What Lies Beyond the Fence

by L C Hayden

  Bronson had turned his back on his sister when she became wild. She was now dead and Bronson had done nothing to help her. This teenager . . . “I’ll consider it, but first I’ll need to discuss it with the missus.” And do a bit of background research on this mystical Eric’s Landing.

  Everett handed him a card. “Here’s my cell number. Call me as soon as you make a decision. I’d like to leave tomorrow, if possible. No pressure.” He stood up. “Just remember, you can make a difference on two kids’ lives.”

  “What was it that they stole?”

  “All in good time, Mr. Bronson. If you decide to help, I’ll give you all of the information you need, but not until then.”

  “Fair enough.” Bronson also stood.

  “Don’t let us down. Don’t let them down.”

  Everett’s words echoed in Bronson’s heart. You can make a difference in these kids’ lives. Don’t let them down.

  He had let Lorraine down. His own sister. Now he had a chance to redeem himself. He could help these troubled teens.

  For Lorraine’s sake.

  Bronson stared as Everett walked away and blended in with the crowd. Bronson pivoted to find Carol, and as he did, he bumped into a teenager. “Sorry,” Bronson said, not sure who had bumped into whom.

  “You’re cool,” the teen said and hurried off.

  Bronson checked his back pocket. His wallet was still there. He checked his wrist. His watch hadn’t disappeared. He shook his head, scolding himself for being so suspicious. He wasn’t a detective anymore. He had to stop living in the past.

  Chapter 3

  Ellen Biebesheimer buried her head in her ex-husband’s shoulder. Mike Hoover kissed her forehead, and the two remained quiet, each lost in their own thoughts.

  Bronson scooted over on the couch and wrapped his arm around Carol. “I’m sure both of you have a lot of talkin’ to do. Maybe you two would prefer to eat alone. Me and Carol will do our own thing.”

  Mike considered the suggestion. “Might not be a bad idea. This being my last day here in Pittsburgh before I return to Dallas for work, I suppose I should spend the evening with Ellen.”

  Ellen sat up. “Don’t do this for me.” She glanced at him through defiant eyes. “I’m leaving tomorrow on that cruise. I won’t have time to miss you. I’ll be fine.”

  “I know you will. You’ve always been strong.”

  Bronson and Carol stood up.

  “Not so fast,” said Mike, Bronson’s life-long friend and ex-partner while Bronson was still active in the Dallas Police Department. “I want to hear more about this cult you’re going to penetrate.”

  “Not much more to say. I told you everything I know.” After church, Bronson had spent his time on the computer, researching for anything related to Eric’s Landing. Nothing showed up.

  He tried looking under the man’s name even though he didn’t have a last name. Bronson knew that chances of finding anything were next to none, but still, it was worth trying.

  Just as Bronson had expected, he found lots of Erics, but as far as Bronson was concerned, none were the right Eric. Next, he searched for records that simply did not exist. Frustration ate at him as he turned off the computer and dutifully followed Carol out of their camper.

  Now sitting in Ellen’s elegant living room, Bronson glanced around. Every bit of furniture, every nick-knack, blended together to give a feeling of peace, something Bronson longed for.

  “That’s just it,” Mike said. “You haven’t said much.”

  “My point precisely,” Carol added. “As long as I’ve known you, one of the things that has brought me comfort even though I knew you faced danger, is knowing you had all the facts. You take every detail and analyze it and make it fit your needs. Now . . . now, this time . . . it’s like you’re going in with closed eyes.”

  “I’m with Carol,” Mike said. “Why are you doing this?”

  Bronson shrugged. “It’s just a simple burglary case. Two young teens—”

  “Male or female?” Carol asked.

  “One each. Not that it makes a difference,” Bronson answered.

  Carol placed her hands on her husband’s cheeks. “Honey, she’s not Lorraine. You can’t help every teenage girl.”

  Bronson wrapped his hands around Carol’s and removed them from his cheek. “This has nothin’ to do with Lorraine.”

  Mike stood up and walked over to Bronson. “Yes, it does, buddy. It has everything to do with Lorraine.”

  Bronson looked away. No! This has nothing to do with Lorraine. That was over, once I had solved her murder.

  Ellen stood and focused her attention on Bronson. “You came to my house the day Lorraine died. You stayed here as I nurtured you back.”

  “I remember, and I appreciate it.”

  “The look on your face that day is the same look you’re now wearing.”

  Bronson sunk deeper into the couch. “None of you are listenin’. This has nothin’ to do with Lorraine.” How could it?

  Carol wrapped her arms around him. “It has everything to do with Lorraine even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself.”

  Bronson’s glance focused on Carol’s gentle features. She was right, of course. She was always right. Often, she knew better than he, what was in his mind and heart. “Then you know I have to do this. This kid is only fourteen or fifteen, maybe if I help her . . .”

  “You’ll be helping yourself,” Ellen finished for him.

  “Then go,” Carol said.

  Bronson inwardly smiled. The best thing in his life was and would always be Carol. “You’re sure? You’ll be okay here by yourself?”

  “We have a camper and a brand-new nephew, remember? I’ll move the camper close to his school so I can spend my time getting to know him.”

  “He’ll like that.”

  “Then it’s settled.” She turned her attention to Ellen. “What about you? You sure you will be okay?”

  Ellen nodded. “Mike has walked out of my life so many times before.”

  Mike looked down, his eyes narrow slits on his face. He sighed.

  “This is just another time,” Ellen continued.

  Mike put his finger under her chin and raised her head. “Two more years, sweetheart. Just two more years, and I’ll be eligible for retirement. I know it’s the nature of my job that has brought much pain to our lives. But in two years, I’ll be free and we’ll spend the rest of our lives together living on the beach or by a lake or in a forest. Anywhere you want. Just tell me you’ll wait for me.”

  Ellen’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ll always be here for you.”

  Mike kissed her lips.

  “On that note,” Bronson said, “we’ll say our goodbyes. Ellen, do you need a ride to the airport?”

  “Mike will take me. Then I fly to Los Angeles and begin a world cruise. For three months, I’ll be out of touch. No cell phone. No Internet. Just me and my Audubon book.”

  Bronson smiled. “You and your birds.”

  She shrugged. “At least they don’t leave me.”

  Mike frowned and closed his eyes. He then hugged her and kissed her forehead. “I don’t like you being out of touch for so long.”

  “Okay, maybe I’ll splurge and buy some Internet time once a month.”

  “Glad you think I’m worth the expense,” Mike said.

  Chapter 4

  The sun had yet to rise when Randig knocked on Bronson and Carol’s camper door. “Hope I didn’t wake anyone up.” Randig half smiled, half blushed when the door opened.

  Carol smiled. “Of course not, Joe. Come on in.”

  Randig stepped inside but didn’t sit, even though the couch was to his immediate right. “Everett called and told me Bronson said yes.” He paused, cleared his throat, and wrung his hands. “I thought maybe you could ask him—”

  Bronson stepped out of the bedroom and into the living room. “Hello, Joe. What can I do for you?”

  Randig offered him a half smile. “Bronson.”


  “You’re here to pick me up?”

  Randig shook his head. Everett will do that.” He withdrew an envelope from his shirt pocket and handed it to Bronson. “If you could, please find my granddaughter. Her name is Norma Orr Karsteter. When you’re alone with her, give her the letter. It tells her I love her and if she ever wants me to, I can go pick her up.”

  Bronson patted Randig’s shoulder. “Fret not. I’ll get this to her. Guaranteed.”

  A smile the shape of the quarter moon spread throughout Randig’s face. “Thanks. Really appreciate it.”

  “Sit down,” Carol said. “Care for some coffee?”

  “No, thanks.” Randig waved his opened hand back and forth as though saying hi. “If Everett finds me here, he’ll know . . .” He pointed to the note Bronson still held in his hands.

  Bronson folded it and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. “Your secret is safe.”

  Randig nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” He took out his wallet, retrieved a picture, and handed it to Bronson. “This is the last picture I have of her. I wrote her name on the back of the picture.”

  Bronson glanced at it. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but she was attractive. Her deep brown eyes shined with the radiance of innocence, yet her full lips made her look like a woman in her early twenties. Bronson took the picture, placed it on the copier, pushed the print button, and handed Randig the original.

  Randig returned it to his wallet. “Thanks. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.” He turned to leave. “See you in a few days.”

  Bronson’s cell rang, and Randig let himself out.

  Bronson pushed the call button. “Bronson here.”

  “This is Everett. Joe told me you love coffee, and I’m at Starbucks. Thought maybe I’d pick up a cup for you while I’m getting mine. What do you like?”

  “Make it a Venti coffee with lots of cream and plenty of sugar.” He looked at Carol. She frowned.

  Bronson shrugged.

  Everett said, “Will do.”

  * * *

  Less than half an hour later, Everett stood in front of Bronson’s camper, holding two cups of Starbuck coffee. “Hope you’ve already said your goodbyes. We have a long way to go, and I hate to drive at night.”

  “Right.” Bronson sipped his coffee. It wasn’t as sweet as he’d like it, but hey, it was free. “And where did you say we’re goin’?”

  “I didn’t. We’ve kept the location hidden for half a century. We’re not about to reveal it now.”

  “Right.” Bronson shoved his suitcase inside Everett’s opened door camper and turned to Carol. “I’ll be back soon.” He looked at Everett.

  “Three, four days at the most.” Everett looked at his watch.

  Bronson gave Carol a kiss on the lips. “See you in three to four days.” He climbed in and stepped to the back of Everett’s camper as instructed and prepared himself to estimate the time it took Everett to make a turn. He would listen for any tell-tale noises. He . . . yawned. He flopped down on the couch, buckled his seat belt, and finished his coffee.

  Dang. Suddenly, he felt sleepy. He rubbed his eyes, hoping to dispel the sleep away. He wanted to be alert and ready for what may come.

  But he felt so sleepy.

  He closed his eyes.

  He snapped them open. He was determined to count the number of turns, calculate the approximate miles traveled. To do that, he had to remain alert.

  The coffee . . .

  Too late. He should have known.

  Chapter 5

  The airplane approached LAX ten minutes early. That was good, Ellen thought. This would give her more time to hail a cab to drive her to the pier. The enjoyment of the cruise would begin just as soon as she boarded the huge ship. She’d leave behind the memory of Mike’s last kiss, his gentle touch.

  Two years.

  She could tolerate two years, and then maybe they would once again become husband and wife, just like it was meant to be.

  Only two more years. Two long years. A lot can happen in two years.

  The plane’s wheels touched the ground, and the airplane bounced. They had reached Los Angeles. Ellen took a deep breath. It was time to leave the pain, the worry, behind. Instead, she would look forward to the next three months. Ellen disembarked and headed to luggage claim.

  Much to her surprise she saw a man, wearing a suit and a chauffeur’s cap, holding a sign that read: Ellen Biebesheimer.

  Ellen smiled. It was just like Mike to hire a chauffeur to drive her to the pier. She made a mental note to thank him. She approached the man. “I’m Ellen Biebesheimer.”

  “Ms. Biebesheimer.” He nodded a greeting. “I’m here to take you to your cruise. May I help you with your luggage?”

  “That would be lovely,” she said.

  “You’ll need to tell me which ones are yours.” He turned to retrieve her luggage from the carousel.

  Just as he turned, Ellen noticed the gold pin with the initials EL attached to his lapel. She assumed that stood for his name.

  Chapter 6

  Bronson would open his eyes, if only he could.

  He lay still, listening to the silence that guarded the secrets.

  Where was he? He focused on the quietness, concentrating until he imagined he heard something. The shuffling of feet. Muffled voices coming from somewhere near him. The twisting of a doorknob. Someone walking toward him.

  Should he defend himself? How, when he couldn’t move?

  No, he’d be dead by now if they wanted him dead.

  They? Who are they? Bronson breathed in and out, slowly. Focus! His mind started to clear. He had come here to solve a petty theft crime. He should be okay.

  Yet he couldn’t open his eyes. His mind began to drift. A grayness engulfed him, then a darkness so deep that it forced Bronson to succumb to it.

  * * *

  Click. Clack.

  Bronson recognized the sound. It took him back to a different time. When he was still a boy. When Lorraine was still his innocent sister.

  Click. Clack.

  His mother loved to knit. Click. Clack. The needles hitting each other. Click. Clack.

  Bronson almost smiled. Then he snapped opened his eyes.

  He lay on an unfamiliar plain wooden bed, the type found in Little House on the Prairie. The window to his right revealed the area outside was filled with trees and several plain, wooden buildings. A simple, wooden chair rested under the window. Its white lacy curtains were opened.

  The noise he had heard had come from the left side of the room. He slowly pivoted his head.

  A much too young woman set her knitting down, stood up, and looked down at Bronson. “How are you feeling? Is there anything I can get for you?”

  Yes, water. His mouth felt as it had been stuffed with cotton. He shook his head as he studied the woman who stood by his bed. Her golden eyes captivated him. They sparkled as if tiny rays of light danced on her irises. She was all of what? Eighteen? Nineteen? At best, she couldn’t be past her very early twenties. Not someone he expected to be knitting. “You are . . . ?”

  “My name is Aubrey Hamilton. I’ve been assigned to you. Is there anything you need to make you more comfortable? Are you hungry?”

  Assigned to me? For what reason? “You could begin by telling me where I am.”

  She gave him a wisp of a smile. “You’re in Eric’s Landing, of course.”

  “And that’s where?”

  She shrugged and somehow her eyes darkened. “I’ve lived here for seven years, and I don’t know where I am. All I know is that I’m in Eric’s Landing, and not knowing where that is doesn’t bother me a bit. I’ve found happiness here. I feel safe, and that’s all that matters.” She waved her hands as though dismissing the subject. “What can I get for you?”

  Bronson sat up. “I could use some water.”

  “Of course.” She opened the ice chest by the foot of the bed which Bronson hadn’t noticed before. She retrieved a bottle of water and tossed it to Bro
nson.

  He caught it, opened it, and took a gulp.

  “I’ve been instructed to take you to the Elders once you think you’re ready.” Her eyes sparkled as though this was a task assigned to the privileged few.

  Bronson took another swig. “Ready.” He put his shoes on and noticed that the knife he wore around his ankle was gone. “Where’s my stuff?”

  “The Elders will answer that. But wherever they are, they’re safe, I’m sure.”

  They’d be safer with me. “Lead me to your leaders.” He felt as if he was part of a science fiction story. Take me to your leader.

  Chapter 7

  Three men sat at the table, two at opposite ends of each other and one at the head of the table, obviously the leader. The only one Bronson recognized was the man who had brought him here, Everett Henderson.

  Soon as Bronson entered, Darryl Swanson, the leader, stood. “Bronson, Harry Bronson, is it?”

  “It is.” Bronson noted that when Swanson stood, he towered over everyone, but his thin frame made him look less intimidating.

  “I’m glad to see you up and about. Thank you for coming to our rescue.”

  Bronson looked at the portrait behind Swanson. The fourteen by sixteen painting of a beautiful teenage girl wore a strong resemblance to the leader.

  Swanson followed Bronson’s glance. “My daughter, Beverly.” As he stared at the picture, his Adam’s apple bobbed. He sighed and looked away.

  Bronson read the pain in Swanson’s face. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, and she’s in a much better place—away from all the ugliness this world has to offer.” He cleared his throat and offered a smile that didn’t come from the heart. He indicated a chair. “Please join us.”

  Bronson sat. “I came here with a suitcase and other personal items.”