The Enigmatic Mr. Dawsley

by Michael Bergquist

  The wind picked up and the sun began to set. There would be no time to convince everyone of the impending danger. Perhaps this was the end. As I stood there, the door behind me opened and Mr. Dawsley walked over to me, standing to my side and looking out over the estate with me.

  “Tomorrow morning,” he said, “I want you take Ellie across the bridge.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. The slightest hint of a tear came into his eye.

  “We have no more time, dear Truman.”

  “Is there nothing to do?”

  “There is one thing left that I can think of.”

  I stared at him for a moment.

  “No.” I said.

  “It is I who they want, Truman. If I go to them before they finish drilling, the island will be safe.”

  “There has to be another way, there just has to be.”

  “I am all ears.”

  I could not think of anything and a knot formed in my throat.

  “It will be okay.” he said to me with a sad smile. “I’m saving the world, Truman.”

  Tears began to form in my eyes, but I fought them back. Mr. Dawsley patted me on the shoulder and turned around, heading back into the house.

  Chapter 35

  I did not sleep that night. I ran over every option I could that would spare Mr. Dawsley, as well as the island, but nothing was plausible in so little time. As I laid in my bed, there came a shuffling up to my door and then a knock. I opened the door and Sandra was standing there holding the phone out for me.

  “Tell you friends to call earlier.” she said with an annoyed tone. I took the phone from her and put it to my ear.

  “Thurgood?” said a woman’s voice.

  “Who is this?” I asked.

  “Kate Maloney.”

  A bolt of misery, hope, love, anger, and confusion hit me and coursed throughout my body.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “I want to know if you can forgive me?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” I answered after a few moments of thinking.

  “I screwed up. I didn’t realize what they wanted to do. They told me that Mr. Dawsley was an evil man, that he wanted to take the mining industry and literally drill until the island sank. They said they needed me to find out everything I could about him. They emphasized his personal life. I had to do what I thought was right.”

  “You didn’t question the lunacy of that explanation or why they had chosen you?”

  “I was a secretary in one of their buildings, I figured they thought they could trust me with something like this. They showed me plans, said they stole them off Dawsley. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t know if I can forgive you Kate, you really should have realized that something was not right about the entire situation.”

  There was silence for several moments.

  “I understand.” she said finally. “But one more thing. I’m not an engineer, but I know a thing or two about physics. The drilling isn’t going to be enough and they know it. They’re going to have to trigger an explosion somewhere to actually sink the island.”

  “Where?!”

  “I don’t know. I’m doing what I can to evacuate people on the streets, but I’m sounding like a raving lunatic.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At a pay phone on a corner, why?”

  “Start calling cabs. When they get there, have the cabbies start picking people up and bringing them across the bridge. Tell them to do it all night.”

  “Isn’t that like kidnapping?”

  “It is kidnapping. Look at the alternative.”

  “Okay. What about the fares?”

  “If they want to charge for this, then let them sink with the island.”

  “Quite a statement.”

  “You know what I mean. Deal with the cabbies who want to help.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll handle it. Maybe I’ll see you across the bridge some time.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Goodnight, Thurgood.”

  “Goodnight, Kate.”

  We hung up and I raced over to Mr. Dawsley’s door, pounding on it with my fist. The lock moved and the door opened.

  “Ah, Truman, what is the news?” he asked.

  “It was Kate. She’s evacuating the island.” I said.

  “How?”

  “She’s having cabbies take as many people over the bridge as possible.”

  He smiled.

  “It is a nice attempt, to be sure. However, it changes nothing. As many as possible is still not all. Please, Truman, do not burden yourself with this. I am paying for what I have done.”

  “You have done nothing, though!” I yelled as tears began to flow down my face. “All you have done is take care of everyone! Why should you be the one to pay for anything? It isn’t fair, Mr. Dawsley!”

  “Dear Truman, your words are kind and I am moved.” he said, wiping a few tears from his own face. “This is the way it is meant to be, however.”

  I wiped the tears from my cheeks and Dawsley embraced me. After he let go, he wiped more tears from his face.

  “I am thinking that you should take Ellie across the bridge now. I can hear the drilling in the distance outside my window. I must hurry if I am to stop them. My driver is safe and on his way with the limousine to take me to Finlow.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Dawsley.”

  “Goodbye, Truman.”

  He closed his door and left me standing in the hall. I knocked on Ellie’s door and brought her outside, both of us leaving our possessions behind. A cab was waiting for us and we entered it.

  “Where is he?” asked Ellie in a panic.

  When she realized that he would be staying behind and that we would no longer have him or the shelter he had been providing, she became hysterical in an instant.

  “No!” she screamed. “No, no, no, no! We can’t leave him here, they’ll kill him! What will we do without him?!”

  I held her close to me to keep her from flailing about and trying to get out of the car to return to the mansion. As we came to the bridge, the sounds of the drilling had stopped and the sun had begun to come up. There was light traffic on the bridge, but it was moving for the most part. We had not yet reached it when a familiar face drove past us. It was Dawsley’s driver in his limousine. The man was pale and looked as if he had been crying. Perhaps he had heard the news from Dawsley as to what was going to happen. I hoped he would gather Sandra, too, and keep her safe from whatever happened. I had tried to convince her to leave earlier, but she said she would never leave that house so long as it was standing.

  We watched the driver head toward Dawsley’s house and we continued toward our destination. The traffic was moving now and we began the long trek across the bridge. Before we made it half way across, an explosion ripped through the island, the starting point seemingly coming from the area where the Dawsley estate would have been. They had acted before Dawsley could give himself up instead. Ellie screamed in agony and I shouted at the cabbie to drive faster. The island began to sink and the bridge began to collapse quite quickly. The cables snapped behind us and the metal of the bridge moaned and shrieked as it twisted and pulled itself downward. In the rearview mirror I could see cars and cabs tumbling downward with parts of the road which had broken off into large, jagged pieces. We had almost made it across the screaming, metal monster when it gave out beneath the cab and sent us plunging into the ocean.

  Chapter 36

  People were screaming all around us when we made it up to the surface. We had kicked out one of the windows in time and swam up, the muffled cries audible from beneath the surface. The cabbie had not survived the plunge, but Ellie and I were luckily unharmed. We found a large suitcase floating nearby and managed to swim over to it. We held onto it together and began to kick and paddle toward the land with what strength we could muster.

  The water was ice cold and dark below us. The already terrifying sensations were intensified by the others w
ho had not made it across the bridge and who were now shrieking and screaming for help. Coast guard boats began to show up, as well as helicopters and they began saving as many people as they could.

  We made it to the shore and laid on the sands, panting and crying. Police officers rushed over to us with blankets and quickly wrapped us up, pulling us further onto the land. An ambulance took Ellie and I told the police that I was fine and well enough to be on my own. They nodded and went back to saving others who were making their ways to the shore and crying out for help.

  I found a wooden bench on the side of the road and laid down on it. I do not remember falling asleep, but I awoke, surprised and still on the bench. I looked out toward where Atlantia had once been, but the moonlight showed only sea, smoke, ruins, and the searchlights of helicopters and boats. Finlow and Bell had sunk the island and the best man I had ever known along with it.

  I walked along a narrow sidewalk on a twisty, curved street that displayed a terrific view of the sea, until I came to civilization and hailed a passing cab. It took me back to my apartment and I entered it, falling asleep on my bed almost immediately from both shock and exhaustion. I awoke almost a full day later and did not eat. I drank just enough water to keep myself from passing out and I spent all day sitting in front of the television, watching the news coverage of the disaster that had befallen Atlantia. The media did not know what had happened and they spent all of their time reporting the casualties and the survivors that they could find. Of course, many names would not be listed in either category. I would learn some time later that some justice had been served, however. Samuel Finlow had apparently not made it away from the island in time. He had been found dead in a boat floating just off of Atlantia, his monocle embedded in his eye and his body crushed by pieces of debris that had flown off the island in the explosion. The way I saw it, he had wanted to see the explosion with his own eyes and paid the price for such an action.

  Congressman Bell was giving an interview, talking about what a tragedy the entire thing had been. He was promising to find out what had happened and to make sure that nothing like it would ever occur again. I could not allow myself to continue watching and so I turned the television off in utter disgust.

  For several months, I kept checking the records for Mr. Dawsley’s name, but found no mention of him in either the survivor or deceased listings. I thought about him often and every time I gave money to the homeless or even when I did something as small as drink a bourbon. The sound of piano music brought out too many emotions in me and so I avoided it as much as I could. Every classical record I owned was sold and the money given to charity.

  After awhile, I stopped checking the listings. They had not been added to in weeks and the searches had all been called off, other than those conducted privately by the families of the missing. I unfortunately could not afford the service of a private investigator to search for my friend. After a long time, I began to accept the reality of the situation.

  A funeral was held for Mr. Dawsley a few weeks later. Among the people in attendance were Killer, Hopper, Tat, Sandra, and many others who had turned out to witness the funeral of such a wealthy celebrity. Sandra and the boys from the jail cell had all been rescued somehow during the sinking of the island and I was immensely thankful for it. I pulled Sandra off to the side afterward.

  “Sandra, it is so good to see you.” I said as I hugged her.

  “Mr. Truman, it is good to see you.” she replied.

  “It is a relief to see that you are all right.”

  “I am very lucky. It is good to see you all right, too.”

  “I am lucky as well.”

  She nodded and smiled quickly. I decided, finally, to ask her what I had been wondering.

  “Sandra, forgive me, but I have to know what happened when I left.” I said. She nodded slowly and brought me over to a bench. We sat down and she began her story.

  “Mr. Dawsley was tuning his piano.” she began, “He said he was waiting for the driver to come and take him. I ask him if he want wine and he said no. He hugged me close and said thank you to me. I leave the room and see the driver on the computer screen. He drive up to the gate in tears. I ask him what is wrong through the intercom and he shout at me to run. All of a sudden he is crying and saying sorry. I turn to run and make it very far, but then fire explode all around me. I do not know how I lived, but I am thankful for it!”

  “And Mr. Dawsley?” I asked.

  “I did not see. I am afraid that he is gone.”

  She wiped some tears from her eyes with a handkerchief and I gave her another hug. We said goodbye sorrowfully and parted ways.

  Chapter 37

  Months passed by and the tragedy became a political issue, as all major events, both good and bad, tend to become after enough time has expired. I had heard that Sandra had begun working for another upscale family and was quite happy. Rumor had it that she was also teaching piano to the children in her spare time. Ellie Bell moved down to Texas and married an elderly oil tycoon. When he passed, she became the wealthiest woman in Texas and never married again. Her father made a run for president some time later, but lost to a much more qualified candidate. His political career ended there and he retired into obscurity.

  I began working at a local soup kitchen, helping to both prepare the food and distribute it to the less fortunate. I met a lot of good people who needed help in that soup kitchen. I did what I could, but I knew it would never be enough. An elderly man with a long grey beard that covered half of his face reminded me of Mr. Dawsley from the way he smiled, as if everything was going to be okay. His eyes glimmered with hope and the joys of simply being alive. I excused myself and went outside onto the sidewalk to calm myself before going back inside. It was then that I bumped into Kate Maloney.

  “Thurgood?!” she exclaimed.

  “Kate?” I replied.

  “You made it out!” she said as she embraced me. She remembered our history suddenly and backed away embarrassed. “I’m so sorry!”

  I chuckled and pulled her back into a hug. We stood there, pressed together, for quite some time, neither of us loosening our grip. When we finally let go of each other, we just smiled at one another.

  “Don’t be sorry.” I said.

  “I still feel so ashamed of myself.” she said.

  “It’s fine. You did a good thing there at the end.” I replied.

  “It wasn’t enough.”

  “It was as much as anyone could have done.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “It was.”

  She nodded and we stared at each other quietly. I went to head back inside, but she grabbed me by the arm.

  “Wait.” she said.

  “Yeah?” I replied.

  “Have dinner with me?”

  “Don’t you mean drinks?” I said with a chuckle.

  “No, no drinks. A real dinner. But, maybe with a little wine.” she said with a smile.

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “Great. So I’ll call you later and we’ll make a plan?”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  “Okay. Bye, Thurgood.”

  “Bye, Kate.”

  She walked away and I watched her as she went. She turned her head to look back and we smiled at each other. I went back into the soup kitchen and began serving more people. I saw the old man get up to leave and he looked at me with a smile again. I smiled back and he left.

  That night, Kate and I did not have dinner. In fact, we never spoke to each other again. I would sometimes see a woman who looked like her, or hear someone speak with such a similar voice that I would spin around, only to find a stranger conversing with someone else. These moments would cause my stomach to fill with butterflies, but the revelations always killed them.

  I had gotten a job as a reporter for a local paper much like the one I had worked at so long ago, thinking I could bring some journalistic integrity back into the media after what I had witnessed over the ye
ars. I still worked in the soup kitchen in my spare time and every now and then would see the elderly man sitting alone, eating his meal and smiling. I never inquired as to who the man was, where he came from, or what he was so happy about. The mystery of that man brought me a joy that ensured I would return again to the soup kitchen, even if I had been feeling like not showing up or quitting.

  I would take time out of each week to visit Mr. Dawsley’s grave, but as I became more busy with the goings on of the living, more and more time passed between my visits. On one particular occasion, I found that someone had planted one of those burning bush plants at his grave. I did not know where it came from, but I liked to fantasize about the possibilities. I admire it when I have time to visit, watching it sway and scatter its gorgeous, bright red petals throughout every season over the final resting place of the wonderful, fantastic, goodly Mr. Dawsley.

  END

  About the Author:

  Michael Bergquist is a 20 year-old writer from New York. He has published a novella, “Indigenous”; a short story collection, “The Beast and Other Tales”; and a short story, “The Dinner Party”. “The Enigmatic Mr. Dawsley” is his first novel.