’s room. Ben told his friends about Seth, and the fact that the two of them shared a birthday. They tried to reach Seth on the IM, but he wasn’t on-line. His parents checked in to tell them “˜good night’ long before any of the boys were ready for bed.
At one point in the night when everyone else had nodded off Ben got up to get something to eat; it seemed like he was always hungry. He was just dishing up a bowl of ice cream when Brian, his oldest friend entered the kitchen rubbing his eyes.
“What are you doing up?” Ben asked.
“Heard you go downstairs and thought you might be good to follow to get something to eat.” Ben didn’t ask, he just got down another bowl, heaped it with ice cream, and then handed it to his friend.
The two friends sat across from each other at the kitchen table just spooning ice cream into their waiting mouths. One was small and skinny, the other was taller with messy dark hair. Ben noticed how much his friend had changed in the last five months. He was taller, his voice was deeper.
“You like it here?” Brian asked through a mouth full of ice cream.
“I hate it!” Ben declared forcefully, jabbing his spoon into the ice cream.
Brian looked up at him in surprise. Ben had never been one to hate anything. He was always the one to find something good in a situation. However, he also knew that some of that changed after Mary died. He knew Ben blamed himself for her death, but he also knew it hadn’t been his fault.
Ben looked up feeling Brian’s eyes on him. “What?” It came out harder than he had intended.
“Nothing,” Brian said with a forced yawn. “I think I’m ready to sleep now,” he said standing up and putting his bowl in the sink.
The two boys quietly went back to Ben’s room and went to bed. Ben lay there for a long time thinking of all he missed back home, and wondering what this summer would be like, and how glad he was that his three closest friends were here.
The next morning they went to play basketball after breakfast. Being the shortest, Ben wasn’t very excited, but that’s what everyone else wanted to do so he went along with it. The boys had had a contest to see who could drink the most juice at breakfast. On the way to the court Ben’s friends now had to pay the consequence and make a side stop at the restrooms. Ben, who didn’t like orange juice, hadn’t competed with them, so he decided to go on ahead to shoot some practice baskets. Just as he was about to shoot someone pushed him down from behind.
“Hey!” Ben said getting up. He froze when he saw the two bullies from school.
“Hey what, geek?” Mike asked.
“Nice ball, right Mike? Give it here!” Matt demanded, reaching for the basketball.
“No, it’s mine,” Ben said, getting back up while holding the ball away from Matt.
“He never learns,” Mike said, shaking his head, and then pushed Ben down again.
“You guys looking for trouble?” a voice behind the bullies yelled as Ben was getting back up.
The two boys turned to see Ben’s three taller friends standing there with their hands clenched into fists, looking ready to fight.
“Let’s go,” Mike said, realizing the odds were not in their favor.
“You okay?” Brian asked looking at Ben.
Ben smiled, “Yeah, let’s just play ball.” Seeing his bullies back down was the highlight of his weekend.
Brian won two games of “˜horse’ and decided it was time for them to get something to eat. The boys walked down to a fast-food place and ate as if they hadn’t been fed for a month. Ben looked up and saw a girl from school sitting at another table. Brian caught him staring at her.
“Who’s that?” Brian asked.
“No one,” Ben said blushing and quickly looking away.
“Oh-h sure,” Brian rolled his eyes.
Ben threw a french fry at him. The other two boys laughed and then started stuffing their mouths with more food.
That evening Ben’s parents took the boys to a movie, and then they went to have pizza before heading back home. Ben really felt lucky to have parents who would arrange to bus his friends from such a distance and then give them all room to have fun.
When they were getting ready for bed, Kevin, the youngest of the boys, saw the bruise on Ben’s stomach. “Hey! What happened?” he asked.
The other two boys came over to look. Ben pulled his shirt down, his face getting red. Brian reached over and pulled the shirt back up. “What happened?” he demanded.
“It’s nothing,” Ben lied.
Kevin looked at Brian, “It ain’t nothing, it looks horrible.”
Ben gave in, “One of the boys from the park this morning did this to me yesterday at school.”
“I knew we should have pounded them!” Kevin yelled balling up his fist.
“We could do it tomorrow,” Kyle said hopefully. He was the quiet one of the three, but he did like to find any reason to fight.
“We won’t have time,” Ben said quickly. “We have church tomorrow.” Church wasn’t his favorite thing to do, but if it meant not getting into a fight, he was happy to go.
Sunday morning Ben introduced his friends to everyone in his Sunday school class. The teacher began talking about the early part of Genesis, which Ben found boring. How could something from so long ago be important? Today they were talking about the flood of Noah and the giants that roamed the land. He knew this couldn’t be true. First, there was no global flood; his science teacher had told them it was some localized flood. Second, there wasn’t any such thing as a giant. Giants were only in fairy tales.
During Sunday dinner, they were talking about the morning’s Sermon. Ben’s dad asked what they had learned in their class. Ben told them about the flood and the giants. He couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice.
“Ben, you sound like you don’t believe what you heard this morning,” his dad stated. Ben’s friends waited to see what would happen. They had found it to be “˜not healthy’ to express their doubts to their parents.
“Well, it does sound pretty far fetched,” he said looking at his plate, idly moved peas around with his fork. When there was no response, he looked up and saw the penetrating look his dad was giving him. “I mean, there couldn’t have been giants, could there?” sounding less sure of himself under his dad’s gaze.
“Why not?” his dad asked.
“Well there aren’t any giants now, so how could there have been giants then? I mean, where’s the proof?” He knew that as scientists his parents believed in proof, so he thought he had his dad there.
“Ben, one of the things we have learned by experience is to trust what the Bible says. A lot of times we don’t understand it, but as archaeologists, we have leaned that when the Bible talks about a town, eventually it’s found “” exactly where the Bible says it was. It has never been wrong. Just because we can’t always prove what it says at the time, isn’t a reason to dismiss it. Sometimes you have to take things on faith until you can prove them out.
“I’m still not sure I believe in giants,” Ben added stubbornly.
“Good”, his dad said, much to the surprise of Ben’s friends. “That means you have to do your own research to see if it’s true or not.”
“How?” Ben was getting hooked whether he like it or not. He hated that his dad could do that to him.
“First start with commentaries and see how they interpret the passage. Then, see if there are any other passages that talk about giants. After that, look into other histories””like Egyptian, Babylonian, maybe American Indian, and see if they talk about giants. Maybe the Smithsonian or the Library of Congress would have information you could access on line.”
Ben realized he had just worked himself into a corner. The look his friends gave him clearly said, “˜better you than us.’ He did like history, but lately he had wanted to challenge everything around him, especially his parents. Though in their case he was cautious, he knew they were smart.
His mom sat there smiling. “I think you have quite a project for the summer,” she said, amused that he once again had to find the proof for himself. Besides, she thought, it would keep him out of trouble while he was at his uncle’s.
Later that afternoon Ben sadly watched his friends bus pull out of the depot. He wondered how long it would be before he saw them again.
When he was getting ready for bed that night, Ben stood by his bed touching the edge if his bruise when he heard a sound. Looking up he saw his dad watching him from the door way. Ben’s face turned red with embarrassment. He’d hoped his parents wouldn’t find out about the bullies.
His dad came in, sat down on the bed, “What happened?” He patiently waited for an answer. When none came, he gently turned Ben so he could get a better look at the bruise. Why had his son not told him he had been hurt?
“What happened to you Ben?” he asked again examining the bruise. When he looked up, he saw tears in Ben’s eyes.
“A couple of guys at school have been picking on me,” he mumbled. He hated having his dad find out he couldn’t take care of himself when he was picked on.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Since we moved here.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Ben stood there not answering. His dad motioned his son to sit down next to him. “Okay Ben, what’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me this was happening?”
Ben sat there looking at the floor. Hid dad reached down and gently turned his head, so that he would have to look him in the eyes.
“Ben, your mom and I love you very much. We have gone through too much in the last year to keep things bottled in. Now, what’s going on?”
Tears started rolling down Ben’s checks. “I figured God was punishing me for letting Mary die.” The tears turned to racking sobs. “It was all my fault.” His dad held him close.
Ben’s mom stood in the doorway, tears in her eyes; it was obvious she had heard the conversation. She came and knelt down beside Ben, and rested her hand on his leg.
“God isn’t punishing you dear,” she said softly. “What happened wasn’t your fault, it could have happened to either your father or me.” She paused. “You’re still blaming yourself, even after all this time?” Ben nodded.
“Your mom is right Ben, it wasn’t your fault. You can’t keep blaming yourself. God doesn’t punish teens by having bullies pick on them. What’s happening to you is wrong, and it has to stop now. I’m going to talk to the school tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to,” Ben said between sobs. “Mr. Abbot, the principal, found out on Friday and is going to talk to them tomorrow.”
“Have they bothered you away from school?” his mom asked.
“They started to yesterday, but the guys ran them off before anything happened. Please don’t call the school,” he pleaded, “it will only make things worse.”
His dad looked at him before responding. “I won’t call this time, but if there are any more conflicts I will step in.” He stood up. “Now, get ready for bed, and Ben, remember we love you and you can come to us about anything, period!”
His mom gave him a reassuring hug and then left with his dad. Ben finished getting ready for bed and lay there in the moonlight worrying about tomorrow. He was dreading going to school. Even though the principal would have talked to the bullies before Ben had them in any class, he knew they were going to cause trouble somehow. Several hours later his worries turned to dreams that left him tired and drenched in sweat.
Chapter 2

The red-haired boy, who had been in the outer office on Friday when Ben was called in, had listened at the door and overheard Ben telling Mr. Abbot who the bullies were. That same nosy boy had called his friends when he got home and told them everything he had heard. Over the weekend word had spread that Ben had “˜snitched.’ When Ben got on the bus Monday morning everyone was staring at him. “˜Great, everyone knows.’ He found an empty seat and stared out the window convinced that everybody thought he was a coward.
As he walked through the halls to his locker kids stopped and stared at him, some whispered. Stuck to the front of his locker was a stick drawing of a hangman with the word LOSER written below. Ben angrily ripped the drawing off and crumpled it into a ball. “˜Why can’t people just leave me alone?’ he thought as he opened his locker.
The students started out their day in a homeroom class. The school used it to get a head count, while students used it to quickly try and finish undone homework. Ben sat at his desk frantically trying to finish the geometry assignment he had let slide over the weekend. The class time ended with a blaring of announcements from the overhead speakers. Ben was so busy trying to get the last few problems done that he almost missed the last announcement, “Michael Cummings and Mathew Grant, please come to the Principal’s office.” His heart did a flip, and he was almost sick to his stomach. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him.
Mr. King, the homeroom teacher, knew what was going on, looked up and saw Ben go paler than his normal color. A quick rap on his desk shifted the kids’ attention from Ben to him.
When the bell rang Ben grabbed his stuff and bolted to gym class. Because of his small size some of the jocks seemed to get their kicks by teasing him in the locker room as they strutted by displaying their athletic bodies. He had just pulled his shirt off and was grabbing his gym shirt when one of the boys pointed at the large bruise and started laughing. He tried to get the gym shirt on quickly, but it got so tangled up, he had to pull it off again to straighten it out.
The gym teacher came walking around the lockers and saw boys laughing and pointing at Ben. Then he saw the bruise. “˜Why did kids have to pick on the ones they should be helping?’ he thought. The withering look he gave the boys made them stop laughing and finish getting ready for class.
“Javan,” he hollered, “sit out this class.” He then turned and left the changing room.
With some relief Ben changed back into his regular clothes. He was glad he didn’t have to participate today. They were doing inside soccer and he wasn’t sure if some of them didn’t think he was the ball, the way he kept getting hit, kicked, or knocked down.
The rest of the morning went normal. After gym he had Geometry, English and then lunch. His stomach was too upset to eat, so he decided to go to the library instead. He figured he would be safer there, because Mike and Matt never went to the library. He sat at a study table in the back of the room lost in thought, fidgeting with his pencil. He wondered what they would do to him. Would he make it through the day? Would his stomach quit churning before he threw up? He looked up when the bell rang ending the lunch period. Art was next. Maybe he could go home sick. He really was sick ““ okay, sick from fear, but sick nonetheless.
With reluctance he got up, grabbed his book bag, and then trudged off to his art class. Every time he looked up Mike and Matt were glaring at him. Finally the bell rang and class was out. Ben’s heart raced as he quickly left the room ahead of the bullies. Instead of cutting through the gym, he headed outside where he would have room to run if he needed it. Mike and Matt came out a side door of the gym and bolted after him. Ben heard the boys coming and started to run, but he wasn’t fast enough. Just outside the second set of gym doors they caught up and grabbed him from behind. Ben fell forward and landed hard on the ground, his books scattering. Mike reached down, grabbed him by the arm and jerked him to his feet.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Mike asked as he squeezed Ben’s arm. “I think it’s our little stool pigeon!”
“You know what happens to stool pigeons don’t you?” Matt said.
Ben looked up and saw a look in Mike’s eyes that made him realize he had to get away. “Let me go!” He struggled against the grip, even getting a good punch in with his free hand, but it wasn’t enough to make Mike let go. Ben winced as Mike squeezed harder.
“I don’t think you should do that. Come on,” he said pointing back to the gym. “Matt, get his other arm.”
Students walked quickly past them, ignoring the whole exchange as Mike and Matt continued to drag the struggling boy into the gym and down to the bathroom.
Mike’s face was red with anger. “So you think you can tell on us and get away with it do you?” he yelled throwing Ben against the wall.
“Where are your little friends to protect you now?” Matt taunted, flitting around behind his friend.
Mike grabbed the front of Ben’s shirt with one hand and backhanded him across the side of the face with his other hand; a ring he was wearing cut Ben’s cheek. Then he gave Ben a hard punch to his already bruised stomach. “Nobody tells on us,” he yelled again.
Matt was giggling as if he had lost his mind. Mike grabbed Ben by each arm, got right into his face and spit. “I think you need a lesson to help you remember to keep your big mouth shut,” and then bounced Ben against the wall again.
Just as he pulled back his arm to throw another punch at Ben, the bathroom door banged open and in walked Mr. Abbot.
“I don’t think you want to do that Mike,” he said firmly. The Principal’s face was dark as a thunder cloud. “Let him go,” he roared. “NOW!”
Mike let go of Ben and backed away. Ben slid down the wall, shaking from a combination of anger and pain and tried to wipe the spit and blood off his face.
“Ben, are you okay?” Mr. Abbot asked, not taking his eyes off the bullies.
Ben nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Slowly he got up with one hand protecting his stomach and walked over to stand by the principal. Mr. Abbott looked at Ben, took a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to the shaking boy. “Put some pressure on that cut to stop the bleeding.”
The principal turned back to the boys, “I thought you might try something like this, Mike. Apparently I didn’t make myself clear this morning. Let’s see if suspension will get your attention. I want all three of you to follow me back to my office.” Then looking directly at Mike he added coldly, “And don’t even think of running away.”
Students stopped and watched as Mr. Abbot lead the three boys back to his office. Those who had also been picked on by Mike and Matt hid their smiles as they watched their tormentors pass by. Some of them recognized the small boy. He was new to the area, but because he had become the prime target of the bullies, most of them had been afraid to get to know him. Ben’s cut had bled down his neck and onto his shirt. Everyone could see the blood. Everyone could see he had been beaten up. Little did he know, some of the kids thought he was a hero for helping stop the bullies.
The principal stopped and said something to the secretary before escorting the three boys into his office. He motioned the two bullies over to the wooden chairs at the right of his desk and told them to sit. He motioned Ben to a chair on the other side. Mr. Abbott then went around his desk and sat down.
“Your fathers are being called to come and pick you up. I’m suspending you two for the rest of the year. Ben, we’ve called your father to come and take you home. You can come back tomorrow if you’re up to it.”
There was a knock at the door, and the secretary stuck her head in and informed Mr. Abbot that the three fathers had been called and that the school nurse was back in her office.
“Ben, I want you to follow Ms. Sanders,” he instructed. “I want the school nurse to look at your face and stomach.”
Ben followed the secretary out of the room and down the hall to the nurse’s office. Kids stopped what they were doing and stared at the bleeding boy.
The nurse, a heavyset woman in her 50′s, motioned him over, and had him sit so she could look at his face.
“I don’t think you need any stitches,” she said swabbing the cut with a sterile pad. “Sure is bleeding though.”
Ben mumbled, “I get shots to help me grow and they cause me to bleed easier.”
“Well, before I clean this up I need to get pictures, just in case your parents decide to take any legal action. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Ben lifted his shirt to show the dark ugly bruise on his stomach.
“Oh my,” she clucked reaching to feel along the bruise to make sure it wasn’t a serious injury. She took a couple of pictures. “Well, I think you’re going to be okay this time, but, in the future, try to keep from hitting their fist with your stomach,” she added lightly. “When you get home put some ice on your stomach to keep the swelling down. Now, let’s get that bleeding stopped.” She dabbed the cut with something that stung, but it made the bleeding stop. She then put a bandage on it. “Now, go back to Mr. Abbot’s office,” she said escorting him to the door. “Good luck!”
Ben came back into the Principal’s office and sat down to wait. Mr. Abbot gave Ben a tablet of paper and had him write out exactly what happened. Whenever the Principal wasn’t looking Mike would glare at him and clinch his fist. The waiting was hard and he was still shaking a little. What if Mike didn’t get suspended? He had been so angry earlier. If Mr. Abbott hadn’t come in when he did how badly would he have been beaten? The only consolation was the look on Matt’s face. He looked as scared as a rabbit in a trap, maybe even more so.
About 45 minutes later, Ms. Sanders opened the door and let in a tall, well-dressed man, followed by Ben’s father. The first man ignored the boys and walked right up to the desk to stand with his hands on his hips. Ben’s father stopped just inside the door and took in the whole scene.
“Thank you for coming gentlemen,” the principal said as he rose from his seat, noting that Matt’s father hadn’t yet arrived.
“What’s this about?” the tall man snapped. “I’m a busy man and you called me out of a very important meeting. I don’t have time for all this foolishness.”
“Senator, please, this is serious,” Mr. Abbot stated, slowly sitting back down. He was beginning to wonder if he was doing the right thing. “Your son has been bullying a number of kids in the school,” he continued.
Ben’s father walked over to stand behind his son, and he put a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “What happened today?” he asked.
“I caught Mike and Matt in the middle of beating up your son again,” Mr. Abbot explained as he nodded over at the other two boys. “Ben had been sent to me Friday for repeatedly being late to his history class. I saw the bruise on his stomach and finally coaxed the whole story out of him. This morning, I called those two in and warned them to stop or they would be suspended.”
The Senator gave Ben a contemptuous look, sizing him up. “Well now,” he said in his best Senatorial voice, “boys will be boys. I’m sure this has all been a misunderstanding, and I’m sure they can work it out. Boys, after all, have to learn to stand up for themselves.” Then with a “˜voice of reason’ he added, “I don’t think we want to make any hasty decisions.”
“You’re right, boys need to learn how to stand up for themselves, and Ben has done a good job of it” Dr. Javan agreed. “But, having to stand up for yourself against two opponents, twice your size is a little unrealistic.”
“I’m sorry Senator, but both Mike and Matt will be suspended for the rest of the year,” Mr. Abbot stated.
The Senator looked down at the man and decided to change his approach. He had dealt with weak men like this before. They all understood intimidation.
“Mr. Abbott, I don’t think you realize just who you are talking to. I am head of the Education Committee. I’m not sure you really want to take this position.” The Senator could see he had struck a nerve. This was good. This was how he had worked his way into the Senate and maintained his position there.
The Principal sat there considering what his ultimate boss was saying.
Ben’s dad could see him wavering. “Excuse me, Mr. Abbot, if I understand you right,” he said slowly and calmly, “a student that has been warned after being caught doing physical harm to another student and then doesn’t heed that warning, is suspended. However, because this man is a Senator, he thinks his son shouldn’t have to face the same consequences as anyone else would. I wonder what the newspapers would think.”
“Dr. Javan, right?” the Senator asked, his attitude even more condescending. “Aren’t you working over at the Smithsonian, on some archaeological finding? A finding, I might add, for which my department is responsible. Now, why don’t we all just forget this ever happened?” It was clear he was used to getting his own way, and thought he could intimidate Ben’s dad just the way he had intimidated the principal.
Ben looked up at this dad wondering what he would do. If he didn’t give in, he could lose his job, and if he did, the boys would continue picking on him. Then he saw the look on his dad’s face, a look that made him hold his breath, knowing his dad wasn’t going to back down. He had seen that look before and was glad it wasn’t directed at him.
Dr. Javan looked straight into the Senator’s eyes. “What your son has done is wrong. He is picking on someone half his size. I will press charges against both the school and you if something isn’t done now! My son has the right to an education without fear of bodily harm. It’s his right, as an American, and a right you have sworn to uphold. Also, if anything happens to either my job, or my wife’s job, or Mr. Abbot’s, I will go to the papers with the story. I will bring with me witnesses who will testify to assault and attempted assault on the part of your son and his friend.” he stated firmly. “It will not only be in the local papers, but I can promise it will be in your state papers as well. Now, Senator, if you want to play hard ball, I too, have friends on the Hill.”
The two locked eyes until the Senator, whose face turned red, finally looked away. “Fine, have it your way,” he growled. He reached over and roughly grabbed his son by the arm and jerked him out of the chair. “You stupid brat,” he yelled. “Get out to the car. I will deal with you later.” Then he turned to the principal, “I don’t think my son will come back to this “˜rat hole’. I want his transcripts on my desk tomorrow.” He stormed out the door, slamming it behind him.
Matt had gone pale and was visibly shaking, suddenly realizing he was now alone. About that time the door opened again and a heavy set man, needing a shave, wearing worn construction clothes, walked in. Matt’s eyes, full of fear, got very big.
“You don’t have to say noth’n” he stated darkly. “I heard it all from outside the door. The boy’s more trouble than he’s worth.” He looked over at his son and said, “You, out to the car.” His voice dripped with hate. He turned back to the principal, “I’ll deal with him at home. Will he need to come back this year?”
“No, we will see him next year,” Mr. Abbot said, more visibly shaken than he had been by the Senator.
An evil grin replaced the scowl, “Good”. Looking back at his son as he turned to leave he yelled, “NOW!”
Matt jumped up and followed his dad out. Ben looked over to where Matt had been sitting and saw the chair was damp from a bladder that had too much fear shown to it. He was sure he didn’t want to know what was going to happen once Matt’s dad got him home.
The room was suddenly very silent; it was as if a movie paused. Finally Dr. Javan spoke up. “Mr. Abbot, I am sorry you have to deal with things like this. It seems to me we have found out where Mike and Matt have learned to bully. Thank you for being there for my son.” He lightly squeezed Ben’s shoulder and added, “I think we’ll leave now.”
Mr. Abbot rose from his seat and shook Dr. Javan’s hand. “I think we need to put an end to this cycle,” he said picking up the phone. “If you will excuse me.”
Ben got up and followed his dad out of the school and into the car. Once he was seated he let out a deep breath and tears pooled in his eyes. He had never been in a position to see his father in that kind of situation and hadn’t known what his dad would do. He looked up at his father, a man who he now knew didn’t back down from what he believed in.
“You okay?” his dad asked, putting a hand on Ben’s shoulder.
Ben nodded, and then leaned into his dad with tears freely flowing. “You could have lost your job. You must think I’m a coward,” he said with his face buried against the side of his father’s chest.
“It’s just a job, Ben. You, on the other hand, are my son. I think that’s just a little more important. Besides, I’ve had to deal with men like him in the past, and I know where their weak spots are. Besides I think Mr. Abbot is going to see that those boys get some help.” He reached over and patted Ben on the shoulder. “I don’t think you are a coward. It seems to me I was called to your school last year when you walloped a boy who kept getting in your way. Let’s get home and get some ice on that stomach.”
Ben was in the kitchen, on his computer, when his mom came home. She came over and gave him a hug from behind, looking over his shoulder at the screen.
“Trying to get Seth?” she asked.
“I want to tell him that I am coming out for the summer, but he hasn’t logged on yet.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
“Why?”
Your dad told me you handled today very well. You were very brave.”
“I was scared, not brave.”
“Being scared doesn’t mean you weren’t brave. Being brave is being scared of something you have to do and doing it anyway. So, see? You were brave.” She ruffled his hair and went to fix dinner.
Just before bed, Ben’s mother came up with the phone in her hand. “It’s for you,” she said, handing him the phone.
“Hello Ben, Happy Belated Birthday!” his uncle said. “I hear you’ve had a rough few days.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Ben replied, and then changed the subject. “Thanks for letting me come this summer.”
“I think you are old enough for the trip and we have lots of things to do here.” There was a pause, “Ben, it’s still a few weeks before you come. Sometimes my work delays me. If, for some reason I don’t make it to the airport I will send someone I trust to pick you up. I will give them the code word “˜elf’, so you’ll know that I sent them. I know the next part may seem weird, but if they say “˜dragon’ do not go with them. I want you to run for all you are worth to a security guard or a police officer. That will mean something has really gone wrong. But, that’s not going to happen, so know you will be safe.”
“What could go wrong?” Ben asked.
“People in my position can have enemies that would think nothing of using people I love to get what they want.” There was another pause, “Ben, we are safe, but I have to plan as though something could go wrong. If you want to back out of coming, I’ll understand.”
“I want to come,” Ben returned forcefully. He wondered what his uncle could be talking about.
“Okay then. I will see you in a few weeks. I’ll be there, but just in case, I want you safe. Now, tell me all about your birthday party.”
The next day, when Ben arrived at school, several kids said “˜Hi’ to him as they passed. There was a group of girls talking, and every now and then one of them would look over at him, then she’d say something, and the other girls would giggle. Ben got the impression that whatever was being said was “˜good.’ When he showed up for his history class, his teacher looked a little shook up, but seemed to have a more positive attitude towards him.
The next three weeks were the best he’d had all year. The guilt he had been carrying around about his sister’s death was reduced, though not entirely removed; that was going to take time. Since he wasn’t being targeted by Mike and Matt, he actually made a few friends.
A week later Ben was finely able to get Seth on-line.
Ben: Where have you been? I have some news for you.
Seth: Sorry, I went back home for a while, I just got back.
Ben: Well, happy late birthday. Are you going to be there at all this summer?
Seth: Yes.
Ben: Good, I’m coming up to visit my uncle, it’s his birthday present to me. Maybe we could get together while I am there.
Seth: I know, your uncle told me. Did you really mean what you said about being friends?
Ben: We are friends, what do you mean?
Seth: You told me it didn’t matter what I looked like, we would still be friends.
Ben: Yes and I meant it. I don’t care if you are 6 feet tall and have a horn coming out of your head; I would still be your friend.
Seth: Well I don’t have a horn coming out of my head.
Ben: lol*. I know you are just 6 feet tall.
Seth: kind o’.
Ben: no seriously, you are my friend and I look forward to seeing you.
Seth: Really, I am 6 feet tall.
Ben: lol.
Seth: no, I really mean it.
Ben: Seriously?
Seth: Seriously.
Ben: Wow, I was just teasing.
Seth: About the friendship.
Ben: no dodo, about being 6 feet tall.’
Seth: lol.
Ben: Will you be there when I get there?
Seth: I hope so. My grandmother is going to be away for a while, but I will see if I can stay with my Aunt.
Ben: Good, I have never been up there before. It will be nice to have someone besides my uncle there.
Seth: I will see if I can come to the airport with your uncle.
Ben: Do you know my uncle very well?
Seth: It is because of your uncle I can come to my grandmother’s. He is a great man.

Ben thought about that for a few moments. Seth might know his uncle better than he did. There was a slight pang of jealousy. Uncle Theo was his hero.

Ben: How will I know you?
Seth: Oh, you’ll know me when you see me, trust me.
Ben: Okay, see you in a week.’
Seth: Can’t wait.

*lol: Laugh out loud

Read more about A Boy out of Time and D. B. Macks HERE.

Copyright 2008 D. B. Macks. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

Heck sat down next to Mr. Meade who led off with the lively, “Bile Them Cabbage Down.” The party was on. Rebel yells and feet stamping in time with the music got everyone’s blood flowing. Heck felt himself being lifted up and carried into another world.
Grandad Tennel fell in with them on the bass fiddle, and those still outside came in to watch and listen, occasionally glancing at Early who kept rhythm by beating his left leg stub against the box. Their expressions said they had been transformed as well.
What Mr. Meade’s fiddling lacked in smoothness was made up by gusto, and he never played a short version of anything, or in any key except “D.” He finally ended his first selection and began “Chicken Reel.” At that point Ubis Sproggs sprang out of the back room, grabbed his heavy wife, letting out with a big “Eee haaa!” as he swung her around with the abandon of a man under the influence. In spite of enthusiasm for the dance, however, he kept watch on the serving room so as not to miss a sale. Heck believed the only reason Ubis hadn’t hit him up for his share of the day’s sales in town was because his dad had already paid him.
Ending the second number, Mr. Meade paused for a swallow of whiskey from silver flask he pulled from his pocket. Slick and Shorty McLean took advantage of the break to follow Ubis into the back room. Mr. Meade began “Westphalia Waltz” and halfway through it, Slick reappeared and began dancing with Beulah Mae.
The new girl moved closer to watch her friend swing around the room with Slick, and for the first time, Heck got a look at her in full light. The glistening brown hair was curled on the ends, framing a smooth, round face and a turned-up nose that didn’t have a single freckle on it. Her wide mouth wouldn’t win any beauty contests, but her overall features formed a feminine quality he had never seen in Willa. Her eyes met his, she smiled and held his gaze without turning away, a look that told Heck she hadn’t come along with Beulah Mae just to be stimulated by a   ride in the night air. Her obvious boldness caused him to drag rhythm with his guitar for a few bars, a mistake he seldom made.
The McLeans joined Slick and Beulah Mae on the dance floor, and by the time Mr. Meade had to stop to rest his arms, everybody seemed caught up in the spirit of the party. Early didn’t care that nobody had dropped any coins in his hat, thanks to Ubis slipping him a snuff glass full of shine. With his manhood restored and some good moonshine under his belt, he’d become a changed man.
His stepmother’s reaction to her own renewal was more subdued. She sat between Marna and Elsie on a bench against the back wall quietly observing their guests with an expression of detached contentment. She appeared unconcerned that she was, as usual, being shunned by her women neighbors.
Mr. Meade pulled out the flask again, saying with unaccustomed loudness, “Another shot or two of this, folks, and I’ll be ready to play “˜Orange Blossom Special.’ How about you, Ibsen?”
Grandpa Tennel nodded and said something that got drowned out by shouts of approval and applause from around the room. He had the voice of a sober man, always respected but seldom heard. Although no longer a churchgoer, he remained a devout Baptist at heart, never drinking whiskey except for medicinal purposes.
“I want to hear Heck sing,” Willa shouted.
“Yeah, Heck,” Slick said loudly. “Show Ruby what you can do.”
Heck looked at the tall city girl and she smiled. “All right,” he said, beginning a song he’d heard Jimmy Rodgers sing over the radio at Mr. Slater’s. A few bars into “Nobody’s Darling,” he took his eyes off Ruby for fear of becoming distracted and forgetting the lyrics. Even a glance at her during the chorus threatened his concentration, so he looked instead at the familiar faces in the room until he was finished. When he looked at her again, her gaze told him she was surprised a country boy could sing at all.
Willa shot Ruby another threatening look, causing Heck to suspect she might lunge across the room at any time and tear into the city girl, who up to that point had not sensed the danger she was in. Heck told himself to warn Ruby at the earliest opportunity.
Seeing the smiles and hearing the applause that followed his songs lifted Heck up like nothing else he had ever done. It made him feel important, appreciated and for a time, in charge of his life, which could be beautiful in spite of poverty.
He sang “When the Work’s All Done This Fall,” “Good-bye, My Little Darling” and “She’s My Curly Headed Baby.” Each number won him a vigorous round of applause, whistles and foot stampings, and it caused Ruby to move up so close he caught a whiff of her perfume. If Mr. Meade hadn’t swung out on “Arkansas Traveler,” Willa might have jumped her. Instead, she remained by the door, staring angrily at Heck and her new competition.
After the fiddle tune, Heck announced he was going to sing another song dedicated to Mr. Meade. At the start of “Pistol Packin’ Mama,” everyone loudly applauded, and his old friend smiled and saluted. When Heck was through, Mr. Meade began “Devil’s Dream,” which his audience clapped in time to.
Mr. Meade had barely got rolling good when he looked through the door of Ubis’s concession stand and abruptly stopped playing. Heck and his granddad gave him confused looks as they, too, stopped. All heads turned to the partition door, and an excited murmur ran through the room when they saw Sheriff Emmet Sloan standing there, so tall his black hat touched the top of the opening. Heck had never seen him look so big and threatening.
Ubis Sproggs stomped his foot so hard it made the floor shake. “Damn! Where’n hell did you come from?”
“Through the back door, Ubis. The one you always ran out of to hide this stuff when I came in the front.” The sheriff held up a half empty jar of whiskey.
A hush fell over the room as everybody waited to see what the sheriff’s next move would be. Calm and sure of himself in his customary black suit, white shirt and black string tie, he was a sight to put fear in the hearts of the worst of men.
Heck completely forgot about Ruby and their anticipated trip to the dark side of the yard. Damn. The sheriff’s come to arrest me.
“I’d haul you in, Ubis, if I wasn’t here on more important business,” he said.
I’m going to jail for sure. Heck almost pissed in his pants.
Sheriff Sloan looked slowly around the room as if expecting to see a face he      hadn’t seen before. When his cold eyes stopped, Heck felt a fresh wave of panic sweep over him. He was unable to look at the fearsome man who had spoiled his musical, and might now put him in jail and spoil his life. To make matters worse, he sensed the big lawman was reading his every thought.
When the sheriff started walking toward him, Heck suddenly recalled a song he had sung at so many musicals, “I’m In the Jailhouse Now.” Taking on a whole new meaning, the lyrics pounded in his head like thunder before a storm.

Chapter XI

Sheriff Sloan loomed over Heck like Goliath over David, exuding such an air of absolute authority that it made him tremble. He tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry. He wondered what Ruby thought of him now, cowering like a whipped puppy in front of his guests.
“I have good information that tells me the man who hustled you out of town this afternoon was Clyde Barrow’s driver,” the sheriff boomed.

Copyright 2008 Calvin Bowden. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

A whipping and a head start~

Toby bolted across the street, the rain was steady and he ducked under the awning. Wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt he edged along the building. Then he peered around the corner and into the next street. No other boys were in sight. Nothing there except a couple of delivery wagons, parked along the narrow streets. Their horses were shaking rain from their heads and pawing the pavement in agitation.

Toby ran across this street, avoiding the mud puddles, and reached the next corner. He looked at the boots he wore, still shining from yesterday’s funeral.

He was leaning around the corner to check the next street’s safety, when a hand caught him at the throat and pulled him fully around the corner of the building.

The older, and larger, boy sneered into Toby’s face. “Empty your pocket!” He jerked Toby several times to keep him off balance. Toby’s eyes widened, he thought of the pocket knife, his father’s. Before he could say anything the older boy shoved him into the wall and kneed him in the groin. Toby went down to one knee. The larger boy had a handful of hair and wrenched his head back. Rain beat into his eyes and he couldn’t clear them to see his tormentor.

He was wedged down and couldn’t do much. Even if he could see him, the other boy was too strong and held him too tightly.

It was early and there simply weren’t enough people out yet that might hear him if he yelled.

Toby grimaced and whispered through his clenched teeth “Go to hell!” His hair was nearly pulled from his scalp. A hand groped at his pants pocket. It fumbled before finding the knife as Toby tried to resist but the hair pulling worked.

Several seconds later, the older one, had the knife and stepped back from Toby. Toby wiped his eyes and could see the thief. He knew the boy and also knew him to be a mean tormentor to other boys that worked in the area shops.

The older boy turned and trotted away. Toby was quick to his feet and started after the boy. “You filthy.., give it back!” The older boy looked back and continued to trot along the sidewalk. He was twenty feet ahead of Toby, and he just smirked.

Toby rose and started to run, so did the other boy. The older one started curving his path towards the other side of the street. Toby was closing in and knew he could catch him -But what then!?!

He knew the other could beat him in a fight, and in another block, he’d probably find his other buddies. Toby figured that was the only reason he ran.

Passing the nearby wagon Toby glanced over and saw it! Lying coiled across the seat was a bullwhip.

Two strides later, he had it in his hand and gripped the handle tight. He let the whip uncurl and trail behind him. The older boy had seen the move and he showed a sign of fear as he started to run for all he was worth.

Toby matched his every move. Each time the boy faked a dodge, Toby moved right up, gaining a step or two on the boy. The thief turned a corner and slipped on the wet brick street. He was nearly down, his one arm on the pavement, and the leg sliding out from under him. In one fluid movement, Toby stopped, ten feet from his target, and his arm came forward. He expertly flipped his wrist, drawing the tip of the whip down on his intended victim.

The leather of the whip’s tip tore a one inch by two inch long gash on the older boy’s calf, just below his shorten pants. The boy howled a scream but the drumming rain kept it unheard. His eyes turned to Toby, “I’ll get…,” the whip curled into the air and found the older boy’s ear and part of his jaw. Part of the ear lobe split and flapped loosely. The opening on his cheek gaped wide and blood burst out.

The boy grabbed his face with the hand that wasn’t holding his knee. Blood was everywhere! Toby shouted, “Give it to me!” The boy had dropped the knife then held his leg and face. “Give it TO me!” Toby shouted again. The boys hand slipped from the bleeding leg wound, he grabbed the knife and slid it to him.

Toby bent to pick up the knife and the other scowled “I’ll use that to cut..,” Before he could finish the threat Toby raised the whip -and that silenced the boy. He turned and walked back to the wagon without turning back. He coiled the whip and placed it neatly on the seat.

Then he looked at the knife and rubbed the boy’s blood off, with the help of the rain, then he shook off the water, and he returned it to his pocket and trotted to the workshop. This time he didn’t bother to look down any streets.

He moved quickly, his heart was pounding, yet he began to cool off. He thought about the last five minutes and realized that he was probably still early for his first day of work. He did turn around several times to make sure the other boy hadn’t found his friends and were after him. After his breathing slowed he resumed his normal stride and began to whistle softly.

Copyright 2008 Thom Rogers. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.