The Killing of Miguel

by Christopher Mcafee

  THE KILLING OF MIGUEL

  © Copyright Christopher Mcafee 2018

  All rights reserved.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events and organisations are purely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, nor translated into a machine language, without the written permission of the publisher.

  Condition of sale

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Editing by Caitlin McCulloch

  Proofreading by Emily Cargile

  Design by Dark Wish Designs

  Dedication

  I would like to dedicate The Killing of Miguel to a wonderful friend, author, artist, and my writing mentor:

  Scott A. McKenzie

  Although we never met face to face, we established a friendship through social media. We shared the same publisher on our first books, and that led to many messages and emails. His advice helped me tremendously.

  On March 7, 2017, Scott passed away suddenly at the young age of 48.

  He left behind a loving wife, Jan, as well as his parents and many other family members.

  I had all but given up on finishing The Killing of Miguel. I was lacking in inspiration, and the drive just wasn’t there. Scott insisted that I keep going. But I just didn’t have it in me.

  Upon learning of Scott’s passing, I felt that I should finish it in his memory.

  I began taking long walks at the local reservoir. Ideas, characters, and plot twists came flooding in my head. I have no doubt that Scott was helping me from Heaven.

  Rest easy, my friend.

  This is to inform the reader that all characters’ names have been changed. There are no distinctive timelines, and certain locations will not be named, as we fear retribution from religious zealots, the Catholic Church, and of course, The Devil.

  Chapter 1

  My dad was my hero. I could not imagine a father and son closer. He was a high school math teacher and assistant track coach. I was in my junior year of high school and a member of the track team.

  He had introduced me to running when I was nine, and I was hooked. My dad and I ran everywhere together. It was never a competition. It was more of a sanctuary for the both of us. I always ran on the right, or near the curb. It was a way of dad protecting me from traffic. As we ran, Dad waved at everyone.

  Everyone knew my dad and liked him.

  The local school had hired Dad right after he had graduated from a prestigious private university. In college, he was an All-American in track, a big shot in his fraternity, and active in the community―the kind of guy that parents wanted their daughters to date. His whole persona had transferred well into this small town. Upon arrival, word had spread quickly amongst the females of this hot, young math teacher. I would never know if he succumbed to any of the “passes” that were directed his way by wives, divorcees, or every high school girl in existence.

  There was one girl who had gotten my dad’s attention. They were both teachers, and their courtship had lasted a year. They had married, and soon I was born. My mom had taken time off to raise me until I was old enough to attend school. She had then gone to work as a secretary at a local church. My theory was that she had had enough of women and girls throwing themselves at my dad, and she hadn’t wanted to see it anymore.

  My dad was not only popular with the ladies. Guys would stop over whenever he was out in the garage. Dad had tools, a TV for sports, a refrigerator with water, soft drinks, and some beers (hidden from my mom) in the crisper. Guys would come in, and they would talk sports, girls, politics, or whatever topic arose. I learned a lot about being a guy by eavesdropping on their conversations.

  My dad seemed to have this “magnetic” personality.

  They say opposites attract, and with my mom and dad, that was true. While Dad was a funny, humorous, and social guy, my mom was quietly reserved. I can’t speak for when she was younger, but the pictures I saw of my parents in their dating days made it look as if they had been incredibly happy. I remember seeing lots of pictures with them and other couples. Now I rarely saw them kiss. They even slept in separate rooms. There were times when my parents would have terrible fights. My mom would be yelling Bible verses at my dad, and he would say vengeful, spiteful things in return. I would lie in bed and pray to God to make them stop. But they never would. I was certain that her job at the church influenced their relationship. Her job was her life. Accepting Jesus Christ as her savior was a defining moment in her relationship with my dad and me.

  On the outside, we looked like the perfect family, but we were highly dysfunctional.

  While Sunday was a day of rest for some, for our family, it was a work day. We all rose at seven a.m. to head for church. Mom would work on the Reverend’s sermon and tidy up some. Dad and I would put out the folding chairs in the nursery and turn on the lights. Dad would be bitching the whole time we were at the church. It was like he was totally annoyed with the whole process.

  There were many times when Dad would make excuses for not attending the service. Maybe he had papers to grade or an important golf match he was looking forward to.

  While I viewed attending church as time wasted, I attended to help keep the peace.

  After we finished setting up, we would then hustle back home to change into our “church clothes.” After the service, we would put everything away and head to the Reverend’s house, where Mom would fix Sunday dinner for both families.

  It was a full day.

  The only relaxing time would be when church was in session. I would find myself dozing off during the sermon, and I would look at my one and only love interest singing in the choir.

  Beth Randolph.

  She was the proverbial-virgin preacher’s daughter who was a natural beauty with auburn hair, not needing any type of makeup. She always wore dresses: the long gypsy type with loose-fitting tops that made my imagination grow. Soon, my teenage hormones would take over, and I would find myself aroused and hoping I wouldn’t have to stand.

  I dreaded every Sunday. I think doing all that for a church that was―in my opinion―nothing more than a money-grubbing entity led me to NOT believe in God.

  My mom’s boss was Reverend Walter Randolph―a widower, our neighbor, and Beth’s father.

  The Reverend Randolph was, in my opinion, a huckster, a con man, and a smooth-talking “religious man” who was in the fundraising business. The local church was just a stepping stone to bigger and brighter things for him and his daughter. Evidently, this was only obvious to me, as he had a huge following.

  Second on his list was keeping his daughter’s virginity intact. I could tell he viewed me as a threat to stealing her “wholesomeness,” and he treated me as such.

  Beth, on the other hand, was a devout Christian who put the masses before her own needs. She led the congregation to start a community garden behind the church. She would spend hours, much of it alone, hoeing and watering fresh vegetables that were free to anyone in the community who needed them

  If there was any time when I couldn’t find her, all I had to do was look in the garden. I felt it was kind of a sanctuary for her. She loved getting her hands dirty.

  Beth and I were almost always considered a “couple,” even when we weren’t. We
had had a few make-out sessions that had led to some over-the-sweater groping, but it always stopped there.

  “No, Steven, I’m not ready,” she would say.

  No other guys would date her, because they knew she wasn’t “easy.” There were a lot of girls in school that were giving it away, but I wasn’t in demand.

  So we were kind of stuck with each other.

  You would think a guy who was handsome and sexy would have offspring as such. Somehow, it had skipped a generation, or maybe I was adopted. I was thin, pale (my dad always had a tan!), gangly at best, and not really that athletic. We had four guys who ran the mile in track. I was third on the depth list.

  Chapter 2

  It was an early April track meet when I saw a crowd gather while I was warming up. I went to investigate, only to find my dad lying on the ground with the paramedics working feverishly to revive him.

  I watched my dad take his last breath.

  I was escorted away from the scene and taken to one of the assistant coaches’ cars. I sat in the back seat while being comforted by people unfamiliar to me. When I arrived home, there were numerous cars in the driveway.

  Word had spread fast.

  Upon entering our house, I saw my mom being comforted. She reached out to me and invited me to pray with her and her friends. I accepted for the sake of my mother. Still, I felt like a hypocrite. Why was I praying? Was it going to bring my dad back? That’s the only thing I wanted. Instead of praying, I was thinking of how my life would be different without him.

  Selfish thinking.

  For the next two days, we planned the funeral. We were never alone with each other. Members of the church guided Mom through this ordeal. Beth was recruited to comfort me. She had lost her mother to cancer a few years back. We talked. She quoted scripture, and she held me. If there was any bright side to this, it would be that Beth and I might end up closer.

  The funeral was held in the high-school gym. It was the only venue that would hold the estimated crowd. As expected, the entire town showed up. Businesses closed. School closed. Grief counselors were called in. Several members of the community gave stirring speeches on Dad’s commitment to this small town. A motion was made to rename the track and field area after him.

  The funeral procession passed several cemeteries that I was familiar with but then made a right turn on a dirt road that lead us to a cemetery that was less than “peaceful.” The headstones were tarnished from the weather, and gargoyles were perched upon several of them. I was stunned to see that my dad’s headstone was just for him and that my mom hadn’t purchased one for the both of them.

  My dad was to spend eternity alone.

  It was still April, but for the most part, all of the trees had bloomed―except the ones that surrounded Dad’s gravesite. They appeared bare and near dead. Reverend Randolph provided a very nondescript eulogy, as he and my dad had disliked each other because of all the hours Mom spent at work. In fact, I could have thought of a hundred different people who could have done a better job. As the Reverend spoke, the sky darkened and I saw my mom whispering to herself, looking as if she were praying. As they lowered my dad’s body into the ground, my mom’s expression turned from one of mourning to one of relief.

  Mom returned to work two days later. I took a week off to catch my breath and grieve. With no one home, I wandered through the house mentally picturing Dad in every room and recalling the conversations we’d had. I looked at our running shoes. After we ran, we always took our shoes off and placed them side by side. It had started when I was nine, and the tradition had continued until his death. The thought of running without him was unconceivable.

  After a week off, I decided to head back to school. Mom greeted me in the morning with a kiss on the head and Dad’s car keys.

  “It’s yours now,” she said.

  Dad’s car was an older four-door Ford with roll-down windows and an AM radio. The only thing keeping it from being an original was the plastic St. Michael figure that adorned the top of the dash. I remember my dad chastising me as I kept trying to remove it and play with it when I was little.

  “It keeps Evil away,” he would say.

  Dad had always driven Beth and me to school. I would ride in back while Beth flirted with my Dad.

  This was the first time I had sat in this car since he passed away. Mom sat in the passenger seat.

  “Oh my,” she said. “Remind me to get an air freshener.” I didn’t say anything, but the last thing I wanted was to take the “smell” away. It smelled like Dad. It smelled like his old sweat socks and the coffee he had drunk. His gym bag was in the back seat from the day he passed. I didn’t even want to change his radio stations.

  The first day back at school, I was met with some hugs and false promises from some popular kids that had never spoken to me before. Never in my life had I ever just wanted to be left alone and to go back to being just a face in the crowd. Thankfully, the attention died down. Like most pale, gangly kids whose athletic abilities were limited, I excelled more in the classroom. I found myself lacking attention and focus, and I bombed some of my finals. The faculty took into consideration what I had been through and gave me generous grades.

  Chapter 3

  My summers were spent working at the local golf course. The early summer mornings were a time of thought and reflection. Not only did I work there, but Dad and I were members. Being a teacher and having his summers off, Dad had always golfed more than I had, and of course, it was something else he had excelled at. Mowing the fairways gave me time to remember certain drives and putts that had occurred and the laughs we had shared.

  When he had golfed with friends it had always been a foursome. When we had golfed, it had always just been him and me. I think he had enjoyed our “alone time.’’

  Getting up early for the golf course was sometimes a struggle. After Dad’s death, I wasn’t sleeping well. I hadn’t been running, and my body was taking notice. I had put on some weight, and my energy level was low. I decided to take some sleeping pills that I had discovered in the bathroom. I took the required amount and soon felt drowsy.

  And this is the beginning of my story.

  I drifted off quickly and even found myself chuckling and feeling goofy. Finally, I thought to myself, a good night’s sleep. I soon found myself awakened by a sweet, indescribable smell. I looked around only to see myself lying on the side of a hill abundant with wildflowers. I stood and noticed a large oak tree in the distance. I was drawn to it. As I got closer, I saw a girl motioning me to come to her. She was blonde with a white gown, brown eyes, and a smallish figure. She wrapped her arms around me. It felt warm and comforting. She said she had been sent to guide me through this difficult time and that she would always be here for me. She was beautiful. She sat down, I laid my head on her lap, and she brushed my hair from my eyes. It felt so real, but at the same time surreal.

  I was soon awakened by my alarm clock. Five a.m.―time to go to work. That dream stuck with me for days. Every night, from then on, I would try and make myself fall asleep and dream. I tried retracing my steps, eating the same food, taking the same sleeping pills, and going to sleep at the same time. It became an obsession.

  I had to see this “angel” again.

  It was only a couple of days into our summer vacation when Beth stopped over for a visit and invited us to meet their new exchange student. I reluctantly agreed, as their previous exchange students had all been holy rollers who had known the Bible front to back. Being a nonbeliever, they were not the kind of people I wanted to spend time with.

  That night, I struck gold. Same dream, same scenario. Only this time, it was even more real.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Alexa,” she replied.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “A calling came out to help a young man with the death of his father. I’m answering the call to be by your side. Are you the one who needs me?”

  “Yes! Yes! Me. I’m Steven,�
� I answered enthusiastically.

  “You miss your father, don’t you?”

  My eyes filled with tears. “Yes.”

  She held me as I cried and told her all about him. It was exactly what I needed. She told me she was my angel and that she would always be there for me. I smiled and drifted off.

  Once again, I was awakened by a shrill alarm clock. But this morning I felt renewed and regenerated. I had a bounce in my step, and the name “Alexa” was in my thoughts. After work, I grabbed a sandwich and went straight to my room, hoping for a nap and another visit with her.

  But no luck.

  Mom reminded me that the Randolph’s were having a little party for their new exchange student. “He’s from Ecuador,” Mom said. “A very well-spoken boy who gives very stirring sermons. We’re very lucky to have him join us.”

  Yeah, I thought, just another con man.

  It was a very casual affair. Potluck. Mom fixed lasagna, and all the other church members brought side dishes and desserts. I thought, At least I’ll get my stomach full. With a mouth full of food, I saw Beth walking towards me with the new exchange student.

  “Steven, I’d like you to meet Miguel.” I shook his hand, and he crushed mine. Damn Alpha Male, I thought to myself. I didn’t like this guy from the start. And as the night grew longer, I grew jealous as Hell, as Beth never left his side. She was showing a flirtatious side that I had never seen before. It was obvious that she was smitten with him.

  After a couple of hours, I got tired of Beth and all of the other girls (and some of the women too) throwing themselves at this guy. I guess I could understand. He was tall, dark-skinned, and well-mannered―a Casanova type. My mom approached me.

  “Have you met Miguel?”

  “Yeah, I’ve met him.” I turned and went home.

  It had caught me off guard. I wasn’t used to seeing Beth with someone else, especially someone as handsome as this guy. Certainly, she wouldn’t give herself to this boy who was only going to be here for a few months. I put on my sweat pants and went to bed.