The Place They Are Safe

by Alan Spencer

  Cassie guided him between two buildings, and next thing he knew, he was running down hill and racing back into the woods. The sound of the easygoing flow of the creek became clearer the farther they escaped from town's noise. He wasn't sure where she was taking him, or her motives, so he didn't bother to ask.

  Mark noted the canoe and the two oars propped against a tree. Cassie invited him for a ride. "We'll paddle for awhile, see where we go to, and we can talk," her eyes lit up at saying the words "all alone."

  She was already dragging the steel canoe towards the water, but she needed his help, so he joined her, and before he had any say in the matter, they were paddling down the creek. Ten minutes into the journey, their surroundings changed. Oak, silver maple, and dogwoods trees changed to sandy beaches laced with palm trees. No buildings or people anywhere to be seen, only a calm solace under the canopy of a sunny tropical paradise. The water was lagoon blue.

  "This is your idea of an escape?"

  Cassie stared on at the palm trees and the shimmering waters entranced. "It's warm, and it's not the same old boring woods." She turned to him as if she really noticed him for the first time. "I know you're worried, Mark. You shouldn't be. If I were to die right now, I'd die a happy woman."

  "But you shouldn't talk about death."

  "It's not death in itself they don't want us talking about. What we have here is a blessing, and to not appreciate it to the fullest goes against who gave it to us. Eternal life. Relief from our fears. We've been cleansed. It's the greatest gift."

  "This place is a fantasy world." Mark couldn't help but say it. "I enjoy it, but how can you not question it? The inner workings of it, I mean. The machine."

  "Once you commit, it's very simple. You have an "ah-hah" moment. Lots of pain for so much philosophical gain."

  "Somebody hurts you?"

  "It's not exactly like that."

  Mark delved the water's surface with his oar. "Everybody talks so secretive, I'm sick of it. How did anybody ever go along with this?"

  "Most of us were so close to death, many would do anything to keep on living. I was very close to dying myself. Weeks away from being dead, I've been told. Peyton took me out of the hospital, drove me back to Meadow Woods, and I was suddenly better. My skin was getting its color back. I was hungry again, and I had energy, and I wanted to live again. Questions of why or who didn't matter because I was all better. That's what got me to commit."

  Mark remembered his moment. "I pissed out my cancer in a rest stop restroom."

  "You did what?"

  Cassie couldn't help but laugh. "I guess not all of our saving moments are full of grace."

  He laughed because she was laughing. "I guess life's not all bad here, it's just so surreal. You have to, I don't know, be able to throw away reality."

  "Is that such a hard thing to do? This place can be whatever you want it to be. It's made us better people. Dr. Albert gets to cure his patients with a bit of talk and a sucker. Dr. Albert took up drinking whenever he lost a patient. He'd seen too many people die, and now, he can save them all. And Reyna Hawkins, she wasn't a very good artist, but she always wanted to be one. Now, she can paint anything that comes to mind. It's like that with Derrick Collins, in his special way. He wrote books for fifteen years without selling any of his work, living in his mother's basement, working at K-mart as a cashier, and now he's writing the best work in his life. He feels like a best-selling author. Lindsey Browne isn't a recluse anymore. She's a socialite. People enjoy her get-togethers. And Peyton had issues with intimacy. He was afraid of being close to a woman, so he's provided with situations where he doesn't have to be close to women to get his thrills. The place knew what he wanted deep down, and it gave it to him."

  "How about you, Cassie? What changed for you?"

  "Duke's been out of my life, and now, the memories of him don't keep me up at night anymore. He abused me. He was a violent tempered man. That's in the past. I can sleep peacefully again. It's a wonderful gift."

  "But can't you see why I'm so full of questions?"

  "That's why they give you a few days to adjust, but the good always outweighs the bad. Don't you have everything you want right here with me?"

  He couldn't admit that having Elizabeth back was his true wish, but whoever was dead was dead for good. There was no magic trick to bring back the dead.

  "I don't mean to scare you, but tomorrow's the final decision on whether you stay or go."

  "It's just everybody seems so brainwashed. The way you talk and describe why things happen the way they do here. You sound brainwashed too."

  "If I'm brainwashed, it's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

  He was about to say something, when she said, "Close your eyes."

  "Why?"

  "Just do it. Trust me."

  Mark obeyed her instructions and closed his eyes. The canoe eased on down the creek. He heard her shift. He smelled food and automatically opened his eyes because he was starving. A wicker picnic basket appeared on the canoe's floor. He opened the basket, hungry.

  "How did you do that?"

  "You think of food, and it happens. You think good things, then good things happen." She pried open the basket with her fingers and unveiled fried chicken and an apple pie. "Mmmm, I'm so hungry. It's lunch time, isn't it?"

  She tore into a drumstick, and Mark selected a thigh. "That's how it works, then? What if you have bad thoughts?"

  "It doesn't work that way."

  He doted on that piece of information, and it sank in what Meadow Woods meant to these people. No wonder they were so offended when he mentioned Elizabeth. Only good things happened, he thought, and everything else was a waste of thought. This place was supreme happiness, and he was a threat to that wonderful existence. He was a non-believer among believers.

  "But I am a believer in the good things that are happening here." Mark didn't mean to say it out loud. "It's a blessing, sure, but it's overwhelming. Can't you remember your first time when these crazy things started to happen?"

  "I do remember that. It's a good point, Mark. You should tell them that tomorrow. Make your point. Argue hard."

  He imagined him sitting in a courtroom—or maybe in the pit of a coliseum—as fingers pointed and mouths hurled accusations at him. If he was going to stay here and live the good life, he was going to have to cut through the bullshit and get to the heart of things.

  "Look, I can roll with pissing out my cancer. Fucking whatever. And meals appearing in front of me, whatever I want, that's dandy. Even breathing underwater while we're humping, that doesn't scare me. What scares me is the force that allows this to happen. A normal person isn't causing these miracles to happen. I mean, the lake in town is now an ocean. A beach! Once I understand who is pulling this off, I might be calmer about the whole situation."

  "Then convince them. Tell them this tomorrow. You'll have no problem winning them over. Like you said, they too were once in your position. You're a good person, Mark, and you deserve to be here."

  What she said gave him an idea.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  After sharing his idea with Cassie, they returned to town. They walked to the fountain beside Bruce Parnell. He was lost in his own thoughts. Mark stood up on the ledge of the fountain and called out to everyone, raising his voice like a protestor, and shouted, "I AM NOT A BAD GUY! I'M A CONFUSED GUY. THIS PLACE IS A BIG OLD POTENT DOSE OF GOOD. IT'S OVERWHELMING FOR A GUY LIKE ME. IT'S HARD TO PLAY BY THE RULES WHEN YOU DON'T KNOW THE RULES. GIVE ME A CHANCE TO UNDERSTAND. IF I HAVE TO DIE, THEN I HAVE TO DIE, BUT LET ME SAY THIS, I'VE HAD A WONDERFUL TIME SEEING OLD FACES, AND, (he turned to Cassie with an honest smile) I'VE HAD A TASTE OF A ROMANCE, AND I ENJOYED IT VERY MUCH. LOOK, I WAS MARRIED FOR OVER TWENTY YEARS. I HELD DOWN A JOB FOR ALMOST JUST AS LONG. I AM A MAN WHO CAN COMMIT TO SOMETHING! GIVE ME THE CHANCE TO UNDERSTAND THIS SITUATION, PLEASE."

  He had more to say, but Sheriff Hildebrandt's patrol car swerved in front of the fountain. Stepping out of his
patrol car, the man strutted out with his chest puffed out and confident.

  "Now Mr. Tripdick, I can't have you disturbing the peace. I'm going to ask you to get down from that fountain and take a ride with me down to the station. It's just to cool your head."

  "Great. I try and prove my case, and it gets me thrown into the clink."

  "Your point has been taken just fine, Mr. Tripdick." The sheriff had a pair of handcuffs dangling from his hand. "Will I need these, or can you come with me like a good citizen?"

  Cassie was drawn to his side. She kissed his cheek. "I'll be right there when you get out, I promise."

  She was shaking.

  "Cassie, why are you so scared?"

  She kept silent as Mark was guided to the car by the sheriff. "She takes the law seriously, that's why she's cared, Mr. Tripdick. Now let's go. You need time to think before tomorrow."

  Escorted to the police station, Mark caught the faces peering out of windows and standing in thresholds of doorways on the way there. The fifty some women stared out of the library windows at him with concern pasted on their faces. Debbie paused from icing a series of birthday cakes to check on the local disturbance. Bruce Parnell wasn't smiling, or making his observations anymore. He wasn't critical. Bruce was concerned and pensive. Chuck Flynn held a steel spatula and paused as he was tending to his meats on the grill, and through the smoke, he too pondered Mark and his speech just moments ago. Dr. Albert stood on a bench outside the hospital. Though he wasn't in earshot of Mark's speech, he acted as if he'd heard every word and was jotting notes on a notepad that he quickly tucked into his lab coat pocket. Conclusions were being made in the man's mind. Many strangers, or faces too much changed over the years to recognize, were standing still with an expression of surprise, almost cartoonish, the way their mouths had fallen open. Some were inspired to tears, especially outside of Priest Linley's steeple, as if Mark was Jesus Christ being staked to the cross live for Meadow Woods to witness. Lindsey Browne had dropped all of her paper invites to tonight's party, the wind picking them up and shooting them across the street. She didn't rush to pick them up, so entranced with Mark's performance. How she heard his speech, he didn't know. Had nobody done such a thing, Mark thought as his body sank deeper into the worn padding of the black vinyl seats of the police car. Reyna Hawkins had been painting the inside of an empty building beside Ronald Sexton's barbershop, both of them pausing from painting and shaving to turn Mark over with their concerned eyes, then quickly returning to their work. That was more than what Derrick Collins did, staying glued to his laptop typing words at incredible and impossible speeds as his tall coffee got cold beside him in the circle of trees he called his workplace. Gibbs was close to Derrick, reading a blank-faced book, and throwing back nips of bourbon between chapter breaks. The man glanced at Mark, but he gave him little attention. The book was much more engrossing than Mark's arrest.

  Sheriff Hildebrandt disturbed Mark from his observations, saying with an authoritative gruff, "You've caused quite a stir. If you can disturb their happy moments, then I consider than TOO much of a disturbance. I like my town peacefully content. We deserve it after all we've been through."

  Mark thought back to the way Cassie was shaking in his presence, the man's badge owning serious clout. "If you don't mind me asking, why was Cassie so scared of you earlier?"

  "It's part of the deal. I keep the peace. The people in this town respect my authority. I do my part, and it all comes full circle."

  "Why are you the peacekeeper? Why not your old deputy, or whoever else worked law enforcement in Meadow Woods? Why you?"

  The sheriff's brow arched. He was caught off-guard by the inquisitive line of questioning. Then his surprise turned into an arrogance. "You ask too many questions, Mr. Tripdick. People don't like it. I don't like it. You're disrespecting everybody here. This is the problem."

  Mark had struck a bad nerve with the man. Perhaps a part of him didn't want to be a peacekeeper here? A lance of insecurity played out on the man's face. The sheriff was hiding something.

  The truth's too much to ask from these people.

  "I think the problem is maybe the questions I have don't have good answers. Nobody has tried to address any of my questions. They've been too afraid, or they talk in circles. Everything's so weird."

  "From an outsider's perspective, sure, I'll give you that, Mr. Tripdick, it's weird. But we're happy here. I think you've already been told we should've died a long time ago. Cancer would've had its way with all of us because of that damn battery factory. Mr. Hartford, the guy who dumped all those chemicals illegally is burning in hell as we speak, and we get to live on in glory. Call it divine intervention."

  "Divine intervention?"

  The sheriff pulled up to a dark brown brick police station. As he was ushered into the small building, he learned there was no switchboard, no one taking calls. There were six cells, each empty.

  "Wait, you're the only one working?"

  With a smug smile, "All we need here is me."

  Mark didn't try to run or fight the man. He let himself be guided into the nearest cell that was just beyond the sheriff's clutter free desk. No files. No paperwork. Only an ashtray for his sizeable stogies and a comfortable office chair. After the sheriff escorted him into the cell, the man sat down and lit up a cigar. He invited Mark to sit on the cot and relax.

  "You'll be here for a few hours."

  Mark did as he was told, already missing the taste of fried chicken and the company of Cassie. "So what now?"

  Through a wall of blue smoke, the sheriff explained, "Okay, you're going to cool your head off. Think about what you want to say tomorrow to everybody. Why you should stay here, for starters. Then if we like what you have to say, we'll show you what it takes to commit. We all do it once a year, every year. No exceptions. It's a bit of pain for a lot of benefit."

  "It's sounds like a death row execution."

  The sheriff removed his feet from the top of his desk and stubbed out his cigar, suddenly finding a distaste for it. "It's not like that, Mr. Tripdick. If you can't understand the glories we've received in this town, then maybe you don't deserve to enjoy them."

  Mark threw up his hands in defeat. He rested on the cot. "You people are so confusing. Almost outright creepy the way you talk. It's like everybody's brainwashed."

  The sheriff grumbled to himself.

  They stopped talking a moment.

  Mark stared at the ceiling, and that's when he noticed the name written in the corner with a magic marker. T. Wilkins.

  Automatically, Mark spoke the name aloud. "T. Wilkins? Who's T. Wilkins?"

  The sheriff struck his baton against the bars, the rattle ear-splitting. The sheriff was fierce, teeth bared, and skin red as a burst capillary. His venomous words stank of a cigar, "How do you know that name? Tell me right now!"

  Mark jumped to the other end of the cell, pressing his back into the wall. Then with a shaky finger, he pointed at the ceiling. "I saw it on the ceiling. It's written there."

  Spittle flying off his lips, "Impossible!"

  Then the sheriff fact-checked Mark's observations. Seeing the name, his rage downgraded into a frown. A depression was born on his features. Then sheriff fled the station without a word of explanation.

  Mark thought he heard him crying on the way out.

  Forgive yourself.

  This is your punishment that comes along with the blessing..

  T. Wilkins.

  The name he thought he'd never hear again.

  Sheriff Hildebrandt vigilantly cruised the streets, the town, the back roads, and the residential areas to ensure all was well with Meadow Woods, and as usual, little was happening besides everybody living out their own personal heavens.

  "I didn't mean for it to happen. It wasn't my fault. It was an accident."

  There's nothing you can do for the dead. The dead stay dead.

  Focus on the living.

  Tears rolling down his hardened face, the name ke
pt repeating in his head: T. Wilkins. T. Wilkins. T. Wilkins. A mantra. A curse. A death sentence.

  He tightened his grip on the wheel and kept sobbing, feeling sorry for himself, for T. Wilkins. The sheriff wondered why the name had been written on the ceiling in the cell that poor man had died in.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  "Whatever you do, don't drop the soap in this place."

  "What?" Mark woke to his cell bathed in darkness. The sheriff hadn't turned on any of the lights earlier this afternoon, nor had he returned to the station since hours ago. "Who's there? Who said that? Is that you, Peyton?"

  The man was hiding behind the sheriff's desk. He finally popped up holding a plastic bag. He crinkled it and held it up like a prize he won. "I've brought goodies, and," he dug into his front pocket, "the key to your freedom."

  "Hildebrandt isn't coming back to bust me out?"

  "You've got him acting really strange. Guy's driving around non-stop. He won't talk to anybody. The sheriff literally pulled up next to me in town, tossed me the key, and said you could go free. So here I am to set you free."

  Mark felt the need to explain himself. "I read a name on the ceiling, and the guy goes berserk, and then he leaves me here to rot. Does the name T. Wilkins mean anything to you?"

  Peyton thought a moment as he twisted the key into the lock and opened the cell. The disengaging of the lock was a gratifying sound. Mark was ready to get the hell out of this box.

  "Nope. Doesn't ring a single bell. Must be personal to the sheriff."

  Peyton opened his bag and handed him a bag of beef jerky and a can of soda. "Eat these. You'll need them for where we're going."

  "Should I ask?"

  They walked out of the station together, and Peyton guided him towards The Blue Beast truck. "Cassie and I thought you'd enjoy a trip down memory lane, but first, I wanted to have a word with you."

  Mark stepped up into the vehicle, and when Peyton revved up the beast, he couldn't help but think, Here we go again.