Never Ending Spring

by Darrell Case

  "Why?"

  "Because I'm going after him, that's why!"

  "But, but you don't even know where he is."

  "You just leave that to me."

  "I can't let you do it," Billy Bob said, backing up.

  "I don't see you have much choice. If you tell someone, I'll have to report you for trying to kill me," Jack said with a smug smile. "Boy, you're nervous as a cat. You better put that gun away before you shoot yourself in the foot."

  Cautiously, Billy Bob replaced the .38 in its holster.

  "If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Johnson, what are you doing here?"

  "I always come down and check on the church. Someone has to keep an eye on it; the church members don't seem to care. Every time I say something to them about it, they say God will take care of it. If that's true, where was God the morning my daughter was killed?" Jack said bitterly.

  "I don't know," Billy Bob murmured, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. "But you don't have to worry, I'll be patrolling every night."

  "I'll still be coming down here, I don't sleep as good as I used to, so don't shoot me, you hear?" Jack added, grinning.

  "Yes sir," Billy Bob said, smiling.

  Chapter 8

  Ruth reached for the old wind-up alarm clock. Its glowing face read two thirty-five. She couldn't tell what had awakened her. She thought she heard an explosion of some kind. She felt for Jack. Not there; she wasn't surprised. Snapping on the small bedside lamp, she walked to the window. A figure stepped behind the tool shed out of sight. The man watched Jack cross the moonlit yard and enter the house. Ruth was reaching for her robe when she heard the back door open and close. Then the familiar tread on the stairway.

  "Jack, where have you been?" Ruth asked, laying her robe back over the chair.

  "Out," he said.

  "I can see that."

  "So what's your question?"

  "I thought I saw you by the tool shed."

  "What is this? The third degree?" Jack stopped halfway in removing his shoes. He was now sitting on the edge of the bed.

  "Jack, I'm worried about you. You hardly sleep at all anymore," Ruth said, getting into bed and pulling the covers up to her chin.

  "I can take care of myself."

  "Jack, there's a killer loose," Ruth said, tears forming in her eyes.

  "Don't you think I know that? You want to know where I've been? I'll tell you. I've been down at the church."

  "Why, Jack? Why did you go to the church at this time of morning? There's no one even living in the parsonage."

  "You're just like the rest of them. I'll tell you one thing, Ruth. If it takes the rest of my life, I'm going to find the one who killed my daughter and make sure they die."

  "Why don't you let the police handle it? They're trained for this."

  "The police!" Jack spat out, his face twisted in rage. "The police couldn't find their nose in a hailstorm. It's been months and they're no closer than the day she died. Phillips has given up and Curry's put it on the back burner," Jack continued.

  "They haven't given up, Jack. Detective Phillips said the case won't be closed until they find the person responsible and Bob said the same thing."

  "Where did you see them?" Jack asked.

  "I called Detective Phillips the other day when you was gone to town and I saw Bob Curry at church Sunday," Ruth answered.

  "You didn't tell me you'd talked to Phillips."

  "I tried to but you brushed me off. You started in on Lonnie Greggs again."

  Jack vaguely remembered a conversation where Ruth had mentioned Phillips.

  "If they're so interested in finding the killer, why don't they go after Greggs?"

  "Bob said they've cleared him as a suspect. His mother said he was home that night."

  "His mother. His mother. Why does everyone believe her? I met the woman and she didn't impress me as someone who had a lot on the ball."

  "When did you meet her, Jack?"

  "I went to Bloomfield the other day and I'll tell you, Ruth, the woman rents rooms and she thought I was a new boarder."

  "Did you tell her you didn't want a room?"

  "No, I didn't tell her."

  "Jack, that's just a simple mistake."

  "Whose side are you on?" Jack shouted, jumping up from the bed.

  "Jack please! You'll wake Emily."

  "I asked you a question, Ruth. Whose side are you on?"

  "Jack, I'm on your side of course. I just want to find the right person."

  "I know who the right person is. He was living in the church just a few days before they were killed. His only alibi is his mother and a girlfriend that wants to see him get away with it."

  "But why would he have killed them?"

  "He was probably robbing the church and Jim caught him."

  "But the police said nothing was missing."

  "Maybe Jim spooked him. I don't know yet, but I will. If Curry's not going after him, I am."

  "No Jack!" Ruth's hand flew up to cover her mouth. "You can't!"

  "Yes I can and I will! I've got to get out of here."

  As he left, Emily came to the doorway, her sleepy eyes following Jack down the stairs.

  "Where is Gramps going?" she asked.

  "He had to leave for a little while but he'll be back. Come here and sleep with me," Ruth said, patting the bed.

  "Ok Gram." Emily said, yawning.

  Within two minutes, Emily was fast asleep. Lying in the darkness, Ruth tried to pray for her husband. In the back of her mind, the thought kept nagging her that he would never be saved. 'Oh Lord, I know you can do the impossible.'

  As Jack threw open the barn door, a cow looked up and lowed softly.

  "Are you going to give me a hard time too?" he asked the animal. The cow stared at him a minute longer then returned to chewing her cud. Climbing to the loft, Jack settled down in a large pile of hay. Silver streaks of moonlight streamed through the open window making the landscape almost as bright as day.

  Jack closed his eyes but sleep would not come. Thoughts kept running through his mind until a plan began to form. A hundred yards away the murderer grinned as the light winked out in the house.

  Chapter 9

  In a far off city, Lonnie Greggs shivered as the nightmare continued. Dennis Brown chased him through fields of mud, nude except for a pair of white briefs, his denim jeans knotted tightly around his neck. With every step, the goo became thicker yet Dennis seemed to fly at him unhindered. Prison bars flashed in front of Lonnie, stopping his mad dash for freedom. Turning, he faced the apparition.

  His head swollen to three times its normal size, face blue, Dennis choked out, "Help me, help me, help me." His hands curled around Lonnie's throat. Squeezing, he repeated, "Help me, help me, help me."

  "Go away, you're dead. Go away, leave me alone," Lonnie screamed.

  "Shut up!"

  "Dry up."

  "Go back to sleep."

  "If he keeps making noise, let's kick him out."

  Calls came from every corner of the Mission's dorm room. Lonnie tried to act tough, but inside he trembled.

  "Yah, you just try it," he said in a rough voice. "And you'll see who's kicked out."

  They was coming after him, he knew it, and this made the third mission he had stayed at in as many days. Tomorrow he would hitchhike to another city.

  "Just keep moving," he told himself. "They can't find you if you just keep moving."

  Unable to sleep, Lonnie contemplated how far he'd come in just a few short years. Scenes of his childhood flashed before him, happy times. His father coming home from work, Lonnie running to meet him and being swung up in his arms. Then perched on his father's shoulders, they would march into their warm, cheery kitchen where his mother would have a plate warming in the oven since she and Lonnie had eaten hours before.

  The scene changed to one of horror. He and his father drunk, fighting; Lonnie hitting his father, watching him fall in slow motion down the stairs; his mother screaming.
The doctor facing them in that sterile waiting room, telling them his father had expired. 'Expired,' what kind of word was that? The kind of word you used for a driver's license or a coupon for a grocery store. Not the kind of word you would use for a man who raised you, who tucked you in at night, or tiptoed into your room when you had fallen asleep waiting for him. No, not the word you used for a loving father and husband.

  Tomorrow was another day of walking, of hoping for a ride. Of hearing his stomach growl, doing without meals, walking until he was bone tired. At least he would have one good meal before he left. This mission served oatmeal; he thought of all the times his mother had tried to get him to eat it and he had refused.

  "This stuff is made for horses, mom," he complained.

  "You eat it; it'll stick to your ribs."

  "It probably will; it sticks to everything else," he'd say, holding his spoon upside down over the bowl. He could still hear his mother's laughter drifting over the years.

  Through the only window in the room, he watched the sky turn pink, then gold. Soon a man in a dark blue suit entered the dorm. At his appearance, some of the men got up and began to dress.

  "Gentlemen, I'm Arthur Caldwell, director of the Good Shepherd Mission. If you would please gather in the chapel when you're dressed, we will have our morning devotions. After which, breakfast will be served in the dining hall. The Lord has blessed us this morning. A benefactor has given us enough eggs and bacon not only for you gentlemen but also for the staff."

  By the time Reverend Caldwell was halfway through the story of the Prodigal Son, Lonnie's mouth was watering. The smell of frying bacon wafted throughout the entire building.

  After the final amen, they all filed in to the mass hall.

  A smiling man in a white uniform with the word, 'Volunteer' stitched over the pocket of his shirt had just poured Lonnie a cup of coffee. With his eyes closed, breathing in the scent of the steaming liquid, Lonnie thought he heard a familiar voice. Glancing to his right, he saw Jack Johnson speaking to the director of the mission.

  Jerking around, Lonnie upset his cup of hot coffee on a giant of a man sitting next to him. The man howled in pain. Grabbing Lonnie by the collar, he punched him in the jaw and sent him spinning into the wall.

  "You ain't been nothin' but trouble since you got here!" the man growled.

  "Hey, you can't treat him like that," a blonde haired man in baggy clothing said, coming around the table.

  "Oh, you want some of it too." Catching the blonde man off guard, the giant hit him in the midsection. The man stumbled backward, his feet becoming entangled in the legs of a nearby table. A huge pot of coffee flew off its perch. The pot hung suspended in the air for a split second, then plunged to the floor with a loud bang. Its contents splashed against the white wall, staining it brown. Instantly, the usually quiet dining room became a battle zone with men choosing sides, getting into the fight themselves, or climbing on tables to get a better view.

  A few individuals dodged thrown chairs, plates, and cups and were able to wolf down the bacon and eggs not only on their own plates but also on the undamaged ones around them. With Jack two steps behind, Reverend Caldwell rushed toward the melee.

  "Men, men, please!" Reverend Caldwell shouted to no avail.

  Wading into the midst of the fight, Jack began pulling men apart, throwing them left and right. Finally, Jack worked his way down to the big man, pinning him against the wall. The man swung wildly, hitting Jack in the eye.

  Reverend Caldwell ran up, taking hold of the man's arm as he tried to hit Jack again.

  "Stop this immediately!" he demanded in a stern voice.

  Running through the kitchen, Lonnie did not stop until he was outside. Looking back over his shoulder, he hurriedly turned the corner and soon disappeared on the crowded sidewalk.

  When order was restored, Rev. Caldwell sent one of his staff to look for Lonnie.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Johnson, we've searched the building but Lonnie isn't here," Reverend Caldwell said apologetically.

  "Are you sure? Or are you hiding him somewhere till I'm gone?" Jack asked, his face turning red.

  "I assure you, Mr. Johnson, Lonnie isn't here. You're welcome to search the building if you like," Reverend Caldwell said.

  So far, since leaving home Jack had chased Lonnie clear across Indiana and halfway through Ohio. After scouring the mission himself, Jack had to face the realization. Lonnie had eluded him once more.

  After searching the city all day, Jack returned to the mission in time for the evening meal.

  Arthur Caldwell met him with a smile. "Mr. Johnson, I'm so glad to see you. I feared you had already left our fair city."

  Jack frowned.

  "One of our men spoke to your son last night and he informed him, your son, that is, that he was returning to Indiana, possibly Indianapolis."

  Jack felt bad about lying to the minister about Lonnie being his son. It went against everything he stood for. However, he was truthful with the director of the last mission and the man had refused to give him any information. Driving out of Dayton, Jack headed the pickup for Indianapolis.

  Chapter 10

  "What's your dolly's name?"

  Emily looked into the man's face. She had not heard him approach.

  "Sarah," Emily answered, hugging her doll to her. "Are you a policeman?"

  "Yes honey, I am," Billy Bob said, trying to stretch taller than his five foot six height.

  "Daddy said policemen are good and we can trust them."

  "That's right, you can," Billy Bob said in a reassuring tone. "Where's your grandpa, honey?"

  "He's not here. He went on a long trip, but Gram is."

  Before Billy Bob could react, Emily had him by the hand and tugged him into the house.

  Ruth was taking an apple pie out of the oven when Emily came in, leading a small man in a police officer's uniform. Known throughout the county for her pies, Ruth had won many blue ribbons at the county fair.

  Today she was baking just to keep busy. Jack had been gone eight days, and in that time, he had only called twice. Ruth knew it was to keep expenses down but it did nothing to sooth her nerves. This afternoon, she had permitted Emily to play outside, the weather being unseasonably warm for November.

  "Who do you have here?" Ruth asked Emily, giving the man a friendly smile.

  "Billy Bob Strickland, ma'am," Billy Bob said, holding out his left hand since his right was still held captive by Emily.

  "You're the new Town Marshall Jack was telling me about." Ruth tried not to stare at his big ears.

  "All good I hope," Billy Bob said, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. There was something about his eyes Ruth didn't like as she turned back to the oven

  "Oh yes. Jack was good friends with your father. They grew up together."

  "Yeah, Dad was a great guy," Billy Bob said cheerfully.

  However, Ruth heard a note of sarcasm in his voice.

  "Emily said Mr. Johnson went on a trip."

  "Yes," Ruth said, her face showing concern. "He's looking for Lonnie Greggs."

  Billy Bob's heart stopped. He had hoped Jack was bluffing.

  "That's a very dangerous thing to do," he said, his voice raising.

  "Yes, I know. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen to me."

  "Do you know where he is?" Billy Bob asked, calmer now.

  Before answering, Ruth turned to her granddaughter. "Emily, why don't you take Sarah back on the porch? I'll call you when the pies are cooled and we'll have a piece together."

  "Will you have some too?" Emily asked, smiling at Billy Bob. "Gram makes the best pies."

  "Yes, please do. I'm not sure they're the best, but I'll put on a pot of coffee if you'll stay."

  "I would be glad to," Billy Bob answered.

  With Emily safely outside, Ruth finally answered Billy Bob's question. "He called two days ago from Ohio. He wouldn't tell me where, but he said he had a lead that Lonnie was staying at a mission th
ere."

  Ruth stood up. "Coffee's done," she announced. "Do you take cream or sugar?"

  "I'm sorry ma'am, I just remembered a call I have to make." Thus saying, Billy Bob walked out, leaving Ruth holding the coffee pot in one hand and a cup in the other.