The Golden Key: A Quest For Freedom (The Golden Key: Quest For Freedom Book 1)

by Wilmes, Marvin

  The revelation was like a slap in the face to Wayne, but he knew he deserved it.

  "Zeke." His father uttered the man's name as he reached behind him with his hand as if to fetch something. His father's eyes bore into Wayne's with intent the entire time as Zeke placed a key in his father's hand.

  His father took the key and inserted it into the lock. Before turning it, he declared to Wayne, "Son, the key is in friendship, of not going it alone, of opening yourself up to others. You cannot survive this world on your own."

  He turned the key and opened the lock. Wayne heard the hinges squeak as his father opened the door. Suddenly, a bright light overtook the area and blinded him.

  When he awoke...the cage, his father, and Zeke were gone.

  "Hey, man, you all right?" Roger was standing over Wayne as he looked up from the floor next to his bed.

  "What?"

  "I heard you screaming in here. I came by to see if you wanted to go over to the E-Club...man, you look like you've seen a ghost."

  As Wayne returned to the barracks from his sauna run, he reflected on the reality that he did exactly as Roger had said he had done--he had seen a ghost.

  He also mused how he had dreamed he had gone to hell.

  ***

  Mark took another stiff drink of whiskey and Coke as he plugged money into the jukebox and searched for a heartbreak song to listen to.

  He laughed as he saw the BJ Thomas hit, "(Hey, Won't You Play) Another Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song."

  Yep, that hit the mood exactly. He punched the button as Freddy Fender's voice warbled out of the jukebox, capturing his mood and spirit at the moment.

  "Wasted Days and Wasted Nights." He toasted no one in particular. "Oh yeah, you got that right."

  He hadn't been able to visit the hospital because of his guilt at having double-crossed Roger. It had all been so natural, so easy to fall in love with Anita. Why did everything have to be so difficult?

  She was wearing Roger's engagement ring when he revealed his feelings for her. She had stopped abruptly and looked him deeply in the eyes, he could never forget that look.

  "I've felt the same way. I just thought..." her voice had trailed off as he moved in to kiss her.

  It had been at a wedding reception and he'd asked her to dance at the insistence of a friend. He had not resisted, because she had looked so lonely.

  The kiss had been magical. He remembered looking around to see if anyone had spied the embrace, but everyone was so involved in the celebration, no one noticed.

  "I'm sorry," he had said. "I shouldn't have done that."

  "I guess not," she quickly agreed as she nervously excused herself, left his side, and exited the building.

  He followed her outside where she was huddled near Paul and Donna engaged in conversation.

  He had decided to not press the issue, but the next week, called her with a lame apology.

  She agreed to meet with him and discuss what happened.

  He smiled as he remembered how torn she had been. She declared that the event had given her some doubts about her commitment to Roger, and because of that, she was thinking she should ask him for some space in their relationship.

  "How much more space do you need?What do you call now?" he had foolishly asked her about her reference to the space in their relationship. To him, it was a chasm.

  His timing had never been the best.

  "No seriously, Mark, I need to tell him, face to face."

  "Well, he won't be home for some time. I can't explain it, but his absence has made my heart grow fonder...of you."

  "So sweet," she had said innocently. "I've talked to Donna about this."

  "You what?" He put up a good front of being surprised, but he was elated at the time, because it meant he was somehow in with her. "What does she think?"

  "She said I should just write him a Dear John letter as if that is what he deserves for being such a fool."

  "I second that," he said.

  "Sorry, I think I would feel better if I broke it to him in person. I know you could never understand this, but I need some time alone with my thoughts as well. I've decided I want to travel to see him in Memphis, to break the news to him face to face."

  "I really don't think that's necessary."

  "Of course you wouldn't," she said somewhat sarcastically.

  "Anita, Roger is my friend. I've been fighting this for a while for that reason."

  "I know."

  There had been nothing more to say after that simple confession. He should have protested more, to give her a zillion reasons why going to Memphis was a bad idea.

  But he didn't. He had been relieved she was willing to take the responsibility to break the news to his best friend. He had felt a slight pang of guilt then.

  Today, he felt as if the world had caved in on him. He had happily allowed Roger--and everyone else except Donna--believe Roger and Anita were still good, as they all tried to assimilate in their minds why on earth she had traveled so far from home.

  Paul had theorized with him once that he suspected she was travelling to Memphis to elope with Roger. Mark had laughed that theory off and continued to turn down Paul's pressure to go to see their mutual friend in the hospital.

  "I hate hospitals," he had declared to Paul. He was telling the truth. The trauma of his last visit to a hospital, when he was seven, still lingered with him. He had visited his grandfather's bedside and the man had looked so worn out and old, nothing like the vigorous grandpa who tickled and roughhoused with him when he was home and well.

  Truth of the matter, Mark was scared. He feared if he visited Anita in the hospital, she might die on him, then where was he? He wanted to hold the reality of her coma at arm's length.

  "Another one?" the bartender asked.

  Mark looked up at Hank the bartender and pushed his glass toward him. "Fill 'er up."

  "Women's lib, that's all it is, a bunch of feminists taking pot shots at the politicians and all I got to say is it's a man's world and always will be."

  "Aw, come off it, Howie. You wouldn't know a women's libber if she came up and bit you in the ass," Mark said through the whiskey fog that had now taken over his brain cells.

  "Why you--" Before Mark knew what hit him, Howie had bolted out of his bar chair and charged at him, knocking him to the ground.

  Suddenly, Mark saw Howie's fist come crashing down and his last thought before he passed out was it would have been very fitting if the owner of that fist had been Roger.

  ***

  As chaos broke out in the bar, no one could see the spirit of the dark man, Abar. He was cloaked in secrecy and was surprised sometimes how his limits were suddenly lifted.

  This was one of those cases and he was pleased with the results.

  He was aware of the other presence and grimaced as he saw the spirit of Jack Alvarez hovering over Mark, protecting him as any guardian angel would.

  He vowed to continue his reign of terror in Roger's life as he formulated a plan to double-cross Zeke.

  Part V: Chapter Five

  Donna watched as her fiancé snuck a piece of turkey from the plate she'd just set out on the table.

  "Stop that," Donna scolded.

  "It's so delicious, hon."

  "I've never had so many people over before. I'm so nervous."

  "You'll do fine. My mom will love your cooking, but she'll probably have a little trouble not running the show is all."

  "Paul, I think this was a wonderful idea to have the Barlows over as well. They've been having such a difficult time with all with this."

  "Well, I just wanted to show support where support is due. I'm glad you were able to develop such a tight friendship with Anita, although I was expecting that to be as sisters-in-law eventually."

  "Were you able to get a hold of Mark?" she asked hopefully.

  "He's still resisting any outside intervention. I hear he's been hanging out at the Dew Drop a lot lately, and I plan to drop by there later toda
y if he doesn't come around." He took another chunk of turkey and popped it into his mouth. "I had a friend once who said you have to be true to what's in your heart, and Mark is doing anything but that."

  "I feel so guilty," Donna said. "I feel responsible somehow."

  "That same friend said we too often feel guilty for things we shouldn't."

  Paul seemed to be moving from fond memories to sad recollections.

  "Who was this so-called friend? Care to share?" She walked over to him and put her arms around him. She sensed he needed that now.

  "A friend from Vietnam. A brother from another mother. I don't know. It was in the past. That's where it should stay."

  "Really?"

  "Really." He quickly brushed off her question. "Listen, I'm going to run out and get some munchies and refreshments for the big game this afternoon. You, young lady, have to finish your Thanksgiving meal preparations. I want us all to visit Anita after the game and give her our support while she's in this dreadful coma. My friend also believed in the power of hope. I want to second that and prove him right."

  "That's why I love you, dear." She reached up and kissed him. She believed there was still so much she didn't know about this man.

  She turned back to the task of preparing the Thanksgiving feast for her many guests. She only wished Mark would reconsider, but she knew that was likely a pipe dream. He was still hiding behind the guilt of a betrayed friendship.

  "You have found a good man. I heartily approve of your engagement and give you my blessing."

  Donna dropped the basting tool she was holding. As it clattered to the floor, she felt somewhat faint.

  She glanced around to see if she could find the owner of the voice, but she was alone. She'd heard the door close after Paul, but the voice was not Paul's.

  It was the voice of her late brother, Rodney. He had gone ice fishing with some friends twelve years ago. The ice had given way and he had drowned. She suddenly realized that today would have been his twenty-first birthday.

  She sobbed as the memories flooded her mind, but at the same time, she was comforted by the voice. Maybe she had subconsciously conjured it up in order to give herself permission to love Paul as she did, and to justify agreeing to marry him while her friend was lying comatose in a hospital after trying to deliver a break up message to her fiancé.

  Friendships were so fragile. Human behavior was so fickle. Why had Anita said yes to Roger if she had so many doubts? Why had Roger asked her to marry him when his commitment was only so deep and wasn't yet ready to settle down?

  It didn't matter much now. This was Thanksgiving and she was thankful. But she had her own doubts about Paul. Not about his love for her, but about something else she couldn't put her finger on.

  There was a part of him she felt she didn't have access to, and she hoped she found out about that part of him before she said I do.

  But for now, she simply wrapped her arms around her shoulders and let the imagined words of her late brother seep into her mind.

  But they weren't imagined.

  Without answering her own thoughts, she assured herself that was also true.

  ***

  Roger drove his Monte Carlo off base with a wave to the MP at the gate. He had no particular destination this Thanksgiving. It was just that the four walls of his cubicle, the staid atmosphere of this Marine Corps base, and the influx of thoughts crashing in on him were making him want to seek out sanctuary.

  He was all thumbs when it came to his work on the F-4 Phantom jets he serviced. His coworker Wayne was always glad to lend a hand, but the embarrassment he felt was sometimes overwhelming.

  He couldn't focus on his work--or anything else for that matter. He had to survive in this concrete jungle while Anita remained in a coma miles away.

  He often wondered if it was his fault. Her letters had started being peppered with doubts, the phone conversations had been ending more curtly, and his own doubts were exploding as he had found it harder to remain faithful.

  He was in search of who he was, and he wasn't sure he had figured that out, yet. He'd had no business asking Anita to marry him when he signed four years of his life away.

  It was almost as if she was his trophy girlfriend. Something to show off to the world while he went out and sowed his wild oats.

  What really bothered him the most was this Marine Corps thing wasn't in his life plan. He had totally blown the college thing and seemed to have lost his sense of direction.

  As he turned the car north on I-5, he smiled. California was just what he had needed. He rolled down the window and felt the cool breeze of the Santa Ana winds soothe his troubled soul.

  He eventually made his way to Huntington Beach. The car just seemed to drive itself there as he was still lost in his thoughts.

  He parked the car, took off his shoes and socks--tossing them into the backseat--and then rolled up his pant legs.

  The ocean. He couldn't explain why, but it gave him a sense of peace. His troubled mind always relaxed and the Midwestern boy was temporarily replaced by the California dude. He smiled at the mental metaphor.

  If anything, he was miles from that description. He was not laid back, more like a stick in the mud, with walls surrounding him...afraid to let anyone else in.

  His grief was closing him off to the outside world. As he reflected on it, he recalled Aunt Alice.

  She was young, vibrant, and fully alive until leukemia struck her down in the prime of her life. He watched her suffer, watched her courageously fight the battle.

  His father had been most affected by his little sister's death. Roger wasn't sure his dad had ever gotten over it. He didn't know why, but as he lay down in the sand and gazed up into the clouds, he could envision Aunt Alice living among them.

  That was where his father had said she resided, among the angels, gracing them with her presence and not the other way around.

  The waves crashed against the shoreline and the water edged closer to his feet. Roger could feel the coolness. He couldn't explain why, but he envisioned the pre–Marine Corps photo of Wayne Bennett.

  Wild-eyed and rebellious. Angry at the world. Roger always wanted to play by the rules, he had no interest in letting his guard down and letting Wayne in.

  The water lapped his feet and crept up to his waist as the waves again sang their cadence.

  Roger opened his eyes and looked up at the clouds again.

  He sensed Aunt Alice was encouraging him to tear down those walls and to reach out to his friend.

  After a few minutes, he sighed and got up from the sand and walked toward the water where he roamed the beach for about an hour.

  As he made his way to the car and sat behind the wheel, he gazed up at the clouds again.

  "Yep, Wayne, guess the ocean is calling us two together as friends. Guess I gotta share my burdens with someone. This is Thanksgiving, after all."

  As he made his way back to base, Roger no longer felt alone.

  ***

  The television was alive with the images from the Macy's Day Parade, but each day it was a struggle to find Thanksgiving in her heart.

  Evita Alvarez was a single mother living in the desert town of El Centro, California, near the Mexican border. She had given so much of her life to the common good of the town and her nation.

  "Mom, look Santa Claus."

  She took a moment to stop folding clothes to come to her seven-year-old son's side on the couch. "Yes, Dave, he does look so grand sitting atop his sleigh and waving to the crowd." She momentarily cursed under her breath that the old Sylvania television set was black and white and not color.

  "Mom, do you think Santa can do anything?"

  "Well, that depends on what you want him to do."

  "I want him to bring Bob home for Christmas."

  She felt her son pull on her heartstrings again. How naive and innocent were the children of the world. As she stroked his black, curly locks, she prepared herself for the kind of talk more fitting of a
father.

  "Bob is going to be in Japan this year. I've been over this several times. He's only six months into his year-long tour, hopefully he will be able to come back to the States this year, but it isn't as simple as hopping on a plane and flying home. It costs money to fly that far."

  "Yeah, but Ray went overseas and he never came back. And Dad died, too. He was shot."

  The stark image of Dave's simple description of her husband's death made her wince. Her men were all men of action. She walked over to the television set and picked up the picture of her husband in his California Highway Patrol uniform. She had arranged this photo--and the one of her son Jack--with a statue of Jesus in the middle as a reminder that they were not gone forever. They had just gone on before her to be there when her time came to exit the world. But, at times, doing this alone made her want to do that sooner rather than later.

  She was always amazed at Dave's memory of his older brother, Jack. He was only four at the time, but the image of the uniformed men coming to the door and declaring Jack had been killed in the Vietnam War still stuck with her son this many years later.

  The cruelty of the universe's joke was the war was supposedly ending and he was just three months from coming home.

  "I'm afraid Santa can't do anything about Bob coming home. Actually, your brother is doing just fine. I'm sure he had this need or this call to follow in his brother's footsteps even though the draft was over. Not sure why he was so foolhardy, but my sons are strong in spirit and in faith. So are you, Mr. Man of the House. Mom has to get to folding more clothes."

  Dave giggled at the reference and jumped up giving her a hug as he ran to his room.

  Evita gazed at the image of her son and some of his buddies from Vietnam that sat atop the television set. He looked so strong, virile, and invincible in that photo.

  She knew one of the men in the photo was a friend Jack spent much time with and was always talking about in his letters. Her son was a strong man of faith, and she smiled as he had recounted in his letters about many debates of faith he had with his fellow soldiers, especially one he simply referred to as Paul.

  Among Jack's personal effects was a letter penned to his friend Paul shortly before he died. She had tried to track his friend down, so she could deliver the personal message that was sealed inside.