Fallen Stones

by Thomas M. Malafarina

  Suddenly Jason became hopeful. Maybe he wasn't going to lose his job after all. He hadn't realized it but all the while he was listening to Walter he was subconsciously dreading having to break the news to Stephanie. But now, from what Walt was saying, perhaps there might be a small ray of hope.

  "What sort of alternative?" he asked.

  Walter hesitated for a beat then said, “Everyone was impressed with your work on this project and they are prepared to offer you the ‘Manager Of Manufacturing Engineering’ position at the facility in Ashton."

  "Ashton?" Jason said in disbelief, "But what about Jim Dodson? Isn't he still the manager at the Ashton facility?"

  "He is... or I should say he was." Walter replied, "But he too was offered a chance to take early retirement and he jumped at the opportunity even faster than I did."

  That was when the realization hit Jason. He was going to have to uproot and relocate his family. Sure, it would only be about fifty miles north of where they currently lived, and probably would not be a major inconvenience for visitations with his stepdaughter Cindy's dad, but still it was a major adjustment to put his family through; a new place to live and a new school in the fall.

  "Jason," Walter confided, "I don't know that you have a lot of choices here. However, I still would like you to take the weekend and talk it over with Stephanie. Maybe you two can take the kids and drive up through the area around Ashton and see what sort of house you might want to buy. You can get a lot more for your dollar up there and your salary will be substantially higher, so I see no reason why you would not be able to buy or even build a much bigger home...

  “And I'll tell you what... I'm going to need you here the early part of next week for a few days until the Ashton group is finished, but if you decide to take the offer, you can take off next Wednesday through Friday to drive up to Schuylkill County and maybe meet with some realtors. I'll speak with the personal folks at Ashton to see who they recommend.

  "Look," Walter said. "It’s two fifteen. Why don't you head out for the weekend, drive around for a bit, maybe go and sit under a tree or something and think about how you want to present this to Stephanie. It's a great opportunity, Jason, and a lot better than the alternative for sure. But it's also a very big step, and you both need to be onboard with whatever decision you make."

  Jason stood on wobbly legs, his mind reeling. He had so many things to consider, so much to think about. He thanked Walter once again and headed for the door. As he passed a large mirror, which hung on the wall behind the office door, he thought he saw a strange man staring out at him. Although he only got a split-second glimpse, the image made his breath catch in his throat. Jason swore the man appeared as if he had wild and insane eyes. His face was a mass of bloody cuts, and his left ear appeared to have been severed from his head as well. Jason blinked and the image was gone.

  Walter noticed Jason's reaction and asked "Are you all right, Jason? You look like you just saw the devil, himself."

  Jason realized he must have had one of those strange moments when you see something out of the corner of your eye; something you swear you actually saw only to discover it was all an illusion or a trick of light, shadow and imagination. "Man," he replied, "all of this is so much to absorb. I think maybe I need a drink to calm my nerves; this stuff must be really getting to me."

  "Well, that's probably not a bad idea, Jason, my boy. God knows I've had my share of drinks while trying to cope with everything that’s happening. The best advice I can give you is to do whatever it takes to help you relax and then figure out what you think is best for Steph and the kids. I'll be right here for you whenever you make up your mind. And if you think of any more questions you have for me just call me anytime. You have all my numbers.”

  On his drive home, Jason tried to figure out how he was going to break the news to Stephanie. Neither of them had ever even considered moving before, but now they would have to give it some serious thought, as his only other option would be to try and find another job locally or else to be unemployed. He had enough severance and vacation to carry him for a few months at best, but regardless, he would have to try to land another position right away. He was the sole source of income for his family, supporting not only Stephanie but their three kids as well. He didn’t like the idea of relocating north but with the economy in the toilet, he might have to face the fact that he likely might not have any alternative.

  He hated the idea of introducing more change into his kids' lives. It was only a few years earlier that Jason had gotten divorced from his unfaithful first wife and then young Jeremy had to get used to living with Jason alone, with essentially no mother. His ex-wife and her new husband had moved to Ohio and although she always said she missed Jeremy badly, she never seemed to be short on excuses for why she was not able to either come to Pennsylvania to see Jeremy or to allow him to go out to Ohio as well.

  Jeremy had only seen his mother once since the divorce. And then to complicate matters further, the young boy then had to adjust to Jason’s marriage to Stephanie as well as moving into their new townhouse and getting to know his new younger stepsister Cindy. Jason was grateful Jeremy and Cindy did not have to change schools or that might have made a tough situation even worse. And then when Stephanie became pregnant, the two step-siblings, formerly only children, suddenly found themselves with a new baby brother. Jason realized it was quite an adjustment for them to make and was pleased with how, despite everything, they seemed to adapt quite well.

  Cindy’s father, Bill, who lived in northern Berks County, almost at the Schuylkill county border, was still an active part of her life, and she saw him regularly. Since he lived about half way between where they currently lived and Ashton, any move they might consider would not impact his relationship with Cindy or his visitation significantly.

  However, no matter how much he might hope for the contrary, Jason knew that moving would definitely impact the children to a greater extent than he would prefer. The two kids had been in the same school system since pre-school, and at ten and twelve years old had a large network of close friends. There was no way he could imagine pulling off a move to Ashton without affecting them in a very negative way. Jason decided neither he nor Stephanie should mention anything to the kids until they both had at least an initial chance to discuss their limited alternatives.

  Jason also didn't look forward to adding the stress of this new situation to his current work stress and wondered how badly it could affect what he considered his otherwise perfect home life. Yet knew he would have little choice but to face the problem head-on as he did all similar situations and try to find the best solution. He was seriously considering the possibility of commuting the fifty plus miles north every day. He already had a forty-five minute drive to work. So what would another fifteen or twenty-five minutes matter; especially as a temporary solution? But he knew it would eventually begin to take its toll, physically and mentally not to mention the wear and tear on his car as well as physical dangers associated with such a long and unpredictable commute when the cold winter months arrived.

  Jason thought back to a time during the early part of his career when he had worked for a Berks County manufacturer and had known some shop employees who commuted daily from Schuylkill County to the Reading area in order to take advantage of the higher paying jobs. They enjoyed benefiting from the higher wages they earned but had no desire to relocate their families out of their native county. They were a tightly knit group of workers which some of Jason's co-workers jokingly referred to as the "Coal Region Mafia".

  Some of these men carpooled while others paid drivers for the right to have a seat in their vans full of commuters. This allowed them to still commute to work but sleep during the more than one-hour trip while the van owners drove. Jason knew of three or four workers who owned large vans and charged people to ride with them daily; these entrepreneurs always seemed to have a list of people waiting and never had empty seats. It was a nice little under-the-table business, whic
h allowed the owners to always drive brand new automobiles, which their passengers helped to pay for.

  However, he never heard of anyone heading in the opposite direction as jobs in Schuylkill County were few and the wages were not up to par with their neighboring counties. So if he planned to commute, Jason knew he would likely be doing so alone and with the price of gas he wondered how much of his raise he would end up pouring directly into his gas tank. But nevertheless he decided riding alone might be for the best, as he often had to arrive early and occasionally leave late, which he suspected might occur more frequently with his new managerial responsibilities.

  Jason really didn't mind the idea of a long commute to work. With his present daily drive to Lancaster, he had become an avid listener to audio books. He would regularly go to the local library and borrow numerous audio books. Jason found that it not only made great use of the commuting time and was relaxing, but it also provided him with an opportunity to listen to the writings of authors he might not normally take the time to read.

  During his long drive home, Jason realized this was going to be one of the toughest weekends of his life and he and Stephanie would have to do a lot of soul searching before making their final decision.

  Suddenly he felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck and felt as if someone was watching him. He looked into the rearview mirror and within a split second took in all of the details of what he believed he saw. For a brief second, Jason was certain he there was a man sitting in the back seat of his car. The man appeared to be in his sixties, rail thin and shirtless. The man had long slashes down his chest forming a series of V-shapes from which blood flowed freely. The man's face was likewise slashed as if with a razor and one of his ears was missing. Jason was certain it was the same tortured man who he thought he had seen in Walt's mirror; but he know was impossible.

  Startled he blinked his eyes and just as quickly as it had appeared, the horrific vision in the back seat was gone from sight. Jason felt a steady rough bumping and realized his car was heading off the highway. He quickly brought the car back under control and reluctantly looked again into the rearview mirror, and to his gratitude unspeakable creature was gone.

  "Wow." Jason said aloud, "I really have to find some way to relieve some of this stress. It must really be getting to me."

  The rest of the way home Jason's eyes darted between the highway and the rearview mirror as if he believed the horrible vision would return. Despite the mild May temperature and the fact his air conditioning was running full blast, Jason was drenched with a cold sweat beneath his clothing.

  Chapter 3

  Forty-eight hours earlier...

  A darkly clad man hunched silently in the shadows, feeling the tumblers of the lock gradually give way beneath the pressure of his special burglar’s lock pick held tightly in his right hand. He had practiced this task many times during the past several weeks, honing his technique for this special moment. Soon he heard the familiar click, indicating the locking mechanism had released and he was clear to go inside. Opening the door ever so slowly, he waited a moment to hear if there was an alarm system present and if so, if it was activated. He was pleased to have his patient anticipation greeted with nothing but wonderful silence. Apparently, there really was no security system to worry about. This wasn't what he would consider the smartest move on the homeowner’s part, but perhaps in this area of the country locals didn't deem such countermeasures necessary. Or maybe the owner simply never got around to installing one. And now of course it was much too late for that. Knowing what he did about the owner, the man assumed the owner's arrogance would not have permitted him to install such a system.

  He opened the back door of the house and slid quickly into the darkened rear kitchen, shutting the door behind him. He stood silently in the room; his back pressed tightly against the door, feeling the cool glass of the small window panes against the back of his head, the only sound in the kitchen being that of his own shallow breath escaping in barely audible puffs.

  He waited, giving his eyes time to adjust to the near total darkness, which was scarcely supplemented by the meager light of the moon coming in through the windows with their curtains drawn tightly shut. Jack thought about how long he had searched to find his enemy; all the years he had planned to exact his revenge. He looked down at his left hand, which he stretched open, palm up, fingers extended, appearing as nothing more than a black-silhouetted form. But in that charcoal shadow, he could see the one missing element of the shape, the place where his ring finger had once been. It was the finger, which had once held his precious wedding ring, but now both the ring and the finger were long gone; taken years ago by his enemy; taken by the rotten black-hearted bastard known as Emerson Washburn.

  Jack Moran thought again, of how angry and frustrated he had become a month ago, when after he had finally been released from prison, and had spent six months tracking Emerson Washburn, he finally learned of his location only to hear of the man's recent death. Jack had planned his revenge for so many years while he wasted away in that prison cell. He often thought of how someday he would track down Emerson Washburn and torture him mercilessly. Jack planned on making the man endure the same agony he, himself had suffered at Washburn’s own hand so many years earlier, but he intended to make Washburn’s suffering a thousand times worse.

  But now, since Washburn was already dead, likely rotting away in some lost hole in Hell, Jack would unfortunately never have the opportunity to properly seek his retribution. He had originally heard through his street connections that Washburn was dead and then later heard from a few talkative residents at a local bar how Washburn had apparently committed suicide.

  For some reason, the regional newspaper chose not to mention anything about Washburn's suicide, but simply stated he had been found dead in his bathtub. Anyone reading it might assume a heart attack or stroke, but not suicide. He wondered if Washburn had managed to gain control of several important local officials with the power to control such things. Jack didn't know for certain and didn't particularly care, but it sounded like something Washburn might do. As far as Jack was concerned, dead was dead and the once great Emerson Washburn was now as dead as anyone could be. However, he was frustrated he had missed his opportunity to be the bringer of that death.

  “Suicide was too good for that rotten pig,” Jack had thought to himself. “He saved himself from the Hell on earth I planned to bring down on him.” Perhaps the ghosts of the people Washburn had killed in his sordid past had come back to haunt him, and had driven him mad. That thought brought a slight smile to Jack’s silhouetted face. Ironically, Jack had no idea how close to the truth his statement had been.

  Jack turned slightly to look out through the kitchen door window, out onto the huge rear deck making sure the five-gallon can of gasoline he bought with him was readily available. He could see in-ground swimming pool he had walked around to access the deck. Jack placed the lock pick into his jacket pocket and felt for the lighter, which he had put there to use later. Then he reached around to touch the thirty-eight-caliber revolver he had loaded and tucked into his jeans at the small of his back. He didn't actually believe he would need the weapon but it never hurt to be prepared, and if he suddenly did need it, the weapon would be easily accessible.

  Jack had heard that Washburn had left his old life of crime in New Jersey behind him and had retired to a new quiet life in Pennsylvania. Jack was shocked to see the isolated and serene atmosphere the former gangster had chosen. Then he thought "No wonder he had killed himself. Such an environment would drive any self-respecting city boy crazy." He suppressed a laugh.

  He also wondered how the man could survive alone without his entourage of goons to watch his back or how Washburn could live without hurting someone at least once a week. He had experienced Washburn’s propensity for incredible violence first-hand, and understood just how much the man enjoyed inflicting pain. Jack was not at all surprised when, throughout the years, he also heard stories of ot
her horrendous acts Washburn had committed, which were even more deplorable than what Washburn had done to him.

  For over twelve long years, Jack Moran had dreamed of capturing and binding the man so he was helpless and then yanking out his fingernails one at a time. Next, he would use a tin shear to systematically remove each of the bastard's fingers, one knuckle joint at a time. Then he would have started on Washburn’s toes. He had planned to keep the man alive for as long as possible, making the torture seem endless, until Washburn finally succumbed to his trauma and blood loss. But now, that dream was never to be realized. But that didn't mean Jack couldn't still exact some form of revenge. And that was exactly why Jack Moran had broken into Washburn's home this very evening; for a little bit of R and R: revenge and retribution. Also, he had to retrieve something of his own; something very precious to him.

  Standing in the darkness he thought back to the night when it had all happened, that unforgettable night when he had been overpowered and knocked unconscious by several of Washburn’s goons. Although he was not a large or powerful man, Jack always prided himself on being able to hold his own in any type of physical altercation. But on the night Washburn's men took him, Jack had been caught off guard and never had the opportunity to even attempt to defend himself.

  Jack Moran was not a career criminal or even a petty thief at the time he unfortunately crossed paths with Emerson Washburn. He had however, been a compulsive gambler and a chronic liar, two undesirable vices which when combined always seemed to bring with them very negative consequences. But no matter how unsavory or distasteful, neither of these traits was considered illegal in the eyes of the law.

  Unfortunately, for John “Jack” Michael Moran II, his inalienable right to gamble had become much more than the occasional legal vice, it had instead become a compulsion, an addiction. As a result, Jack found himself expanding his gambling activities beyond those legal games of chance and into the dark underworld of illegal gambling. Even more unfortunate for Jack, when it came to gambling, his propensity for good luck fell far short of his compulsive need to gamble. That was how he found himself owing over fifty large to a bookie representing the interests of one Camden, New Jersey businessman of sorts by the name of Emerson Washburn.