I began with the mandatory address… or something like it. “As I think you know, I’m Alex and this is Paige. Today you sit there more concerned about tonight’s game than our world. I know. I feel it too, but we can’t forget what’s waiting at the end of this tunnel. We’re almost there,” I confided and glanced at my notepad. “Now is our time, but we can’t forget those who came before us. Those people blazed a trail for us to follow, but why? This is something I’ve wondered for years. Over the last sixteen days, everything has changed for me. I’ve spoken with people who lived the past, seen through their eyes in the most dire of times. For once, I finally understand my father. I always respected him, but wondered why he went to war, risking his life for people a world away. Why weren’t we enough to keep him home?”
I hesitated at even mentioning his name and telling the world what I’d been through, but it was too important to leave out. Paige nodded to me in the silence that followed. Grasping her hand in mine, I continued.
“My father made it home, but was never the same. He’d been shot three times and left for dead as the only survivor of his company. He accompanied his brothers home but was the only one to step off the plane. A tear slid down his face that day, the first I’d ever seen. He never lost the limp the doctors said would lessen over time. Maybe it was just that he never had much time. Within a year, he was killed by a drunk driver. I lost so much. It wasn’t often that he and I got to talk, let alone play football or do things like a father and son should.”
I brushed away my sorrow with a midnight sleeve, and Paige squeezed tighter. “Now, I’ve lost a brother and sister due to a horrible stepfather. It’s hard to know what life has in store for you. You’ve all been watching me like a hawk over the last couple weeks. Some tried to help, to change things, but that doesn’t always work out the way we planned.” The memory of a white medical sheet drifted down behind my eyes, covering Gloria’s face for the thousandth time that morning.
Wide-eyed students gazed as I paced the front of the classroom, their faces etched in stone. “This is a crazy world, one I don’t know how to navigate, but it’s the only one we have. It’s up to us to make it what we want. You can learn from the people that came before you, from their successes and their failures. I have. Now I know what’s missing in my life. I know who to trust and where people stand when times get tough. The people I’ve met and the moments they shared have taught me through their actions. They will guide you. They fought on the battle lines for all of us, but specifically for those they loved. They watched their comrades massacred at their very feet. With blood and gore all around, they fought on until they too were gunned down. They didn’t give up, because their family’s futures depended on it. Although we may not agree with why we’re fighting, I can’t believe my father would risk his life for anything less. He came home, only to be killed by a drunk.
“This last week, I’ve lost two more of my family. I can only tell you to treasure the time you have. Life is too short to fight and bicker. You never know how long it will last. We all make mistakes but learn to forgive, and you’ll be happier. Wishing we could change the past doesn’t help. We have to use those experiences and look to the future. If not, we’re letting those that suffered for us die in vain. In their deaths they speak to us, teach us lessons. If we don’t listen, we cast them out like garbage and are doomed to encounter the same problems. We must remember them!” The final words echoed through the room like the hum of stretched rubber bands.
Paige reassessed me with a measuring gaze. After a brief start, a smile curled the edges of her lips and she returned to her seat. As I navigated through the bags littering the aisle, a familiar and robust drawl whispered, “Dear boy, thank you. You’ve done a great service.” I smiled and a weight lifted from my shoulders, only to be replaced by another. One task down, and a thousand more to come.
“Thank you, Mr. Drummond and Miss Kurtley,” Mr. Broaderick intoned. “I appreciate your passion and concern in keeping abreast of past events.” Turning his attention to the class, he said, “Remember, those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.” After the fiftieth time, I was sure most of the students remembered. “Anyone else need to present?”
Grant Brogand raised his hand. “I haven’t gone yet.”
“Great, Grant. What’s your presentation about?”
Grant rose and stumbled through the cluttered aisle before reaching the front of the class. “Well… I changed my topic. Originally I wanted to talk about my dad, but after discovering a few things, I chose to focus more on Bo Jackson, a sports star who made something of himself after making some bad decisions.”
A groan escaped a few of the students dressed in black. Unlike me, that was their normal attire. They slouched at the back of the class, whispering to each other with a nudge.
“Look, I know he made some mistakes,” Grant continued. “I think we can all agree with that, but he’s done something that most said was impossible. He admits to his mistakes, even tells people about them so they won’t go down the same road. He overcame his checkered past and played in the NFL and major league baseball. He became a star. Like him, I’ve made mistakes, treated people badly, but I’m ready to make a change.”
Snickers echoed around the room. “Good luck,” whispered a lackluster athlete in a varsity football t-shirt. “The apple don’t fall too far from the tree.” Others nodded. Paige had been right, the rumors were running rampant.
Grant ignored them and his eyes settled on me. “I know there are rumors going around about my family. I won’t deny them. I’ve learned more about my father and relatives in the last few days than I ever knew before.” The solid admission of these facts halted his critics. His gaze held me in place, but not out of fear. The look was far more praising, as though his hatred had been replaced with respect. He had undergone something over the last week, too.
He released me from his invisible grip, and after a moment’s examination of the class, continued with somber intonation. He emphasized each point with held breath and silence. It was reminiscent of what people had said about Abraham Lincoln’s speeches. “One thing I want you to remember is that I’m not them. I can be better than my father. I can prove it to you, all of you, and I will. Bo showed the world that he was a better person. He’s earned their respect, and I will, too.”
His eyes echoed his deep-seated determination and held each student in place as they had me. The snickers faded. It was as though their backsides were glued to the plastic seats. They peered up at him, waiting for the impossible to happen. Some would patronize him after they left, but few dared under his weighty glare.
Mr. Broaderick broke the austere silence with a clap of his hands. “Wow! That’s quite a promise, Mr. Brogand. I hope you can.” Then, turning to the class, he added, “Everyone hand in the written papers, and I’ll grade them this weekend.”
Assignments shuffled from hand to hand as students passed them forward before repacking their book bags. The bell erupted while he tried to gather them, dodging students as they leapt from their seats and filed out of the class. I lagged behind, waiting for Mr. Broaderick, when Paige dragged me from the room.
“Hey, what are you doing? I’ve got to get an extension on my paper.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Excuse me? What do you mean why? I knew what to say but didn’t have time to put it together. You know that.”
Paige glared with tired eyes. “I know. That’s why I wrote it for you.”
“You did?”
She nodded.
“Alex, I can’t believe you even came today.” She grasped my hands and pinned me to the wall. “This isn’t where you should be.”
I shook my head and attempted to put my sentiments in words. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes…”
I gripped her hands tighter. “You should understand why I had to present. When I walked into that battlefield museum, I felt and heard the people who died there. They spoke to me. Did you see how
little they got from donations? People are forgetting.”
“Yeah, I know. People do that. As much as Mr. Broaderick would hate to hear me say it, people do. They don’t like thinking about the Holocaust and screwed-up things like that.”
“I know,” I agreed, “but I can’t let that happen. They died for us. That would be like me forgetting my dad. I just can’t do that and we can’t afford to let the world forget either.”
“I get it,” she muttered with a shrug, “but why does it have to be you? Can’t someone else do it? We’re just kids.”
“Yeah,” I answered, leading her outside, “but do you know anyone else that can?”
“No,” she mumbled to the ground.
“I’ve got to, or else they all died for nothing.”
Paige walked on in thoughtful silence, but the pressure of her hand spoke volumes.
Chapter 32
Family Ties
February 12, 2010
Fifteen years later…
The large office was now immersed in darkness. Twilight stars peered through the few windows, and the solitary lamp on Alex’s desk was like a beacon in the night.
“So, Dad,” interrupted Jamie, “is that how you solved the case for Mrs. Heckner, that one where the lady’s husband got so mad at you that he confessed to get you to stop talking?”
Alex reddened. “Yes, but we normally aren’t that lucky. The prosecution didn’t have much on him, or so I was told.”
“But you knew so many of the guy’s secrets that no one else could prove. They couldn’t get him on any of it?”
Alex shook his head. “I knew the truth, but without his confession we would have lost. We were fortunate. Not everything turns out like you think it should. Knowing is only half the battle, proving it and standing up for what’s right is the hard part.”
“I see.” Jamie scribbled a few last-minute notes.
“What happened to Grant Brogand’s family? That big house was torn down last year.”
“Well, without proof I couldn’t do much, but it didn’t take long for word to get out about Daniel Brogand’s suspected foul play. After that, people stopped dealing with him and his business went under. Around here, people don’t take kindly to shady dealings and suspected murders. Grant had some rough patches, but he’s doing fine. You’ve probably seen him on TV every now and again, broadcasting sports.”
“That’s good, I guess.”
“It is. It proves that there’s always time to redeem ourselves.”
Jamie considered his father’s words in silence before jotting a few notes. “Is that why Aunt Abby never talks about being a kid?” he asked, glancing up from his paper.
Alex nodded from the edge of the lamplight, his chair flexing with the motion.
“And how about Paige? What happened to her?”
Jamie’s father chuckled. “Paige is your mother’s first name.”
“Oh… I knew that,” he replied, covering the embarrassment reddening his cheeks.
Alex watched as the gears turned in his head.
Jamie’s eyes flashed down at the paper, finding another question he had taken note of during the story. “If things turned out okay for Grandma, when did she die?”
Memories of her years at Sammy’s Shop Smart whirled by, time spent visiting with his mother at work after college. Blake, the store manager had been replaced, as had his replacement, but Vivian was always passed over for promotion and left tending the register. The town had never been known for violence, although it had seen its share, but over the years hostility within the town became more visible, appearing where you would least expect it. It was during one such event, that some young men decided to step into Sammy’s Shop Smart with greed on their mind.
Alex’s throat dried as the memories swirled, leaving him parched like the Arabian Desert. Easing them from his mind, he croaked, “A few years later. She was shot by some thieves who robbed the corner store where she worked. I tried to get her to find another job for years. She was capable of so much more, but she would never hear of it. At least Abby was able to get her life back in order. It took a while, but by her junior year her grades had risen and she’d opened up to me. When I went away to college, I got a call from her at least once a week. So, you see, it helped me find my destiny and in turn, helped your Aunt Abby. Does that answer your question?”
“Yeah,” replied the young voice as he jotted one last note in his spiral book. Then, the scratch of his pen stopped. He sat looking at the paper in silence until his familiar eyes peeked back over the cluttered desk. “But why was it important?”
“Well, without it, who knows what I’d be doing?”
The desk answered his question with a repeated chime. Shuffling stacks of papers to the side, Alex revealed the source after the third ring and lifted the receiver. “Detective Drummond, Homicide.” He grabbed a small notepad from the desk drawer and scribbled a few comments. “Uh, huh,” he muttered. “Yes, and where did you find the body?”
The caller’s tinny voice echoed to Jamie, who gathered his notebook, put away his pen, and waved to his father with a whispered, “See you at home.” Stuffing the pad under his arm, he skipped across the old wooden floor and bounded down the stairs, taking two at a time.
Before he disappeared from view, Alex covered the phone with his palm. “Jamie, be sure to stop by and see Grandma and Grandpa on the way home. I’ll even lend you my spot under the old pine.”
Jamie stopped at the bend in the stairwell. “Sure, Dad,” he shouted back, “I will. Oh, but Grandpa said to tell you that you’ve made him proud. I’m not sure why.” Without another thought, he vaulted down the remaining stairs and out the building.
Alex looked after him with a puzzled brow while the caller’s voice rattled in his ear.
Grandpa said?
A LIFE OF DEATH: 7
BY
WESTON KINCADE
The Golden Bulls
- BOOKS of the DEAD -
Part Two:
The Golden Bulls
* * *
Prologue
Have you ever found yourself in an unfair position, dealing with someone who’s insane? That’s what every year of high school was like for me. My abusive stepfather, who I called the Drunk, was one such person. It’s not always the victim’s fault. Sometimes you don’t have a choice but to spend your time picking up the pieces and trying to avoid most of the fallout. However, innocent people are often the ones who suffer. In my senior year he was hauled off to prison, not to be released anytime soon. The family was trying to get their lives back in order, but it was hard when such a large part of my life was missing. Gloria—my young, golden-haired stepsister—was one of those innocent victims. I suppose you could also say that Frank, my older stepbrother, was a victim of circumstance and problematic upbringing for the same reasons. Heck, living with the Drunk as a father would drive anyone to drink, and Frank suffered the consequences. It’s kind of like growing up and running through life in a straitjacket; your decisions and choices are limited to what you can do with your hands tied. Eventually you learn to get out like Houdini, or you drown.
For me… I’m still missing another large piece of my heart. My real father, Terry Drummond, died when I was in eighth grade. It wasn’t a secret. People knew, but they didn’t talk about it. Grandpap, my dad’s father, had Alzheimer’s and was in a home up the road a few hours. That first year we visited a few times, but Mom had a hard time reminding Grandpap that Terry was gone and who we were. The visits stopped not long after that. A while after I graduated I bought a car, an old Buick; I stopped by from time to time. Unfortunately, he didn’t know me. One time I convinced him I was a vacuum salesman for the hell of it. He wouldn’t remember after a few minutes anyway, but boy was he excited about the prospect of getting a Supersucker—at least for the ten minutes or so his memory held out.
At home with Mom and the girls, things changed; we were coping. However, my life was never to be the same. I wasn’t w
hat you would call normal. I didn’t grow a second head or anything, but I couldn’t help the grotesque things I saw. I had a few run-ins with victims, people speaking from beyond the grave. And I know what you’re thinking… don’t get me wrong; I’m not crazy. I thought I might be at first—crazy, not senile—but enough truth came out of those first few visions that there’s no doubt in my mind anymore. There is one question that still bothers me at times, though: is this ability, these visions—are they a blessing or a curse? Father Gilbert said the future is whatever we make it. I think he might have stolen that saying from some sci-fi flick, but I came to agree with him. It doesn’t matter why I can see these horrific murders. What matters is what I do with the ability.
The summer after those awful events flew by faster than I could have imagined. Graduation came and went. Madessa High School was finally just a speck in my rearview mirror. I still keep in touch with a few friends like Jessie and Paige, of course. The time I spent at Dad’s grave resting under that old, familiar pine dwindled, though. Every once in awhile I make it by and spend a few hours by his side. The bark on the tree is still smooth and comforting like it used to be, having conformed itself to my constant company. Now Jamie, my only son, has taken to sitting under those comforting limbs. I can only hope it isn’t for the same reasons. His life is better than mine was back in high school—I made sure of that, but he’s quiet, much like I was. Guess he’s got a lot on his mind.
Like him, Glory is always present in my mind, too. I can’t always keep the feelings at bay. She’s still with me. There are even times when I think she’s whispering through the leaves in the wind, but it’s as if the words are a blend of the many voices I’ve heard over the years. They come to me when I least expect it, and sometimes I still wonder if it might be a curse. But, it’s my responsibility. These people need help. They’ve been beaten and bloodied, left with no one to speak for them—no one but me.
A Life of Death: Episodes 5 - 8 Page 7
