by Mark Boliek
* * * * *
JT felt an emptiness inside. The sensation is very hard to describe and I apologize, but it felt like the air being let out of a balloon; something wonderful, something that can make a person happy, suddenly empties. JT’s head felt hollow and he became angry and confused. His hands shook uncontrollably as he looked from side to side, trying to think of something to do. What could he do? Going to Kali seemed like the only thing that would make the panic go away.
“I have to get to Kali, now!” JT yelled, splitting the silence of the diner.
The patrons' previous disdain for JT turned to pity. In the small town of Athens Eden, especially before its growth spurt, many people in the diner knew Mary Catherine and her family. A number of them probably knew about the day JT lay on the ground in pain during a sporting event.
Jenny tugged on JT’s arm, guiding him to the back room and his bed. The large box of papers Jenny had accumulated during her research on the history and financial stability of Warhead Dale was also on the bed. As JT sat down, a few pages slipped from the box and onto the floor.
JT placed his head into his hands, unable to hold back tears. He wrenched his eyes and forced his head back. His throat tightened until he wanted to yell out, but he kept it in.
“JT, I know this is hard. I have lost people I loved, too, but we can’t rush off in fear right now. I know you need and want to see Kali. I really want to see someone, too, but the auction of Warhead Dale is only a couple of weeks away. We need to figure out how we are going to save it.” Jenny’s eyes were sincere and placed her hand on the young man's shoulder. “I think we need to concentrate on that and then you can go to Kali.”
“But what if I don’t make it through tonight?” JT asked, his voice ragged from the crying. “Then it will be too late for me to tell Kali what I feel for her. I need to see her now.”
Jenny fumbled for the right words. “I realize that, JT, and I can’t tell you what to do. I just don’t want you to regret not saving your grandfather’s house while you’re trying to find someone who might not want to see you.” Jenny spoke cautiously at what she said, but she tried to be realistic. JT could call her on the phone, but would she even take the call? Jenny whispered gently, “I mean, she did leave.”
JT slumped his shoulders and wiped his eyes. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Jenny was probably right. Kali had left them in the basement of Warhead Dale after Bruinduer. He felt he might have been acting childish and irrational, but his emotions were almost more than he could take. He curled up on the bed next to the box of papers and closed his eyes. Jenny realized he wanted to be alone when he turned his body away from her.
Jenny left the room. After a while, JT maneuvered the box of files to the floor. He stared at the empty, white ceiling. He knew that he needed to act, but the numbness of his body made him stay put.
He rolled over and peered at Ol’ Captain Luke’s Journal. He reached for it, placing his fingers on the aged leather bounding. He paused, thinking of the memories that could possibly flood his mind. He just didn't know if he could handle it.
Maybe reading the journal had opened his mind to the memory of Mary Catherine, but if he was still suppressing memories that powerful, with no idea what they could be, he was reluctant to open his brain to any more. Why let remembrance enter, if tragedy after tragedy would batter his mind and overpower him? Since he had come back to Athens Eden, it seemed to JT that only bad things had happened or were going to happen. He had already witnessed two deaths and lost Kali. Life was so much easier on the Shorts’ farm.
He spider-walked his fingers over the leather journal and snatched it to his chest. Two deep breaths and he opened the old book:
February 2, 1946,
It seems odd to discuss the heat of February, though it is summer in the southern hemisphere when it is winter in the north. Sailors must take heed in this fact, because crossing the equator can mean the difference between wearing shorts one day, then bundling into three pounds of clothes the next. In short, a sailor must be prepared. I am lucky to have such a steady and resourceful crew.
Today we launched a reconnaissance mission to a small village northwest of our position to gather more information on this evil of a man known as the Munch. My goodness, how I hate that name. However I must report the facts, no matter how difficult it is to swallow. You cannot change what already is.
Through hearsay, I have gathered that people in this village may have a personal connection with this unbridled evil. I am sure it is possible that this man may have family. And, according to rumor, the village remains unharmed by this villain, perhaps for that single reason.
My weapons officer, Mr. Luke Lampe, has informed me of his concern about transporting the necessary weaponry, if by chance we were to engage the Munch. The thick underbrush of the jungle may limit what we can bring to battle. I am worried also. We have no idea what to expect. I pray we can get answers from the village when our scouts return.
JT read on. The journal chronicled an astounding adventure. When the reconnaissance team did return to the ship a few weeks later, they reported that the Munch did indeed have family living in the village. To Ol’ Captain Luke’s surprise, not only close family members, but also more distant relatives lived in the village; the villain’s own mother resided there. After numerous attempts to make contact with the woman who gave birth to the Munch, they learned that she would only speak with the highest-ranking member of any group with questions. Ol’ Captain Luke set off right away to the remote village of Solama.
February 24, 1946
I met with Trina, as the villagers called her. I did not learn her last name, because of the true terror they feel toward her son. The villagers treated her more like a god than a human and, all things being equal, her domicile was quite luxurious. I would have to say many more times luxurious than any other abode I saw nearby. Servants met her every need and she could make certain gestures, so that the servants knew exactly what she required. For example, when she flicked one finger into the air, a young manservant would feed her large chunks of fruit by hand; when she flicked two fingers, a young lady handed her a glass of some sort of juice to wash it down.
I will not mislead my reader; some sort of fear did creep into my veins. For all that I knew, word would get back to that vile villain, the Munch, that I was hunting him. This could have easily been a trap.
On the contrary, Trina divulged much information in response to every question I asked. She seemed very confident that her son would not to be captured. She practically told me that nothing I or any other foreigner attempts to do will succeed; her son would be victorious in any endeavor. On a map, she even identified the river he and his band of soldiers traveled along to make their raids on innocent villages. Again, I was taken aback and felt the tickle of fear. Such confidence comes from a proven track record of success; in other words, I concluded that her son was plain ruthless to his enemies.
I desparately wanted to express to my host that, if she merely choked on one of the large grapes she emptied into her mouth, it all would come crashing down around her.
Yet Trina was quite delightful in a sort of ridiculous manner. The mantle of power her son placed upon her was quite obvious in her air of superiority.
JT read on, learning of the provisions and plans to travel the Orange River and its branches. Lists and lists of equipment followed in the sailor’s journal, with sketches and drawings lining the margins. The drawings, very detailed and in many ways artistic, made it obvious that Ol’Captain Luke would be prepared, no matter what the expense. His unnamed employer had assured him that cost was no object in the apprehension of this madman.
JT placed the journal back on its table and fell asleep. More questions haunted him. He knew that he wanted to be with Kali, but he also knew that he needed to stop the auction of his grandfather’s house first. And maybe Kali did not feel for him the way he had hoped.
Only time would tell.
Jenny retur
ned to Linda’s diner to help JT go through the paperwork, but Michael kept his distance from JT. JT did not know why, but he did not push Michael. He was still apprehensive about trusting his old friend completely. Michael had wanted him dead in Bruinduer; that thought still burdened him.
“It took quite a while to get all of these papers and documents,” Jenny said. “Michael helped tremendously. A mountain of documents.”
Whenever Jenny talked to JT, she always, in some way, mentioned that Michael helped her get the information they needed.
“We read and read, staying up at all hours of the night and day.” Somehow Jenny’s voice did not annoy JT as it had when he first met her in the bank. Maybe he had gotten used to it. “And, after all of that, there is really only one particular piece of information we need to stop all of this, which is always how these things end, right?”
Jenny took a deep breath and pulled a red folder from the bottom of the box. She had intentionally put the file under the rest of the papers so she knew she would not misplace it or, more importantly, its contents. Hundreds of papers flowed down her arms like water pouring as she pulled the sleeve from its hiding place. Clearly the other documents really didn’t mean that much to their problem.
“JT, Michael and I went through all of these documents, looking for something to stop this auction from taking place. Michael felt that none of this should be happening in the first place and that your grandfather had put all of the necessary legal remedies in place; he had a plan to hold off anything like what’s going to take place.” Jenny opened the folder. “I’m not going to bother you with all of the trouble Michael and I went through to get this report. It's amazing and just thinking about what we researched makes me want to puke.”
Jenny glanced at JT, hoping that she had convinced him that Michael really wanted to help. Michael had told her repeatedly that he had been wrong in Bruinduer and he wanted JT to trust him again.
JT nodded, acknowledging what she was telling him, but focusing on whatever Jenny said next.
“In actuality,” Jenny began. “There was a loophole so that, if the house was abandoned for eight years, the city of Athens Eden could claim the land. In fact, that is a city law designed so that no property will just sit there and rot, making land around it lose its value.” Jenny paused and took a breath. “We figured that your grandfather didn’t care about the law because he figured the family would never abandon Warhead Dale.”
JT felt ashamed. “But didn’t Michael say that he had set up all of this money to pay for anything that might happen?” He was almost begging for any kind of good news.
“Yes, JT, but there has to be an executer or trustee to use the accounts. Nothing had been signed or changed since your father became the last trustee. Nothing was passed to you, so after eight years and numerous attempts to locate any family, the city had no choice but to lay claim.”
“I’m here now,” JT said. “Can’t I just go and get it turned over? Can I still claim the land?”
“Yes,” Jenny answered with a smile, pulling a piece of paper from the file she held delicately in her fingers. “According to the town laws on property claims, the town must give reasonable notice and make a good faith attempt to find anyone who has an interest in the land. By precedent, the city usually only waits a year and a half to seize property, but, in the case of your grandfather’s house, they waited almost a full seven years before they made the claim. It seems that Judge Oliver Decarte had a soft spot for your granddad; apparently, they were very good friends. This log shows that, each time the city filed to seize Warhead Dale, Judge Decarte would wait until five minutes before the end of business that day for a family member or someone besides the city to make a claim.”
Jenny handed JT the paper. “Check the final two columns on the page. Do you see Judge Decarte’s handwritten note of the time and then his signature? If you look hard enough, his signature is very clean and deliberate. I think that he took the entire five minutes to sign the document, so the city had no time left to make their claim. Each time, Judge Decarte slammed the gavel before the city could make the claim and they never had enough time to file their paperwork for that day of business. ”
JT scanned the document, his heart racing. He felt his hand get a little clammy and could smell the cardboard residue from the piece of paper. Now he had hope that he could save Warhead Dale.
“And what helped save the property for so long was that, once the hearing was over, the city could not make another claim on the property for a whole year. This went on for seven years until Judge Decarte retired.” Jenny took a deep breath. “The judge that replaced Judge Decarte is a younger guy named Judge Malcolm Porter. He signed the document within the first hour of the first hearing after Judge Decarte retired. The city did not hesitate to seize the property.”
JT scanned the document to the end and saw Judge Porter’s quick, messy signature, nothing like Judge Decarte’s. JT’s bubble burst. He had no idea what to do.
He stared at Jenny. “Now what?”
