The Legacy of Gervasio Zygmunt (2 short chapters)

[Lynet]

“Your uncle,” said the shyster, “left two million simoleons to you, which you get on two conditions.”
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I sighed. Of course, there would be conditions. The old skinflint. If he could have found a way to take his money with him, he’d have done it, bony fingers wrapped tightly around the coin, a big grin on his skeleton face. But he hadn’t managed to do that, and I almost smiled at the thought of his last and final frustration.

“What are they?” I said. I wondered just how far I’d be willing to go for two million simoleons. Pretty far, actually.

“First, get married and raise at least one daughter and one son on your uncle’s Ibolya property.”
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“That’s four conditions.”

“Second, keep a log.”

“A log? You mean, chop down a tree and keep what’s left?”

The shyster’s evil grin got even bigger and more evil, if that’s possible. “No, Mr. Zygmunt. A journal. A diary. A daily record of your life from this moment forward. Here’s a piece of paper and a pencil. Start writing.”

“Now?”

“Yes. My name is Vencel Lorant Domokos, and it’s not spelled S…H…Y…S…T…E…R. Got that?”

“Who’s going to read this besides you?”

“The Boldizsar Orphan’s Court.”

“Who gets the money if I throw this pencil at you and walk out the door?”

“Your brother.”

“He’s in jail.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“You’re his lawyer.”

The beady eyes brightened. Clearly, he was counting heavily on my failure to complete the conditions of the inheritance. Two million simoleons would cover a lot of legal fees. I knew my brother would not see a single simoleon. Not that I cared. He was a murderous wretch and deserved to be in jail. I’d have thrown away the key. But the court system would probably turn him loose in 5 to 10.

I stared at the shyster. Either I performed according to the terms of the will or Mr. Vencel Shyster Domokos got the money. What choice did I have?

To walk away, that’s what. A week later, after a plane ride, a boat ride, and a precarious jeep ride up the side of a cliff to a rocky wasteland, I looked out across my Uncle Fredek’s Ibolya property.
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Ibolya sounds like a disease, and with good reason. The property is a few acres of absolutely nothing except rock and rain. At the moment, it was both.

I would not be here long before I learned that it also snowed a lot.

I could almost hear the old geezer’s laughter rolling out of the deep, dark pit that contained his bitter soul.

Rats to you, Uncle. All I need is a wife and a couple of kids. How hard can that be?

[Lynet]

Meanwhile, there’s the journal condition, so I'd better document a couple of things.

Day one: Pack a suitcase and buy a plane ticket. Yes, it took the whole day because I had to wash my clothes first, and to do that I had to go to the Laundromat. The airport also had long ticket lines.

Day two: Plane ride. I sat in a small chair between a woman with an energetic baby and a guy with sharp elbows. My knees were against the seat in front of me, and I spent the entire trip studying the bumps on a bald head. The head blocked my view of the tiniest movie screen I’ve ever not seen.

Day three: Buy a ticket on a freighter going down the coast to Strangers’ Moon, a narrow peninsula of barren land that most people know enough to avoid. I prefer boats to planes. They’re great, as long as you’re not in a hurry to get anywhere. There’s a lot more space to move around. You just have to watch your step on a deck slippery with oil and seawater. Watch where you sit, too, because of the seagulls. Sometimes the air smells good, fresh off the sea. Sometimes it smells like diesel engines and rotting fish.

Day four, five and six: Walk around the decks, avoid seagulls, eat lots of rice and beans, and watch the crew work. The crew spends a lot of time scrubbing something or painting something, while out at sea, and when in port, the men are either breaking out, repairing, or stowing the gear used for moving cargo. Hard work, no doubt about it. Lucky for all of us, the weather remained calm, and the deck underfoot remained reasonably level.

Day seven: After one more night of rolling around on a paper-thin mattress thrown over the rusty springs of a narrow bunk, I awoke to the noise of the boat grinding into harbor. It was a grey and rainy day, a perfect match for the grimy little port of warehouses, stacks of containers, and the overhanging cranes used to hoist them between ship and shore.

I followed the freighter’s crew down the ladder to solid land and to the nearest pub, where I asked the barkeeper about transportation. Taxi? Buses? He shrugged and nodded toward an old man at the far end of the bar. I introduced myself to Mr. Fritjof, showed him the map I’d gotten from Mr. V. Shyster Domokos, and asked if he could get me to the Ibolya property.

“No problem,” he grinned. “Easy as my old lady.”

I should have been suspicious of that remark. The jeep ride up the cliff was hair-raising, and took years off my life. When we got to the top, I got out of the jeep on shaking legs and reached for my wallet to pay him. He stopped me.

“Save it for the supply wagon,” he said. “I expect they’ll want to be paid a lot to make that trip.”

“You still living with that old lady?”

He laughed, slapping his leg at the same time. Then, still grinning, he shook my hand, climbed back into the jeep, and said, “See you around town.”

“What town?”

He pointed at something I hadn’t noticed before, the top of a radio tower rising above the ridge. “Over there,” he said, “on the other side of the hogback. You can walk it in a couple of hours. Takes longer in the snow.”

“Great,” I said. “Thanks for the ride.”

He winked, “Anytime.” Then he made another suicide run, going back down the cliff road, singing at the top of his lungs, “My boat’s by the tower, and my bark’s on the bay, and both must be gone at the dawn of the day…”

I listened to his voice floating up over the cliff, growing steadily fainter, as I turned and looked out over my new home, a rainy plain that ain’t in Spain.

First challenge: build a shelter.

[Lynet]

I had already arranged for delivery of a few things to Ibolya, like a mattress, a stool, kitchen stuff, food, a barrel for catching the infernal rain, tools, a few planks of wood, a small refrigerator, and a generator. Doesn’t sound like much, does it? That’s because I was broke, as in no job and no money.

The supplies might be another day in arriving. I had managed to get hold of the truck driver by using my cell phone, which surprised me. But if the neighborhood had a radio tower, then I guess it had a cell site as well. In the meantime, I was anxious to build a shelter, so I piled up the rock as fast as possible. There was plenty of rock to choose from and, naturally, I picked the small pieces that I was fit to carry.

I know nothing about building a house, so I built the walls thick enough to support their own weight, fitting the rocks together like a jigsaw puzzle designed by a madman, worrying the entire time about being buried alive inside my own shelter. By the end of the first day, I had three walls, but no door and no roof.

I got wet when it rained.

The next day, the supplies arrived. The driver was white-faced and furious about the cliff road. I gave him everything left in my wallet.

“That’s not enough,” he said, eyes narrow. “Maybe I should just take that generator back down and sell it in port. You didn’t warn me about that road.”

“You look like you’ve been in worse places.”

He stuck out his hard jaw and squinted belligerently, “Think so, Mister? I’ll just take your money for my troubles, and not bother to unload any of it. I’ll sell it all down there.”

“Go right ahead. But I’d recommend you tie it up real good so that none of it rolls around inside your truck. If it breaks loose, your truck might tip off the road and fall down the cliff. Want me to help?”

I waited patiently for him to figure it out. If he decided to take all my stuff, I’d have to walk to the radio tower town and find a job before the sun set.

Finally, mumbling angrily to himself, he got into the back of the truck and roughly tossed my supplies out to me. I barely managed to grab the refrigerator before it hit the ground. And, fortunately, he needed help moving the generator. Then, showing me his teeth in a nasty smile, he gunned the motor of his truck, put it in gear, and headed slowly for the cliff road.

I sorted through everything he’d left behind, ate two bowls of unheated soup, and went back to work. By nightfall, I had finished the fourth wall, hung a door and put a flat roof on the hut. OK, so the walls and roof leaked. No biggy. At least I had shelter.
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I was so worn out that I didn’t care that I was going to bed on a damp mattress on a damp floor, inside a cold, damp hut. I happily dreamed of the fancy furniture I’d buy with Uncle Fredek’s money. Also, a fancy house. And a fancy car with a very loud engine. Really loud, like the thunder that was splitting the sky wide open. The rain rattled on the cheap wood I’d used for the roof. It ran down through cracks and formed puddles all around the mattress. The dirt beneath the stone floor sucked the water down through the joints between the slabs. I smiled, and fell asleep, grateful for the rain now, because I had a barrel to catch it in.

[Lynet]

Make no mistake; I knew my situation was desperate. Conditions were primitive. No plumbing, for instance. I was taking sponge baths out of the rain barrel, and answering nature’s call a few yards from my front door.

The generator worked in the rain, but just barely. Would it work when covered with snow? Maybe not. I was having trouble with it. Every once in a while it would stop dead. Then I’d punch and pound on it until it roared into life, sparks flying everywhere.
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So a couple of nights later, as I sat eating cold oatmeal and drying off after a frigid rinse with a sponge, I decided it was time to go to town and find a job.
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I also needed to find a wife. I didn’t care who she was or what she looked like. She just had to be willing and able to do the job. I expected plenty of applicants, since the pay was good: me and my uncle’s 2 million.

The following morning I dressed carefully for a long hike over the ridge, taking some pieces of dried meat and a flask of water. On the first trip into town, it took me all day to get there. The ridge was a complicated pile of rock, with a number of dead end gullies. On the second trip, I got over the ridge and into town in about three hours. By the third trip, I knew about the road that Fritjof had failed to mention. I’ll always wonder how the pub’s bartender managed to keep a straight face as he delivered yet another tourist into the hands of that old prankster.

But all that’s for later.

It was after sunset when I first saw the town.
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Town, actually, is not an accurate description of the buildings at the foot of the radio tower. There were only three of them. One was the general store, with groceries, clothes and magazines. A second building housed the local watering hole.
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It had a pool table.
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More interesting to me was the snooty young hostess who was willing to show me a seat at the bar, but who refused to talk to me at all.
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I like a challenge, though, and decided that I’d have to wiggle into her good graces one way or another. The third and smallest building held the public bathrooms and the mayor’s office.
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The mayor was also, as I learned later, the town sheriff, there being little crime and even less money in the town budget for two government employees.

Significantly missing from this town was a motel or inn of any kind. But I had no money, anyway.

I introduced myself to a woman who had just left the bar, and told her I was looking for work.
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“Ask Roberta Clayton. That’s her office, and she’ll be there early in the morning. I heard that the electric plant is looking for guards, times being what they are, and all.”

“Roberta Clayton?”

“You got it. She’s the mayor.”

“Mayor of…”

“One Fried Egg.”

“Er…what?”

“One Fried Egg,” she grinned.

“It’s been a long day, if you don‘t mind.”

“No joke. Officially, on the maps, we’re Hazelton, since that tower belongs to Hazel, Inc. But quite a few years back, the now retired Mayor Volney bragged to a national newspaper reporter that our town got so hot in the summer that you could fry eggs on the street. The reporter wrote that, however hot it might be, and it was surely hot, the town was so small you could only fry one egg at a time. Mayor Volney never lived it down. He lost the next election, and we‘ve been One Fried Egg ever since.”

“It‘s a more interesting name than Hazelton.”

“Sure is. What kind of work are you looking for? Where are you from?”

“Almost anything. And I’m from Pleasantview. It’s one long boat ride to the north. I inherited some land nearby. And some money. But I need a wife and a couple of kids before I can get full title to both. How about it? Are you interested?”

She laughed hard, slapping her knee. Seems to be a popular local gesture. Then she walked away, still giggling. It occurred to me that I might need to be a little more circumspect in my offer of marriage.

[Lynet]

Not one single simoleon in my pocket. Not one.

I was starving. Furthermore, it was too dark to risk going back over the ridge to my hovel sweet hovel.

So, instead, I returned to the pub and checked out the women again. The hostess still refused to talk to me. I gave her a friendly grin and went over to flirt with the bartender. Her name was Tamara Bachman, and she laughed at my jokes. Good start. I asked who her friends were, nodding towards the hostess and the waitress.

“Tina Scott and Brandi Ying. And before you ask,” she smirked, “they are single. But they don’t date tourists, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“You think I’m looking for a date?”

“Since you didn’t ask me for the name of that man at the end of the bar…”
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“OK, what’s his name?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“I figured as much, which is why I didn’t want to embarrass you by asking for it.”

“I don’t believe you, Gerry. You’re checking out the women, not the men. I can tell. It’s in your eyes, you know, the way you look at a woman.”

“My eyes? Tell me,” I leaned further over the counter, staring into her brown eyes, “what you see in mine. Then, maybe, I’ll tell you what I see in yours.”

“I see…” She giggled, and her voice lowered to almost a whisper, “I see hunger for the company of a woman. You look like a cat watching a mouse, eyes big and glassy, pupils dilated.”

“Wrong, my dear Tamara, because you are no mouse. What you see is a reflection of your spectacular beauty. So how do you feel about lonely strangers? Will you--unlike your timid friends--go out with me?”

“How many times have you practiced these lines, Mister? They roll so easy off your tongue. Besides, you haven’t said what you see in my eyes.” She opened them wider and leaned so close I might have risked a kiss. I didn’t try. Too soon.

“I see a thousand suitors who tried and failed to win your heart. Tamara, please, let one more poor fool try. Go out with me next Saturday.”

“I don’t know you at all.” She chewed on her lower lip, hesitating.

“I’m charming. I’m witty. And I adore you. How can you lose?”

“Maybe. Call me in a couple of days. If I agree, we’ll eat here. And I want lobster.”

“What’s your number?”

“Just call here. Everybody knows me.”

My stomach growled before I could say anything else. Tamara laughed. “Here,” she said, picking up a plate of food from behind the counter and handing it to me. “Have my supper. I’m not hungry. Big lunch.”

“You,” I smiled gratefully, “are an angel. Lobster it will be. Right here. Next Saturday. And I’ll call every day.” I carried the plate of pork chops to a table, sat down, and savored every bite.
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Looking good, I thought. Lots of women around here. One of them should be willing to marry me. Maybe it would be Tamara.

[Lynet]

With a wink and a smile, I handed the empty dinner plate to Tamara and headed for the door, thinking I’d look around the grocery store before it closed.

I was only half way across the room, however, when the lady in the purple exercise suit came into the pub.

Wow! Nice. I glanced toward Tamara, but she was busy over a pile of dishes, her back to the room, so I wandered over and said howdy to the lady in purple.

“Sorry, Charlie,” she said. “I’m not looking for company. Keep on walking.”
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“Just wanted to ask a question about the grocery store. How long will it be open tonight? And does it stock tofu?” Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Tamara was watching us. “And my name’s not Charlie. It’s Gerry.”

“George is the clerk there. Anything you want to know, ask him.” She turned away and walked over to the hostess, whose name, I now knew, was Tina Scott.

The real question for George was, “Who’s the lady in purple?” If she knew his name, I bet he knew hers. As I left the pub I waved at Tamara. She was leaning on the counter, frowning at me. No problem. A lobster dinner later this week would make her smile again.

Outside, the temperature had dropped considerably. And it smelled like winter, not fall. If necessary, I’d sleep in the public bathroom on the sticky floor. No way was I going back over that ridge tonight. In the meantime, I walked over to the grocery store to meet George. Grocery or General, whichever you called it, it was without doubt the One Fried Egg equivalent of Wal-Mart. It stocked a lot of stuff.
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George turned out to be a friendly teenager with a big nose, big teeth and shaggy hair, and he was perfectly happy to gossip about all the women in town.
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I’ll admit the conversation got a wee bit vulgar on occasion, as we sorted through who we’d like to…er…date, and why. His own experience with women, since he was a teenager in a very small town, was severely limited, but he certainly had a fine imagination, probably because of how he spent his afternoons, standing around for hours behind a counter, alone in the store. He told me the purple lady’s name, Christy Stratton.

Eventually, after we had chatted for a while, I explained my desperate condition -- a very long walk from my house on a freezing night. Would he mind if I hung out here until daybreak, when I planned to visit Mayor Clayton about a job.

“Wanna work here mornings? When I’m in school?”

“I suspect, George, that the manager does not pay you what you’re worth, and would pay me even less.”

“You sure got that right.”

“So thanks anyway.”
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“Well, the store’s not going anywhere, if you ever change your mind. But I’ve got some things in the ‘lost and found’ box in the back that you can have. Take your pick of the hats and scarves. Hey! Look! I’ve actually got another customer in here. It’s a red-letter day for One Fried Egg.” George walked over to chat with the other man who’d come in while we were talking and was now examining a big, stuffed toy.

He didn’t succeed in selling the man anything, however, because the guy wandered back empty-handed to where I was sitting on a worn couch in front of an old color TV, watching the sports news for the day.

“The counter kid,” he said as he sat down next to me, “mentioned that you were new in town, too. I’m with Simax Electric. We’re upgrading the controllers in the plant. You part of that job, by any chance?”
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“Not yet. Need help?”

“Hiring’s not in my job description. The foreman might be interviewing. My name’s Neville Machk.” He offered me his hand.

“Gerry Zygmunt. Oooh! Did you see that kick? How could he miss? 30 yards! He should have made it easy. Too bad. I thought the game was headed for overtime.”
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“So where’re you staying? Is there a motel around here that I missed? Rooming with the Mayor’s cousin isn‘t working out for me.”

“That’s tough, but you probably have a decent shower and a warm, dry bed. I’m camping out in a stone box on the other side of the ridge.”

“Kind of cold for camping out, don’t you think.”
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“Builds character.” I was getting a little annoyed with this guy. For one thing, he never took off his sunglasses. People who never take off there sunglasses indoors are hiding something. Bruises, at least. Or shifty eyes. And he was a little too nosy.
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“Well,” he said, standing up, “I’ll see you around. Maybe down at the plant.” He left the store. The football game was over, too.
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I yawned, put my feet up on the couch and watched a messy boxing match for the few minutes it took for one guy to beat the other guy down to a lump on the mat.
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Eventually, the TV put me to sleep.

[Lynet]

Sleeping on a short couch is uncomfortable, so I was awake even before George ran into the store the following morning to rouse me.

“Hey, Gerry! Better be out before the manager gets here. Grab a hat and scarf out of the box. I found a jacket, too. Looks like it might fit you. I’ve got to get to school. Think I’m late already. Atta boy. There’s the door.” He hustled me out of there fast, locking the front door behind us. Then he vaulted the porch railing, landed running, and 3 seconds later was in the driver’s seat of a beat-up little car. He made a quick U-turn and rattled off down the road, his exhaust drifting lazy over the town square long after he was gone.

The other buildings looked deserted, but I knocked on the Mayor’s door anyway. No answer, so I wandered back to the store and played with the chessboard on the porch.
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A few minutes later I saw a lady with short grey hair come walking around the corner of the store and over to the small building. She dug a key out of her pocket as she neared the door, and had slipped inside even as I was putting the chess pieces away.

She hadn’t come in a car. She must have walked from somewhere nearby, and I wondered about that. I hadn’t seen a single house anywhere. But the land was craggy, and there were probably small buildings hidden all over the place behind the rocks and hills.

I knocked on her door and heard her yell out, “Door’s open, Carmen. Get your equipment in here pronto.”

I pushed on the door and stepped inside a very small office. The mayor was facing away from me as she stamped her foot angrily on the floor behind her desk.

“Not Carmen, Your Honor,” I said. “My name is Gervasio Zygmunt, and I understand that you’re the one I need to see about a job.”

She straightened up and turned around. “Mr. Zygmunt, eh? Help me out with these rascals. Bring your big feet over here and kill as many as you can. I can’t think straight with them crawling all over the place.” She backed away to let me take her place, and I did as she asked, stamping my ‘big feet’ with gusto, enjoying it. Too many bugs in this world, in my humble opinion. Maybe they have their purpose, but I cannot imagine what it might be.

“OK, Mr. Zygmunt. That’s enough. I think you’ve taken care of the first battalion. The rest are in retreat, and Carmen will have to deal with those. She was supposed to meet me here this morning and must have gotten an emergency call.”
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I surveyed the battlefield and nodded. “I think I met her, if you’re talking about the exterminator. She’s the one who told me I should see you about a job.”

“As an exterminator?”

I tried not to look dismayed, “If that’s all that’s open, Your Honor…”

“Don’t be so formal. We don’t need the pride, pomp and circumstance around here. Call me Roberta. And your name’s quite a mouthful. Got a nickname, Mr. Zygmunt? One that you won’t mind my using?”

“Gerry,” I smiled. “I just moved in about a week ago, up on the Ibolya property that my uncle owned.”

“Owned? Has he passed?”

“Yes,” I said solemnly. They might have been close friends, for all I knew.

She snorted in disgust. “Hope you’re not like him, Gerry. He was a nasty old fart; I’ll be honest with you. If you’re anything like him, I may ask you to leave town, too.”

I laughed. Couldn’t stop myself.

“Good omen, your laughing, Gerry. Now, this job business. For someone who appeared to enjoy killing these critters, you don’t seem keen on doing it every day for a living.”

“I need work. If killing bugs is the job, I’ll do it.”

“Technically, they’re insects, not bugs, but no matter. Carmen’s doing just fine all by herself. Nice lady. Very sweet. Anyway, we need a night guard for the electric plant. Don’t get me wrong, there’s been no trouble there at all, but I’d feel better if someone was keeping an eye on the place.”
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“I’ll take the job, if you’re offering it to me.”

“I have a good feeling about you, Gerry. Guarding the plant is a position of trust, and I want to trust you. However, fill out some papers for me so I can check your background before I give you the keys to the plant.”

She pulled open a desk drawer, grabbed some papers that were stapled together, and handed them to me.

“Answer as many of the questions as you can. Be honest, but I do not need to know about every traffic ticket, unless you were arrested. You can sit at my desk. I’m going over to the saloon for coffee.”

“Saloon?”

“That’s what I call it. What would you call it? Never mind. Hurry up with that stuff. Then get yourself home and rested up, because you start tonight.”

[Lynet]

I considered whether I really wanted to risk returning to my stone house. Suppose I had trouble getting back to town, and turned up late for my first night on the job? That would be bad. And yet, I needed the rest that Mayor Roberta had recommended. Just get moving, Zygmunt, I told myself. You’re going to earn money tonight. Maybe when your shift ends tomorrow morning, Roberta will give you an advance on your paycheck. You’ll need it, anyway, to buy dinner for Tamara.

So I pulled my hat down lower on my ears, secured my scarf, zipped up my coat, and went back over the ridge. It took a lot less time than before, even though I stopped frequently to make sure I’d recognize the route on my return to town in the evening. Back at my hovel I ate a bowl of cold cereal and went to bed.
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I was almost too nervous to sleep, fearing I’d not wake up in time to get to work. But I did sleep, and what woke me up was the sound of the wind. It was hissing in around my loose plank roof. I rolled out of bed and opened the door.

Snow!

Well…Rats! I glanced at my watch. 4 PM. If I hurried, I should be in town before dark. No time to wash up. Besides, the water in the barrel had a thick crust of ice on top. Fortunately, the wind and snowfall stopped temporarily as I started on my walk, or I might never have been seen again.
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Even so, I tripped over rocks hidden by the snow, and almost slid into a ravine. I did manage, at last, to arrive at the Mayor’s office by 7 PM and in plenty of time for my job. My face and hands burned from the cold. My jeans were caked in snow and stiff with ice.

Roberta tilted her head as she stared at me. “What’s this? You’re half frozen. Did you walk here? Don‘t you own a car?”

“How would a car get over the ridge?”

“Oh, don’t tell me! You got off the boat, asked for a ride, and met Fritjof.”

“He offered me a lift.”

“Up the cliff road…”

I nodded suspiciously, “And he told me the way to your town was over the hogback.”

“One of these days,” she brought her fist down sharply on her desk, “that old fool is going to get someone killed. Maybe himself. No, Gerry, the main road out of Chesterport, Route 37, runs around through a gap in the cliffs, and continues down the peninsula to the resort. It’s longer, but it’s flatter and a great deal safer than that old road up the side of the cliff. Tower Avenue, the famous little street where eggs get fried here in Hazelton, comes off Route 37 just a stone’s throw down the hill from the General Store. Your street, Ibolya Street, connects with Route 37 a short walk from here.”

“My street?” I said, and rubbed cold fingers across my angry, aching brow. “I haven’t seen any street near me.”

“It’s there. Take my word for it. What kind of house did your uncle leave on the property? Is the roof good? This blizzard promises to be serious.”

“No, the roof’s not good. There’s no house at all. I built a hut out of whatever was handy, mostly rock. But if the roof collapses, it doesn’t much matter. There’s nothing of value inside anyway.”

“It matters as to what you’re going to do for shelter. OK, Gerry, this is how we’ll work it. I have my truck here. I’ll drop you off at the plant so you can start earning your keep. Meanwhile, I’ll call out a couple of the guys and send them up to your place with some lumber to secure your roof against the storm. I’m going to advance you your first paycheck to pay for this. Understand? Are we agreed?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I only ask that a little be set aside so that I can buy Tamara a lobster dinner on Saturday.”

Roberta blinked. “My, oh my,” she murmured. “That girl works fast, doesn’t she?”

[Lynet]

Roberta was right. There was a road to my property. I saw it when the factory foreman who’d arrived early for his shift drove me home and then pointed out the narrow path through the rocks.

I had built my house close to a steep rise in the land, thinking it offered some shelter from the winds, and had never thought to climb over that particular rise to see what lay behind it. More rock, I had assumed. It was certainly everywhere else that I looked. And, well, yes, there was more rock. But there was also the path through it, and the road.

I followed the meandering path, trudging through the snow, and came to my house within a few minutes. I didn’t recognize it at first, but then saw the generator shooting sparks off into the snowy night, and that convinced me the place was mine.

Whoever they were, the guys that Roberta had called to work on my hut, they were good. Must have been a truckload of them, and in the few hours I had walked aimlessly around an empty electric plant, they had done more than add a real roof. They had also added another room. Yes, it was small, and it was built of the same rock I’d used with the first room, but they hadn’t had much time to get it all done before the snowstorm made any more construction work impossible. I wasn’t going to complain. It was a much better job than I would have done, and I was grateful to Roberta for arranging it.

I was especially grateful for the new pine door, and the window, both of them caulked against the cold wind.

They had kindly moved my water barrel inside, too, and it was no longer frozen solid. It didn’t matter to me that an indoor rain barrel can’t catch any rain. I could restock it with snow.

I lit a candle and sat down on my stool with a book that Roberta had given me. She had told me to study the manual if I was interested in pursuing a career in police work. I smiled to myself. Why work so hard for that kind of career when 2 million simoleons waited for me as soon as I produced a couple of kids?
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Still, the future is never certain, so I opened the book and tried to read it. I hardly saw the words. Instead my mind wandered back to One Fried Egg…to Tamara, and Christy, and the snooty, but cute little hostess named Tina Scott.

[Lynet]

I didn’t have to show up for work until 8 PM so I slept late, until lunch time. Then I called Tamara, or tried to call Tamara, which means, I called the saloon where she works.

“Arlo's Grill tonight’s special is barbecued ribs how can I help you?”

“Is this Tina? Hello, Tina. This is Gerry. Can I talk to Tamara?”

“I’m sorry, Sir, but she’s busy and cannot take any calls now. Please call back later.”

I heard a click and a dial tone. Hmm. I patiently dialed again. When she picked up the phone again, I said quickly, “It’s very important that I talk to Tamara. I…”

Click! Dial tone! I stared at the phone in my hand. I waited about 5 minutes, pacing around in bare feet on the ice cold and clammy stone floor. Then I took a deep breath and dialed the number again.

“Arlo's Grill tonight’s special is barbecued ribs how can I help you?”

“With a reservation, Miss, for Saturday night for two at 6:00 PM.”

“Yes, Sir. And the name, Sir?”

“Zygmunt. That‘s Z…Y…G…M…U…N…T.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you for calling. We’ll see you then.”

“Wait wait! Don’t hang up. I want to talk to Tamara Ba…” Click!

I dialed again immediately and when she answered, and before she could tell me about the rib special, I said grimly, “Keep hanging up and I’ll keep calling. You gotta answer the phone because if you don’t the public will think you’ve closed.”

“Mr. Zygmunt, you can be arrested for harassment if you do that. I have your reservation. Employees can’t take calls on this phone. Goodbye.” Click!

I dialed yet again. I don’t give up easy. I let her get through the entire rib dance, and then said with as much sadness in my tone as I could muster, “Tina, you’re standing in the way of love. Without Tamara my life is empty.”

“And probably meaningless.”

“Exactly, so you underst...”

“And insignificant.”

“I really need to talk…”

“Aimless and irrelevant.”

“Well…”

“Pointless is good, too.”

“Not quite.”

“Dinky. It suits you, Dinky.”

“Tina, will you get Ta…”

“Puny! Even better, Mr. Puny.”

“NOT true!” I said, annoyed.

“Her shift is over and she’s gone, Mr. Dinky. Call her at home.” Click!

Dial tone.

I set the phone down carefully on my bed. OK, Tina Scott, you asked for it. I’m going to marry you. I grinned and went off to wash up in my barrel of rain water.

[Lynet]

The factory foreman who brought me home from work the night before had insisted on giving me a lift back and forth every night until I could afford to get my own car.

“Every now and then,” he said, “we lose someone in the snowstorms and have to get the whole town out to search. Let me tell you, that’s a miserable job, hunting for what usually turns out to be a dead body, and I’d rather just spend the time in my car giving you a lift.”

“Well, thanks, Leo. I’d rather be in your car, too.”

He laughed, and said, “Now, I’m reminded of the big, ugly biker who had been drinking in Arlo’s Grill for a while and decided that it was time to leave. He walked outside and immediately noticed that his Simota Tesi had disappeared. ‘OK’ he says, re-entering the crowded bar ‘I’m gonna have one more drink, and if my bike ain't back by then, the same thing will happen here that happened in Veronaville.’ With that, several of the guys ran out of the Grill and within minutes one had returned to tell him that they'd found his bike for him. As he turned to leave, the bartender stopped him. ‘Excuse me stranger,’ he said, ‘but what happened in Veronaville?’ The biker dude shrugged, ‘I had to walk home!’”

I smiled, “Good one! Got any jokes that would amuse a woman?”

“You gotta be kidding me. Why waste time on jokes? Especially around here, as there‘s a real shortage of single guys. All you have to do is smile and ask one on a date.”

“Yeah, that worked fine with Tamara. But it’s not working with the Grill’s hostess, Tina Scott? Know anything about her?”

“No family. Keeps to herself. Left town for a couple of years but came back, and my wife says it was because she got her heart broken by some idiot. So she’s probably sworn off men for a while. Too bad, because she’s a looker. Don’t tell my wife I said that, by the way. But Tamara’s a nice girl. So’s Ivy, and Christy, too. And Sandy.”

“OK, OK,” I laughed. “No worries, then. If I’m lonely on a Saturday night, then it’ll be my own stupid fault. Is there someplace to eat besides the Grill? Did I see a roadhouse near the plant?”

“The Windmill Tavern. It’s a bar with a jukebox. They don’t serve food, but it’s OK for just hanging out. There’s nothing else for miles. Except ice skating, which is a good way to break a bone, in my opinion.”

Leo pulled his car onto the deserted parking lot of the electric plant. I thanked him for the lift and he swore he’d be back to pick me up at 2 AM. I went through the gate and up the stairs to the little office where I would be spending most of my time, watching computer images from surveillance cameras. When the boredom got to me, I’d get up and walk around the plant.

Last night, when the Mayor brought me over, the place had been cold, dark and deserted. The only noise was a humming drone that I felt through the floor, and an occasional grind and clanking of metal from deep behind the plant’s concrete block walls.

“Mostly runs itself,” Roberta had said. “Spooky, if you ask me. Just machines, Leo tells me, built by people. That’s Leo Varvarinski, by the way, the plant foreman. And he insists that the machines won’t run for long without people around.” She squinted at me. “Well then, Gerry, what these machines need from you is a watchful eye. That’s all. No need to experiment with knobs and levers to see what happens. There’s a phone on the desk over there with Leo’s number, in case you have any problems. Are we good, then?”

“Should be simple.”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“It’s too cold.”

“The machines like it that way, and what they want, they get. So I’m headed home, and when I get there I’m going to turn on the electric lights and think of you standing guard over the power. Don‘t let me down.” She left.

That was my first night.

Tonight, my second night, I used the key Roberta had given me, let myself into the office, and found a woman sitting at the desk, playing Space Invaders on the computer.
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[Lynet]

Sometimes you don’t recognize the devil when you meet her face to face.

She seemed innocuous, a black-haired little stick of a woman, having a good time with the computer.

“Hi,” I said and glanced around the room. It looked the same as it had last night…very bare of any comforts. I’d have played with the computer, too, if I were sitting around waiting for something or someone, although I hadn’t known the thing had Space Invaders loaded on it.

“Hello there, Gerry,” she smiled. “Gracious me, but aren’t you cute. My brother didn’t tell me that, although I suppose he wouldn’t notice anything like that.”

“Somehow, Lady, I missed getting your name, even though you know mine. Who are you? What are you doing here? And who’s your brother?”

She got up and came around the desk. “I’m Clarabelle. Clarabelle Machk. My brother’s Neville. He’s in charge of something around here. He’ll be down in a minute, just had to look around the plant, he says.”
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“Look for what? Frankly, I don’t think you’re supposed to be here, you or your brother. Let’s go find him right now.”

“Now, Honey, there’s nothing to worry about…”
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“Let’s go.”

“It’s a big plant, Sweetheart. Don’t you have cameras all over the place?”

She was right. Stupid of me. I sat down at the computer and was about to log on to Hazel Surveillance when the guy I’d met at the general store came strutting through the door.

“Well, well,” he said, grinning at me. “It’s Gervasio Zygmunt. You found a job, I see. But it must be unpleasant, being up all night in this place. How’s the pay? Can’t be too good.”
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“It suits me just fine. Why are you here?”

“I work here same as you. Check it out, if you like. But we’d better be going. I have a nice hot shower and a nice warm bed waiting for me in a nice warm house.”

The woman said, “I want to stay with Gerry. He’s the most interesting thing I’ve seen in this nasty little town.”

I shook my head, “Both of you--Out! Now!”

The woman rolled her eyes, then smiled, “Fine. We’re leaving. But I’d like to buy you a drink at the Windmill tomorrow. Meet me there at noon.” She and her brother left.

I locked the door behind them and went to the phone. I called Leo.

“Leo? This is Gerry.”

“Something wrong at the plant?”

“Maybe nothing. I found a man and woman hanging around here. Neville and Clarabelle Machk. Neville says he works here. Do you know these two?”

I heard Leo sigh wearily, “Simax Electric sent him to oversee the installation of the controllers. He’s a complete idiot. And a jerk. I don’t know anything about the woman, although he said his sister had come with him. He has no reason to be there at this time of night, but idiot that he is, he probably doesn’t realize that. I’ll check it out later when I come to take you home. Goodnight, Gerry. Glad you called.”

“Sure thing.” I hung up the phone carefully.

What really puzzled me about Neville Machk was that he had called me Gervasio. I had introduced myself to him--and to almost everyone else here--as Gerry. Who had told him my name? Mayor Roberta? That didn’t make sense.

I logged onto Hazel Surveillance, shifted through the images, and then took a walk around the plant. It all looked the same as it had the night before. I didn’t know it then, but it looked the same for a good reason. Neville and Clarabelle Machk had no interest in the Hazel Electric Plant. Turns out, it was Gervasio Zygmunt they were after.

[em90]

Why has no one else commented on this yet? Love this story, it's fantastic! Slightly odd but oh-so-interesting. :) I'm looking forward to the next update.

[Lynet]

Thank you so much, Em90. I guess the story is a little odd. I tend to write stories like that. But there is definitely a plot and a plan for Gerry. I'll post some more tomorrow.

[Lynet]

It was Thursday, and she answered the telephone with the usual high-speed recitation, only this time the special was pork chops.
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I said, “Good morning, Tina!”

“Would you like to make a reservation, Sir?” She knew who I was. I could almost hear her grinding her teeth, forcing politeness into her tone.

I smiled, “Um…no…I just wanted to apologize for being such a jerk yesterday. See y’ around.” I closed my cell phone, ending the call. I was still smiling. Apologizing is easy, and it would give her something to think about.

All night long at the electric plant, as I had paced around the empty corridors, or watched images of dozing machinery flicker across the computer screen, I had thought a lot about Tina. I wondered if Leo’s wife was right about her, about some guy breaking her heart. Well, I was dumped once, too, and I was angry about it for a long time, but I got over it, and I sure didn’t stop dating women. It’s all a game, anyway, and once you learn the rules, your heart is safe.

All I wanted of Tina was for her to give me a chance. A couple of dates. No big deal. It would take a while, though, to get her to agree to that. In the meantime, there was Tamara. That was for Saturday.

Today? Hmm. I was curious about the woman, Clarabelle Machk. She was a little too pushy for my tastes, but what the heck? It might be an interesting diversion. Noon, she‘d said. Might as well meet her at the roadhouse and go up to work from there.

[Lynet]

I trudged clumsily through the drifts, thinking that, since the road to the electric plant and the Windmill Tavern was almost entirely downhill, I could have skied, if I knew how to ski, which I don’t. Maybe it was a sport I should learn if I planned to live around here. I put the thought away. I had other things to take care of before I broke a leg. For instance, getting a car! Whenever and whatever I was paid, I should probably save some of it for a car. I also needed a refrigerator, and a bed frame, and a shower stall, and last, or probably first, a real toilet. An indoor toilet…with all the appropriate plumbing and a good septic system. I was more than tired of the outhouse built over a hole in the ground. It smelled bad, and was painfully cold. No matter how much I tried to avoid contact between bare skin and icy wood, it was unavoidable.

Eventually, preoccupied with these thoughts, I arrived at the tavern.
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I trudged up the steps, opened the door, and considered turning right around and leaving again.
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I would have done it, except it was such a long, cold walk home. So I decided to just deal with the situation I found there. Tamara was tending bar, and Clarabelle was playing darts. The only other person who had braved the weather was me. Three of us…and that was one of us too many.

I took a deep breath and walked over to Tamara, ignoring Clarabelle.

“Hi, Tamara.”

She rolled her eyes and continued wiping the counter with a wet rag.

I sat down and leaned on it, getting in her way, “Tried to call you. You might want to talk to Miss Scott about that.”
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“She told me you called.”

“Then why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You schmuck! Do you want a drink, or not?”

“You’re having dinner with me Saturday, aren’t you? Lobster, as promised?”

“We’ll see.”

“Aw, Tamara,” I put my hand down on top of hers, stopping the scrubbing. Her hand was warm, the skin soft and smooth. She peered cautiously at me. I did not smile at her because it was not a good time for smiling. Maybe she was just playing hard to get. Or, maybe not. Whatever she was angry about, I did not want to pursue it here, not in front of Clarabelle. I said, “I made the reservation at Arlo’s, and I’ve been looking forward to our date all week.”

“It’s just dinner.”

“A nice dinner. And maybe we’ll come here afterwards and dance a little.”

“Maybe.”

Somewhere behind me, someone said, “Can I get a drink in this place? Pour a glass for me, Honey. I want that stuff with the lovely amber sparkle to it. Neat.” Clarabelle swung smoothly into the seat beside me. “Hello, Gerry. You look thirsty. Whatever you like, I’m buying.”

I said, “I’ll have a soda. Sprite.”

Clarabelle shook her head, “Spike the Sprite for him, Dear. It‘s a mighty long walk from that shack of his, and he needs warming up.”

I sipped at the glass Tamara handed me. It burned the whole way down. Can’t blame the bartender for wanting to sell the product.
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Clarabelle watched me with approval in her smile, then picked up the glass Tamara gave her, raised it and said, “To temperance--in moderation.” She drank that powerful stuff without flinching. It didn’t even make her eyes water. No question about it, she was used to drinking like that, which explained her husky voice. She lowered the glass, saw me watching her, and winked, saying, “I challenge you, Sweetheart, to a game of darts.”

I do not know how she managed with that simple phrase to suggest a great deal more than darts, but somehow, she did.

“OK,” I agreed slowly. “301?”

“Of course.”
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“The stakes?”

She leaned forward, “I win, I drive you to work.”

That red dress, I thought, is definitely too skimpy for cold weather. I said, “And if I win, you buy me dinner.”

“You won’t win.”

She was right. And I lost more than a dart game.

[Lynet]

Clarabelle thoroughly enjoyed the game, right from my first throw, since it went wild. I, on the other hand, teased her mildly about her horrible stance, as she lunged toward the board, back foot off the floor. In spite of that, she managed to throw with remarkable accuracy, beating me quickly. No matter. I had come with no plans for the afternoon, and didn’t make much of an effort to win. After all, I either got a ride to work, or dinner. Maybe both if I talked nice to her.
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She wanted to play another game, just for fun, with nothing more at stake.

I said, “I need a drink first.”

“Good idea.”

She bought another round of the same as before, and I thought it was a very good thing that the electric plant was close by, and that we’d probably be the only car on the road. She had no trouble talking, however, even with two strong drinks inside her, and asked me all sorts of questions.
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In answer to one about where I grew up I mentioned my brother by name. Cavell.

“A brother?” she said. “How interesting. Older? Younger? Does he look like you?”

“He’s not interesting, believe me. Younger, dumber, and in jail forever, I sincerely hope. And no, we don’t look alike. Different mothers.”

“Half-brother, then. Same with me and Neville, except with us it’s different fathers, and our fathers were cousins. Mother was a romantic, always looking for the perfect lover. Me? I like romance, too, but with variety.” She grinned and set her empty glass down on a nearby table. “One more game, Gerry! How about Round the Clock? Then I’ll drop you off at work. The plant has a cafeteria so you can get something to eat from the vending machines there.”

I did a lot worse with this game, but that was all right with me because it made her laugh and I enjoyed watching her laugh. I liked her cheerful company. I liked the whole afternoon. Two mixed drinks and I was plastered. I didn’t puzzle over how two drinks could be so strong and wreck such havoc with my judgment. I forgot about Tamara and Tina entirely, and gave no thought at all to the future. Instead, I suggested a third game of darts, but Clarabelle grabbed my arm and told me it was time to go.
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I let her lead me out to her car, a blue van I’d seen parked in front when I first arrived.

A cold gust of wind came off the flat plains to the south, uninterrupted by anything except a string of telephone poles, and it hit me hard in the face. I grunted in surprise and tried to pull back into the Tavern.

“Nothin’ doing, Honey,” she said. “You gotta go to work. The van’s right here, just a few steps.” She was insistent, her eyes bright and her grip strong.

I stopped at the door of the van and refused to move another inch. “What did she mix in my soda? I feel lousy.”

“Whiskey. Don’t tell me you didn‘t know that, because I wouldn‘t believe you. Get inside the van before we both freeze to death.”

I hesitated, then climbed unsteadily up into the seat. She closed the door and went around to the driver’s side and got in.
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She had no coat, and no scarf or hat. She was shivering as she started the engine and turned on the heat full blast. Then she leaned closer to me and said softly, “Come here, Gerry. Help me get warm.”

I was more than agreeable to the idea, and pulled her into my arms. It felt nice, really nice. Her hair was soft, and smelled of flowers. She turned her face up to mine and kissed me. It’s what I’d wanted from the moment she sat next to me at the bar, so I kissed her back hungrily. The van heated up, the windows fogged and snow fell hissing on the roof. An occasional gust of wind rocked our private world, but we were oblivious to all but the fever of our passion.
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I don’t know if I would have reacted differently without the alcohol in my system. Probably not, since Clarabelle Machk is a beautiful woman, and I was too flattered by her attentions to be suspicious of her motives. And certainly, even to this day, I tell myself that she wanted both me and my money, not just my money, and that it was only Neville Machk who wanted me dead.

[Lynet]

“You’re a mess,” said Leo when he picked me up at 2 AM to drive me home.

“Ow…Leo, you don’t have to shout. I can hear your.”

“I’m not shouting, Zygmunt. You’re hung over, aren’t you.”

“Er…I was at the Windmill yesterday and went to work from there, but it won’t happen again. You have my word. I want to keep the job. I need it.”

Leo eased his car off the parking lot onto the road. The road had been ploughed free of snow but was now slick with ice. He kept the car in second gear, moving carefully. Even so, the old tires seemed to take turns with their grip on the road. “You’re too smart for this job,” he said after a moment. “I’d be doing you a favor by firing you. But I won’t, not this time.”

“Thanks.” I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. Staying awake through my shift had been difficult. I’d had at least six cups of coffee from the vending machine, and one hotdog that I’d forgotten to take the plastic off before microwaving it. Buying the thing had used up the last of my change, so I’d cut the melted plastic off the bun and eaten the foul thing anyway. It was no wonder my stomach was threatening to unload. I only hoped it would wait until I was out of Leo’s truck.

“We’re here. Can you make it to your house by yourself?”

I opened my eyes. “Sure. Thanks again.”

“Oh, by the way, Roberta is expecting you for dinner tonight at her house. She told me to tell you. I’ll pick you up if you like.”

“No need,” I said, thinking of his worn tires. “The walk will be good for me.” I climbed out of his car and started to close the door.

He said, “Don’t you want your paycheck?” He held an envelope toward me and added, “Roberta’s going to want most of that, for the work done on your place.”

I nodded, thanked him again, and walked carefully through the snow to my house. Inside it was cold and damp. Fortunately, the generator outside and the space heater inside worked when I turned them on. I hovered around the space heater for a few minutes, warming myself, and then got into bed, under the covers, fully clothed. In spite of the coffee and my unsettled stomach, I was instantly sound asleep.

I slept for twelve hours, solid, and woke feeling better, but not by much. I picked up my watch and peered at the tiny numbers. 2:30 PM. I sponged down with the icy water in my rain barrel. It was getting low. I’d have to refill it from the snow outside.

Then I dialed Arlo’s. The special today was ribs, again.

“Good morning, Tina,” I said.

“Good afternoon, Sir,” she said wearily. “Please hold thank you.”

Oh, right. Afternoon. I waited patiently and for a long time. I suspect she was hoping I’d hang up. I didn’t, and eventually she picked up again and chirped, “What can I do for you, Sir?”

“Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

“No, thank you. Goodbye.”

I dialed again.

“Just one cup,” I said, as soon as she picked up. “In Arlo’s when your shift is over.”

“No.” She hung up.

I closed the phone and put it down on the bed. No question about it, I would have a tough time getting any kind of date with her. Couldn’t really blame her, I suppose, for not trusting the stranger in town. Maybe when Tamara returned safely to work the next day after a date with me, she’d be more open minded about Gerry Zygmunt.

Thinking of Tamara, I remembered the strong drinks. I’ve had mixed drinks before, and none had ever hit me as hard as those two from yesterday.

And then…Wow! Had Clarabelle and I really done it? I rubbed my aching forehead. What was it the fish said when it ran into a wall? Damn!!

[Lynet]

She didn’t hear my first knock so I knocked harder.

Her response was muffled, “It’s not locked, Gerry! I‘m in the kitchen.”

I turned the knob, pushed the door open, and smelled spaghetti sauce. I hoped there was a lot of it, because I was seriously hungry. I paused to kick at the sill, an almost useless effort to shake the sticky snow off my boots, then stepped inside and stood carefully on the rug just inside the door.

Nice house, I thought. Flowers on the wallpaper. Pictures of flowers hanging on the walls. Fancy curtains.

Roberta appeared suddenly, standing in the door to her kitchen as she dried her hands on a paper towel. She looked puzzled, “What are you doing there? Throw your stuff on the couch by the fire and come get your plate.”

“The stuff’s wet, Ma’am.”

“What? Your sweater? Water won’t hurt the couch and it won’t hurt the sweater. Hurry up. I’m starving.”

Under her impatient gaze I spread my soggy sweater and scarf over the arm of the couch as close to the fire as I dared, and then followed her into the kitchen. “Here,” she said. “Take your plate and sit down.”

I obeyed gratefully, hoping she didn‘t hear my stomach rumbling. She set the platter on the sideboard and sat down with her own plate. For a couple of minutes, the only sound was of forks on plates.

Then she straightened up and said, “How do you like that job over at the plant?”
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“I’m very grateful for the opportunity.”

“Answer the question, Gerry.”

I started to get worried. “I need the job, Ma’am.”

“Roberta’s my name. I’ve always hated being called Ma’am.”

“Sorry, Roberta. Hard to stop a bad habit.”

“Make the effort,” she sniffed, and then said, “You’ve not yet answered my question, and I’ve a reason for asking. Did you read that book I gave you? What do you think? Does police work interest you?”

I looked up in surprise. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it does.”

Her eyes narrowed a little as she answered me, “I can get you into the police academy if you want. That is, I’m willing to recommend you, if you answer me straight on a couple of other matters.”

“Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Start with your brother. Tell me about him.”

I sighed, annoyed, and realized something which hadn’t occurred to me before now--that I’d be answering questions about my brother for the rest of my life. I put my fork down. “He’s in jail, but I guess you found that out already. He’s an idiot who got involved with a gang of car thieves. Someone was killed, and now he’s paying for it.”
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“Did he do it?”

“Are you asking if he pulled the trigger? I don’t know. Could have. He was born without a conscience. Whatever Cavell wants, Cavell takes.”

“Don’t like him much, do you?”

I shrugged, “Nope.” The spaghetti was too good to ignore. I finished eating, thinking that I was probably stuck with the job as a security guard, at least until I fulfilled the conditions of my uncle‘s will. Too bad. Finding a wife was turning out to be more difficult than I expected, and police work might have proved interesting in the meantime. There was also the uniform. I’d heard that women were attracted to men wearing a uniform. Can’t imagine why, but there it is.

Roberta sat quiet, fiddling with her fork. When I sat back from my empty plate, she said, “Now tell me about your wife.”
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[Lynet]

“Wife? What wife?” I looked around the room as if I expected this mystery woman to leap out of the woodwork. Then I cleared my throat, and said firmly, “I don’t have a wife!”

“The one you used to have, then. Ramona Cesaro Zygmunt. Remember her now?”

“I’ve never had a wife and I’ve never heard of Ramona. Where did this come from?”

“I sent your application for the security job to my lawyer. Hazelton is not the sort of town that outsiders will move into unless they’ve got a good reason. Hiding from someone, for instance.”
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“I’m here because of my uncle’s property. Didn’t I explain that?”

“Not completely. It’s an ugly piece of land. You should sell it.”

“I can’t. There are conditions to the inheritance. And besides, I kind of like it here. I‘m not hiding from anything, especially from an imaginary wife, since having a wife is one of the conditions to inheriting the property.”

“Well, well. That explains a few things. Your single-minded pursuit of our young women had me a little worried.”

“I‘m just trying to make friends.”

“You asked Carmen to marry you.”

“Er…I guess I did.” I’d forgotten about that.

“And you went after Christy as soon as she walked into Arlo’s.”

“Christy?”

“Your first night in town, so I hear, right after you asked Tamara for a date.”

“Oh, right.” The lady in purple. The grocery store clerk had volunteered her name. Christy Stratton.

“And you’ve been making a real pest of yourself with Tina.”

I grinned, “She’s a challenge, for sure.”

“Which leads me back to the question of your wife.”

“I don’t HAVE a wife! Never did! Your lawyer screwed up!”

“Does your brother have a wife?”

“No one would ever marry that creep. He’s violent.”

Roberta seemed a little dismayed by my answer and looked away, staring thoughtfully across the table. I waited, letting her sort it out. Finally, she turned to me and said, “I’m going to send in your application to the Academy, along with my letter recommending you. I suspect police work will hold some unpleasant surprises for you, Gerry, but I think you can handle it. In the meantime, I will have my lawyer get back with his investigator. If there really is a Mrs. Ramona Zygmunt, then she is most likely your brother’s wife, and she may be in the area somewhere, probably at the resort down the highway. Someone has started spreading nasty rumors about you. Who else would have a reason?”

“Rumors? About me? What kind of rumors?”

“They’re not good. However, I don’t believe them, especially now that I know you like my spaghetti sauce. No one else around here does.”

She got up from the table, picked up our plates and carried them to the kitchen. I followed her.

“Roberta, I’ve got a question, too.”

She turned around and patted me on the arm. “You’re a good sort, Gerry, and I’d like to see you settle here and raise a family. Our young people usually move away as soon as they have some money saved. I worry about it. I worry about Hazelton and I worry about those who have left us. I ask myself, are they happy? Will they come back if they’re not?” She waved a hand in the air. “But never mind my worries. What’s your question?”
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“Is Tina Scott dating anyone?”

Roberta laughed and shook her head, “Ask her yourself. Time for you to go home. Hold on, though. Do you have your paycheck with you? Yes? Good. Turn it over, make it payable to me and sign it. You owe me the whole thing and then some, but I’ll give you a 100 back in advance of your next paycheck. That’ll leave you enough for one of Arlo‘s fancy dinners tomorrow night.”

As I scrawled my signature on the back of the check she said, “How’s the roof holding up?”

“It’s good. Everything’s good. I like the window. If I had a toilet it would be quite cozy up there.”

“Blast! I forgot about that. Tomorrow, then, we‘ll get you a toilet and a shower.”

“I guess I won’t be seeing much of my next paycheck, either.”

“The Academy pays a little better and the hours are nicer. Expect to report there on Tuesday morning. It’s just up the highway. Someone will pick you up promptly at 8 AM. Do you need a lift home tonight?”

“It’s not that far to walk. Thanks for everything.”

“Stay in Hazelton and I’ll help you with your career, Gerry. Keep that in mind, and don’t let me down.”

My sweater and scarf were still wet, but they were warm. I pulled them on and left. As I walked away from her house I puzzled over the question of Ramona Zygmunt. I couldn’t believe that Cavell had married. Who would have him? The lawyer and his investigator had made a big mistake. And the rumors? That made absolutely no sense at all. I wish Roberta had told me what they were about.
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[em90]

Thank you so much, Em90. I guess the story is a little odd. I tend to write stories like that. But there is definitely a plot and a plan for Gerry. I'll post some more tomorrow.

Ah, but it's odd in a good way though. It's refreshing to read something that doesn't start with "Hey! My name is x and this is my new home in town y. I met a hot guy today at my new school!," etc.
Anyway, I've never been so hooked on a Sim story before. For a minute there I thought Gerry was going to have an insane wife locked away in an attic somewhere, but no, it's even more mysterious. Loved the updates! :)

[Lynet]

Thanks Em90. I read your story. The characters are developing very well. I look forward to more of it.

I think you commented somewhere in your story that you'd written the whole thing but didn't want to post it all too fast. Same here. I've gotten as far as where Gerry's story gets more exciting, so maybe I can slow down a little.

[Lynet]

I got lost walking home, and I‘m not sure why. I suppose I was just too cold and not paying attention to what I was doing, or not thinking clearly. At some point I looked up and realized that I didn’t know where I was. The falling snow had turned the entire world into a blur of freezing white.

I started talking to myself, “Keep moving in a straight line, you idiot. And when you get to the highway, turn left and follow it until you get to Ibolya Street. Whatever you do, Zygmunt, do NOT stop to rest. Keep moving to stay warm.”
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But I was losing the battle to stay warm. Everything hurt, my face and hands worst of all.

Then I saw a light. I paused and squinted at the flickering glow. “Do you suppose,” I babbled stupidly, teeth chattering, “that it’s attached to a house? It must be a house. Maybe they’ll let a cold man come in and get warm. Just for a few minutes. Coffee? Would you like some coffee, Sir? Sure, coffee would be great. Mind if I sit here in the kitchen for a minute, while I drink the coffee and warm my hands? Thank you, Ma’am. Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

I started walking again, although my feet now hurt worse from the cold than even my hands and face. The light stopped flickering and burned more solidly and a lot brighter as I got nearer. It was a porch light.
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I bent my stiff knees to get up the few steps, and when I reached the door I banged on it with both fists.

After a few moments worrying that they couldn’t hear me or would never come, the door swung open and a blond woman stood there. She laughed, “Will you look at this, now? It’s Mystery Man. Come in, come in. There’s plenty of pizza left.”
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I moved forward into the warmth and heard the door shut behind me.

Someone said, “Sandy, he can hardly walk. Get him over by the fire.”

I looked in the direction of the second voice and recognized Christy Stratton. I smiled.

“You‘re right,” said the blond, still grinning. “Pretty dumb idea, Gerry, to go out for a stroll in this weather. Wearing only a sweater, no less! Let me help you with it.”

Both of them pulled at my scarf and sweater, and then at my arms as they pushed me through the kitchen into the next room, and a roaring fire. Great invention, fire. I leaned close, shivering, and when the front of me had thawed enough, I turned to roast my back, and got a look at who else was in the room. Besides Christy and the blond called Sandy, I saw Tina. There was also a man trying to watch a football game on TV. I heard Tina call him Joe.
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Christy said, “I’ll get you some hot chocolate. Sit down there, next to Sandy.”

I sat down and stared at Tina. She looked different with her hair loose around her face, and more beautiful than ever. The sight of her did more to warm me up than the hot mug Christy handed me.

I sipped at the chocolate, not trusting myself to speak until I was sure my teeth wouldn‘t rattle in the effort. The others talked around me, mostly about the game on TV.

Finally, Tina looked over at me and said, “Feeling better?”
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“Yes. Much.”

Sandy put a hand on my arm, “Yup, you’re much warmer. So what were you doing out there?”

“Walking home. Roberta offered me a ride but I said no. The next time someone offers me a ride in a snowstorm, I’ll accept.”

“Oh no! You had dinner with Roberta? Spaghetti, I bet.”
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“I liked it.”

Sandy laughed. She laughed easily and frequently. “If you liked it then you’ve never had the good stuff, as it should be done, simmered slowly and stirred frequently until it’s nice and thick.”

“Sandy’s a chef,” said Joe, “but you’d never guess that tonight. She invites us over and serves pizza!”

“Where do you work?” I asked her. “Arlo’s?”

“Absolutely not!” She made a face, wrinkling her nose. “No, I’m the chef at Rachelle’s, in the resort. It’s a nice restaurant, and very expensive.”

“Beyond me, then,” I said.

“Not what I heard,” said Joe.

I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re rolling in it, Dude. Admit it. What I don’t get is why you‘re fooling around with that job at the plant. Just for kicks?”

“Where’d you get the idea I was rich?”

“From your wife. She‘s looking for you.”

Tina interrupted, “Joe, it’s late. We should leave.”

I stood up when Tina did. Joe was on his feet in a flash. He stepped forward and poked me in the chest, “And stop pestering Tina. She has no use for creeps who run out on…”

I shoved him. His eyes got hard as he raised his fists. Then Tina walked between us, headed for the kitchen, and said, “I’m going home.” Joe lowered his arms, sneered at me and chased after her.

I watched them leave. Joe was all over her, helping with her coat, opening the door, taking her arm on the icy porch. Then Christy shut the door, blocking my view of Joe and Tina walking off into the storm.

Sandy was standing next to me. “Hungry? I’ll warm up some of that pizza.”

“Sure,” I said absently. What, I thought, is Tina doing with that man, Joe? I thought Leo had said she wasn’t dating anyone. Persuading her to marry me might be a little trickier than I first thought, particularly now that everyone seemed to think I was already married.

Hmm.

Did I smell my brother, Cavell, behind this? Maybe, but it wasn’t how he normally handled obstacles. If he wanted Uncle Fredek’s money he’d use the gorilla method--push Gerry under the wheels of a truck.

His lawyer, on the other hand…

[Lynet]

Sandy called me into the kitchen, “Come and get it, Gerry.”

I picked up a slice out of the box she’d heated in the oven and sat down at the table. Christy was already sitting there, and studied me thoughtfully. She said, “Do you have to go to work tonight?”

I shook my head and bit into the pizza. Friday was my day off.
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“I’ll give you a lift home, then.”

I finished chewing, swallowed and said, “Thanks, really! I’d be grateful.”

“Grateful enough to explain what you’re doing in Hazelton? We’re all a little puzzled now that your wife has shown up looking for you.”

“Yeah,” said Sandy, “now that you’ve got Tamara all upset. She was looking forward to your date until she found out about your wife.”
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I frowned. “Have either of you met this woman claiming to be my wife? …which she’s NOT, since I’ve never been married!”

Christy nodded, “Tamara met her while tending bar at the Windmill. This woman came in--someone we’ve never seen around here before--and said she was looking for you. Then you showed up, played darts, and left with her. A little strange, don’t you think, that you don‘t seem to know who she is?”

Sandy looked amused, “Need help getting your jaw off the floor there, Gerry? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man look so horrified. Have you ever seen a face like that before, Christy?”

“Nope. So, Gerry, if she’s not your wife, who is she?”

I thought back to the encounter in the blue van outside of the Windmill. Messy, I thought. This is real messy. I said, “I thought her name was Clarabelle Machk. That’s what she and her brother told me, and it’s what they’ve told everyone else, so far as I know.”

“That’s also the name she gave Tamara, hinting that she didn’t want to give out her real name because she hated the name, Zygmunt, and with reason. Tamara, I’m afraid, is remarkably gullible for a bartender. Too kind hearted and eager to please. When Tamara confessed her dismay, because you two had a date, little Miss Clarabelle persuaded her to go ahead and keep the date, since you’re legally separated. It wouldn’t matter at all, she said, except for the child you refuse to support.”

I jumped to my feet, dropping the pizza on the floor. “That woman is not and has never been my wife, and if there’s a kid, it isn’t mine!”

“Calm down, Gerry, we believe you, don’t we Christy?”

“Easy. I found that woman’s story suspicious as soon as Tamara told me she agreed to add something to your drink at the bar. I yelled at her for that, I hope you know. Pretty dangerous. It could have been poison. We might have been burying you today, instead of eating pizza with you. Tamara’s still mad, though. I don‘t think your date will go all that well, so don‘t leave her alone with your drink.”

Sandy got up to answer the phone while I cleaned the remains of my pizza slice off the floor. I’d lost my appetite anyway.

Sandy spoke a few words like “Hi” and “Sure thing” and hung up. Then she turned to me, “That was Roberta. Tina called her about you and Roberta just wanted to make sure one of us drove you home. She wants you to know she’s very sorry she didn’t insist on taking you home herself. And stop trying to clean the floor. I‘ll take care of it.”

I straightened up, “I’ll get my sweater.”

Christy said, “I’ll go warm up the car. See you outside in a second.”

Sandy followed me into the living room, and as I pulled the wet sweater over my head, she said, “What was it that Tamara mixed in your drink?”

I shrugged the sweater straight on my shoulders, and did not answer the question. She started to repeat it, but the sound of a car horn outside interrupted, and I left quickly, listening to her giggles.

[Lynet]

Thanks for the rating, guys. I appreciate it a lot.

[Lynet]

I didn’t think it was possible for the night to get any colder, but that’s what it felt like, so I was shivering again when I got into Christy’s car. She backed us out of the garage. I noticed that her tires had a much better grip on the icy asphalt than Leo’s tires. “Nice tires,” I said. Christy glanced at me and cranked the fan up higher, blowing heat across my face. I raised my hands into the blast.

“No gloves?” she said. “And no hat? You idiot. Get yourself some decent winter clothes.”

“Sure thing. Tomorrow.” I tried to see through the steamy windows and the snowfall, but couldn‘t see much except the road straight ahead. So I looked at Christy. “Do you live nearby?”
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“Everybody lives nearby. It’s a very small town. But I live with Sandy. We pooled our money in order to buy that house and fix it up.”

“Are you and Sandy…um…?”

“Are we what, Gerry? Be brave and say what you’re thinking.”

“In love?”

“No. We’re friends, which means that, yes, I’d be willing to go out with you.”

I grinned in surprise. “Great! How about Sunday?”

Christy laughed a little. “You really are something else. How could someone so ingenuous be such a mystery, all at the same time? So, yeah, I’m curious, and Sunday it is, then. But, be nice to our friend, Tamara. Don’t break her heart.”

“It’s just a date. Dinner at Arlo’s place. Then maybe a little dancing. And then I have to go to work. There’s hardly time to take advantage of even the most gullible of women.”

“Got me there! I guess you have a right to be upset with her, but take it easy, anyway. After all, no harm done, right?”

I sat quiet, wondering if that were true.

“Hey, Giovanni, you’re home.”

I looked up and actually recognized the snow covered rocks along the road where she had pulled over.

“My name’s Gervasio, not Giovanni.”

She smiled at me, “Casanova, then.”

“Oh…I get it.”

“See you Sunday. I‘ll pick you up.” I started to protest and she stopped me. “What if you were late? I’d be sitting down there at Arlo’s trying to decide whether you stood me up or froze to death on the walk to town.”

I agreed, got out of the car, and walked as fast as possible through the heavy snow to my house. It was as cold inside as out. I crouched down by the space heater and resisted the urge to hold it in my arms. Eventually I got up the courage to move away from it and get in bed.

Sleep was a long time coming as I wrestled with the problem of Clarabelle Machk. I knew she was after the property and the money, but the question that haunted me was, how was she planning to get them? Over my dead body?

[Lynet]

When I woke late the next morning the view from my window was ugly but welcome--a wide plain of soggy grey soil. Seems that a warm wind had moved across the peninsula in the night and melted most of the snow. Good! I figured it would be easier getting to the outhouse.

I opened the door, intending to take care of that cold chore immediately, and came face to face with an old guy examining the front of my house.
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“Who…” I said.

“Mornin’. The name’s Waylon Fairchild. Roberta sent me over to do some plumbing for you. Mind if I look around?”

“Help yourself. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I ran with bare feet through the mud and a scattering of snowflakes.
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When I got back I sponged down, got dressed, and phoned Tina.

Fairchild was making a lot of noise banging around the walls and floors inside my hut, so I carried my phone outside and was pleased to see that the sun had at last come to One Fried Egg. The flurries had stopped, the air smelled fresh, the sky was blue, and today’s special down at Arlo’s was Lobster Thermador.

After her speech, I said, “Hi, Beautiful. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

The silence on the other end lasted long enough for me to wonder if I’d run the battery down on my cell phone. I shook it and pressed it up against my ear again. “Tina? Still there?”

She answered with a sigh, “Yes, Mr. Zygmunt. I’m here. Are you calling for a reservation?”

“Yes, I am. Sunday night. Two for dinner at 6:00 PM. What’s the special on Sunday?”

“The chef will decide later tonight.”

I smiled at her through the phone, “It was nice to see you last night. Really nice. Let me buy you a cup of coffee this afternoon.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Zygmunt.” Click.

I was making progress. I could tell. It took her longer to hang up on me this time.

As for that guy, Joe, I had to wonder. Last night he’d watched TV instead of talking to her. Unreal! How could he sit next to a beautiful woman like Tina and not give her 100% of his attention? He deserved to lose her, although he might not accept that. Worse, he seemed to be the type who settled things with his fists. Like my brother. Could get messy. I might even end up with a few bruises. I rubbed at my chin, remembering the fights with Cavell and all our shared bruises.

Fairchild interrupted my wandering thoughts when he came out of the house looking for me. A long discussion of plumbing problems followed. They were legion, and very expensive. I’ve heard the jokes about boats being a hole in the water where you dump your money. But a hole in the water would smell better than the pit where my money was going.

“…so I suggest,” Fairchild continued, “that we bury the septic tank in that corner of the property over there.” He waved vaguely at the cliff. “And, Mr. Zygmunt, are you sure you want your house in this hollow? You might want to rebuild it a few yards closer to the ridge. Drainage. It matters. Folks think it doesn’t, but it does.”

“Why don’t we just bulldoze the whole landscape and flatten it out completely?”

“Not a good idea. Drainage, you know.”

“I was joking…”

“But you’ll want to haul away all this rock between you and the road. As it is, any fire truck would have trouble getting to you. That could be bad.”

“Can we get the plumbing done first?”

“Today. A crew is driving up from Chesterport. Think I hear the truck now. They’ll have the tank. You hanging around to watch?”

“I’ve got things to do in town. The place is yours.”

I shoved my phone and my hands into pockets and started walking, smiling at the wide blue sky all the way to One Fried Egg. I had decided that, whatever the cost, indoor plumbing would be worth it.

[Lynet]

Tina would not look directly at me when I arrived at Arlo’s, even when I stood in front of her and asked to be seated at the counter for lunch. She made a big production out of showing me to my chair, but still refused to look at my face or meet my eyes. Tamara was tending bar.

I grinned at her, “What a beautiful sight you are, Tamara. I hope you’re looking forward to our date as much as I am.”

“Probably not,” she said. “Are you ordering?”

“A bowl of chili, a glass of water, and your cheerful company.”

“You’re too quick with those pick-up lines, Gerry. Sandy told me that you aren’t married, like we heard, but I’m not sure I know what to believe anymore.”

“I’m not married,” I insisted. “Not now, not ever. But only because I haven’t found her yet, the woman in my dreams.”

“What dreams?” she said, pretending she didn‘t care, but I knew I‘d got her attention.

I hesitated a little, then said carefully, “Almost every night I have the same dream. I’m standing in the woods. It’s nighttime. A woman appears between the trees, walking towards me. It’s too dark to see her face. I don‘t know who she is or what she looks like, only that she is coming for me, making no sound at all, her arms reaching out. Her robes move around her like smoke, and then spread wide, like wings, as she gets nearer, until at last her arms slide around my waist and her robes enclose us both. Her warm cheek is pressed on mine. I feel her breath on my ear as she whispers softly.”

“Whispers what?” Tamara’s eyes were wide and she was leaning forward.

“That she loves me, and that we are to be together forever.”

“Sounds mighty spooky to me. She could be a vampire. Or a witch.”

“Wouldn’t matter, as long as she loves me.”

Then Tamara got wise. “You’re making this up, aren’t you?”

I shook my head, biting down on my tongue to keep from laughing, because she was right.

“Yes, you are. Here’s your chili. I hope it burns you.”

“Like the touch of your fingers…” I placed my hand on hers. She pulled it slowly free.

“Eat your chili,” she said, and moved away to take care of another customer at the far end of the bar.

I looked down into the bowl of spicy beans and mystery meat, stirring the mess to cool it, and thinking about the story I’d just made up to amuse Tamara. Spooky, for sure, and maybe too close to the truth about what I was feeling these days.

[Lynet]

After lunch I went over to the general store to watch a little television with George. We didn’t talk much, just watched game shows.
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Sometimes he got up to take care of a customer. It wasn’t long, however, before I got bored with the game shows and went back to Arlo’s. I knocked some balls around the pool table and thought about the inheritance. Maybe I should become a businessman and build something in town, like a bowling alley, or a nightclub. Roberta was worried about people who had moved away, but there sure wasn’t much to do around here. In fact, I might leave myself, even though one of the conditions for getting my hands on the inheritance was that I had to raise a couple of kids. But for how long and how high? Three feet? Four feet? I’d have to check into that.
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Eventually, the sun was on the horizon and the long afternoon finally came to an end. I put away the cue and wandered over to the bar. Tamara was wiping the counter.

“Hungry yet?” I said. “It’s six o’clock.”

“I’m starving. I still want the lobster, you know.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” I walked over to Tina and said, “Good evening, Miss. I have a reservation for two for dinner.”

“Yes, Sir. Your table is ready. Please follow me.” She showed us to the table by the window. I shook my head and said, “Not this one. There’s a draft from the window. How about that other one?” Both of the other two tables were empty.

“Of course, Sir. As you wish.”

I gave this second table equally serious consideration, while Tina waited grimly, not amused, and Tamara looked nervous. This table, I decided with a wave of my hand, was acceptable. As soon as we sat down Brandi came over to take our order. I studied the menu intently, trying to look cross, and then nodded, “Lobster for Tamara and pork chops for me.”

Brandi went off to talk to the cook. Tamara said, “One of these days, Tina’s going to lose her cool with you. You’ll regret it. She’s actually got quite a temper. Ask Joe, although, if you ask me, he usually deserves it. Anyway,” she chattered happily onward while I tried to imagine Tina throwing a tantrum, and why Joe would deserve it. Tamara continued, “Have you been down to the resort yet? The restaurant where Sandy works is real nice, the one called Rachelle’s.”

“Uh,” I thought quickly. What was Tamara talking about? Oh, yes. “I keep hearing about this place people call ‘the resort.’ What is it? A beach? Is there swimming?”

“Oh, no. The bay is too cold and rough for that. The town is just over the border, so gambling is legal. Bright lights, restaurants, shopping, nightclubs and casinos. It’s just fun to visit. You should go some time.”

“As soon as I get a car, I will.”

“I guess the security job over at the night club doesn’t pay much.”

“It’s enough. Did you grow up around here?”

Our food arrived before she could answer the question, and I guess she was as hungry as she said, considering how fast she ate that lobster. A couple of pieces of pink shell flew through the air and landed on my potatoes. I am not a particularly slow eater, but she was finished before I had eaten much of anything at all.

She pushed her plate aside and sat back with a sigh, “That was good. I bet it was as good as anything Sandy does. I like Sandy and all, but she can be a little snobby about her job at the resort.”

“Do you go down there much?”

“Nah. Ben doesn’t like the place. He just wants to sit around watching TV.”

“Ben? Who’s Ben?”

“Just a friend. We hang out a lot.”

“Watching TV?”

“That, and other stuff.”

I almost said, “Like what?” I shoved a chunk of potato in my mouth instead.

“So,” she said. “Tell me about yourself. What are you doing way out here in the boondocks? Running away?”

“My uncle owned a piece of land here. He died, and I came out to lay claim to it.”

“And sell it?”

“Not yet. There are a few things I have to take care of first.”

“You mean, like getting married and having kids? Carmen thought you were joking. Was it a joke? Or is it true?”
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I put my fork down. “I was joking around with Carmen, and I’m done eating. Let’s walk down to the Windmill. I want to dance with you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Up close.”

“Not too close.”

“…with my arms around you.”

“Too close.”

“Close enough to share my secrets.”

“That’ll work, but I’m expecting some good ones.”

I stood up from the table and paid the bill, then helped Tamara with her coat. She had yet to take off her apron, which I thought a little weird, but what the heck. Hazelton, also known as One Fried Egg, is a casual sort of town.

The Windmill was almost as dead as Arlo’s. Maybe everyone goes down to the resort on Saturday nights.

I put some coin in the jukebox and chose a Rock Hendricks song, something called ‘Love of Mine,’ then reached for Tamara, slipping my arm around her waist. She did not object.

“What’s this music? Jazz?”

“Smooth jazz. Do you hear the sax?”
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“Yes, and I like it.” She swayed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in time to the music. If she was trying to get my complete attention, it worked. I forgot all about Tina.

She leaned closer, eyes sleepy, and I was about to kiss her when she whispered. “Who is that woman who says she is your wife?”

“I don’t know who she is. She’s not important.”

“But you spent the whole afternoon with her.”

I had both hands on Tamara’s hips by now, feeling her move under them, wondering how far she would allow me to go. “I think she’s a witch. She cast a spell over us, you and me, to keep us apart.”

“Not me.”

“No? Then how did she persuade you to mix something in my drink?” As soon as I said it, I wanted to kick myself.

Tamara stopped dancing and pulled away. “Oh…er…I’m sorry about that. I thought…I mean, she said…”

“Don’t worry about it. She fooled us both. Come here. Let’s dance.”
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“It’s late. I need to get home. Been on my feet all day, you know.”

“Tammy…”

“I had a great time, Gerry. You’re really very nice. I’d like to do this again.”

“I have a secret to tell you.”

She chewed on her lip, hesitating. “What is it?”

I moved in close and whispered in her ear, “I dreamed of you last night, of kissing you, like this…”
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I pulled her hard against me and kissed her. She gave it back to me, just as eager for that kiss as I was.
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Then she broke free and said, “I think you’d better get to work. Don’t want to lose that job, do you?”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do. It’s two minutes before 8.”

“Rats!” I had suddenly remembered all the money I owed to Roberta.

“Better run.”

I did.

[Lynet]

I heard the car horn, took a second to make sure I had my wallet (yup, thin but enough,) and sprinted for the road.

“Hi, Christy!” I jumped in beside her and pulled the door shut. She had the heater blasting and I rubbed my hands together in front of the vent. “Thanks for picking me up. I appreciate it.”

Christy stared at my clothes. “Why are you wearing Mr. Lubomir’s suit?”

I looked down at my new clothes. Except, not exactly new. George had given me a tour of the racks in the store basement, telling me that the store sometimes sold, for small change, used clothes. Clean, he insisted. The stuff might be a little dusty, but it’s all been laundered.

I held up an arm and smoothed the sleeve. “There are a lot of good clothes, very cheap, in the store basement. George showed me around. This only cost me two fifty.”

“Two and a half simoleons?”

“That’s right. A good bargain, don‘t you think?”

“Worth every penny.” She turned the car around and headed for One Fried Egg. She didn‘t say anything for a few minutes, then, “So, Gerry, how was your date with Tamara?”

“Great. She’s nice. I like her.”

“How much? She called all of us last night after you left for work. Her boyfriend is not too happy.”

“Boyfriend? I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. She mentioned a name--Ben--but she didn’t talk about him like she cared one way or the other. Is it Ben?”

“It’s Ben. Tamara, however, is looking for true love like she sees in the movies. Once upon a time, Ben was her true love, but not anymore. She’s bored. You, Gerry, are the new lead in her love story.”

“Me? It was just one date.”

“Come on, Gerry. You grabbed her and kissed her like…” Christy grinned, “…like Milo kissed Eliza. Poor, dim-witted, little Tamara. She compared you to Milo, of all things. I’m glad Ben took her down to the resort today. You lit a fire under his lazy ass, and that’s probably a good thing.”

“Who’s Milo? Another boyfriend?”

“Milo Panaderez and Eliza Stone in the Veronaville TV series. It’s been running for a couple of years. How could you not know who they are?”

“Can’t afford a TV.”

“Ah,” she sighed. “That’s tough. You could stand to learn a few things from that show.”

I didn’t think so, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I considered my mental list of possible wives and drew a line through Tamara’s name. Yes, I like Tamara. I had enjoyed the date. I would have enjoyed several dates, but if I’m going to be wrestling with boyfriends, I only wanted to wrestle with one, and that one was Tina’s boyfriend, Joe.

I studied Christy’s profile. She was pretty, and probably had at least one boyfriend. “What about you?” I said. “Do you have any boyfriends who are going to get angry about your date with me?”

“You go first. I am not going to answer questions about myself until I’ve heard all about you, including girlfriends. And wives. You and I are going to get some dinner at Arlo’s, play a little pool, and,” she glanced at me, smiling, “chat.”

Yuck, I thought. Chat. Her idea of a chat was probably not the same as mine. I had a feeling that what she planned was more along the lines of an interrogation. But she probably didn’t realize that she had just thrown a challenge in my face. It was too much to resist. “I’m all for dinner and a game of pool. I hoped we might go down to the Windmill…”

“Nope. No dancing. Just pool.”

“OK. I’m fine with that.” I figured she was a little riled up at the moment. Maybe later she’d relax and be more open to the idea of a little dancing. If chatting is what it took, then chatting is what I would do.

We pulled into One Fried Egg.

Christy had told me already that Tamara was not going to be there because of her date with Ben. But Tina wasn’t there either. I stopped myself from asking where she was. Probably just a night off from work.

As usual, all three tables were empty and we had our pick. We both ordered fried chicken. Christy ate more slowly than Tamara, cutting carefully at the chicken with her knife.
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“Where are you from, Gerry?”

“Doesn’t the whole town know that already? I’m from Pleasantview. It’s quite a ways up…”

“Oh, I know where it is. I’ve been there.”

“And you came back? I got the impression from Roberta that nobody comes back.”

Christy shrugged, “That’s generally true, but not entirely. People do return home, you know. Will you?”

I chewed up a big mouthful of chicken and swallowed, “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On my wife.”

[Lynet]

“Oh?” Christy replied mildly. “You said you had never married. Which is it?”

“I haven’t. I’m talking about the wife I will have some day. I suppose, like Tamara,” I looked down at my plate and stirred the beans with my fork, “I am waiting for the right one, for true love.”

Christy laughed. She laughed until her eyes watered and she had to dab at them with her napkin. “That’s good,” she said at last, still chuckling. “Not as good as the woman in the woods. That’s the dream sequence, right? Tamara told us about that, too.”

I ran fingers through my hair, and shook my head. This was very annoying. Everyone in town seemed to be repeating everything I said to anyone.

Christy reached across the table and patted my arm. “Don’t fret, Gerry. You are really very entertaining. I’m enjoying this date immensely.” She smiled and began working on her chicken again. “All of us, you see, are curious about the new face in town. What we know about you doesn’t quite add up. There are contradictions. You are the heir of a very rich man, a very dead rich man, but don’t seem to have any money. Roberta confirms that you are not married, but you clearly want to be, and are being stalked by a woman who claims to be your much abused wife. Are you really surprised that you are the hot topic of conversation? Everything you say and do?”

“Abused wife?”

Christy stopped smiling. “So she says. She showed Tamara some old scars.”

I felt sick. “Cavell.”

“What or who is Cavell?”

I didn‘t realize I had spoken his name out loud. I waved the question away, “It‘s nothing. I’m done eating. How about that game of pool?”

If Christy didn’t know about Cavell, then Roberta had not revealed every single detail of my life to everyone in town. Ramona aka Clarabelle wasn’t going to talk about Cavell, either. It would not suit her plans for me. Had I mentioned him to anyone else? I couldn’t remember and hoped that I hadn’t.

Christy looked vaguely annoyed, and then nodded, “Sure.”

She insisted I break the rack and it was pure luck that two stripes went into the pockets. I continued with stripes, getting two more in the pocket before missing my next shot.

Christy watched my efforts closely. “You don’t play pool much, I’d guess, by the way you hold the cue.”

“Not very often.”

“Want to put some money on this game?”

“I don’t have any left. That chicken dinner cleaned me out until the next paycheck, and Waylon and Roberta will get that one.”

“Something else, then? If I win, you can shovel our driveway after the next snow.”

“It’s a deal. And if I win, I want a kiss.”

“Oh, brother,” she snorted in disgust. “I thought you’d at least want me to clean your house.”

“Nope. Just a kiss.”

“I agree, but you won’t win.”

I am not very good at pool. That’s the truth. Christy, on the other hand, was confident and smooth with all her shots.
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And yet, she lost. With my last shot I sank the 8-ball and couldn’t stop grinning at her. She stared at the pool table and then at me. She said, “I can‘t believe it. You were not hustling me, either. Just luck, right?”
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“Just luck,” I admitted. “But I’ll be happy to shovel your driveway after the next snow, anyway. And if you can’t stand the thought of kissing me, I’m OK with that, too. I didn‘t expect to win.”

“And leave me wondering what all the fuss is about? I’ll accept your offer to shovel the driveway, Mr. Zygmunt, but I want the kiss, too, and I want the best one you’ve got.”

It’s true what they say about reverse psychology.

I decided that grabbing her the way I had grabbed Tamara was not the way to go with Christy. She was watching me intently, eyes narrowed a little, and I knew that I wouldn’t get another date with her unless I did this right. I set the cue aside, took hers away and set it aside, and then moved closer and put my arms around her. If at any time I suspected she was going to start laughing at me I was ready to back off. I’d had the feeling all night that she was just playing with me, that she didn’t take me seriously. But she didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. I held her close for a moment, just admiring her clear eyes, and then kissed her slowly and carefully. She was careful, too, but leaned against me, prolonging it. I didn’t let her go immediately. She said softly, “Very nice, Gerry. Very nice, indeed. I’ll drop you off at the plant. You have to work tonight, don’t you?”
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“Yes. I had a good time, Christy. I’d like to go out with you again.”

“Call me in a couple of days and we’ll see.”

She drove me to the plant without saying anything more. I didn’t get out of the car immediately. I said, “Everything OK?”

She looked over at me with a crooked smile. “I was hoping to get some answers tonight, and I didn’t. Well, except for one. But never mind that. I’d like to know, however, if you plan to stay in Hazelton. Are you? Or are you going to leave?”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“An honest answer. Thank you. Good night, Gerry.”

I got out of the car and watched her drive off the lot and down the highway. Then I went inside, thinking about Tina and wondering if kissing her would set off feelings that I hadn’t felt for either Tamara or Christy. Yes, I liked Christy, and I’d be willing to marry her. But I worried a little. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life making love to one woman while I was dreaming of another. And I also suspected that Christy wouldn‘t want that, either.

Zygmunt, I told myself, don’t be stupid. The plan is to get married. Stay focused.

[Lynet]

I was up by 9 AM on Monday, and for the second morning in a row, I took a long hot shower. Waylon had done a good job. I didn’t care about the cruddy stone walls and floor of my bathroom. The only thing that mattered was that I had steaming hot water pouring down over my head. Pure heaven. The flush toilet was nice, too.

When I got dressed, I found a 5-simoleon note wadded up in one of the pockets of old Mr. Lubomir’s jacket. Great! My luck had turned a corner, for sure. I grabbed my cell phone and called the restaurant.

A man answered the phone, his voice dripping with boredom.

I said, “Is Tina there?”

“She quit,” he said. “Got a job down at the resort.”

“Where? Is it Rachelle’s? Where Sandy works?”

“Hey, Buster, why don’t you drive down and see for yourself. I got calls waiting.” He hung up.

I had no car, so there’d be no driving to the resort. I fingered the 5-simoleon note. Not enough for a taxi, but it might be enough to buy a used coat from the bargain basement of the general store. The weather looked grim and my radio announced another snowstorm coming, so buying a coat would be a good idea. I decided to go into town and visit George.

As I walked down Ibolya Street to Route 37, I remembered that George was probably in school, since it was Monday morning. Thinking of George led to thoughts about George’s car. I’d seen the teenager driving it a couple of times, a rusty heap that left trails of smelly fumes. It occurred to me that George might like to pay a visit to the resort. I’d buy him a tank of gas and dinner at…not Rachelle’s…somewhere cheaper. Of course, all of this would have to wait until after I got my first police academy paycheck. I was pleased with these plans, and started thinking about how surprised Tina would be when I showed up at Rachelle’s one evening.

When I got to the store, I spent a long time in the basement, looking over the coats, and finally decided on one that seemed heavy enough for local snowstorms. It cost only 4 simoleons. I paid the clerk, an older man who might be either the manager or the owner, and put on my new coat before going outside.

I was halfway across the square, thinking about getting a cup of coffee from Arlo’s before walking home, when someone called out to me.

“Zygmunt!”

Two guys who’d been standing near the door to Roberta’s office walked over to where I’d stopped. I recognized one of them as Joe, Tina’s friend. I’d seen the other one around but didn’t know his name--blond hair with a sharp jaw matched by an even sharper nose.
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I saw in their faces, and in their efforts to appear casual, that I’d finally gotten the attention of Hazelton’s men. At least this first powwow was in the middle of the day in front of anyone who happened to walk by. Whatever they were planning, it might be painful, but it wouldn’t be too severe.

They both moved in close. If I’d had any doubts left about their intentions, I didn’t now.

Joe said, “Got yourself a coat? Nice one. Look’s like my cousin’s old coat.” He reached for the collar.
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I knocked his hand aside. The other guy had shifted around behind me. There was nothing I could do about that, except to ready myself for the punch I would not be able to stop. Too bad I had not zipped up my coat. I had made it easy for them.

They were more than a little experienced at this maneuver. I could tell, because it was a smooth operation and all finished within a split second. The guy behind me suddenly pulled my coat back off my shoulders, effectively pinning my arms at the same moment that Joe planted his fist in my stomach.

They both caught hold of me as I staggered, bent forward from the blow. As I struggled to breathe, they carefully arranged my coat back on my shoulders. Joe even zipped up the front as the other guy held me upright. Having finished with the zipper, he straightened the collar, and said softly, “Just a warning. Stay away from our girls.”

They sauntered away, not looking back.

I stood quietly, sucking buckets of cold air into my lungs as I watched the two of them disappear down the road. I was trying not to cough. It hurt worse when I coughed, but not as bad as it might have been, and I was forced to thank Cavell for that. My brother had knocked the wind out me once too often, and I’d been exercising the muscles of my midsection ever since. Joe Carr had a strong arm and a big fist, and I was plenty sore, but I wasn’t curled into a ball on the ground, barfing up my breakfast.

My cell phone rang. I dug it out. I didn’t recognize the number and figured someone had dialed mine by mistake. “Hello,” I said roughly, coughing in spite of myself.

“Who’s this? Where’s Gerry?” the voice on the other end clearly expected an immediate answer. It sounded like a woman, an older woman. And there was something about the tone of her voice…

“Hi, Roberta. It’s me. Gerry. I thought this was a wrong number.”

“I don’t make mistakes when I dial a phone. And what’s the matter with you? Are you sick?”

“Drank my coffee too fast. Swallowed wrong. What’s up?”

“Your brother’s loose. Thought you ought to know. They let him out early on parole and he didn’t check in with the parole officer this week. He’s vanished. I can guess where he’s headed. Ramona is definitely his wife, by the way. Still married, too. My lawyer’s got all the papers. I’m headed back to Hazelton tonight. Be careful, Gerry.” She hung up.

I put the phone away as the elderly clerk from the general store came up beside me.

“You OK?” he said.

“Yes, thanks. I’m OK.”

“Glad to hear it. Roberta’s out of town or I’d have called her. You should stay out of the way of those goons, Ben and Joe, Joe in particular. He’s got some bad friends down in the resort. Real bad.”

I nodded my understanding, “Thanks again,” and started walking home. The air smelled like the coming storm, like snow, and I raised my eyes to the grim rocks of the ridge that rose high over the road ahead of me.

I wondered whose friends were worse, Joe’s or Cavell’s. Maybe I should just let Cavell have the property and the money. Maybe I’d live longer if I went back to Pleasantview.

It would have been smart to leave, but I had plans, and neither Joe nor Cavell was going to stop me. Not this time.

[Lynet]

Before today, I had not paid much attention to the rocks that lay tumbled around the base of the ridge near my small house. Any thought I’d given to them at all was either that they were a nuisance or that they at least blocked some of the high winds that occasionally swept over the peninsula.

Today was different. Today the world was full of my enemies, and the rocks had too many shadows, too many secret places where my enemies could hide.

I forced my eyes away from the rough face of the ridge and walked toward the far edge of the property, toward where the cliff road came up. Halfway there, I stopped, turned around, and looked at my house, and at the earth and the rock of ancient landslides piled behind it. Nothing moved. Everything was quiet under the noon sun. No surprise that my cell phone’s sudden loud ring almost stopped my heart on the spot. I dug it out angrily, wondering who it could possibly be this time. Calm down, I told myself as I flipped it open. Might be Christy, or Tamara, or even Roberta again.

“Hello?” I said cautiously.

Someone hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then said, “Is this Gerry?” It was a woman’s voice, and I recognized her immediately. After all, I had spoken to her on the phone most mornings since I’d first arrived in town.

“Tina?” I smiled. “Yes, it’s me. I’m glad you called. I heard you took a job down at the resort. I’ve never been there. I thought it might be time for me to see the place. In a week, I think I could…”

“No,” I heard her sigh. “Not a good idea. But, I’d like to talk to you. Just for a few minutes.”

“Sure. Anytime you like. Today? I’m completely free today.”

“Yes, today is good. In fact, right now is good. Christy will come get you. I’m at Sandy’s.”

“Great! I’ll be out by the mailbox.” I closed the phone, grinning like a fool, and jogged out to the road where I paced back and forth, listening for the sound of Christy’s car. Why would Tina want to meet like this? Had Christy told her about our date? If so, she must have made it sound good. Thank you, Christy. I owe you.

I didn’t have to wait long. She pulled up to the mailbox and I got in, moving a little more slowly and carefully than I had the night before. “Hi, Christy.”

She nodded as she turned the car around. “Hello, Gerry. I like your coat. Another bargain? If so, you made a good choice.”

“Thanks. It’s a little snug under the arms, but it was only 4 simoleons.”

“Well done. We’re due for another storm, so your money wasn’t wasted. Eventually, believe it or not, summer will come here, like it does everywhere else.”

“And it’ll be hot enough to fry eggs on the street. I’m not sure I’m looking forward to that.”

We exchanged a few more words about the weather, until I saw Sandy’s house up ahead. I felt tense. I said, “Stop here. Right here. I want to walk the rest of the way.” Walking, I thought, might help me to relax. I wanted to think about what I might say to Tina. I didn’t want to screw this up.

Without a word, she pulled over. The house was no more than a block away. I had my hand on the car door, ready to open it, when Christy stopped me. When I looked up, she said, “Be careful where you walk. I don’t want any mud on my kitchen floor.”

“Sure,” I got out and tried to avoid the slush on the sidewalk.
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I didn’t succeed very well, so I was particularly careful about wiping my feet on the doormat. That’s what I was doing when the door opened. Tina was there, as beautiful as ever.

She said, “Forget about that and come inside.”

I didn’t see Sandy anywhere, and asked about her as I took off my coat and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair.

Christy had just come in from parking the car and answered the question, “She’s at work. Go have a seat in the living room, Gerry. You, too, Tina. I’ll make some coffee.”

I sat down on one couch. Tina took the other, sitting at the far end. She also acted nervous, and would not meet my eyes at first. Finally, she said, “Gerry, I want to apologize for what Joe did. He told me. I’m furious with him and I let him know it. I‘m glad you’re OK. Joe has big problems with his temper, and I was worried.”
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I stared at her. Damn him! That idiot boyfriend of hers had obviously bragged about beating me up, and now she saw me as some poor schmuck who could not defend himself.

I rose angrily to my feet, and said, “It would have been OK to tell me that over the phone. And I’d have told you that you aren’t the one to be apologizing for anything. I’ll see you around.”

Maybe I should not have been so rude to her. I tried telling myself to keep cool. This, I reminded myself, is the first real chance you’ve had to talk to her. For Pete’s sake, don’t blow it. But I was too angry to listen to my own advice. I just wanted to get out.

She had risen to her feet as quickly as I had. “Gerry, wait. I‘m sorry you were hurt.”
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“I‘m not hurt!” I lowered my voice, “I’m fine. You had nothing to worry about.” I glanced over at Christy who had come in from the kitchen. I said, “Thanks for the ride over. I’ll walk home.”

I shouldered past Tina, not very nicely. I was thinking about how much I wanted to have it out with Joe, starting with a fist in his arrogant face.

Christy blocked my way. “You just got here, and I went to a lot of trouble to make a pot of coffee, so be polite and stay a little while.”
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We stared each other down for a second. She said, “Alright, then. You don’t want coffee. I’ll drive you home.” She let me pass.

I pulled my coat off the kitchen chair and shoved my arms into the sleeves. I had a lot to think about. Christy, for instance. I should be thinking about asking her out again. All my senses, however, were locked on the dark-haired woman who stood in front of the fireplace with her back to me.

You’re an idiot, Gerry, I told myself. You are wasting your time with her. Focus on Christy. But I could not.

As I wrestled with the zipper of my coat, I realized that Christy was holding the kitchen door open, waiting for me. I said, “I really don’t want a ride. I’ll walk.”

“So,” she shrugged, “I won’t force a ride on you, but I’ll walk a little ways with you. Let’s go.”

When we were a short distance from the house, she slipped her arm through mine and we walked like that in silence for a few minutes. Then, she said, “Please stay under the radar for a while. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Oh, dear…you’re getting angry again.”

“He’s just a punk!”

“A punk with some evil friends. They’ve delivered a couple of severe beatings to people they don’t like.”

“I am not going back to Pleasantview. I am making my home here, and that’s final. And make no mistake, I can handle Joe.”

She took a deep breath. “OK, maybe you can. Ben thinks so. He pulled me aside while Joe was puffing out his chest in front of Tina. Ben said you just stood there like you knew what was coming, and waited for it, not saying a word to either one of them. Not before. Not after. Like you’re some kind of creepy mind reader, he said.”

“Talking to them would not have stopped them.”

Christy pulled her arm from mine, “Just don’t pick any fights until you know more about who you’re fighting. They’re organized. Promise me you’ll be careful. Please. OK?” I nodded, and she changed the subject. “Tina’s my friend. She has a good heart and deserves better than Joe. She just hasn’t figured that out, yet. Give her another chance. She likes you.”

“She hangs up on me.”

Christy laughed, “You’ve been a serious pest, but she always had a smile on her face and a new light in her eyes after your calls.”

Without thinking I reached up and touched a strand of Christy’s hair that had strayed across her forehead. “What about you? Do you like me enough to have dinner with me tomorrow night? My place. About 6.”
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She hesitated, then shook her head, “It’s not me that you want, Gerry. It’s Tina. It’s all over your face when you’re in the same room with her.”

“Christy,” I grabbed her hand, “come as a friend. Just dinner. I like talking to you. I will answer any questions you have about me. How about it?”

“Any questions, you say? OK, then. I’ll be there. Be ready, because I have a lot of questions.”

[Lynet]

Looking back, I know now that my pride got in the way of caution. I had insisted that I could take care of myself. And yet, I walked up the street to my house, around through the rocks, and up to my front door, without once pausing to think that someone might be waiting for me. All my worries about being surrounded by my enemies were forgotten as I struggled over my feelings for Tina. Why? I asked myself. You don’t know her. She’s a fantasy you’ve created from a pretty face. Only one thing matters--if you want this land you need to marry someone agreeable and have a couple of kids. What’s so hard about that? Nothing. Ask Christy to marry you. Tell her about the inheritance and offer to share it with her.

A shadow at the corner of the house suddenly moved and spoke to me. “Well, well,” it said. “Mary’s back.”
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Mary was his nickname for me. It rhymed with Gerry. Merry Gerry had been his taunt from an early age. Over the years, it had become simply, Mary.

He held up his hand and showed me the gun. “Give me your phone, Mary. Move slow.”

I did as he said, wondering if this was to be the last day of my life. I was unusually calm about the prospect. It had been such a miserably disappointing day. Except for the coat. I glanced down at my bargain, figuring that a coat probably wasn’t needed in the afterlife. Too bad.

He said, “Nice coat. Where’d you get it?”

“The store has some used clothes for sale in the basement. This one only cost 4 simoleons. Best deal I ever got on a coat.”

He nodded and moved closer so that he could finger the material of the sleeve. “Better than mine. I think it’ll fit, too. Take it off.”
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I slipped it off my shoulders and handed it to him. Somehow, he got his own coat off without letting go of the gun, and put mine on. He ran his hand down the chest, smoothing the material. I picked his coat up off the ground.

“Are we going inside?” I said. “I’ve got some food. I can fix you a sandwich.”

He laughed, “You’re such a good wife, Mary. Yeah, fix me a sandwich.”
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He sat down at the table and played with the gun, occasionally pointing it at me and saying, “Boom. You’re dead.”

I fixed sandwiches, put a plate in front of him and sat down with one myself. I watched him eat, fascinated at how normal he looked for a madman.

“So, Mary,” he said. “How’ve you been? You didn’t visit me in the pen. Never saw you. Never got a letter. Why not?”
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“Thought you hated the sight of me. You said so in court.”

“I didn’t mean it. I was just mad because of that stupid jury. I didn’t kill anyone. I swear. I was wrongly accused. It was a miscarriage of justice.”

“OK.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” He chewed on his sandwich and pointed the gun at my face. I could see partway down the barrel.
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“Someone died,” I said slowly. I remembered the psychiatrists at his trial, the ones who had described him as a psychopath. It wasn’t news to me.

“It happens,” he said, lowering the gun. He took another bite of his sandwich. “Where’s Ramona? I want to talk to her.”

“I’m not sure. I think she may be down at the end of the peninsula, at a place the locals call the resort.”

“Nah. I’ve been there. I’ve followed her trail up here. She’s around here somewhere. I think she and her brother are after you. For the money. That’s why she got you to do it with her.”

I choked on my sandwich. Cavell jumped up and pounded on my back, a lot harder than necessary.

When I recovered, I said, “I didn’t know she was your wife. I didn‘t even know you were married.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m not going to kill you over this business with Ramona. I’m not going to kill either of you, as a matter of fact, because that’s how we’re going to get this land. Did you know that you’re sitting on a goldmine here? Real gold. That’s what my lawyer told me. Remember Domokos? The one you call a shyster in your diary…yeah, I read the whole thing…Uncle Fredek showed him the geologists’ reports. There’s gold here and a lot of it.”
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He had read my journal. He knew about them all, about Tamara and Tina, Christy and Roberta, everyone I’d written about. And he was a psychopath.

“Domokos,” he continued, “explained it to me very carefully. Uncle Fredek liked you and he didn’t like me. So you have to meet the terms of the will, get all the money, and then give it to me. Got it? The only other way for me to get it is for you to die. I‘m not going to kill my own brother. We have to watch out for each other, you and me. Brothers need each other.”

He grinned. I nodded. For now, I had no choice. I just wanted to keep him calm.

“So,” he continued. “I divorce Ramona. You marry her, have the two kids and it’s all done. Maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll have twins. Of course, we’ll have to have one of those tests done to make sure the kid is yours.”

“If I’m married to her that shouldn’t be an issue.”

“I’m talking about the one she’s carrying now. It’s probably yours, but we’ll have to prove it.” He sneered, “That’s right, Mary. You’re pregnant.”
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[em90]

Wow, that was a great few chapters! Thanks! All these characters are fascinating. I don't think I'll look at the Christy Stratton or Sandy Bruty or Joe Carr in my game the same way now.

Poor Gerry. So many dilemmas for him to be dealing with. I'm extremely interested to see how all these latest developments pan out!

[Lynet]

Thank you, Em. :)

Poor Gerry's life has gotten quite complicated. The smell of money draws all sorts of bad people out of the woodwork. It's going to take a lot more chapters for him to solve his problems.

[Lynet]

“How do you know that?” I demanded. “You just told me that you haven’t talked to her.”

“Her brother told me. I found him down at the resort, at the casino.” Cavell snickered, “He saw me coming and tried to get away, knocking people over, running into the back, through the kitchen. My advice is don’t eat at that place. The floor is covered with crap. He slipped in it. I got him.” Cavell tapped the muzzle of the gun against my chin, “What’s this look for? You think I killed him? Nope. I told you, I haven‘t killed anyone. He’s hurting, but he’ll live.”

Did I believe him? Not really. He had always lied easily, manipulating people for his own ends. But my immediate worry was for Clarabelle. “What did he tell you?”

“His life story. Wouldn’t shut up.”

“About Clara…I mean, Ramona?”

“Ah, my adoring wife. Such a sweet little thing once upon a time. We have a kid ourselves, you know. Lives with Ramona’s mother. Someday I’d like to go visit and introduce myself. Maybe when I’m rich and have a fancy car and a gold watch.”

“And Ramona?” I insisted. “What did he tell you about Ramona?”

“She’s pregnant. It was the first thing he told me. I thought he was just trying to distract me, but eventually I figured he was telling the truth, especially when he told me about you and how he planned to push you off the cliff one night. Good thing I showed up, isn‘t it?” Cavell paused, then said, “I’m going to go find Ramona and bring her back here.”

I watched him put on my coat. He opened the door and looked over his shoulder at me. “I know how you think, Mary, and it’s all stupid, so just do as I say. Stay here and wait for me. That girl you talk about in your diary…is it Tina? You like her? I might like her, too?” He nodded at me, winked, and left.

I listened to the heavy sound of his boots as he walked away from the house, and then I sat down and stared out the window. It was ugly out there, but under that wretched landscape of slush and mud lay riches that my brother and Clarabelle’s brother would kill for. As for me, I would certainly never go that far, but I wasn’t innocent. I had been obsessed about the land, too. And now everyone was in danger because of it, unless I did as Cavell wanted. That was the meaning of his last comment, his threat about Tina.

But what was wrong with doing what he wanted? Isn’t it exactly what I’ve wanted, too? Haven’t I been telling myself over and over again that it doesn’t matter who I marry? She just has to be willing to have a couple of kids and live here for a little while?

So, there it is. The problem was solved. I marry Clarabelle, have kids, and give Cavell all the money he wants. All my friends in Hazelton will be safe, and I can move back to Pleasantview and live happily ever after.

It was everything I had planned to do anyway, so why did I feel so lousy?

Why? Just think about it, Gerry, I told myself. Cavell is here and he’s crazy. He beats people up. People like you. And this house is too small for three of us plus a little kid. Where will we all sleep? I guess we’ll have to get a crib, too. What else? Oh, yes. Suppose the police academy finds out you’re harboring a fugitive. End of career, even if Cavell doesn’t shoot you first because you come home from work wearing a police uniform. And no more dreams about dating Tina, especially the one where you propose, and she says yes and hugs you and is thrilled to pieces with the big diamond ring you give her.

And finally… Yup, go ahead and admit it, since nobody’s listening. You don’t want to marry just anyone. You want someone special, someone who wants your love, someone who wants to spend the rest of her life with Gervasio Alger Zygmunt.

Clarabelle? No way. She’s after the money and wouldn’t care if you went over the cliff.

I moved a finger around on the sticky vinyl of the table, stirring up the breadcrumbs that remained from lunch. There was no escape from Clarabelle. She was pregnant and it was probably mine.

It? Once upon a time I was ‘it.’ And my father had married my mother and given me a home. I started to wonder about ‘it.’ Was ‘it’ a boy? Would he have red hair like me? I smiled. I’d call him Daniel.

Hey, Dan! Catch!

[Lynet]

I sat at the table, thinking about life and other stuff for longer than I realized, hardly noticing that the promised snowstorm had arrived. It started quietly, without any wind, so the loud knock on the door surprised me. I got up from the table and looked out the window, but whoever waited at the door was too close to the house. I couldn’t see anything except the falling snow. I knew it wasn’t Cavell. He would not have bothered to knock.

I opened the door and found myself face to face with Clarabelle.
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“Hello, Gerry,” she grinned at me. “Did you miss me?”

“Um…” I stared at her. She was very pregnant. Her coat did not cover the bulge of her stomach.

“So?” she moved closer. “No kiss? Invite me in, at least! It‘s cold out here.”

“Um…uh…” I couldn’t take my eyes off her stomach, fascinated by the idea of what was growing inside of her. No, I‘m not an idiot, and of course I’ve seen pregnant women before and know all about where babies come from, but this was different. I’d never planted one myself before now. All I could think about was that Daniel was in there. Must be a tight fit, I thought. No room to move your arms.

Clarabelle smiled a little and reached up to touch my face, “Hey there, Cutie, snap out of it and fix me something to eat.”

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The touch of her cold hand on my face reminded me of my brother, “Er…where’s Cavell?

“In jail.”

I shook my head, “No…he’s not. He’s out, and he‘s looking for you.”

She sighed, “So the stupid fool came here and talked to you, did he? He‘s such a moron! Gerry, I’m freezing and I‘m hungry. Fix me something to eat before I pass out.”

I nodded and took her inside. She sat down at the table, still wearing her coat, and watched me fix a salad. When I put the plate down in front of her, she looked annoyed, “Is this all? A salad? I’m starving. Can‘t you fry up some chicken? Or a pork chop?”

“I don’t have a stove.”

“You’ve got a job, haven’t you? What have you been doing with the money? Seems to me that a stove would have been high on the list of must haves. Tomorrow, Lover Boy, you go buy a stove. If I‘m going to live here, there are going to be some changes.”

It occurred to me that I was getting my first taste of married life with Clarabelle. I watched her bend close to the plate, eating too fast. I said, “I’m not sure about this, about us.”
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She straightened up, blinking at me in surprise. “Excuse me? This thing I’m lugging around under my belt is all yours, Honey, and you have to take care of it. And me, too.”
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“This is no place for a baby, or for you, either. Look around! Bare stone walls, no furnace, no kitchen, no room for a crib, or a decent bed.”

“I told you, there will be changes.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“I do. About 4,000. We’re going to plaster the walls, buy a crib, and a stove.”

“Clarabelle, I can’t…”

“I expect you to repay me, many times over. You have no idea how miserable I feel right now. Exhausted and hungry all the time! I hate having babies. I did it once before and decided that I would never do it again.”

“But…”

“That’s before I found about the gold.”

[Lynet]

As I said, Cavell doesn’t bother knocking on any door. Sometimes, he doesn’t even bother with the doorknob, since one good kick with his booted foot will take out most of the screws in a door’s latch. And if there’s a bolt on the door, it hardly matters. I remember coming home from school one day and finding the kitchen door lying flat on the floor. The bolt, of course, still gripped the doorjamb tightly, all by itself, sticking out into empty air. There are such things as steel doors in steel frames, but my mother could not afford one of those.

On that particular day, as I recall, Cavell had stopped by the house to get something to eat and got annoyed because the kitchen door was locked. My mother cried about the door, so Cavell fixed it, but we stopped locking any of them. It was an uneasy truce.

I heard him coming, this time, and so did Clarabelle. She looked up at me with a strange expression on her face. Excitement was there, but also fear. Then she stood up to face him as he came inside, bringing the bitter cold in with him.

They stood there staring at each other for an entire minute, and I couldn’t tell if they were going to start punching or kissing. I was on my feet, too, ready to stop him if he made any move to hurt her. I had never felt so protective about anyone as I did about her during that minute.
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But they didn’t touch each other.

Instead, Cavell slowly smiled. “As I live and breathe,” he said, “if it isn’t my long-suffering wife. And she’s got herself in the family way, too. Who’s the Daddy, Honey? I know it’s not me. Hmm…let me guess. Is it my goody, goody brother, who’s looking all nervous and antsy?”

“What are you doing here, Cavell?” she hissed at him. “Are the cops looking for you?”

“The cops are always looking for me. And I’m here, Mona, because I don’t trust you. But more than that, I have the divorce papers you sent me, all signed. You are now, officially, my ex-wife. So turn around and marry my brother right now. We want that kid to have his Daddy all legal.”

I started to shake my head, “Wait…it wouldn’t be legal. We need witnesses, and a license.”

“No you don’t. Tell him, Mona. I’m sure you looked up the details, didn’t you?”

“Where’s the toilet?” she said. “In here?”

She tossed her coat at Cavell, went into the bathroom and slammed the door. Cavell took her coat and his--the one that used to be mine--and threw them into the other room, that narrow little closet where I had my mattress.

“This country,” he said, turning back to me, “is enlightened. That’s what my lawyer said. That’s the word he used, ‘enlightened.’ It means that you can marry without any interference from City Hall. The only thing that you and Mona have to do is agree with each other that you want to be married, and it’s done.”

“That makes no sense. Children could marry.”

“Not our problem, Mary.” He opened the door to the bathroom, “Aren’t you done yet, woman? Get in here.”

Clarabelle yelled at him to shut the door, and she used a lot more than three words to tell him that. He didn’t shut the door. He just grinned. “Tsk, tsk! Where’d you learn those words, Honey? You‘ve got Mary all to blushing.”

I heard the toilet flush. I also heard Clarabelle grumbling as she came out of the bathroom and stood in front of me, “OK, OK. I’m here! What’s the rush?”
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Cavell was still grinning, “Just want to see that it’s done. Take her hand, Mary.”

I glared at him, “You want the gold? Don’t call me Mary.”

Cavell rolled his eyes and shrugged, “Let‘s get this over with. I’ve got things to do.”

I looked at Clarabelle, reached for her hand, and smiled at her. “My name is Gervasio Alger Zygmunt, and I take thee…”

“Ramona Clarabella Filomena Cesaro…”

“…and I take thee, Ramona Clarabella Filomena, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to cherish until death do us part.”

She almost laughed, but stopped herself, “I, Ramona Clarabella Filomena, take thee, Gervasio Alger, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to cherish until death do us part.”

Cavell held out his hand, palm up. There were two rings. Clarabelle nodded, “Nice touch, Cavell. Gerry, give me your hand. With this ring, Gervasio, I thee wed.” She pushed the ring roughly over my knuckle.

I took the other ring and slipped it gently on her finger, “With this ring, Ramona Clarabella, I thee wed, and with it I bestow on you all the treasures of my mind, my heart, and my hand.”
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Clarabelle blinked in surprise at my final words. “Well,” she hesitated, “so kiss me, husband. Then I need to lie down. I’m exhausted.”

On that wintry night in that cold, stone shack, I put my arms around the woman I did not love, and kissed the unfortunate mother of my son. I married her because my son was all that mattered to me, and because I wanted to be there when he was born.
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And so I was.

[Lynet]

There's not much action in this particular story (unlike some of my other stories--see below) but I thought I'd mention that the handful of pictures I post are a small fraction of the ones I take when working with my little actors. I have more than 10,000 pictures---probably closer to 15,000 'cause I haven't looked lately---in my Sims 2 storytelling folders. The mod I use the most is the one that allows me to direct their emotions (love, hate, friendship) so that they behave toward each other to suit the situation. I make heavy use of the pause button, watching them closely for the expression or gesture that I'm hoping for. Free will is always turned on, which makes for some hilarious situations that I might take advantage of, although I once had an entire household of sims die in a fire because fire fascinates the silly little idiots.

Stay tuned, however. Gerry gets into a whole heap of serious trouble.

Just to share: an action scene from a story called Ironsides. Yup, it was a battle :D
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Ironsides/Part%206/114Battle8.jpg

[Lynet]

I showed Clarabelle to my tiny bedroom with the mattress on the floor, and she shuddered visibly, “You’ve got to be kidding!” She grabbed her coat off the mattress and pushed her way past me, returning to the main room and to Cavell. “He doesn’t even have a bed!” She yelled at him. “I am NOT sleeping on any floor. I’m going back to the resort.”

Cavell’s eyes changed, and I knew the look. I stepped between them.

His thin lips spread wide in an ugly grimace, “She stays,” he growled.

“I agree,” I said.

“I DON’T!” Clarabelle yelled out from behind me. “I am NOT some animal that you can lock up in a cage. I’m leaving now!”

I took her elbow and pulled her back into the bedroom where she yanked her arm free and struggled to put on her coat. I helped her with it, but only because the room was icy cold. Then I shut the door in Cavell’s face, which also shut out all the light. Clarabelle pushed at me in the dark, trying to get by, “Open the damn door!”

“Give me a minute,” I told her, as I dug for matches in my pocket and lit the tiny candle I kept on a shelf.

“Whatever you’re thinking, Gerry,” she panted, “you can forget it. You don’t own me! Got that? No one owns me! I don’t have to live in this…this rat hole.”

“You do if you want to get the inheritance. Remember the gold? Do you want it, or not? If you do, you have to stay. If not, there are plenty of other women around here who could take your place.”

She huddled in the coat, glaring at me, breathing hard, “Listen, Buster. We’re married. It’s your baby. Make no mistake; I’m going to get the gold. Doesn’t matter what other woman you drag in here now. This kid is your first born.”

“Clarabelle,” I said quietly, hoping that Cavell did not have his ear against the door, “he has fits, black rages. Stay here with me and be safe.”

“I know all about his temper. I can handle him.”

“No you can’t. Don’t make trouble. Tomorrow I will get you a real bed.”

She looked down at the mattress on the floor. It was an uninviting, crumpled mess of sheets and blankets. The stone walls around us smelled of the damp, musty earth. The candle flame danced weakly in a draft that came through an open seam between the roof and the wall.

Clarabelle mumbled to herself, “I hate this place. I hate you. I hate him. I hate this kid. I hate all of you and everything else in this miserable country.” She swayed on her feet.

I bent and straightened out the pillow and the covers on the bed, and then helped her to lie down. She was still wrapped in her fur coat, but I pulled the covers up to her chin. She grabbed my wrist. “Tomorrow!” she said grimly. “Tomorrow you will get me a nice bed and a nice stove.” Then she let me go and closed her eyes. I had won this battle only because she was exhausted.

I blew out the candle and left the room, shutting the door behind me.

Cavell was sitting at the table, eating the rest of the salad. I sank down into the other chair. I said, “I have to go to work tomorrow.”

“Good for you.”

“It’s a new job. It pays better than the security job.”

“Just in time, then. Mona’s expensive. She’s always wanting things.”

“It’s the police academy.”

Cavell straightened up in his chair and set his fork down, “No you don’t, Mary. You’re not going to start any job with the police.”

“The Mayor got me the job. She’d be suspicious if I quit before I’d even started.”

He sat quiet for a long time, thinking it through. I stared out the window at the snowflakes drifting lazily down on the other side of the glass.

“Just keep in mind,” he said at last, “every day that you walk into that academy, that I’m back here alone with Mona and your little baby.” He paused, and then added, “Didn’t need to tell you that, did I?”

I looked around into his eyes and saw the incurable madness that burned in the brain behind them. “No,” I said. “You didn’t.”

[em90]

Oh, poor Gerry :( What a horrible brother he has!

There's not much action in this particular story (unlike some of my other stories--see below) but I thought I'd mention that the handful of pictures I post are a small fraction of the ones I take when working with my little actors. I have more than 10,000 pictures---probably closer to 15,000 'cause I haven't looked lately---in my Sims 2 storytelling folders. The mod I use the most is the one that allows me to direct their emotions (love, hate, friendship) so that they behave toward each other to suit the situation. I make heavy use of the pause button, watching them closely for the expression or gesture that I'm hoping for. Free will is always turned on, which makes for some hilarious situations that I might take advantage of, although I once had an entire household of sims die in a fire because fire fascinates the silly little idiots.

Stay tuned, however. Gerry gets into a whole heap of serious trouble.

Just to share: an action scene from a story called Ironsides. Yup, it was a battle :D
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Ironsides/Part%206/114Battle8.jpg

The suspense and drama more than makes up for any lack of action!

I'm the same with pictures - although I must admit I don't have nearly as many as you! Over 10000! I have a few hundred, although they're all just for one story (Solitaria) - I haven't written any other stories based on the Sims. I'm also exactly the same with the overuse of the pause button, but free will bothers me with storytelling picture-taking...especially when there's a big crowd, and one of them is primping up the back, while two others are just about to start attacking each other in the foreground, which means all the sims I've just painstakingly directed to sit down on couches leap up to watch the action. :rolleyes: I might try leaving it on for future stories though.

I'll definitely check out some of your other stories sometime :) I like your style.

[Lynet]

Thank you, Em. Some friends and I have written quite a few sim stories for our site and I hope you find the time to visit. I'm the one who goes nuts with pictures, though.

Yup, free will can make things difficult a lot of times. I have found myself yelling in frustration at the computer screen, and yet I cannot bring myself to turn it off. LOL, these pixel people are too much like pets.

[Lynet]

I slept with my head in my arms on the table, and woke to the grey light of morning feeling stiff and sore. Cavell was gone, and I vaguely remembered that he had stood up from the table at some point in the middle of the night, said something I didn‘t now remember, and had left.

The car pool to the academy, in the meantime, would arrive at 8. I peered at my watch…just after 6 AM. The mini fridge held a few cans of insta-meal, half a head of lettuce, a quart of milk, and a box of cereal.

I went into the bedroom to check on Clarabelle. She was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. I said, “Do you have a phone? Do you have any cash on you?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“I have to leave for work soon. I just want to be sure that you can order some groceries or carry-out.”

“I’ll drive into town.”

“Cavell’s gone. If you came in your own car, he might have taken it. There’s too much snow to walk.”

She groaned in dismay.

“Let me borrow your phone for a few minutes so that I can order your bed.”

She pulled at her coat, looking for a pocket, found it, and handed me the phone. The first call I made was to Waylon Fairchild, telling him that I needed my walls covered with wallboard and paint. I also wanted linoleum on the floor. I wanted all of this as soon as possible. He said he’d be out in an hour to get measurements. I asked him where I could get some inexpensive furniture, like beds, to be delivered immediately. Chesterport, he said, and looked up a number for me. It took me longer to deal with the Beaverwood Furniture Store in Chesterport. They finally agreed to a delivery in the afternoon when I told them to check with Mayor Clayton. She’d vouch for me.

Clarabelle had gone into the main room and was eating a bowl of cereal. I handed her the phone just as my ride to the academy started honking loudly from the street.

Grabbing her hand, spoon and all, I kissed it lightly, “I’ll be back around 3. Stay out of trouble.” I ran out the door to catch my ride. As I had suspected, Clarabelle’s blue van was nowhere in sight.

All day I worried about what might be going on at my house, hardly paying attention to what people were saying to me. Fortunately, the first day at the academy was mostly taken up with orientation, getting a physical, cadet uniforms, books, and a test on ethics.

During the lunch break I used a public phone to call Roberta. I told her I’d given her as a reference for an order of furniture.

“They’ve already called me, Gerry. And I said you were good for it, but I took the liberty of asking what sort of furniture you’d ordered.”

I didn’t say anything because I had no defense, at least none I could admit to.

“A crib, Gerry?”

“I got married last night.”

“Tell me her name, Gerry. We’re a free and easy society around here, but witnesses are still recommended, for various reasons.”

“Her name is Ramona Clarabella Filomena Cesaro. She’s pregnant and it’s my baby.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I sighed. “I am. I wanted to marry her. Everything’s fine. The lunch break is over, Roberta. I have to get back. Thanks for helping me out. Bye.” I hung up carefully. I didn’t want to talk to her anymore. I was afraid of questions about my brother because I’m not good at lying and I would have to lie.

I needed this job for more than the money. I was praying that I’d learn something useful, like how to deal with hostage situations.

[Lynet]

I came out the side door, moving fast, anxious to catch my ride home, and almost knocked Christy down.

“Ouch!”
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%205/300Ouch.jpg
“Christy! I didn’t see you.”

“No problem. I heal fast.” She smiled easily and said, “I just stopped by to see a friend of mine. Komei. He’s the desk sergeant. And since I’m here, are you done for the day? I can give you a ride home. I’ll help you cook my dinner.”
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%205/snapshot_54ba5688_b4bafb3d.jpg
I’d completely forgotten about my date with Christy. “Can’t do it,” I said slowly. “I‘m real sorry, but I have to break the date.”

She frowned. “Fine. See you around, Gerry.” She was obviously angry.

“Christy, wait! I have to explain something.” Whatever Christy’s opinion of me was now, it was about to get a whole lot worse. I took a deep breath as she turned to face me again.

“OK, Giovanni,” she said wearily, “Let’s hear it.”
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%205/300LetsHearIt.jpg
“She’s pregnant.”

Christy started to speak twice, both times closing her mouth with the words unsaid. Finally, the third time, she got it out, “Tamara?”

“No. It’s Clarabelle Machk, the woman who told everyone she was my wife. She is. We got married last night.”

Christy’s eyes narrowed. In a tone coming straight from the deep freeze, she said, “Congratulations, Gerry. Have a happy life.”
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%205/300HaveAGoodlife.jpg
She spun around and walked away, down the steps and around the side of the building to the parking lot. A few minutes later I saw her car pull out on the highway and disappear into the distance.

I stood looking at the empty highway for several minutes after she was gone. Now that the news was out, it would spread fast: Gervasio Zygmunt, the Heel of Hazelton. Think of Daniel, I told myself. Instead, for a moment or two, I thought of Tina.

A hand dropped heavily on my shoulder. It was Sergeant Tellerman. “Hey, Zygmunt, what’re you thinking about? Christy? Did she tell you about the footprints?”

“What footprints?”

“Around her house. She’s seen them twice, the second time just this morning, in the fresh snow under the living room windows. I told her not to worry, that we’d put a patrol car in the area and drive down her street a couple of times at night. A.J.’s good. He’s on that patrol, and if there’s some punk trying to catch a peek at the girls, A.J. will get him.”

“A.J.?” I said, distracted.

“Yeah, A.J., your instructor from this morning. He probably told you his name is Abjiheet, but pay no attention to that.” Tellerman winced at the sound of a car horn. “There’s Marylena, punching her horn and pointing a finger at you. Better run. See you tomorrow.”

“Sure. Tomorrow.”

I went down the steps to the car and climbed in beside Marylena. She leaned on her horn one more time, just for good measure, and said, “Since this is your first day, I waited. Tomorrow, I might leave without you.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I nodded.
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%205/snapshot_54ba5688_b4baf870.jpg
Now that my place in the department’s pecking order was firmly established, she lightened up, “Want to stop in at Arlo’s for a drink and to meet some of the other guys?”

“I can’t tonight, Marylena. Thanks for asking, but I have to get home to my wife.”

“Wife? Someone told me you weren’t married.”

“Most people don’t know yet. I’m still making calls about it.”

“Is she local? We’re a very small town. You’re the first new face we’ve seen in a while, except for the tourists passing through on their way to the resort. So who is it, your wife?”

“Clarabelle Machk. She’s from up north, too, so you probably don’t know her.”

“You’re right, I don’t. Well, congratulations, anyway. And here‘s your mailbox. See you in the morning, Gerry.”

The snow was deeper here at the top of the hill, too deep to run through, but I tried anyway, leaving ragged footprints behind me as I hurried around the rocks to my house.

The footprints in the snow around Christy’s house were no mystery to me. I knew Cavell too well. Somehow, one way or another, I had to stop him.

[Lynet]

Where else had he been? What else had he been doing? I had convinced myself that the promise of the gold would keep him quiet for a while, but I should have remembered his restless nature. It was beyond him to sit still and wait patiently for anything. I shook my head, realizing for the first time since he’d been convicted, that those years in prison must have been torture for him.

But I didn’t care. He deserved it. And as I tramped heavily through the wet snow, I was not feeling any sympathy. Only anger.

When I came around the side of my house I saw him coming out of it, and I heard Clarabelle yelling at him to shut the door.

Good. She sounded her usual self, and my biggest worry was out of the way.

I charged forward and shoved Cavell hard, “You want the gold, you stay away from them! All of them! Every single one of them!” I shoved him again. “If you don’t, I’ll make sure you’re locked up for the rest of your miserable life.”
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%205/300StayAwayFromThem.jpg
“I go where I want,” he growled, knocking my hands aside, “and I do what I want.” He leaned forward, his wild eyes as cold as the wind that blew through our clothes, “And I will get that gold, Mary! Don’t touch me again. Ever.”
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%205/300DonotTouchMe.jpg
He pushed me out of the way and disappeared around the corner of the house, headed for the road. I watched him go, forcing myself to straighten my fingers out of the fists that I had raised toward his face. I was shaking with fury, and suddenly found myself wrestling with the fear that I might become like him if I ever gave in completely to that anger. We were, after all, brothers, and might share more in our blood than I dared to think.

“You will never be like him,” I repeated to myself, more than once. Then another gust of wind reminded me that I was standing outside without a coat. I shivered and went inside.

“Close the DOOR!” she yelled at me. “In! Out! Make a decision!”

I caught the handle, pulled the door shut, and looked around the room again. The walls were bright white. The room smelled like paint. Clarabelle was watching TV.

It sounded like a soap opera. It looked like a soap opera.

“How can you stand the smell in here?” I said. “You should open the window. And where did the TV come from?”

“Shhh!” She leaned forward awkwardly on the couch, concentrating on the TV.

Couch? Oh, yes, I did order a couch along with the beds and the crib. But I had definitely NOT ordered a TV. I looked at the crib and could not stop myself from smiling. I stepped closer and looked inside, as if I expected someone to smile back at me, but obviously not. Clarabelle still carried him under her heart.

“How are you feeling?” I asked her, worried about the smell of the paint.

She glanced at me, annoyed. “Hungry. I ordered pizza, but it just didn’t sit right…you know…here.” She put a fist to her chest.

Heartburn, I suspected. With a belly as big as hers was now, all full of Daniel, I could not imagine where a slice of pizza would fit. I said, “I’ll fix you some soup, very mild. That should help.”

“Great,” she sneered, then turned her eyes back to the TV, apparently fascinated by a commercial about shaving cream. Cartoon whiskers were dancing on a guy’s chin.

I cracked the window to let in some air, then looked through our new refrigerator and found a can of chicken. I chopped it up and added it to a pot of water with noodles. I left it all to simmer on our new stove while I went to change out of my cadet uniform.

Hold it! I stopped on the spot, turned around and stared at the shiny new refrigerator and the shiny new pot on the shiny new stove. New refrigerator? New stove? They were not part of the order I’d placed this morning.

“Clarabelle.”

“What?” she snapped, rolling her eyes.

“Where did the TV, the refrigerator, and the stove come from?”

She grinned and winked at me. “When you placed your order this morning, you didn’t say anything about appliances. We need them. I called them right back and added to the order. A trash compactor, too. Take my word for it, Honey; babies generate a lot of smelly trash. Stop worrying. I told you I had some money saved, and I don‘t want to see the repo man any more than you do.”

I shut my eyes for a moment, wondering just how many weeks it would take to pay for all of this. Then I looked at my wife. She sat in front of the soap opera, chewing on her lip, wrinkling her brow and otherwise commiserating with the characters of the story. They were more real to her than Daniel. At least at the moment. Maybe when he’s in her arms, she’ll feel differently about him. And maybe when he’s in her arms, I’ll feel differently about her.

[Lynet]

Clarabelle complained about the misery of her condition right from the beginning, and as she grew ever more uncomfortable, the complaining got louder, until the only peace in our house was while she slept. OK, sure, I admit that she did look mighty awkward. It was obvious why her back and her ribs hurt all the time. And I am still surprised that the skin of her stomach could stretch as much as it did. Tight as a drum, it was. Hurt me just to look at it.

Still, I’d gotten the idea from somewhere that most women took all of this rather for granted, as part of the job of being a woman and having the babies that they all seemed to want.

Anyway, I tried to be understanding, and did everything I could to satisfy her demands. I kept the refrigerator stocked with the hardboiled eggs and crackers she wanted almost every hour, even in the middle of the night. I rubbed her shoulders, her back, and her feet. I bought new sheets and blankets for her bed. I opened windows for her. I closed windows for her. I piled pillows on the couch for her. When I finished my police training in the academy and received my first assignment to a car as a patrol officer, my excitement was severely dampened by the prospect of telling Clarabelle about it. I thought she’d be upset, because my shift was 3 to 11, but she only shrugged, “So you’ll be here to cook breakfast and lunch. Maybe Cavell will feel like cooking dinner.”

He might, and he did.

Unexpectedly, Cavell had calmed down. In fact, he’d grown unusually quiet, and spent more time at the house, usually watching TV but sometimes just staring out the window, his eyes empty of all expression.

Once, when Clarabelle saw me watching him, she leaned over to whisper, “Don’t worry. He gets like this sometimes. He’ll snap out of it and be his old fun self.”

I could only hope that he never snapped out of it. I preferred him this way.

Then, once more, in the middle of the night, Clarabelle woke me up with her cursing.

“Crackers?” I muttered wearily. “I’ll get them. Take it ea…”

“NO! Damn you! Call the doctor! The water broke and the contractions are cutting me in two.”
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%205/30NotCrackers.jpg
“Phone!” I yelled, stumbling out from under the covers. “Where’s the phone? Who’s got the phone? Cavell! Cavell! Have you got the phone? I don’t know where the phone is?”

Cavell came in from the other room, drawn by the commotion, “I don’t know where I put the phone,” he said. “It might be in the bathroom.”

“We have to find it! Call the doctor.”

“Who’s the doctor? And I can’t call him without a phone.”

“Look for it! Check the bathroom.”

Clarabelle interrupted, yelling at us, “Shut UP, you idiots! Help me. Get over here. Aaaaaargh! It HURTS, you BASTARDS!”

It was too late to get the doctor. Clarabelle had given birth once before, and apparently that’s why she gave birth a great deal faster this time. Or so I heard some time later. All things considered, it went smoothly, if I do say so myself. Messy, but smoothly. From Clarabelle’s point of view, of course, it was pure hell. She told me that repeatedly.

I remember that at some point I kept telling her to push harder, because, as I told her, “I can see the top of his head!”

“MORON!” she screamed at me, “It’s all out of my control. Totally! You are on your own, Buster! If you want this kid, then hold out your hands because here he COOOOOOOMMMMMMES!”

Then, suddenly, there was a new voice in the house. He coughed a little as he tested the very strange concept of air, and then he cried heartily. “Hi, Daniel,“ I said, smiling at him as I held him close against my chest, patting his tiny face gently with a towel. Cavell found the cell phone and called down to Chesterport for a doctor. Then he piled blankets on Clarabelle who kept muttering, “Never again. Never, ever am I doing that again.”

For me, however, in that moment as I held my son, I decided that this was the most wonderful night of my life.
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%206/snapshot_9440ac4d_f4dfdf7d.jpg

[KyleTheArtist]

random question how did you make the guy hold the gun?


Aaaw that's so sweet :D

[Lynet]

There are some downloads designed to attach to sim hands. The creators must base those objects on similar objects already in the game that sims hold, like cooking pots and books.

The trick is that sims aren't aware that they have anything in their hands. They wave their hands around like normal. So the gun, or the sword or the briefcase, might go right through their own head or the body of the one they're talking to. :lol:

Example from Ironsides...ouch
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Ironsides/Part%204/Oops.jpg

For pictures, I had to wait carefully for the most realistic looking position and then hit the pause button quick.

And thanks for reading my story. :)

[Lynet]

Around midnight a couple of weeks later, I sat down at the table and watched Cavell eat a bowl of cereal. Clarabelle and Daniel were asleep, both of them safe and healthy. I’d made sure of that, as I always did, the moment I got home from work.

Cavell was intent on his cereal and ignored me. After a few minutes, I said, “They’re looking for you.”

“They won’t find me,” he shrugged. “Just keep your mouth shut.”

“Police detectives aren’t stupid, Cavell. The Pleasantview district knows you were headed this way. They know how you think. And they know about me.”
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%206/200TheyKnowHowYouthink.jpg
His grip on the spoon tightened angrily. “They don’t know anything! Keep your mouth shut and don’t walk around looking nervous. Be happy. We‘re gonna be rich as soon as Mona makes another baby.”

I started to protest, but all I said was, “Sure.”

Cavell got up from the table and grabbed the red coat from where he’d thrown it across the couch.

“Where’re you going?” I demanded. “Stay here. Stay out of sight.”

He hesitated, hand on the doorknob, and then looked around at me with an ugly smile, “You‘re cute, Mary, but I want the company of a real woman, so I’m going down to the resort. I saw a couple of good ones down there.” He pulled the door wide, letting in cold air. “Don’t wait up.”

The door slammed shut behind him and Daniel whimpered in his crib. I went over and watched him for a few minutes, but he didn’t wake up.

So small, I thought. And unbearably helpless. Does he know that? Does he worry about it? I leaned closer, studying his sleeping face. “It’s only for a little while,” I whispered. “You’ll get bigger soon, a lot bigger.”

[Lynet]

I slept on the couch, near the crib, and took care of Daniel when he woke.
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%206/200SoSmall.jpg
Clarabelle and I had reached an agreement--the day shift was hers and the nightshift was mine. It worked reasonably well. I was in bed by 6 AM, and then showered and dressed by the time Marylena came by in the patrol car to pick me up at 2 in the afternoon.

That’s how it went, day after day, week after week, and from where I stand now it all seems dreamlike and unreal. But it was not peaceful. I worried all the time about what Cavell was doing. I didn’t know about the gang he’d hooked up with down at the resort, not until much later, although I suspected he would do something like that because it was all he knew how to do.

My joy was in Daniel, and somewhere along the way he changed from helpless infant to a not-quite-so-helpless toddler who frequently tested fate and his muscles by climbing into and onto everything he could reach. Fortunately, a plastic rabbit toy occupied most of his attention.

As for Clarabelle, what she wanted out of life was a mystery to me, which made her almost as unpredictable as Cavell. Most days when I got home from work at 11 PM, both she and Daniel were sound asleep. Sometimes she was awake and restless and pacing around, grumbling to herself. One night, however, she was particularly riled up and wanting to argue.

“You’re LATE!” she yelled.

I was not late, but I nodded agreeably, “Sorry, Clarabelle. Car trouble.” Marylena’s car worked fine, but I lied because I knew it didn’t really matter what I said.

“Then call a cab! And then call ME to tell me where you are. I can’t stand it anymore, being stuck in this tiny house with that kid. He‘s either yelling or stinking up the place or pulling everything out of the cupboards. My hair’s a mess. All my clothes smell bad. I’m losing my mind and I need to get out of here. Do you hear me?! I want OUT of here, Gerry!”
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%206/200Argument.jpg
“Then go! How about the resort? Hire a cab or get Cavell to take you. Go shopping. Go dancing. Eat out at a fancy place.” I lowered my voice, took a deep breath and said softly, “Tomorrow’s Friday and I’m off work until 2 in the afternoon on Saturday. I’ll take care of Daniel.”

“Well, then…” she sputtered. “Well, then I will! I’m going to do it. And what if I decide I like it down there too much to come back so soon? I need more than a day. I need a week or two, at least. I need a real vacation. This is hard work, you know, taking care of him.”

“If that’s what you decide, then I’ll hire a nanny. Daniel’s a strong boy. He’ll be OK, although he’ll miss you.”

“Hardly!” she snorted. “He hates me.”

Daniel’s mom, I realized, was feeling hugely put-upon and lonely. Both of us were worn out, and not inclined to give each other comfort. Maybe it was time to pay a little attention to my wife, so I stepped forward and put my arms around her. She went stiff as a board at first, but then started to cry, and I held her there, rocking slightly side to side as I did so often with Daniel, until she had calmed down.
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%206/200UnhappyClarabelle.jpg
I said, “Take the break that you need. Get away from us for a while. And…er…there’s a handkerchief in my back pocket.”

“Don’t need it now. Your shirt’s a mess, anyway. Did you wear this to work, all wrinkled like that?”

“Yeah, they sent me to a class. I’m thinking of applying for the job of desk sergeant. The pay and the hours are better. We can add another room to the house.”

“Good idea. The kid needs his own room.”

Cavell looked up from his cereal. “A room big enough for two kids. Am I right, Mona?”

Clarabelle pushed me away, made a rude gesture toward Cavell, and sat down on the sofa to watch TV. The volume was turned up too loud but Daniel didn’t wake up. He must be used to it. After all, he had just slept through an argument between his parents.

[Lynet]

Cavell and Clarabelle left for the resort early on Friday morning and I spent the day quietly with Daniel. He seemed undisturbed by the change in the routine, a day spent with Dad instead of Mom, and played happily with his toys while I scrubbed out the refrigerator and cleaned the grease off the kitchen counters.

Later, while he was napping, I took a shower and hung some laundry on lines that I strung outside. The snow had melted and the ground was muddy, but the chilly air somehow tasted of spring.

I enjoyed the day very much.

That night I slept on the couch, and Daniel slept soundly until almost dawn. He was eating well and growing fast. We definitely needed more space.

The following morning I decided to arrange for a nanny, just in case Clarabelle did not get back in time. And she didn’t. As I left Daniel with the strange, elderly woman and went out to Marylena’s cruiser I told myself not to worry. Clarabelle would be fine. Daniel would be fine. Just do your job today, I told myself. But it was almost more than I could stand.

At the end of my shift, Marylena dropped me off and asked what I was so jumpy about. “You’ve been antsy all day. Are you having troubles at home? And don’t say it’s none of my business. I have to be able to depend on you to watch my back.”

“Real sorry, Marylena. I just like to see how much Daniel has learned today while I was at work. He’s almost walking. I’ve been helping him. And he knows some words, too, like Dad. I’m sure of it, that he’s calling me Dad, now.”

Marylena snorted, “You’re yanking my chain, right? Never mind, don’t let me keep you. But I expect your full attention tomorrow, or I‘ll be putting in a request for a change of partners. Got it?”

I nodded, jumped out of the cruiser, and ran through the rocks to the house. I opened the door and saw Clarabelle handing a bottle to a very sleepy Daniel. I almost laughed aloud with relief.

“Hey, you’re back!” I said. “How was the resort?”

“I want to move there. I looked at apartments today. There are some good ones, not too expensive, overlooking the bay.”

“It’s an idea. As soon as we get the inheritance, we can do that.”

She frowned. “Explain to me exactly why we need the inheritance? You’ve got the land, right? The gold’s in the land. Let’s just dig it up right now.”

“We need equipment to dig it up. The gold is buried deep. We can’t afford either the equipment or the people to run that equipment until we get the inheritance.”

“I’m beginning to doubt this story about gold. I met your Uncle Fredek. I think he made the whole thing up. If it were true about the gold, that greasy little miser would have been here himself, digging it up.”

“Maybe you’re right. We’ll hire our own geologists and find out for ourselves if it’s true.”

“You bet we will, especially before we spend any money on useless machines.”

Daniel was obviously bored with our discussion. He threw his bottle across the floor and lifted his arms, wanting attention.
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%206/200WantingAttention.jpg
I picked him up, gave him a hug and set him in his crib. Clarabelle came up behind me and slid her arms around my waist, a move that took me completely by surprise. She’d been avoiding my touch ever since Daniel was born.

Now, as the child lay down and closed his eyes, I turned around toward Clarabelle. She leaned against me and whispered, “Cavell’s not here, and the kid is already asleep. Why don’t you come into the bedroom with me? Hmm?”

I hesitated, still puzzled by this change in her behavior. “You smell real nice. Did you get some new perfume? I like it.”

“Oh, I bought all kinds of things, Honey,” she smiled. “Come and see.”

She was back, the old Clarabelle, the one I’d first met at the bar. And I couldn’t think of a single reason why I shouldn‘t go and see what she wanted to show me.

I just wish I could remember what it was.

[Lynet]

Have you ever been caught in that unpleasant zone between wake and sleep which is not quite one nor the other? For instance, you know that you have been asleep, and you also know for a fact that you are almost awake, but you can’t move in either direction. Worse, you can’t move at all. Your muscles won’t obey.

When it happened to me, I thought the house was on fire. The heat was intense and getting worse. I tried to wake up. I tried to shout out. I couldn’t move. Daniel! In my head, without any sound from my lips, I shouted his name, convinced that the house was burning and that he would burn to death. It was the worst nightmare I have ever experienced.

And it kept coming back, that nightmare. And I kept trying to wake up. I was trapped inside that zone yet again when I heard a voice.

“Gerry! Open your eyes and look at me.”

Who was that? It sounded a lot like…

“I haven’t got all day to stand around here. I’ve got things to attend to, and so do you. Open your eyes.”

Roberta! Damn! I must be in serious trouble. I’d probably lost my job, which was beyond depressing, since I liked the police work. Now I’d just have to start all over in something else. Dreading the confrontation, I opened my eyes.

I could barely see who it was who stood there. My vision was blurred.
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I blinked and struggled to focus. After a few desperate moments my eyesight cleared. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.
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“No need to say anything, Gerry. They kept telling me you were not awake yet, but I didn’t believe them, so I came over to see for myself. Obviously, no one could be bothered to get you up. Too busy doing whatever, I don’t know what. Anyway, it‘s time, young man. You‘ve got to face it sooner or later. You‘ve been in bed too long.”

I managed to get my throat to work, “Wha…?” I croaked.

“So who did it? We have to take care of this business as soon as possible.”

I started to shake my head, then remembered Daniel and my nightmare about a fire. I started to get up, alarmed, “Dan…! Daniel!”

I was suddenly surrounded by people I didn’t know, all wearing hospital uniforms. I tried to fight them off but my limbs were as useless as spaghetti noodles. That’s not something I’m used to, and it was almost as appalling as the nightmare.

Roberta yelled over their heads, “Gerry! The baby’s fine. He’s just fine, so calm down.”

I stopped trying to move, and lay there panting and exhausted, and soaked with sweat because of the pain. It was everywhere. I couldn’t figure out the source. I closed my eyes, trying to escape it.

Someone was talking to Roberta. I couldn’t hear what they talked about. My heart was pounding too loudly, filling my ears.
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I was in a hospital! I’d obviously been unconscious for some length of time, and I had absolutely no idea why. There must have been an accident. I wondered if Marylena was OK, if the accident had been in the cruiser.

Roberta moved closer and started talking to me again. “She wants me to leave. She says I’m upsetting you too much and that you’re about to burst right out of your stitches. But I need some answers, Gerry. It’s important. Who was it? Your brother?”

I started shaking my head, “No! No!” I opened my eyes and stared hard into hers, anxious to convince her that Cavell was not a factor in anything that might have happened.

“Do you know who it was? Did you see him? Or her?”

“I don’t…” my throat was so dry and sore I could hardly make it work. “I don’t…remember…anything. Is Marylena…OK?”

Roberta leaned over me, studying my face. “Marylena? What’s she got to do with it? OK, Gerry, I get it. The doctor said this was possible, that you’d lose a big chunk of time leading up to the fight, that you wouldn’t remember anything about it. I was hoping it wouldn’t be so, but it may still come back to you. Keep trying to remember what happened. It’s extremely important, because whoever it was might try it again. We really do need to find out who pushed you off the cliff.”

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[em90]

...ooh, I've had a lot of catching up to do.

Forget about having a bad day, or week, Gerry seems to be having a bad decade the way things are going! :( Poor guy, I hope his fortunes improve soon. (Or at least eventually.) Daniel is very cute. I also hope we eventually see more of Tina/Tamara/Christy and the others.

[Lynet]

I had a regular supply of visitors, most of them only a vague blur of noise, since I slept most of the time. I remember Waylon Fairchild dropping by, as well as my former supervisor from the electric plant, Leo.

Since I was feeling sore and grouchy, I was not good company and neither one stayed more than a minute.

Marylena stopped in a couple of times. And every time she came, she’d look around the small hospital room with disgust and shake her head, “You should get out of here, Gerry. Fresh air and exercise will do you better than lying around in bed.” Of course, every time she said it, I’d laugh. Which hurt. Exercise would have to wait.

The surprise visitor was Tina.

“Hello, Gerry” she said, so quietly I could barely hear it.

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Maybe it was because I was laid up in a hospital bed and she didn’t like being here, but it was still a mighty weak hello from someone who’d always been so sure of herself.

I grinned at her, “Hi, Tina! How’re things? Um…did that sound stupid? I think I left my brains on the mountain. Soon as I’m on my feet I plan to go and get them, put them back in the pan, and be my old self again.”

I thought she’d laugh at my joke. Instead, she just stared at me and said, "Who was it?" When I didn't answer, she leaned closer and lowered her voice even more. "Roberta told me that someone pushed you over the cliff. Please tell me who it was, Gerry. Tell me it wasn't Joe."

So that's it, I thought. She's worried about Joe. I said wearily, "I don't know who it was, Tina. I don't remember, but I doubt it was Joe because if the two of us had faced off on the edge of a cliff, it wouldn't have been me they found at the bottom. So you can stop worrying about him. He won't go to jail on my account."

She shook her head, "I'm not worried about him." Then she smiled a little and said, "Take care of yourself, Gerry, and stay safe." Turning abruptly away from the bed, she left the room. I could never get it straight, how to talk to Tina without getting it all wrong. Gerry, I told myself, you won’t find any brains on the mountain because you never had any to start with.

That’s when I noticed Christy standing there, her eyes following Tina’s hurried exit. I hadn’t even realized that they’d come in together. Christy came over to take Tina’s place beside my bed. “It’s not anything you’ve said,” she smiled. “She’s just worried about other things. You’re looking better, believe it or not. Much better than the last time I saw you. I suppose you might not remember that visit since you slept through it.” Then her smile disappeared and she took a deep breath, “Gerry, I feel badly about the way I behaved when you told me you got married. I apologize. We’re still friends, I hope.”

“You bet!” I was man in need of friends these days.

Her smile returned, “Good. Now, I’d better go check up on Tina. We’ll be back, maybe tomorrow. See you then.”

She left the room and I stared into the empty space where the two of them had been standing, puzzling over Tina’s worries. That occupied me for about five minutes. I spent the rest of the time, as I did most days, trying to remember the fight that had ended with me going off the edge of a cliff. So far, the only thing I could remember was the horror of an endless fall. The image flashed through my mind, the same image that would wake me in a sweat in the middle of the night, an image of rock walls moving fast, rising up and out toward the faraway sun in an empty sky. I gasped for breath as I always did, waiting for the certain shock of my body striking the rock at the foot of the cliff. But the memory never went that far.

“And that,” said Dr. Bendett later in the evening, “is because what you think you remember is not exactly how it happened. If it had, you’d certainly be dead. You did not fall from the top of the cliff to its base. That would’ve been impossible, anyway, since the cliff is not straight up and down. The grade is steep, yes, but not perpendicular. As near as the police can determine--and they can‘t determine much because of all the loose rock and debris up there--you landed on the upper face of the grade, very close to the top of the cliff and slid and rolled until you hit the cliff road. Your injuries are consistent with that kind of fall. Waylon found you just after sunset, lying on the road, so cold to the touch he thought at first that you were dead.

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"He called the police. They called the medics. The medics called the helicopter.

“Quite a lot of action,” she said grimly “to save the life of a man stupid enough to get into a fight on the edge of a cliff.”

“How do you know I was fighting with someone?”

“You didn’t bloody your knuckles fighting the cliff. And you had bruises that could only have been delivered by a boot wrapped around someone’s foot, probably a male foot, considering its size. So the police have ruled out your wife as a suspect. You may or may not be glad to know that.”

“Of course I am,” I snapped, “because I want the police to leave her alone. When can I get out of here? Tomorrow?”

“I’ll sign the release the day after tomorrow. Two more nights in the hospital, Mr. Zygmunt, but you have to take it easy for another couple of weeks after that. I went to a lot of trouble stitching up all the rips in your vitals, and I don’t want to do any of that hard work all over again.”

The next day, my last in the hospital, was the day that Clarabelle came to visit.

[Lynet]

I heard the click of her high heels on the linoleum floor outside my room, and then a firm hand on the doorknob, turning it. The door moved abruptly out of her way as she walked boldly into the room, chin up, hips swaying, a woman who knew her power over men, even me.

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Daniel’s frazzled mother was gone, and in her stead, Clarabelle had arrived, gloriously ablaze in new clothes and red hair. There must have been one or two men in the hall out of my line of sight, because she glanced over her shoulder and winked at someone. Then she walked over and stopped in front of the wheelchair where I sat.

She crossed her arms, “How are you, Gerry? Are they treating you well here?”

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“Yes, of course. Where’s Daniel? Why didn‘t you bring him with you?”

She snorted, “What’s this? Aren’t you going to say ‘Hello, poor little Clarabelle?’ I deserve some loving words from you after what I‘ve been through, Darling Husband, with those dreadful police friends of yours. Don‘t you even want a kiss? Well, you can forget it if you do, because you are not getting one. Not today, since you’re being so nasty.”

“Where’s Daniel, Clarabelle?”

“At home, you idiot, where he belongs. I hired that same dreadful old lady you’ve hired in the past.”

“Take it easy. I’ve had some nightmares about Daniel and a fire. And as I am trapped in this little room with nothing else to think about I’m going a little crazy. I really want to see him.”

“I’m not bringing a baby into a hospital. The place is loaded with monster bugs lurking on every shiny white surface. And your shack has not caught fire, but it’s an idea you should consider, if you have insurance on it.”

“That’s a dangerous joke that’ll get the attention of the police again. Aren’t they leaving you alone now? Have they stopped coming around?”

“No, they haven’t stopped coming around. What else have they got to do in Yokelville?”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what? Calling this town by every ugly name I can think of? I can leave, they said, and so I am. I’ve signed a lease on an apartment down at the resort. The truck is arriving tomorrow to collect the furniture. Whenever you get out of here, you’ll find me and Daniel at the Quinby Arms Apartments, 2nd floor. The second floor is hotter than the first floor, but you get the sea breeze with less dust.”

“I can’t move there. I have to stay on the property, for the inheritance. So do you. So does Daniel.”

“You can join us, Gerry, or not. It’s your choice, but I’ve had enough of this burg. I‘m getting out. Daniel is your first-born and he will end up with the inheritance. And when he does, so do I. So he stays with me.”

I was standing up by now, desperate to convince her. “We’ll fix up the house as nice as you want it. I swear to you that as soon as I get home I’ll take care of it. It’ll be done by the end of the month.”

“Fix it up all you want. I don’t care. I’m leaving. This town is dead. The resort has dancing and nightclubs and my kind of people.”

“No! I’ll get Daniel back. I’ll sue for custody.”

“No you won’t.” She turned away from me and went to the window.

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“You know I will!”

“No. You won’t! The resort has something else you should know about, and that’s a good clinic and a good doctor for children. I’m pregnant again, Gerry, and I have absolutely no intention of giving birth in a broken down shack attended by the Zygmunt brothers.”

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“Pregnant?” I almost choked on the word. “Not by me. Who is it? Who is the father?”

“You evil man!” she turned on me angrily.

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“Who!” I yelled at her.

The phony anger slid into a crooked smile. “Not sure, Hon. Could be you. Whether you remember the night or not, you definitely got your two cents in. Or it could be Cavell. You should know what your brother is like, and I was his wife for quite a few years. Anyhow, he surprised me in the shower one day.” Her cheeks flushed as she bit down on her lip, and then, after a second or two, she shook herself. “But really, does it matter which of you did the deed, as long as the kid has Zygmunt blood pumping through its little heart?”

[Lynet]

I stared at her, “Cavell?”

“As I said, he caught me by surprise. There wasn’t much I could do about it.”

“Get out.”

“What?”

“Where was Daniel while you and Cavell were…”

She snorted, “I’ll be damned! You hypocrite! Look at you, all in a sweat about the money! Or is it Daniel? Or could it possibly be because I was raped by your brother? Who knows? I certainly can’t figure out what really matters to you. Seems to depend on which way the wind blows. Out of the east, it’s time to love Daniel. Out of the west, it’s time to love money. Cut the crap and recognize that all you really care about is yourself. Hells bells, and you think you’re better than me! Don’t kid yourself. Goodbye, Gerry.”

She turned and walked out of the room without a backward glance.

I sat down slowly in the wheelchair. When I heard the door open again hardly a minute later, I did not even look up.

The feet that walked into view were not Clarabelle’s, but they belonged to a woman. She said, “Was that your wife I saw come out of here? I thought I knew what your wife looked like. Did she color her hair?”

I forced myself to smile for Roberta, “Yes. She did.”

“You’re not looking well, Gerry. Dr. Bendett said she was going to release you tomorrow, but I’ll speak to her about keeping you here a few more days.”

“Never mind that. I’m leaving today. In a few minutes. As soon as I catch my breath.”

Roberta sniffed, “Got you all riled up, did she? Looks like the type, I‘ll be honest with you, Gerry. But I‘m not here about your wife. I just stopped by to see if you‘ve remembered anything more about the fight.”

I shook my head.

“So, I’m going to mention a few names, in no particular order and for no particular reason. I have no suspicions about any of them. I just want to see if they mean anything to you beyond the obvious, that you know them or have met them. This is not scientific, by the way. It could even get us in trouble, you and me, if we mention this exercise outside this room. So it’s just between you and me. Got that?”

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“Go right ahead, but I don’t expect it to help. I can’t remember anything at all. I’ve tried.”

“George McCarthy.”

I smiled, “General store clerk and high school kid.”

“Vencel Domokos.”

I rolled my eyes, disgusted, "Shyster."

“Brandi Ying.”

“Don’t know her.”

“Waitress at Arlo’s. Neville Machk.”

“Clarabelle’s idiot brother.”

“Ben Long.”

I squinted at her. The name was familiar. Then I knew who it was, “Tamara’s boyfriend.” I shrugged casually as I remembered the encounter in town when he held my arms as Tina’s boyfriend punched me.

“Fredek Zygmunt.”

“I saw the old man buried. I thought you were serious about this.”

“I am, Gerry. Cavell Zygmunt.”

“I’m tired of this game. It’s not helping either you or me.”

“Waylon Fairchild.”

“Of course not.”

“Donald Fritjof.”

“I have no idea who that is.”

“He drove you up the cliff road when you first arrived in Chesterport.”

“OK, sure.”

“Leo Varvarinski.”

“Foreman at the electric plant,” I said impatiently.

“Joe Carr.”

“A thug.”

“Did you fight with him?”

“No, I didn’t!”

“I’ve heard otherwise.”

“He’s a jerk who hangs around Tina Scott and thinks he owns her, but I didn’t fight him. If anyone said otherwise, he’s lying.”

“You mean Tina? Is she lying? Joe has disappeared. He’s been gone for a couple of weeks, ever since Waylon found you on the cliff road. Tina came to me wringing her hands and crying because she believes that Joe is the one who tried to kill you. What do you think?”

“As I told Tina, if it had been Joe, I’d have beat the crap out of him and he’d have been the one you found on the cliff road.”

Roberta laughed.

I said, “Why didn’t you just ask me about him right at the beginning? You do suspect him, don’t you.”

“I just want to talk to him, and I will, as soon as we find him. I have a meeting at the police station to go to now, Gerry. Give yourself a break and stay here for another couple of days.”

I didn’t answer her. She patted my shoulder and left. Ten minutes later I got up out of the wheelchair, found my clothes in a cabinet and put them on, grateful to whoever had laundered them. It was my police uniform. The walky-talky and gun were gone, of course, but that didn’t matter. And no one tried to stop me as I left the hospital.

[Lynet]

There was a patrolman in a cruiser parked along the street in front of the hospital. I recognized him, “Greg! Are you waiting for someone?”

“You, as it happens. Roberta told me to keep an eye out. She thought you might leave the hospital this morning. Get in. I‘ll drive you home.”

“Thanks.” I sat down carefully, refusing to admit that my legs were shaking. “I lost my cell phone and don’t have a dime to call a cab. Thought I’d have to walk.”

“From Chesterport to Hazelton?”

“If I had to, maybe by way of the cliff road.”

“We could go that way now, if you’d like. Do you think it would help you remember what happened?” Greg hadn’t yet moved the car away from the curb. He pulled off his sunglasses and looked over at me.

I was annoyed, “Does everyone in town know that I can’t remember anything?”

“Roberta thought it best if everyone knew. The killer will think himself safe for a little while longer and might not try again, at least not before we figure out who it is.”

“Killer? Shit, Greg, do you think you’re holding conversation with a ghost?”

He didn’t smile or look embarrassed, “I hope not, Gerry.” He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. “I suggest we take a look at the cliff road starting at the top. If you’re up to it, we can walk down, only a few hundred yards, to where Waylon found you.”

“Sure.” I leaned back in the seat, took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment, thinking. Yes, it was possible that someone had tried to get rid of me by pushing me over the cliff. Or maybe not. “You know,” I said aloud, “it’s possible that I just slipped on a loose rock. It might have been an accident.”

“A loose rock wearing hiking boots? We saw pictures of the bruise in the middle of your chest. He kicked hard. The man was angry.”

“Could have happened anytime before I fell. I could have been in a fight and then walked away from it, gone home, had a cup off coffee, walked out to the cliff, and slipped over.”

“Do you remember a fight or not?”

“Nothing. Absolute zero. An entire day out of my life seems to have been erased.”

“Then I’m going to continue to believe what Roberta and the doctor believe, someone kicked you over the edge.”

“Fine. But if the only witness is me, we have a problem.”

[Lynet]

It took about 45 minutes to get from Chesterport to Hazelton going the sensible way, by way of Route 37 through the Gap. Greg seemed occupied by his own thoughts, so I kept my eyes closed and may even have dozed, although I had stopped taking the painkillers two days earlier. I didn’t need them and didn‘t like taking them. My broken rib was firmly strapped and my broken arm just itched like hell. As for the ache in my middle, I decided that it was more emotional than physical.

Of all the things that worried me, it was Cavell’s attack on Clarabelle that angered me most. I’d seen the old scars on her chest and belly, one of them clearly the mark of a knife, and I almost groaned aloud at the thought that he would do that to anyone, but especially to his wife. And now, she was pregnant again. How could she be so stupid as to move away from me? What was she thinking? Alone with two small children? How could she take care of them and herself, too? Stupid! So stupid!

“Gerry, is this the place?”

I opened my eyes and rubbed at them. “Yes. This is it.”

He turned off the engine as I got out of the car. I wanted to run around the rocks to the house, but I’d spent too long flat on my back. My legs would not have sustained the effort, so I walked.

The air was warm. I saw a handful of butterflies move down the road in search of flowers. The gravel underfoot was damp from a recent Spring rain. Of course, none of this changed the fact that the peninsula known as Strangers’ Moon to some was still a grey and dreary place. As a matter of fact, I thought it looked a lot better when it was buried under snow.

I saw the house, the cold shack of stone that Clarabelle hated so thoroughly. I hoped the reason that her blue van was gone was because Cavell had it. I hoped she was inside packing and that Daniel was playing with his rabbit. I hoped he’d open his arms and welcome me.

I was wrong in every way.
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Greg left me alone in the empty house and went outside to look around the property. I reached for the rabbit,
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and then changed my mind. I’d get Daniel all new toys as soon as I joined them. And join them I would. I was through with Ibolya and my miserly uncle. I didn’t need the money. I needed Daniel. Daniel didn’t need the money. He needed me. As for Clarabelle, I suspected that she was a puzzle I would never solve. Too many missing pieces.
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[Lynet]

Greg came around from the side of the house and stood next to me. We stared out toward the crumbling edge of the cliff, listening to the quiet. A couple of large birds drifted lazily around and around, apparently enjoying an updraft of air coming from the sea.

I said, “Was there any evidence of a fight?”

Greg shook his head, “We’ve examined that muddy stretch of dirt every which way anyone could possibly examine it. Unfortunately, the rescue crew and the helicopter showed up about the same time we did, and churned it into a big mess. We couldn’t find anything at all--no shoe or boot prints in the mud that weren’t our own.” He paused and looked at me, “Are you up for a walk down the road?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” I was exhausted, actually, but the gap in my memory was like looking into a monster-filled abyss. They were down there at the very edge of the darkness, unseen but ready to reach up and pull me in if ever I dared to turn my eyes away. I wanted to see them. I strained to see them. And I was afraid to see them. I took a deep breath and walked toward where the road came up over the edge of the cliff. Greg followed, moving slow, matching his pace to mine.

Them?

I realized suddenly that I had been thinking of monsters in the plural. Had I fought more than one man? Or was my pride resisting the idea that one man alone had nearly killed me? And why had I started thinking of them as monsters and not just as men, or a man? Was it only a bump on the head that had erased a piece of my life? Or would remembering who it was be more awful than not knowing? I forced myself to think of everyone in town that I knew, mentally examining each face and each name. I added more names to Roberta’s list. But none of them were monsters, except Cavell. Maybe he was the one who had tried to kill me. It was logical. As Clarabelle had said, if I died, my estate would settle immediately on all their heads. Gold or no gold, there was a lot of money to be had.

We started walking down the road. It was gravelly and narrow, with an occasional stone wall built along its edge. The reason for the wall could only have been to guide the rare traveler, because it was certainly inadequate protection from a long fall. I briefly recalled the ride up this road in Mr. Fritjof’s car on my first day here and swallowed uncomfortably. Never again.

The sun was growing hotter on my bare head, so after we had walked a few more yards I stopped and leaned over the wall, resting my hands on its dusty stone as I squinted down toward the rocks far below and let a warm breeze dry the sweat on my face. I saw more of our dangerous little road as it wound back and forth along the cliff, growing smaller and smaller with distance. When I stepped back and stared straight ahead, I could just barely see, between breaks in the wall of the gorge, a sparkle of blue. It was the harbor of Chesterport.

Greg put a hand on my shoulder, “Want to rest for a moment?”

“Nope. Just thinking. It’s quite a view from here, but it hasn’t helped me remember anything yet. Let’s keep going down to where Waylon found me.”

[Lynet]

Nothing about the place looked familiar or stirred any memories. I sighed, frustrated, and stooped to pick up a bit of clear plastic.

Greg took it from my hands and held it up to the light, “Ah, just something the medics left behind. Too bad.” He twisted it absently around in his fingers while studying the cliff wall and the sky. I gazed wearily into the distance, looking at nothing, concentrating on the faint odor of the sea, trying to remember.

Greg mumbled, “What are those dumb birds doing? There’s nothing to eat around here.”

I grimaced and glanced up, “What are they? Seagulls?”

Greg laughed, “No. Vultures. But maybe it’s a dying seagull that they’re after. There are certainly plenty of them in Chesterport.”

“Or maybe they’re waiting for me. I should have been dinner. They’re probably annoyed.”

Greg walked over to the wall and look over. He was quiet for a minute, and then turned around. “There’s a little shade over there, Gerry. Have a seat out of the sun and rest yourself. I’m going to go further down the road. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I agreed. I was now so tired it was an effort to sit down and not fall down. The shade was scant, but at least the sun was not on my head. I closed my eyes and listened to the wind moving up the cliff.

I don’t know how much time passed before I heard Greg coming back. He sat down next to me with a grunt. He was covered in dust.

“Found something,” he said, and scratched at his chin.

“What?”

“I think it’s Ben Long. At least, so far as I can tell from the clothes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Vultures,” he said. He swallowed uncomfortably. “It’s ugly. He’s obviously been there for a while and there isn’t much left except bones and clothes, which is why the lab will have to prove it’s him, but I’m betting that’s who it is…was.”

“Poor Tamara,” I said with a groan. “Didn’t anyone wonder where he’d got to? Reported him missing?”

“Nope. At least not to the police. But there’s something else I think you should know.”

“What is it?”

“The skull has a bullet hole right between the eyes.”

[Lynet]

The words were hardly out of his mouth when a terrifying image flashed in front of my eyes. I yelled out, “Daniel!” and staggered to my feet. When Greg stood up, looking concerned, I grabbed the front of his shirt with both fists, almost tearing it from his chest, “Take me to the resort! Now! Now! I have to find them!”

“Easy there, Gerry. We’ll go with sirens and lights all the way.” His own hands had closed around the cast on my left arm. “But I can’t move until you let go.”

I loosened my fingers and so did he. I started running back up the road, fueled only by adrenalin, hardly thinking clearly or I would not have been so terrified for Daniel.

Greg followed closely, occasionally grabbing my arm as I stumbled, but without saying a word until we were up on the plateau and headed for the cruiser. Then he spoke loudly enough to get through the mental noise of my panic, “They’re safe, Gerry. Both of them.”

I kept going, “Then why did she lie? She said she was leaving tomorrow, not today. They should have been here.”

“Gerry!” He moved around in front of me to block my way.

I shoved at him, trying to get past, “He had him, Greg! He had him at the edge…at the edge of the cliff.” I could hardly catch my breath and choked on the word, “Daniel.”

“Daniel is safe, Gerry! Didn’t Roberta tell you that? He’s just fine. So is your wife. We have them under surveillance. We’ve been keeping an eye on them all along, ever since Waylon found you. It’s Marylena, in fact, who’s watching them now. We’ll call her from the car.”

I nodded, still breathing hard, but calming down a little, “OK. We’ll call her, but I have to see them as soon as possible. I’ll talk to Marylena on the way.”

I fell into the car seat and fumbled with the radio while Greg fastened my seat belt and his, and then started the engine. As we headed down the road, I reached Marylena. She assured me that she had just seen Clarabelle carrying Daniel into the apartment building. They’d spent the morning playing in the beach sand across the highway.

“Thanks, Marylena. Clear.”

As I put the mike in its cradle and rubbed the sweat from face, Greg said, “I assume you still want to go.”

“I’m moving in with them.”

My clothes were soaked with sweat. My arm under the cast itched like crazy. My heart was racing and my ribs hurt. I was in bad shape. Everyone kept assuring me that Daniel was safe, but I still needed to hold him in my arms. Maybe then I could stop worrying and be rid of the nightmares.

Greg’s cruiser flew down the highway but without the siren or flashing lights. He just went fast. There wasn’t much traffic anyway.

After a few minutes, he said casually, “You remember now, don’t you.”

“Some of it. I remember finding Daniel playing in the rain puddle next to the door. I picked him up and he put his hands on my face. And he laughed. I think it was because of the mud he’d gotten all over me. Then Clarabelle’s brother, Neville, took Daniel from my arms because…” I struggled to understand the memory. It was more like trying to remember a dream. “…because I was talking to someone. It was Ben…and…and Joe Carr! Joe was there, too.” I stopped.

Greg glanced over at me, “Is that it? Do you remember if one of them had a gun? Or did one of them take your gun?”

“I don’t remember anything about that. The only other thing I remember right now is that we all ended up near the cliff. I don’t know why. But I know that I wanted Neville to take Daniel back to the house. I’m fairly sure that I was yelling at him to take Daniel back to the house, but he just stood there, close to the edge, playing with the baby, tossing him in the air.” I pressed a hand over my eyes, shuddering with the memory.

“Was your wife there?”

“I don’t think so. I have the feeling that she was not home. Maybe she left Daniel with her brother and went out for groceries or something.”

“And you couldn’t take the baby away from Neville yourself?”

“I couldn’t move. I wanted desperately to take Daniel away from him, but I couldn’t move.”

“We can assume that Ben and Joe were responsible for that. Probably had you by the arms. Sounds like the three of them were playing some sort of nasty game and it got uglier than they intended. Anyway, we’ll be at the resort in about half an hour. You’ll see that Daniel is none the worse for all his adventures, and I’ll buy you the drink you so clearly need.”

I laughed weakly, “No one ever mentioned that having a kid would be so scary.”

“Would that have stopped you?”

“Probably not.”

[em90]

More incredible updates :) This is so intriguing!

[cappyboy]

You know, I have to be honest. You lost me once Cavell showed up. I was really digging Gerry's relationships with the women of Hazelton and how everyone would finally catch up to the imposter wife. Then Cavell shows up, Gerry's blackmailed into marrying the imposter shrew and the reading got much harder to stomach. Hopefully, Lynet, your next story won't veer away from me so sharply. Because you clearly have a strong creative mind and can write well. It's just creative differences between writer and reader that have lead to me basically drop this story.

[Lynet]

Sorry to hear that you don't want to read any more of this story, Cappyboy. Thank you for your comments.

[Lynet]

The landscape changed color as we neared the resort. The grey clay of the north country changed to sand, but the land was just as barren. I saw an occasional twisted tree. Then I saw the buildings. Greg pointed out a couple of high rise condos at the far end of the small town. And small it was. For all the fuss about it, I had expected more. Then I remembered that One Fried Egg was only three buildings, so yes, the resort was huge by comparison.

We drove past a roller rink and a nightclub. Greg made a left turn and passed a few houses. Two right turns later and next door to the town’s best restaurant, Rochelles’s, we pulled up in front of a two-story L-shaped building.

Greg turned to me, “This is it. You want the second floor. The stairs are at the far end. I’m going to talk to Marylena.”

I was out of the car in a flash.
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http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%206/511GregTalksToMarylena.jpg
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%206/512GerrySeesDanielOnBalcony.jpg
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http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%206/515GerryAndClarabelle.jpg

[Lynet]

Clarabelle stood in front of the door to the apartment, looking annoyed.

“Didn’t expect to see you so soon, Gerry. The nurse said you’d be in the hospital another couple of days.”

“I stopped by the house and you weren’t there.”

“I told you I was moving.”

What she had told me was that she was moving tomorrow. But I was too tired to argue so I just nodded, “Do you have anything to eat? I’d like something to eat. Greg, too.” I looked over the railing at Greg and Marylena. He waved at me and shouted, “Mary and I are going to catch a bite at the café down the road! I’ll check in with you before I head north.”

Clarabelle mumbled something under her breath.

I suppose I was relieved that Greg was not going to join us. Things were a little awkward with Clarabelle at the moment.

She said, “Grab the baby and put him in the highchair. I’ll fix us a couple of sandwiches.” She turned around, seemed surprised that the door had closed, and flung it open so hard I was afraid the glass would break.

I picked up Daniel again, went inside and settled him in his high chair with a bowl of cereal. Then I sat down at the table and looked around the kitchen. It was large and cheerful. The windows were all open to the warm spring day. This, I thought, is really nice. Truth is, I was just as tired of the damp stone shack on the Ibolya property as Clarabelle was.

I told her that as she set the plate in front of me and sat down with hers.

“Yeah? Well, you’re stuck with it.”

“No, I’m not. I’m going to live here. You, me, Daniel, and the new baby, all together from now on. I’m making enough in my job to support us.”

She shook her head, “You can’t stay here.”

“Yes I can. And I am.”

“You’ll lose everything.”

“Lose what? You mean that nasty piece of land that no one is willing to share with me? What I have that matters is a good job and a beautiful wife and a healthy son who both need me.”

“If you really cared abut your son, you’d stay on that property.”

I picked up my sandwich, bit into it and chewed. She waited grimly, not touching her own sandwich.

I swallowed the tasteless food and said, “Clarabelle, my love, I think you are confused about the terms of my Uncle’s will. To inherit the property and the money I have to live on that property with a wife and kids. I suspect it was my uncle’s way of thumbing his nose at us when he was facing death and realized that he could not buy his way out of it. He expected me to crawl around on my knees, begging some woman, any woman, to marry me. I suppose it amused him to imagine the scene. The bastard knew me too well. But not anymore.”

“Did he know you were a complete idiot?” she snapped. “What happens to the money if you walk away?”

“You already know the answer to that. It goes to Cavell, who’s in jail.” Then I opened my eyes wide, pretending shock. “But wait! He’s not in jail! He escaped jail!” I took another bite of my sandwich.

She frowned, “He didn’t escape. They let him out. He’s on parole.”

“There are rules about being on parole, and he broke them. He didn’t check in with his parole officer, he left the area where he was supposed to set up residence, and he has a gun. He’s broken the law several times over, and when they find him he goes back to jail for the rest of his unnatural life.”

“Which will leave me with the money because I’m his…” Her face got red. My poor Clarabelle is a little slow sometimes, but eventually she figures out the highlights.

“His what, Honey? What are you to Cavell?”

“We have a kid, me and Cavell. She’s living with my mother.”

“Too bad. The third heir to the fortune is Uncle Fredek’s cat. If I forfeit the inheritance because I’ve moved off the property, and Cavell forfeits because he’s a fugitive who doesn’t dare show his face in any court of law in order to claim that inheritance, then Felix the Cat is a very rich cat.”

“You can’t do this to us,” she shouted angrily. “You just can’t! You simple-minded moron, it was so perfect. He was in jail and you were going to get the money because all you had to do was get married and have a couple of kids.”

“And you decided to be the woman I married.”

“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes.

“And then push me off the cliff.”

Her face went white, “No!”

“That wasn’t your idea? But it’s so like you. Perhaps it was Neville’s idea. Or Cavell’s”

“Are you wearing wires, recording this, trying to trap me or something? Your police friends pestered me for days and I told them the truth. I didn’t push you off the cliff. I don’t know who did, but I know it wasn’t Neville, and it wasn’t Cavell, either.”

I studied the beautiful face across the table from me. After a moment, I allowed myself to breathe again and said, “How do you know, Honey, that it wasn’t Neville and it wasn’t Cavell, unless you were there?”

She closed her mouth defiantly, her jaw forward.

I said, “Your brother very nearly killed Daniel, too. It would have ruined the whole plot if he had, don‘t you think.”

She swallowed hard, and now her jaw trembled. She blinked at tears. I did not know what she was crying about and at that moment I did not care. “Cavell,” she whispered. “Cavell stopped him. He shot him. He killed my…” she stammered, “my brother. He…he shot them all.”

“All,” I hesitated, horrified by what I already knew was coming, “All who?”

“N…Neville.”

“Who else?”

She used her sleeve to wipe at her nose, “The other two men. I…I… don’t know who they were.”

“When? On the cliff? Tell me what happened!”

Tears ran freely down her face, but she took a deep breath and said, “He saw them beating on you. He ran over to stop them but he was too late. One of them had already kicked you over the edge. He thought you were dead, so he just shot those two men, picked up their bodies, and threw them off the cliff. It was all so fast and sudden. He just went berserk. I tried to get Daniel away from Neville but Neville was afraid that Cavell would shoot him, too. He started to run back to the house. He still had Daniel. Cavell shot him in the back.” She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering. “Neville stopped running and just stood there for a moment, his back to us, then went down on his knees. I got Daniel from him. The baby was scared, I think, but he didn’t cry, and he wasn’t hurt. Neville fell forward, his face down in the mud. Cavell ran up to us and I yelled at him about Neville and when he picked him up, I thought he was going to take him into the house, but he didn’t. He threw him off the cliff, too. I think he was already dead.” She opened her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t want it to happen. I swear it! And I’m pregnant, you remember. The baby’s yours, I’m sure of it. You have to take care of us.”

We stared at each other.

Outside, under the bright spring sunshine, I heard people talking and laughing about something. The sound slipped in with the breeze through the open windows. It was, for a moment, the only sound in the kitchen.

Then a sudden crash of a noise made both of us jump to our feet and look at Daniel. He laughed at the shock on our faces. He had cereal all over his hair and face and was slapping his hands in a puddle of the mush. His bowl was upside down on the floor at the foot of his highchair.

Clarabelle gagged, pressed a hand over her mouth and ran from the room. I think she made it all the way to the toilet.

[Lynet]

I lifted Daniel out of the highchair and sat him on the kitchen counter as I wiped cereal from his head. He squirmed, trying to get down on the floor.

“Hold on there, Dan. I’ll be done in a minute.”

It was a bad job, but we finished up with more cereal on the towel and in the sink than on Daniel, so I set him free. He walked over to a toy that jangled when he pounded on it, and happily sang to himself while he played with it.

Someone knocked on the door to the apartment and opened it a few inches. It was Greg.

“I’m headed back to Hazelton. Are you staying here?”

I nodded, “Yeah. And I’ll call in tomorrow. Thanks for everything, Greg.”

“Sure thing. I’ll let you know what develops. I’m sure there will be questions about what you remember, but that can wait. Marylena will be sticking around if you need anything. Get some rest. You look like hell.” He shut the door and I heard his footsteps on the worn boards of the balcony.

I dropped into a kitchen chair and put my head down on my arm, the one that was not encased in plaster. A black feeling of dread closed in on me and sank through to the bone. My ears were ringing and I realized that it was not Daniel’s toy or the telephone. It was inside my own head. My fingernails dug into the vinyl of the table top. My eyes burned. The world blurred.

[Lynet]

I must have dozed. When I woke, stiff-necked and just as tired, the room was dark, and I didn‘t see Daniel. I pushed myself to my feet and peered through the windows along the empty balcony to the moonlit street. Then I heard a rustle of material and went over to the crib in the corner of the kitchen. He was there, in his pajamas and fast asleep. I fought the urge to reach down and put my hand on his head. I knew the touch would wake him.

I went into the other room. It was a small living room. Our couch and TV were there. I moved to the hall and opened the first door. A bathroom. Good, I thought, just in time. I used the toilet. It was a mess and smelled of vomit but I was in no shape to clean it. Instead, with what remaining energy I still had, I filled the tub with hot water and took a bath. It’s not an easy chore when you have to keep one arm away from the water. When done, I made only one attempt to wrap a towel around my waist, failed, and left the towel on the floor. Wearing only the plaster cast on my left arm, I went out into the hall and opened the second door.

Bedroom. Thin white curtains glowed from the light of a fat moon. I walked to the bed and looked down into the sleeping face of my wife.

She was a very beautiful woman, and in her sleep, her face was relaxed and innocent. If she were to open her eyes, though, she’d lose that innocence, because whenever she looked at me, I could see too much of her soul. I could see all the damage there.

I moved away and surveyed the room. There was a clothes cupboard in the corner. I opened the door slowly, trying not to make any noise, and found clothes folded on shelves. I pulled them off the shelves, letting them fall to the floor. Women’s clothes. Men’s clothes, too, but not mine. All of my clothes were back at the house. I found a man’s pajamas and managed to get into the pants.

Whoever the man was, he was not in her bed tonight. I lay down on the empty side of the bed without getting under the covers and let the warm air that came through the open windows move across my bare skin. Exhausted, I closed my eyes and slept.

[Lynet]

I opened my eyes.

The room was darker, and I realized it was because the moonlight was gone. The curtains hung limp, not even stirred by a breeze. Beside me, Clarabelle groaned faintly in her sleep, and rolled onto her back. I figured she was reacting to unpleasant dreams. We would both be plagued by those for a long time to come.

I heard the noise again, the noise that had awakened me, the sound of a footstep on the balcony. It was impossible for anyone to walk quietly on those weathered boards.

The bedroom door was open and the hall windows onto the balcony were wide open to the warm night. I could hear everything, even the faint hiss of waves on the beach across the road. And I heard the soft, careful sound of creeping footsteps, receding. I got out of bed quickly, thankful for quiet springs in the mattress. My bare feet made no noise on the carpeting of the bedroom or in the hallway as I hurried to Daniel’s crib. He was there, safe and still asleep.

I went outside onto the balcony, closing the door softly behind me, and walked toward the far end, toward the door to the stairs.
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The boards creaked and snapped under my feet and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. Whoever was there surely heard me coming. I hoped that Marylena was nearby, watching the place, but she had no one to spell her and couldn’t be watching the place 24 hours a day. She needed to sleep some time. It was foolish of me, I knew, to hope she might be within shouting distance. And it was both foolish and stupid of me to go hunting for a prowler in my bare feet, half-naked, and with neither backup nor a gun.

I glanced down at my cast. I could probably knock someone out with it, so long as I made the first blow count, and could get close enough.

I already suspected, however, who it must have been. If everything that Clarabelle had told me was true, the only man left standing on the cliff was Cavell.

The hinges to the door to the stairs were well oiled. I slipped into the stairwell and was briefly on carpeting again, and then I was moving down the waxed and silent wood of the stairs, alert for any sound or movement.
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Nothing.

I paused for a moment at the door below, took a deep breath, held my cast out a little from my hip, and stepped outside.

No one waited for me.

In the distance I heard the sea slide back and forth over the sand, as monotonous and steady as an old clock. It was the only sound. The sidewalks and streets were empty, lit in rare spots by a streetlamp. The moon was hidden behind a cloud, and all the other residents of town were asleep in that last dark hour before dawn.

I was too restless to go back up to bed and so I stood in the shadows under the balcony overhang, thinking about what I needed to do about my wife and my brother and my obligations to Roberta and Hazelton.

Resigned at last to my decision, I turned to go back inside, and heard him sigh, “Thought you were a ghost, Mary. Nearly shit my pants.”
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I faced him slowly, “Clarabelle would have told you I was in the hospital.”

“That woman makes up stuff all the time. You must have figured that out by now.”

I walked out onto the gravel of the yard, glanced up at the stars, and then faced my brother, “I asked her what happened on the cliff?”

He scratched at his cheek, smiling, “What did she say?”

“She said you shot her brother.”

“Tsk, tsk, but didn’t I tell you. I don’t kill people. You can‘t trust her, Mary. It‘s a shame, pretty as she is, but you can‘t trust her.”

“Cavell,” I said carefully, “Did you shoot her brother and those other two men? Did you kill them?”

He shook his head, a strange light in his mad eyes, “What’s knowing the answer to that going to do for you, Kid? Are you going to arrest me? You want a promotion or something? Answer a question for me first. What are you doing here? I hope it’s just a little vacation.”

Telling him the truth of what I was doing here was not a good idea, not now, in the dark, in my bare feet and without defenses of any kind. “That’s right,” was all I said. “I’m still on sick leave.”

“Good. Rest yourself up and get back to the house. Take her with you.” He moved past me toward the road and said only one thing more, in a voice so low I almost didn’t hear it, “I don’t kill people, Mary, but rats? I kill rats all the time.”
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[Lynet]

Going forward, just want to warn you that there are a fair number of chapters without pictures. I got so involved with writing, that I didn't stop to take the pictures and, well, sims have their babies and get older and all that. There will be pictures, for sure, just less of them. In the meantime, here's a couple. I go to a great deal of trouble to build the sets for my stories. Here are two pictures of the apartment building where Gerry and Clarabelle are living at the moment. I hadn't built the rest of the town before the first picture was taken. Also, the AL EP hadn't come out yet so it wasn't really an apartment at the time I wrote this story, but two families lived there anyway.
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http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/snapshot_9440ac4d_9539b2ff.jpg

And one of the resort's main street:
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/100MainStreet.jpg

[dizzysommer]

You know, I have to be honest. You lost me once Cavell showed up. I was really digging Gerry's relationships with the women of Hazelton and how everyone would finally catch up to the imposter wife. Then Cavell shows up, Gerry's blackmailed into marrying the imposter shrew and the reading got much harder to stomach. Hopefully, Lynet, your next story won't veer away from me so sharply. Because you clearly have a strong creative mind and can write well. It's just creative differences between writer and reader that have lead to me basically drop this story.

I have to agree with parts of what cappyboy said. It seems like you painstakingly laid out how things were going to happen with all these girls- and then the fugitive brother shows up and this whirlwind of confusion kind of happened.

I was really lost for a minute and felt the next few chapters were really rushed, but I kept reading because I was intrigued. The suspense has mounted again and I'm interested once more. I like your writing style a lot- which I gotta say is definitely something because stories and writers I've enjoyed are few and far between.

Keep it up! And I hope I don't get sent for a loop again. lol I'll be waiting on the next installment. =]

[Lynet]

Thank you, dizzysommer. I'm well aware that my stories won't get much applause from the audience here at MTS. I was surprised by the 4-star rating although I got it before the evil brother showed up. *sigh* Win some/lose some. Anyway, I appreciate that you are hanging in there. :) I hope you won't be disappointed with the rest of it.

Part of the problem may be that when I start a story I often get bored to death with it. I started this one as a guy-meets-girl soap opera. *snore* But since I write for fun (and we're all here just for the fun of it,) there's no reason why I can't amuse myself by taking a sharp left turn and piling all sorts of troubles on the head of my hero. (I mean, seriously, has anyone here got a check in the mail for writing a story?) Gerry's troubles will get worse before they get better. But he's the good guy, my hero, and he will deal with it. And really, in the end, it's still a soap opera--all about love and relationships. :)

[Lynet]

He had gone too far, and I should have known that he would. Of course, I’d known, but had stupidly hoped that it wouldn’t happen.

Three men dead. Three men. Whether or not Clarabelle had been telling the truth about her own role in that confrontation on the cliff, what she had said about Cavell rang true. Rats. In his mind, three rats. And there would be more. Me, for one.

I stood there on the gravel of the yard, watching him as he walked down the street. I watched him until his dark form had vanished into the night. Then I went back upstairs. I wanted coffee, or something a lot stronger than coffee, although I’d settle for coffee. I’d have to be quiet about making it since Daniel’s crib was in the kitchen, which got me to wondering briefly about the apartment. I’d seen three of the rooms and they were all large, at least when compared to my house.

Stay focused, Zygmunt. Fix coffee. Then call Roberta.

I opened cupboards high and low and could not find the coffee maker. Clarabelle must have left it at the house. I did find a jar of instant. A few minutes later I had a mug of something hot to drink, not exactly coffee, but near enough, and hopefully loaded with caffeine. I sat down at the table where I could watch Daniel’s crib.

I thought about my finances. Not good. I had maybe 200 in the bank. I could be thankful, at least, that I had already paid Roberta everything I owed her. All I had to worry about was the rent for this apartment. And two kids needing clothes and food. And toys, of course. My kids had to have toys.

I pressed a hand to my aching ribcage. It would be several more weeks before the bones healed, so long as I took it easy.

Daniel stirred restlessly but didn’t wake up and I swallowed more of the coffee. OK, the money situation was bad, but not hopeless. The Cavell situation, on the other hand, was my undoing. Sure, I could keep my mouth shut, insisting that I didn’t remember enough of the incident on the cliff to accuse anyone. Then what? Eventually, the other bodies would be found. Worse, Cavell would come around asking why I wasn’t back at the house. And how long would it be before he killed someone else? And when he was caught--not if, but when--I’d be caught too, for harboring an escaped, convicted killer who had killed again.

Three men were dead, and I was just as guilty of their deaths as Cavell. Both of us were headed for prison for a long, long time, leaving Daniel and his baby brother--or sister--alone with Clarabelle. It was a grim future for us all.

The light of the rising sun woke him. He turned his head and smiled at me through the bars of his crib. I set my mug aside, went over to lift him out, and almost dropped him on the floor as my ribcage fought back, stabbing me front and back with pain. Before last night my broken ribs had been strapped so tight I could hardly breathe, but I’d left all that wrapping in the trash can when I had taken a bath. I thought about it and decided not to try to redo those bandages. I also decided not to lift Daniel into his highchair, and fixed him a bottle instead.

“Daniel,” I whispered as he took it from my hands, “no matter what happens, or where I go, I’ll be watching out for you. Remember that. Remember me.”

“What’re you talking about?” Clarabelle said from behind me. “If it’s about going back to the house, then I’m glad you’re going. It’s the only sensible thing to do.”

I stood up to face her, and saw through the window that Marylena was on the balcony walking toward our kitchen door. She wasn’t alone. Roberta was with her.

Good, I thought. Less awkward than a phone call.

“Clarabelle, we have company. Go get dressed, and take Daniel with you.”

For a moment I thought she’d fight me about it, but then she made a face of disgust, picked up Daniel and left the room. I went to the door.

[Lynet]

I opened the door wide. “Roberta, Marylena, come in and have a seat. I’m afraid I can’t offer you much. There’s instant coffee.”

Roberta paused in the doorway and looked around the kitchen, “Instant coffee? The stuff in a jar? I don’t need anything, but I can’t speak for Marylena.” She ended her study of the kitchen with a sharp glance at me. “You’re not dressed, Gerry. Why don’t you go take care of that. We’ll wait.”

“I’m fine. I’d rather get this over with.” I pulled out a chair and sat down.

Roberta blinked, then shrugged, “As you wish.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said, “although I’m surprised.”

She nodded, and sat down across the table from me. “I spoke to Greg. He says you’ve remembered what happened. I’m the sheriff, as well as the mayor, if you recall, and now it’s a murder investigation. Marylena offered to drive you up to the station, but I have to see some people down the road anyway.” She straightened up and sniffed, “Greg also said that your wife moved all the furniture here. Is that true?”

I lifted my chin, “It’s true. We’re not going back to my uncle’s property.”

Marylena looked puzzled as she wrote my statement down in her notebook.

Roberta frowned, “You’re giving it up? Your inheritance?”

“No, he’s not.” Clarabelle walked into the room with Daniel on her hip. “He’s staying at the house. Didn’t you just say that, Gerry? Don’t shake your head at me! I heard you talking to Daniel!”

“I was not talking about the house.”

Daniel squirmed in her arms and she set him down. He went for the noisy toy in the corner and began pounding on it. Clarabelle’s voice rose to a higher, louder pitch, “Yes, you were! What else could you possibly have been talking about?”

“Prison.”

“What? But you didn’t…” she stopped speaking and chewed on her lip. In the corner of the kitchen Daniel sang to himself and banged rhythmically on the metal keys of his toy.

Roberta pointed at the chair next to mine, “Sit down, Ms. Zygmunt.”

Clarabelle obeyed. I noticed that her hands were trembling.

Roberta turned to me, “Prison, Gerry? Why?” Then she held up her hand. “Don’t answer that…forget I asked. We’d best just start at the beginning. Tell me what happened on the cliff?”

“Before I tell you about that there’s something else I have to do first. Marylena, I need a sheet of paper from your notebook.”

Clarabelle was staring at me. I hoped she knew I had every intention of protecting her, and that I wanted her to keep her mouth shut.

I took the paper and the offered pen and wrote quickly. I handed the pen back to Marylena. I handed the paper to Roberta, “It’s my resignation from the police force.” She read it, folded it in thirds, and slipped it into a pocket in her jacket.

Marylena was about to protest, but Roberta stopped her. “We will discuss this later,” she said. “Now, the cliff.”

I took a deep breath, “Greg found a body below the cliff. He believes it was Ben Long. Is that true? Was it Ben?”

“It’s Ben.”

I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them and said firmly, “There are two more. They are Joe Carr and my wife’s brother, Neville Machk. Cavell Zygmunt killed them. My brother is a psychopath and extremely dangerous. He is armed. He has been in Hazelton for several months now. I know this because he has been staying at my house. I believe he is now somewhere in the resort. I saw him here last night.”

Clarabelle’s eyes were wide with shock. Under the table I put my hand on hers and squeezed it firmly, hoping to reassure her. Marylena was scribbling furiously in her notebook, and when she glanced up at me she shook her head slightly in dismay. Roberta had leaned back in her chair and looked angry. But it was Clarabelle’s face she studied, and not mine.

Still watching Clarabelle, she said, “Did you see him shoot those men?”

“Yes,” I said, and shifted in my chair, trying to get Roberta’s eyes on me instead of Clarabelle.

“Did he kick you over the cliff?”

“No. I got into a fight with those men. That must have been when one of them kicked me, but I don’t remember which one. Cavell came home, saw the fight and started shooting at all of us. I fell over the cliff trying to escape him. It happened very fast, within seconds. When Greg found Ben’s body, I started to remember, and then remembered the rest of it last night. I did not see Cavell throw the bodies over the cliff, but since he did so with Ben, I assume he did the same with the others, and that you will find them if you search below the cliff.”

“Why would he shoot you? You’ve been giving him shelter and support.”

“For the inheritance. He’s apparently decided that it will save time if I‘m dead. He’ll get the inheritance sooner, or so he thinks, but doesn’t seem to understand that he’s a fugitive and can’t claim it without me.”

“And he only recently made this decision to eliminate you?”

I shrugged and looked down at my hands, “He’s crazy.”

Roberta stood up from the table. “Officer Hamilton,” she said, “go out to your car and call for two more officers down here. I want surveillance around the clock. Don’t tell them why, not over the radio. Wait until they get here. I expect that Cavell Zygmunt is nearby and will try to finish what he started.” As Marylena left, Roberta turned to me, “I have to arrest you, Gerry, for aiding a fugitive and, I'm afraid, as an accessory to murder because of it. I am sorry you didn’t come to me immediately when he first showed up.”

“So am I. For the rest of my days, I will be sorry that I didn’t.”

“I don’t want to take you to the station for booking yet. Not at this time. If he learns that you’ve been arrested and charged, he’ll leave town. If you help us catch him, that may be in your favor when you face the judge.”

“If I’m to act as bait, then I should be back at the house.”

“No. Your original plan, and I assume he knows it, was to stay here for a while, and so you will. Everything is back to normal. You’re resting from your accident. You don’t remember anything about it.”

I was shaking my head, “You’re putting my wife and son at risk. Someone’s going to lose his head and start shooting.”

“Gerry, it’s out of your hands now and you will do what I tell you to do. I have another meeting to get to. Show me to the stairs. Quickly. Ms. Zygmunt, I think that baby needs a diaper change.”

Roberta pulled the door open and stepped out onto the balcony. Clarabelle remained in her chair, shoulders hunched, looking frightened. I could only imagine what she was thinking as she saw the future she had hoped for vanish like the foolish dream it had always been.

I followed Roberta out and closed the door softly behind me. “There’s something else,” I said, “that might help you catch Cavell.”

“And what’s that?”

“I told Clarabelle that if I forfeited my rights to the inheritance and Cavell remained a fugitive, then the next in line to inherit is Uncle Fredek’s cat. I told Clarabelle that neither she, nor her children would ever see a dime.”

Roberta laughed, “Is that true?”

“No. It’s a test. I think Clarabelle will contact Cavell. She’ll tell him that I’ve confessed everything and will be going to jail. And she’ll tell him about the cat. Cavell is just insane enough to go after that cat.”

“Is there a cat?”

“Oh, yes. It’s an ugly, scrappy thing, and Uncle Fredek did indeed leave a small trust fund for its keep, enough of a trust fund to convince his lawyer that adopting the cat had some benefits. And because the lawyer has got the cat, Cavell won’t believe a single thing the lawyer says about it, or the will. You might want to alert the police in Pleasantview.”

Roberta nodded, “I’ll do that immediately. And Gerry,” she stopped walking, her hand on the door to the stairs, “what’s his hold over you?”

She was talking about my brother, and I smiled a little, “Daniel.”

She looked past me toward the apartment at the far end of the balcony. “You could have taken them out of harm’s way at any time.”

I shook my head. “He would find us no matter where we went, because Daniel’s mother is still in love with my brother, and he with her in his own twisted way.”

“Love?” she snorted in disgust. “Neither one of them has any idea what love is. Your brother is a predator and your wife is a parasite. The best I can believe of those two is that they have a need for each other. It’s definitely not love. And make no mistake, Gerry, they don’t care a fig about you, so protecting that woman is a mistake.”

“I’m not.”

Roberta looked at me sideways as she stepped through the door to the landing, “Unfortunately, you are. And I’m afraid no one except the dead will ever really know the truth about what happened on the cliff. Make sure you aren’t one of them.”

[Lynet]

I walked slowly back to the apartment. Clarabelle was sitting at the kitchen table, but had apparently left her seat long enough to change Daniel’s diaper because I could see the dirty one on the floor next to the crib. Daniel was pounding energetically on his toy, giggling and talking to himself. I picked up the diaper, gathered the rest of the trash from around the apartment and took it out to the can at the end of the sidewalk.

It was still very early in the morning, although not too early for some of us. Marylena sat in a car parked down the road, watching me and waiting for the other officers she had called. A red pickup truck roared past, and a woman in a sweat suit jogged in place at the corner until the truck was gone, then crossed the street.

I looked away from Marylena and stared out across the sea for a few minutes, trying to imagine something I knew nothing about--life as a prisoner of the state. Day after day, year after year, I’d be eating cafeteria food, stamping out license plates, and watching my cellmate grow old…a bleak and empty life with nothing to worry about…except Daniel.

I shook my head and went back upstairs. By the time I got there, Clarabelle was all riled up and ready to fight.

She wasn’t loud. The topic was too dangerous. She glanced frequently in the direction of the open windows, almost choking on the words from the strain of keeping her voice low. She began with “Why?” and “How could you?” and “What were you thinking?” But she soon moved into the name-calling. Clarabelle’s vocabulary when angry is generally limited to the worst of the 4-letter words, but she dug deeper and called me things such as dumb-ass, blockhead, and thick-witted moron, which actually made me smile. My smile, of course, only added to her stress. In the middle of all this, I fixed another bottle for Daniel and a couple of toaster pastries for his parents. When I sat down and bit into mine, Clarabelle picked up her plate and threw it against the wall. Fortunately, she missed the window.

“Clarabelle,” I said quietly, “That’s going to get the attention of the neighbors.”

She stamped her foot and then pressed a hand to her stomach and her forehead, “I don’t feel well.”

“Sit down and eat something. You can start with the rest of my pastry. I’ll fix you another one, too.”

The room was suddenly peaceful as Clarabelle sat down and took a bite of the pastry I handed her. Daniel dropped his bottle and walked over to me, wanting attention. I took his hand and led him back to his toy. Then I heated another pastry for Clarabelle.

The landlady knocked on our door, asking if everything was OK. I assured her we were fine, just clumsy with the dishes, thanks for asking.

I sat down at the table across from my wife and watched her eat.

She glared at me, “What’s going to happen to us, Gerry? Did you think of that? Do you care?”

“With all my heart.”

“Then why did you tell the police about Cavell?” she snapped. “It wasn’t even true, what you told them.”

“It fit the facts and they’ll accept it as the truth.”

“But he didn’t…” she paused.

“Didn’t what, Sweetheart?”

She blinked several times as the gears in her brain spun rapidly, sorting through all the lies. “He didn’t shoot at you. He never would.”

“He shot the others, including your brother. He’ll kill again, and I have to stop him.”

“If he does, then it’s all your fault for screwing everything up. All we wanted was the money. That’s all. Why couldn‘t you just stay in the house and get us the money.” She lowered her head into her hands, worn out by her anger.

I got up from the table, “Time for you to lie down for a while, and for me to get dressed. I hope the guy who left those clothes in your cupboard doesn’t mind if your husband borrows them.”

To my surprise, she actually blushed.

[Lynet]

I spent the day making the most of my time with Daniel. We played with his toys, read books together, and took a walk across the street to watch the waves on the sand. He laughed at the seagulls strutting on the pier and at the shells that I dug up from the sand.

The day had to end, of course, and as the sun set I gave him a bath and put him to bed.

Clarabelle spent most the afternoon either sleeping or watching TV. The bulge of her pregnancy was more obvious now, and she had given up the effort to hide it. She also made it clear that she considered the condition a monstrous imposition.

I did not bother to point out that Daniel and the new baby were part of her own efforts to get the inheritance. I just put her dinner on the table in front of her.

“Pork chops?” she moaned. “I’m so tired of pork chops.”

“The freezer is full of them.”

She sighed and started to cut into it. “They’re cheap around here, especially if I buy them in bulk. I want to go out to dinner tomorrow night. Rachelle’s is right next door.”

“We can’t afford that place, but there’s another restaurant down the street. We’ll go there.”

“I want a fancy dinner at Rachelle’s.”

“No.”

“Stupid,” she mumbled. “I need some air. I’m going outside for a few minutes.”

While she was gone, I tried reading, but only stared at the pages. I tried the TV. It did no better at keeping my attention. Giving up on those distractions, I went outside to look for her. I had expected to find her down in the yard sitting at the chess table under the tree. It was the only place to sit down, other than the landlady’s bench, which the landlady and her husband already occupied as they quietly enjoyed the evening breeze. They saw me looking around and guessed why. The landlady was an elderly woman with a kind face, and she nodded, smiled and pointed to the far end of the building. I waved my understanding and walked toward the small parking lot and the door to the stairs that I had just come through only a few minutes ago. I hadn’t seen Clarabelle then, nor heard her talking, but I did now. She was out of sight around the corner of the building, talking to someone in a quick, low voice.

“…no…stop it! Don’t be stupid. I’m telling you he wasn’t joking! No! How many times… Shut up and listen… Shut up! How many times do I have to say this? I CAN’T take care of it! YOU have to take care of it! Right away! OK, good. Good idea. Keep that in mind. When Zissi gets the money, then we…that’s right.”
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%206/700ClarabelleWithCellphone.jpg
She saw me and snapped the phone shut.

I said, “You were gone a long time. I was getting worried.”

“What’s to worry about? I just wanted some air.”

“And a phone call. Who’s Zissi?”

“Someone who owes me a lot. I’ll introduce you sometime. I want something else to eat. I think there’s orange juice left.” She turned away but I caught her arm and pulled her around.

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t get in any deeper.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You will be alone with these two children, Clarabelle. Neville’s gone. Cavell and I will soon be gone. Then it will be just you, all alone, with Daniel and this one.” I laid a hand on her stomach. She jerked back but I grabbed both of her arms and pulled her hard against me until my face was close to hers, our lips almost meeting. I did not kiss her. “There’s a reward on Cavell’s head, my dear,” I whispered. “It’s not much, but it will support all of you for a while, so long as you stay out of trouble.”

Her eyes narrowed and she tried to pull free of me but I tightened my grip on her arms. When she winced I forced myself to relax a little. It wasn’t easy, I was so enraged. Slowly I raised the fingers of one hand to her lips, stroking them gently. Both of us were breathing hard but she had stopped trying to escape me. “Do not…” I said slowly, “help him. You get the reward only if Cavell is caught and goes back to jail.”

She made a sound in her throat, a faint groan, but she didn’t say anything.

My fingers moved away from her mouth, slid lightly down under her chin and closed on her neck. She kept still, staring through me, waiting. So I kissed her, long and rough. I was not surprised when she gave it right back, her hands rising to hold my head against hers. It was, after all, the only path she knew to any end that she wanted. After a few moments, the strange and loveless passion subsided. We leaned away from each other and stood like that for another minute, face to face, lost in our private miseries.

Then she stepped carefully out of my arms, and shook her head, “I don’t understand you, Gerry. I never will, and I can’t be bothered to try anymore.” She turned around and walked away.

As she disappeared around the corner of the building, I muttered, “Now that’s really funny, Clarabelle, because I was just thinking exactly the same thing about you.”

[Lynet]

I dreamed of hornets, an angry nest of them in front of my face, and woke suddenly to the realization that it was my cellphone buzzing, not hornets. After one attempt to open my eyes to the glare of the early morning light, I squeezed them shut again as I tried to locate the vibrating phone in the tangle of my clothes. I was still wearing them. I’d fallen asleep on the couch.

The phone slid free of my shirt and landed on the floor. I fumbled for it and pressed it to my ear, “’Lo?” I cleared my throat, “Hello?”

“Wake up, Gerry! This is Roberta and I’m a couple of blocks away from you. We’ll be there in five minutes. Your wife there?”

“Not up yet. What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Six-thirty, maybe. Put some coffee on.” She hung up.

I slid the phone into a pocket and rubbed at my eyes. Then I stood up and went to check on Daniel. He was awake, standing in his crib, and he waved his arms like a bird when he saw me.

“Hey, Dan,” I said, grinning. “What’s up with you? Sleep well?”

“Sleep well,” he repeated. “Sleep well! Sleep well!”

I lowered the side of his crib and then got down on my knees in front of it to help him out. Much easier on my sore ribs that way. Then I fixed him a bottle. He was apparently much amused by the idea of kneeling and tried walking on his knees to his blocks in the corner of the kitchen. The blocks, however, turned out to be far more attractive than even knee-walking so he was soon on his feet again, moving faster. The knock on the kitchen door did not distract him from his goal.

I opened the door to Roberta, Greg and Marylena. This, I thought, is a bad sign. They’ve caught Cavell and now it’s my turn. Resigned to it, I said, “Do you really want that coffee? It’s just instant.”

Roberta nodded, “Yes, I do. Haven’t had a single dose of caffeine this morning and I’m desperate. Put the pot on. Then go get your wife.”

I turned on the burner under the pot. It was already full of water. “Do I really need to wake her now? Can’t it wait until we’re ready to go?” I glanced up at the three officers of the law. Roberta stood by the table. Marylena stood just inside the door, as if standing guard. Greg was looking around the living room but not touching anything. They all looked grim. Not a smile between them.

Roberta frowned, puzzled, then snorted in disgust, “Go and wake your wife, Gerry. It’s important.”

I didn’t like it. I didn’t like that the three of them had shown up at dawn and insisted on seeing Clarabelle. “What’s this about, Roberta? What’s happened?”

Roberta looked over at Marylena, “Go and get that woman out of bed, right now. Gerry’s going to fix our coffee.” She turned back to me, “Is that water boiling already? Then it’s a better stove than mine. Greg and I take it black. I think you need some, too.”

I turned my back on them, trying to calm down as I got mugs and the jar of coffee powder out of the cupboard.

Marylena came back into the kitchen, “She’s gone, Roberta. Looks like she packed her things in a hurry.”

I spun around, dropping the jar of coffee, “What? No!” I bent to start picking up the broken glass. Daniel was still banging on his blocks and hadn‘t sighted the mess I’d made on the floor. “She’s not gone,” I insisted. “She must be out getting some air, taking a walk. She’ll be back in a minute, when she‘s tired and hungry.” I opened the cabinet under the sink searching for a dustpan. Nothing. “Dammit, where’s the dustpan.” I opened other cabinets.

I heard Roberta tell Greg to take the baby into the living room and keep him occupied. I heard her tell Marylena to go call in a search for Clarabelle Zygmunt and on her way back to ask the landlady for a broom and dustpan. I heard her tell me to sit down.

This time, I did what she told me.

[Lynet]

The kitchen was suddenly quiet. Roberta sat down across the table from me. She said, “Feeling a little confused this morning, Gerry?”

I looked up from my hands, “Why are you here like this, in force, if not to arrest me? What’s Clarabelle got to do with it?”

“Everything. Frankly, I was surprised and relieved when you answered your phone this morning. I was certain we’d find you dead on the floor. You are one very lucky fellow.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Are you sure you don’t have a real coffee maker and a can of coffee around here?”

“Roberta…please…”

“Damn this caffeine addiction. It’ll be the death of me one day. Don‘t mean to keep you in suspense, Gerry, but I’m waiting for Marylena to get back before we talk. Gives you a little more time to sober up, too.”

“I’m not drunk. Just tired.”

Roberta sighed, “She slipped you something. It’s obvious. Nothing worse than sleeping pills, I’d guess. According to Neville Machk the plan has always been to kill you, so she must have changed her mind.”

Marylena came inside just then, carrying a broom and dustpan, which she set carefully in the corner before joining us at the table.

“Neville?” I blinked, trying to clear my head. “Who told you what Neville was thinking?”

“Machk told us everything and then some. The man has no spine at all.”

I started shaking my head, “But he was shot. Cavell threw him off the cliff. Wait…wait a minute. He survived that? Like me? Then you can’t believe anything he tells you. He doesn’t know.”

Roberta leaned forward, peering closely at my face, “You told us that you remembered what happened, Gerry. Do you remember? Or not?”

I rubbed at my face with both hands, and decided that the truth, or at least part of it, was easier. “I remember enough. I remember that Neville was holding Daniel at the edge of the cliff and that two other guys were holding my arms. And I remember falling. But I don’t have to remember anything about my brother. I don’t even have to think about it. I know him too well. He’s crazy and murderous, and when Greg found Ben Long’s body, I knew what must have happened. It was the only explanation. Besides, he told me himself…”

“What did he tell you? Marylena, you getting all of this?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Roberta turned to me, “Word for word, Gerry. What did he say?”

“He said he didn’t kill them, that he didn’t kill people, but that he killed rats all the time. So I knew he‘d done it, that they were all dead. You have to appreciate Cavell’s outlook. To him, we’re all rats.”

Roberta leaned back in her chair, looking suddenly sad, “Not all of us. Just the police, and prison guards. I’ve had some correspondence with the warden where your brother was in prison. Apparently, Cavell always referred to anyone in uniform as a rat that he intended to kill one day. Bragged about it. He almost succeeded last night when his gang tried to rob the bank here in town.”

My insides knotted. I held my breath.

“The bank’s security guard,” Roberta continued, “is recovering from a beating. One officer who responded to the alarm was hit by a bullet in the leg. Three gang members are in custody. One is dead, your brother. I’m sorry, Gerry. The best I can say is that it could have been a lot worse. There were no hostages, for instance. It was just a clumsy attempt by idiots to rob a very secure bank.”

“It’s not possible. He wouldn’t have been so stupid.”

“Stupid or not, he was there. And I guess he thought himself invincible, because he came charging out the front door of the bank shooting off his gun. Officers on the scene had no choice.”

I stood up from the table and walked toward the living room where I could see Daniel in Greg’s lap watching cartoons on the TV. Greg glanced my way and shrugged wearily. I turned around, went back to the table and sat down again. It was difficult to believe my brother was dead. Not Cavell. He had always been there, a destructive force of nature, and I could not imagine life without the threat of his return, any more than I could imagine life without thunderstorms.

I took a deep breath, “I want to see him.”

“Certainly. He’s in the morgue.”

“Then it’s over. You really did come here to arrest me.”

“Not you, Gerry. We have a warrant for the arrest of Ramona Clarabella Filomena Cesaro Machk.”

“No! What are thinking? Leave her alone, Roberta! She has…had no control over Cavell, no more than I did. It’s just me you want. I’m responsible. Not Clarabelle.”

“Taken in, weren’t you, like all of them. So was I. No, we’re going to arrest her for the murder of Ben Long and Joe Carr, and for the attempted murder of you.”

“I don’t believe it. None of it! If it’s her brother that’s telling you all of this, well, you said it yourself; he’s a spineless fool who will say anything to save himself, even against his own sister.”

“She’s not his sister, Gerry. She’s his wife.”

[Lynet]

I know, I know. :wtf:

It's gotten even more confusing than it was before. I swear that Roberta's going to sort it all out.

(I'm planning to get chapters up more quickly. Spring is here and it's hard to stay indoors in front of a computer.)

[dizzysommer]

Whoawhoawhoa. Wtf, over. Lol crazy! I thought there was something strange about the brother-sister thing! And she killed everyone! Sheesh. You have me so wrapped up in this story now.

[Lynet]

I slowly shook my head, “She was Cavell’s wife. She divorced Cavell and married me.”

I was not going to accept any of this without more proof than the word of Neville Machk. I was not even going to accept my brother’s death until I saw the body for myself, until I lay my hand on the cold flesh of his chest and felt nothing.

Marylena had risen from the table and now set a mug of coffee in front of Roberta. Roberta lifted the mug and swallowed some of it, grimacing at the smell and the taste. She glanced at Marylena, “Where’d you get the coffee?”

“Landlady had a jar.”

“Thank goodness. I thought you spooned it off the floor.”

Marylena rolled her eyes and set a mug in front of me. I didn’t touch it. My arms rested on the table, one of them in a cast, and I thought about the clothes I was wearing, the clothes I had borrowed from the man who left them in the bedroom wardrobe. Were they Neville’s clothes?

Roberta sniffed, “Gerry, I want you to come into the station with us now. I have the evidence about your wife to show you, and we can get your statement written up. The morgue is behind the police station, so we can take care of the identification of the body as well. And there’s a good chance we’ll be on hand when they find her, your wife. She can‘t have gotten far. This peninsula is bigger than most people imagine when they set out to leave it.”

I looked away from the sleeve on my arm toward Daniel. He was on the floor now, walking back and forth picking up his toy blocks and handing them to Greg. Greg accepted each of them with a very serious look on his face, examined it closely, and then nodded to Daniel, who went off for another.

Roberta watched the exchange of blocks and said, “I’m sure the landlady won’t mind sitting with the baby for the afternoon while we take care of this business.”

“And who will sit with him for the rest of his life? Who will tell him, when he asks, and he will ask someday, why both his father and his mother are in jail?” I turned angrily around toward Roberta, “He’ll be looking for her. He needs her.”

Roberta snapped, “No baby needs an unstable parent like that woman. He needs you, Gerry, not her, so pull yourself together. You’ve got five minutes to clean yourself up before we go down to the station. Move! Now!”

I glared at her, swallowing a thousand angry words, then stood up and headed out of the room.

“Gerry!”

I stopped, but didn’t look around.

“I intend to do everything I can to keep you out of prison, but I will not tolerate any screwball notions you might get about running away with that baby.”

I forced myself to breathe evenly as I left the room. If she already suspected my thoughts about escaping, then it was going to be a lot more difficult. But what choice did I have? Would I allow my son to be raised by strangers? Never!

[Lynet]

The police force of Strangers’ Moon had 18 officers in total, including Roberta, the Sheriff. Considering the size of the land area they had to cover, that’s not very many. A larger force, however, had never been necessary, since crime on the peninsula was rare, and when it did happen, it usually involved gambling and Joe Carr’s gang of loan sharks. The gang preyed on the idiots who believed that the very next bet would yield the big win, which it never did, and, inevitably, some of them ran into the kind of trouble that put them in the hospital. Rumors had circulated for years, none proven, that Carr’s gang had ties to organized crime in the bigger towns to the north. New rumors on top of the old suggested that hit men had been sent to do the awful deed of murder because Joe had been caught skimming the profits.

Roberta had no patience with any of these rumors. “Hit men? Skimming? Someone’s been watching too many of those old gangster movies. Joe was a local thug picking the pockets of the tourists and that’s it.”

During my own brief career as a patrolman, I’d stopped a couple of fistfights and had investigated a burglary (caught him,) a prowler (never found,) and vandalism. Murder, however, was a crime that didn’t happen on the peninsula, so yes indeed, the murder of two men was a shock. The local news channel in Chesterport had interviewed an army of big city psychologists, sociologists, religious leaders, economists, politicians, and legal experts, looking for opinions and finding plenty. All of them debated the pros and cons of small town life on an isolated finger of land as if that had anything to do with the murder of two men. Somehow, they managed to imply that it did.

My own connection to the crime, I knew, would make Daniel’s life here more difficult. There would always be questions about his parents that he would have to face. “Hey, Dude,” some joker in school would say, “your mother out of prison yet? Or your Dad?” It was even possible that he’d be confronted by some bored reporter looking for a new twist on old news. To save him from all of this, I’d have to take him north at least as far as Pleasantview, and probably further, maybe even to Strangetown. We needed to get lost in a big, faraway, crowd of people. The question remained--how could I manage it? It occupied all my thoughts on the long drive up the highway to the police station.

When we got there, we found Sergeant Tellerman alone in the office. The other officers on the day shift were out in their cruisers, doing routine circuits through the small neighborhoods and around the empty highways of a sparsely populated peninsula.

As we walked into the station, Tellerman waved at Roberta, “Machk’s been asking for you. I think he’s got more to confess.”

“Give him some paper and a pencil and keep an eye on him in case he thinks he can do something with a pencil that we haven’t thought of yet.”

Tellerman nodded and left the room.

Roberta motioned me to a chair next to another desk, “Have a seat, Gerry.”

Greg moved toward a second door, the one that I knew led to a long hall and the morgue. “I’ll go tell Dr. Cox that we’re here.”

“No rush, Greg. Gerry and I will be about an hour with this statement.”

Marylena sat down at another of the desks and began typing. The station phone rang and she picked it up, “Hazelton police.” After listening for a moment, she said, “Yes” and “That’s right” and “We’ll be here.” She hung up, exchanged a look with Roberta, nodded slightly and then went back to her typing.

Roberta sank wearily into her chair, rubbed briefly at her eyes and then hit a few keys on her own computer. “It’s been a long night, Gerry. I haven’t been to bed yet, so make this easy for us both. I’m exhausted and I don’t want to fool around trying to figure out whether you’re telling me the truth. The sooner we’re done here, the sooner you can get back to your baby.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Start at the beginning. What’s the last thing that you remember before the day on the cliff?”

“I remember,” I offered slowly, “that I came home from work late in the evening. Marylena dropped me off. I put Daniel to bed and then talked with Clarabelle about her shopping at the resort.”

Roberta typed quickly, and I thought she was about to ask me what we did next, but she only sniffed. “How long was she down at the resort?”

“Not long. Just one night. She needed a break. I told her to go shopping.”

“Good. Now, what’s the next thing you remember?”

“Exactly what I told you the first time. Cavell showed up and started shooting at everyone. That’s my statement.”

Roberta raised her hand and brought her fist down angrily on the desk, “Enough, Gerry! I thought you understood the situation. That woman, who is NOT your wife, is going to prison for a long time, and there is not a damn thing you can do to stop it. So the only issue facing you now, the ONLY thing you have to decide, is whether you are going to go with her. If you care anything at all for that little boy…”

“He’ll want to know why I couldn’t save her, why I couldn't save his mother.”

Roberta stared at me, her jaw muscles knotting.
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Finally, she said, “If you go to prison I will personally see that Daniel grows up in a good home. It might even be mine. We will take care of him, Gerry. He’ll be OK. But if he does ask that question about his mother, the answer would be better coming from you, and not from me. If you insist on throwing yourself on the sword, think carefully about your reasons. It will affect your son for the rest of his life.”

[Lynet]

I heard the door open and shut behind me. Greg was back. “Dr. Cox is ready for you, Roberta. Anytime.”

“Thanks, Greg.” She took a deep breath, picked up a folder on the desk and after glancing at the label, handed it to me. “Let’s get something straight about Miss Clarabelle before we do anything else. Maybe then, I’ll get the truth. These are the papers we’ve gotten from Strangetown on Filomena Cesaro Machk, also known as Ramona Zygmunt and Clarabelle Zygmunt. Make no mistake, Gerry, they are all the same woman. We’ve got the fingerprints to prove it. Open the folder. That‘s right. Now take a close look at the paper on top. It’s a marriage certificate for her marriage to Neville Machk. You may find this hard to believe, but some jurisdictions actually require formal documentation, with witnesses, for births, deaths, marriages and divorces. Her maiden name, as you can see, is Cesaro. It was not easy to get any of this information. I had several lawyers and an entire army of bureaucrats up north looking for proof that she divorced that man. She never did. The two of them have moved around under the radar for a long time. Small time stuff, I gather. Minor swindles. Until now.”

I lowered the paper and closed my eyes.

Roberta continued speaking, her voice calmer now, “We don’t know for sure how they got involved with your brother, but they did, and found out about the inheritance.”

“Zissi…” I mumbled.

“There’s a child by that name living with Clarabelle’s mother. The birth certificate reads Zissi Cesaro Zygmunt. She may be Cavell’s child. I don’t know. According to Machk, the plan was to eliminate you and Cavell so that Zissi inherited the property and the Zygmunt estate. The other children, Daniel and the one not yet born, have always been just part of the backup plan for that inheritance. This is according to Machk, you understand. Of the two of them, I suspect that he’s the one with the lowest IQ, although she’s not far behind. Think about this, Gerry. She hasn’t seen that child, Zissi, for years. She’ll walk away from Daniel just as quickly. She already has.”

I closed the folder and handed it back to her. “I’d like to see Cavell now.”

Roberta rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Fine. We’ll do that. Then I’ll decide what to do with you. Jail, probably, while I get a good night‘s sleep, because I am too angry to trust you and too tired to keep fighting for the truth.”

[Lynet]

The police station is a one-story concrete block building with no basement and no attic, which leaves only the dimly lit hallway between the offices and the morgue for the storage of unwanted furniture. Mixed in with those empty desks and broken chairs are the file cabinets and dusty boxes of casework from years long past. Nothing, apparently, is ever thrown away. As Sergeant Deppiesse has often said, “Too many secrets to be left blowing in the wind at the local dump.”
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I had never paid much attention to that hallway until I followed Roberta through the clutter from the past. It seemed a fitting path to the dead, especially for me, a policeman in disgrace. But, it was more than that. Each step brought me closer to something too difficult to imagine. I shook my head and forced myself to think of Daniel, of his warm weight in my arms this morning. Thoughts of him in my arms led inevitably to thoughts of his mother in my arms, and the exotic scent of her perfume as I kissed her in the dark. Was that two nights ago? I almost smiled as I thought back to her visit with me in the hospital, the proud sway of her hips, and the lift of her chin. She was so confident of her appeal to all men. She had come wrapped in a cloud of that same perfume, bringing a brief and welcome relief from the horrible smells of the hospital. Christy and Tina had been at the hospital, too, just a day before the innocent routine of their lives was lost for all time. As was mine. I would never have another winter in my stone house, listening night after night to the hiss of the falling snow, the soft sound that had always reminded me of the snow on the windows of the house where I grew up, and where Cavell had lived for a little while.

Cavell, I thought angrily, you miserable son-of-a-bitch! So many times I wished you dead. I wanted to be free of you. And now I am, forever.

The images raced through my head, the images of my life and his, and I was surprised at the sadness and regret that tightened in my chest. I had expected to feel relief. I did not. Not yet. But I would.

The hall ended at a door into a small waiting room. Across from us, another door led to the outside world, since the families of victims in the morgue were not expected to walk through the cluttered hallway. Roberta pushed on a door in the left wall and we entered another small hallway, this one without clutter.
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She led me to a second door and showed me into a tiny room with two men in it. One of them lay stretched out under a thin sheet on a long, steel tray. The man under the sheet didn’t move. He should have. The sheet was thin and the room was icy cold.

The other man moved, however. He was upright, wrapped snuggly in a starched white coat, shirt and tie, and he nodded to us as, without a word, he pulled the sheet away from the head of the man in the tray. I wanted to say, “Don’t you have any blankets for him? It‘s freezing in here.” But I swallowed the idiotic words unsaid.

Then the man in the white coat, followed by Roberta, left me alone in the room with the man who didn’t move.
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I hardly noticed what they did. As much as I had tried to be ready for this moment, it was still a shock and I was having some trouble breathing. I moved closer to the quiet form in the steel tray.

His head, his shoulder, an arm and his hand lay exposed above the sheet. I reached out slowly and gripped his cold right hand. Even if the sunken cheeks and gaping mouth had not convinced me he was dead, the feel of his hand did. It was all I needed. It was over. I turned around and walked out into the passage where I spent no more than 5 minutes discussing burial arrangements with Dr. Cox and Roberta.
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If the funeral director would let me know when he planned to put Cavell in the ground I’d be there and pay the bill, but otherwise, there would be no service. Cavell had been an evil man, and his untimely end in the act of robbing a bank could not have been a surprise to anyone who knew him. There was no point in pretending that anyone cared what happened to his soul.

[Lynet]

I have to stop for a second and say thanks (!!!) to all the gifted creators here at MTS and some other sites where I've found downloads. The game would not be so much fun to play, and I would not have all these pictures for the story, without you.

[Lynet]

When we returned to the front office, I asked Roberta if we were done. I wanted to go home to Daniel.

“Not yet. I’m still waiting for you to give me a statement that I can believe. But I also want to see the expression on Machk’s face when he sees you walking, talking and very much alive.”

“Me? I’m surprised that he is. Cavell shot him in the back. And Cavell is…” I paused, stumbling over the idea of referring to Cavell in the past tense, “was…a crack shot.”

“Shot him in the back? First time I’ve heard that. It’s not in your statement.” She moved to her desk, pushed some papers aside, picked one of them up, and read, “ ‘…Cavell came home, saw the fight and started shooting at all of us. I fell over the cliff trying to escape him. It happened very fast, within seconds...’ ” She looked up from the paper, eyebrows raised expectantly. “You want to add to that, Gerry?”

Marylena and Greg were both watching me as intently as Roberta was. Damn them all, I needed to get away from those eyes. I needed time to think. “No,” I shook my head impatiently, confused. “I don’t want to add anything to that. I’ve just seen the dead body of my brother, Roberta, and I want to go home to my son. It‘s been a bad morning.”

Roberta, however, was relentless. “She spun a yarn for you, didn’t she, about Cavell shooting everyone. I’ll bet she went through an entire box of tissue in the telling of it…those poor men, and her poor dear brother, shot in the back by your…”

“Stop it!”

“Joe and Ben are definitely dead, but Machk is in good shape. No bullet wounds. No broken bones. In short, Gerry, she lied to you.”

I pressed a hand to my aching ribcage, then lowered it angrily, “None of this makes any SENSE! Why would she go through this whole charade of a marriage if all she planned to do was kill me so that Cavell’s child would inherit? Explain that to me, Roberta! Why would she trick me, lie to me, and have my baby? It would have been a lot easier to kill me right at the beginning when I had no idea of who they were or what they wanted.”

Roberta looked away from my face at last as she put down the paper she was holding. Her voice was quiet when she turned back to me, “Good question, Son. Let’s go find out. They’re in the back.”

“Who’s in the back?”

“Both of them, Neville and his very pregnant bride. Abjiheet arrested Ms. Machk in Chesterport a little over an hour ago as she boarded the DeWitt, a freighter bound for Strangetown. They got here while we were in the morgue”

I lowered my head with a groan. The morning had started badly and was getting horribly worse with every minute that passed. I had pinned one final, remote hope on the thought that Clarabelle had only gone for a walk this morning and would be back home with Daniel when I got there.

Why did I care anymore? She had made a fool of me at every turn. I didn’t love her. In fact, I didn’t even like her. Obviously, I should just let her face the judge alone. But…no! How could I do that to Daniel’s mother? Some day he would see a picture of her, a beautiful woman, and want to know about her. What could I say to him? How could he possibly understand when I couldn't understand it myself. What the hell was wrong with her? How could she look into his face and not want to be there through all the years of his life?

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up. It was Greg, “Best way out of a bad situation is to go through it head on. Let’s get this done. Then I’ll take you back to Daniel and some breakfast.”

I nodded wearily.

[Lynet]

I heard them before I saw them. They were quarreling, shouting at each other in the interrogation room. I could hear it even through the closed door. Komei stood by the glass, watching them with his arms crossed, keeping an eye on them, but nothing more.

He relaxed, however, and turned around when he heard us come into the anteroom.

Roberta said, “Did you tell them we’re recording this?”
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“Yup. Ms. Machk said she had nothing to hide. Neville said she was right about that because he’s already told us what she’s done. She demanded to know what he’d said because it was probably all lies. It escalated from there. The recorder is still running. Prosecutor’s going to have a field day with that tape.”

I looked around the anteroom quickly, trying to remember where the detectives kept the recording equipment, and made a move toward the cabinet in the corner. Komei blocked my path, “No need to check on it, Gerry. It’s working just fine.”

“Get her a lawyer.” I turned on Roberta, “I’ll pay for it. Go call one right now.”

“All right, Gerry. I’ll call one. While I do that, I want you to go in there and ask your question.”

I didn’t need to hear it twice.

Neville was sitting down, leaning back in the chair with his hands behind his head, giving no indication that he faced a long prison sentence. Every now and then he’d yell out, “Shut up! I’m sick of your complaining. Put a cork in it!” Or words to that effect.

Clarabelle had her back to me and was waving her arms wildly, telling him how stupid he was and how he had ruined everything. All he had to do was kill a cat. How hard can that be? Just a CAT!

“You set me up, you bitch! They were waiting for me, the police, when I got there.”

“I never set you up. You must have tripped an alarm, you clumsy, useless pile of…”

Neville's chair crashed to the floor when he saw me, and he scrambled to his feet, screaming, “What’s he doing here? You killed him! You told me he was dead, that you poisoned him and his kid…”
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Clarabelle spun around and threw herself into my arms, weeping, “Gerry! I’m so glad you’re here. Get me out of this horrible place. Take me home.”

I carefully untangled her arms from around my neck and held her away from me. I hardly recognized her. She had colored her hair black and cut it raggedly. She had also washed all traces of makeup from her face, and looked tired.
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I said, “I’ve told Roberta to call a lawyer for you. Until one gets here, don’t say another word. You are clearly upset and hysterical and not saying anything that makes any sense.”

Neville came up behind her, hands raised as if he meant to choke the life out of her. I pushed her to the side but Komei was faster and shoved the man backwards and into another chair.

“That’s bullshit!” Neville yelled at me, pointing at Clarabelle. “If she hasn’t poisoned you yet, she will, and that brat of yours, too. Don’t kid yourself, Zygmunt. She hates your guts.”

Clarabelle was sobbing, “Don’t say those things, Neville! Don’t be like this. Why are you telling all these lies about me?” She tried to move against me again but I pushed her away and went around to the other side of the table. “Gerry, please,” she pressed her hands to her belly, “I don’t feel well. I should go to the clinic. If the baby comes too early, if it’s born now, it could die.” She leaned forward over her stomach and swayed.

She really did not look well. I started to go to her but Roberta was suddenly there, pulling out a chair and pushing Clarabelle down into it. “Greg,” she yelled over her shoulder, “Go get Dr. Cox. Tell him to bring his bag and get in here. This lady might--or might not--need his attention.”

Clarabelle looked up in surprise, “You have a doctor here?”

“He’s not a doctor!” I said. “He’s the coroner! Roberta, we should take her down to the clinic.”

“A CORONER!” Clarabelle shrieked. “I don’t want a freaking coroner to touch me! GERRY!” She tried to stand up, but Roberta held her down.

“He’s a licensed M.D.” Roberta snapped as she kept a heavy hand on Clarabelle’s shoulder, holding her in place, “Believe me, he knows how to listen for a heartbeat.”

Clarabelle’s sobbing had turned into loud wailing. I shouted at Roberta, just to be heard, “We can’t risk…”

“I promise you, Gerry,” she shouted back at me, “that if he says we need to take her to the clinic, we will. Now relax and have a seat yourself.”

At that moment, the room went quiet as Clarabelle fainted, slumping against Roberta‘s arm. Neville stirred in his chair and snickered, “She’s good, isn’t she. Best I‘ve ever seen. Gotta love her.”

[dizzysommer]

Oh you tricky, tricky person. Cutting us all off like that. So much suspense.

[Lynet]

This time, Roberta could not stop me and she didn’t try. I shouldered her aside and lifted Clarabelle’s limp, awkward weight out of the chair. There was a holding cell on the other side of the anteroom, opposite the interrogation room. I put her down on the cot and was arranging the pillow behind her head when Dr. Cox showed up.

“She fainted,” I said unnecessarily. The woman was clearly out cold.

“What’s her name,” he said, as he moved quickly and efficiently to examine her.

“Clarabelle.”

He called her by name several times as he leaned close to lift her eyelids and press the end of his stethoscope to her chest and then to the bulge of her stomach. She stirred and grimaced, then moaned. Dr. Cox sighed and patted her hand, “What did you eat for breakfast this morning, Clarabelle?” He wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm.

She sniffed, “He didn’t give me time to eat, although I begged him to. He said he had to bring me here first. Ouch. That’s too tight. Loosen it up, will you! I‘m tired, Doctor. I want to go home and rest.”

He studied the readings on the gauge, then removed the cuff and put it away in his bag. “Rest here for now. I’ll have them bring you something to eat. You have clearly exhausted yourself. I want you to stay in bed, eat and rest for the next couple of days.”

“At home,” she added pointedly.

“That’s up to Sheriff Clayton.” He stood up, handed his bag to Greg, and spoke to Roberta, “Both heartbeats are strong. Blood pressure is good. However, she needs to eat and rest. What’s going on here?”

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“She’s under arrest, Kennedy. We caught her trying to get on a ship in Chesterport, so she’s a flight risk. I have to keep her here until Judge Leverton arrives next week. Are you sure that she’s OK.”

“I’m NOT!” Clarabelle said.

“As far as I can tell,” he scratched at his chin. “You might want to get her own doctor to take a look at her.”

I sat down on the edge of the cot as the coroner and Roberta walked out of the cell, still talking. Clarabelle would not meet my eyes, not at first.

“Why?” I said. “Why did you run away? Where were you going?”

“Back to Strangetown,” she lifted her chin defiantly, but kept her eyes toward the wall on her left.

“Why?”

“To see my mother.”

“And your daughter, maybe? Zissi, right?”

“That’s right. So, you found out about her. Good for you.”

“I found out about you and Neville, too. You and I aren’t really married, Sweetheart.”

Her head snapped around and she glared at me. “I tried to divorce him. He fought it every time. I LOATHE that wretched little man.”

“Did Cavell know you were married to Neville?”

“No, but he won’t care about that.”

I realized that she didn’t know he was dead.

I said gently, “Did you hear about the bank robbery?”

She shrugged and studied the wall again, “I haven’t had time to see the news. I don’t know about any bank robbery.”

“I’m sorry, Clarabelle. I thought someone here would have told you. Cavell died last night when he tried to rob a bank.”

“No,” she shook her head angrily, “You’re lying!” But she saw the truth in my eyes, and her head rolled suddenly back on the pillow as her mouth opened wide in a silent scream. For a moment, I feared she would pass out again, and then her breath returned in shuddering sobs. I put my arms around her as she cried, and knew her grief was real.

[Lynet]

I felt a hand touch my shoulder and looked up at Roberta. She said, “Kennedy will sit with her. I want to see you in the interrogation room.”

I released Clarabelle and she rolled away from me to face the wall, still crying, but not convulsively. I stood up from the cot as Dr. Cox took my place. He had a can of juice in his hand and started talking to her about drinking some juice. She mumbled something I couldn’t hear. Roberta grabbed my elbow and pulled me away.

“Let’s go, Gerry. He can handle it better than you can. I want Neville to tell you what he told us about the murders on the cliff.”

“I can’t help you, Roberta. Is Clarabelle’s lawyer here yet?”

“Any minute now. You’re not going anywhere until you hear this. He likes the sound of his own voice and has a lot to say. ”

“I won’t believe any of it, so what’s the point.”

“May jog your memory. Does that worry you? What‘s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m coming.” But I moved stiffly. I’d forgotten, again, that I should not have been lifting anything heavy, especially a pregnant woman. My ribs were killing me. It felt like my chest was on fire, which reminded me of the dream I’d had when first unconscious in the hospital, about the house burning. I rubbed at my eyes, trying to rid myself of that memory.

As soon as we got into the interrogation room, I sat down directly across from Neville and fixed him with an angry glare. Everything, I told myself, absolutely everything, led back to this man sitting here in front of me.

Roberta sat down next to me. Komei and Greg remained standing, leaning casually against the wall.

Roberta said to everyone in the room, but mostly to me, “Before I have Neville tell his side, I’m going to tell you what the police have on the murder. In other words, this is the evidence, plain and simple, without opinion as to what it means. First, of course, there is you, Gerry, found on the cliff road, unconscious and seriously hurt from a fall and a beating. That evidence is supported by the hospital files.

“Then we find two dead men below the same cliff, much further down than where we found you. One body was reduced almost entirely to bones, thanks to animal life around the cliff, but still had evidence of a bullet wound to the head. The bullet was not there. Using dental records we identified this body as that of Ben Long.

“The remains of the second body contained significantly more tissue due to a slide of loose rock that covered it shortly after it landed on a ledge. Mother Nature’s thoughtful burial protected it from most of the larger scavengers, so we had more to work with. Dental records proved we had Joe Carr’s remains. We also found the bullet that probably killed him. It was lodged in the cervical vertebrae--that’s the neck area of the backbone--and had gone through from the front of the body. It’s difficult to say exactly where it entered the body. Might have been through the soft tissue of the mouth or the throat. No way to know more than that, based on what’s left of the body, unless someone confesses to doing it.

“But, we have the bullet. It’s from a .25 caliber Corvine handgun. We know that because we also have the gun.”

I sat up straighter, “But that’s not the gun that…”

“You’re right, Gerry. It’s not the gun that Cavell carried, or at least the one that he fired so recklessly at the police outside the bank. We have that one, too. It did not fire the bullet that killed Joe Carr.”

I closed my mouth with a snap and reminded myself that it was possible he had carried more than one gun. I said, “Where did you find the Corvine?”

She looked away from me and fixed a hard eye on Neville. “We found it wrapped up in a woman’s scarf in the glove compartment of Neville’s car when we caught him breaking and entering the home of Vencel Domokos, the Zygmunt family attorney.” She turned back to me, her expression grim. “We lifted a set of fingerprints from the grip. There was only one set, and they belonged to Filomena Machk.”

“I TOLD him,” a voice said from behind me, “to get rid of it, but he’s a moron.”

[Lynet]

I stood up and turned around, “Don’t say anything more, Clarabelle.”

Neville laughed, “Whether she talks or not, she shot them. I certainly didn’t do it.”

She frowned impatiently, “No, but you intended to, once they’d killed Gerry here. You didn’t want to share any of the money with them, as I recall. And they’d have wanted all of it.” I stepped forward and tried to move her out of the room but she slapped my hand aside, “Neville’s a gambler. He was in debt to Carr’s gang in a big way. I’d have shot Neville, too, under the circumstances, if Cavell hadn’t stopped me.”

“Clarabelle!” I said. “Shut UP! Where‘s the lawyer, dammit. Why isn’t he here yet?”

Neville waved his hand carelessly, “She wouldn’t have shot me. She’s not that stupid. She needs me.”

Clarabelle’s face twisted up and tears slid down her face. She wiped a sleeve across her nose, “I need Cavell, you bastard! You persuaded him that the bank was an easy job, that you had been checking it out for weeks. And now he’s dead because of you. If I had a gun I‘d shoot you right now!”

Roberta said, “Sit down, Ms. Machk. I have some questions for you.”

Neville rolled his eyes, “Good luck getting a straight answer.”

Clarabelle sank into a chair at the end of the table, still sniffing and with tears streaming freely.

Roberta slowly folded her hands together on top of the table and laced the fingers together. She was quiet for a full minute, eyes on her hands.

“Now,” she said at last, looking up and studying each of us in turn. “I want all of you to know that we are recording every word said in here. Is that understood? Answer aloud, please. Neville?”

“Yup.”

“Ms. Machk?”

“Call me Clarabelle. Machk is a name I thoroughly despise. And alright, yes, about the recording.”

“Gerry?”

“Yes.”

“First question, then. Why did you, Neville Machk, go with Joe Carr and Ben Long to Gerry’s house that day?”

“To see Gerry.”

“About what?”

“About money. I owed Joe some money and I wanted Gerry to give it to me. Joe and Ben came along to help me persuade him.” Neville grinned and glanced at me, “This is old news, Gerry. I’ve already told the police all of this.”

“Except, it isn’t true,” I said.

“It’s true, Buster…”

“No, it isn’t. You told me, to my face, just before you kicked me over the edge of the cliff, that you had planned to kill me the first day you met me, and that I owed those extra weeks of life to my crazy brother. Then you said, ‘Think about him as you die, Zygmunt, because he’s next, right after we take care of your brat.’ ”

It had all come back to me in a flash--the desperate fight that ended with me trapped between them all, my arms pinned, Daniel crying somewhere nearby, and then Neville’s ugly mug close to mine, with the same smirk on his lips, just before his boot struck the middle of my chest and sent me flying backwards.

The room was completely quiet. I was still on my feet, my hand sliding slowly across the back of a chair, first one, then another. I said, “That is all I remember. Cavell and Clarabelle were not there, not when Neville tried to murder me.”

I had moved around the end of the table, closer to Neville. No one else was near us, and before anyone could react, I swung my fist hard against Neville’s jaw, sending him flying backwards. His head struck the wall with a thud and he went over sideways and lay still.

I rubbed my sore knuckles and looked across the room at Clarabelle. “If you have any brains at all, Sweetheart,” I said, “keep your trap shut until your lawyer gets here.”

Roberta drummed her fingers on the table as she looked at me in dismay and said over her shoulder to Greg, “Go get the doctor. Tell him someone else has fainted.”

[Lynet]

Greg and Komei grabbed Neville’s shoulders and feet and carried him out of the room to the cot in the holding cell. Their burden was beginning to stir, grunting and kicking.

Roberta watched them, nodded to Dr. Cox as he followed the men out, and then looked at me over the top of her glasses. “Up to now, Gerry, I’ve been sympathetic, but you’ve become a serious obstacle to this investigation.” She leaned back in her chair. “So, you’re going to have to leave.” She turned her head to see which of her officers had returned to the room. “Komei, take Gerry out of here, to the anteroom. Handcuff him to the chair if you have to, but keep him there while I talk to Clarabelle. Shut the door behind you. You can turn on the speaker if he wants to hear what she says, but he is under no circumstances to interfere.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Out, Gerry.”

I looked at Clarabelle, “Wait for…”

“Gerry!” snapped Roberta. “OUT!”

I closed my mouth and moved past Roberta and then Clarabelle, fixing Clarabelle with a stare she could not mistake. I felt Komei’s hand on my arm as he pulled me firmly out of the room and shut the door. He pointed to the chair.

I sat down. “How about turning on the speaker?”

“Sure.” Then he stood in front of the door, listening, as I did, to Roberta’s interview of Clarabelle. I watched them through the glass. On their side, it was a mirror, and they could not see me.

Roberta said, “Are you feeling better?”

“I’m hungry. I thought someone was going to bring me food.”

“Marylena is fixing sandwiches. They’ll be here in a few minutes. In the meantime, I have a few questions. First, is your name Ramona Clarabella Filomena Cesaro Machk?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I’m not denying it. But let’s get one thing straight. Machk is lying. I didn’t shoot those men. Cavell did.”

“She shot ‘em,” Neville said from the holding cell.

Komei and I both said, “Shut up!”

“A few minutes ago,” Roberta continued, her voice loud on the speaker, “you said that you shot them, and that you almost shot your husband, Neville, too, and would have done it, except that Cavell stopped you.”

“I was talking crazy. I’m hysterical. Isn’t that what Gerry called it? Hungry, too. When’s that food getting here? I’m not answering any more questions until I get something to eat.” She sat back with her arms crossed.

Roberta rubbed at her forehead, then looked toward the mirror, “Komei, buzz Marylena. Tell her to bring the sandwiches pronto.”

He was about to reach for the phone on the wall when the door to the hall opened and Marylena came in with a tray. She carried it into the interrogation room and set it on the table. Clarabelle grabbed one of the sandwiches as it passed under her nose and ate it so fast I was afraid she’d choke on it. Then she grabbed another one.

I heard the door on the holding cell rattle. Neville started yelling, “Hey! Me, too! I want some of that. Bring it here.” Marylena brought him a plate, had him sit on the cot before handing it to him, and then locked him in again.

I shook my head over the plate offered to me. My stomach was in knots.

The interrogation of Clarabelle, in the meantime, continued.

“Is two enough?” Roberta said mildly. “There’s plenty.”

I could see Clarabelle nod. She had a third sandwich in front of her but she just moved it around on the plate, not eating.

“Good. Now, tell me exactly why you and your husband came to Strangers’ Moon.”

“Cavell told me his rich uncle had died and left all the money to his brother. He figured we could get the money easy.”

“By killing his brother?”

“No. That was Neville’s idea, and frankly, for a while, I thought he was right. Having babies is painful and takes more time. And I’m the one doing all the work, right? And I’d already been through it once, you know, so no one was going to fool me into thinking it was an easy job. I said no deal to the whole baby thing, and agreed that some sort of accident would be the best way to take care of the brother.”

“How many people have you killed?”

“None! I’ve never killed anyone.”

“But you thought it would be easy.”

“Things happen. Accidents. People die all the time. I didn’t plan to be around to see what happened to Cavell’s brother.”

“But you were. You saw Neville kick Gerry off the cliff.”

“No I didn’t! I wasn’t there!”

“You didn’t see the fight?”

I watched Clarabelle shake her head emphatically, “No! I didn’t see anything!”

Neville snorted, “Only because she was hiding in the bathroom. Then she heard Cavell, and came running out, waving a gun and screaming like a crazy woman.”

Komei rocked back and forth on his heels, head down, ignoring Neville. I watched the two women. I just could not understand why Clarabelle kept talking. She behaved as if she had no idea that she had been arrested for murder, and that every word out of her mouth added years to her prison sentence. Of course, I’d always known she was self-absorbed and manipulative, but I had imagined some brains behind it, a sly cunning, like a fox. As I listened to her talking to Roberta, I thought how wrong I’d been. There she sat, uncomfortably pregnant, looking haggard and exhausted, saying everything the police wanted to hear. Roberta’s prime suspect was confessing to every detail of the crime.

But, as Roberta explained to me later that day, I was not wrong. The fox, trapped by the hounds, had turned to fight them. She would lose a battle she knew she couldn’t win, but in doing so, she managed to protect something far more important.

[Lynet]

Roberta seemed puzzled. She closed one eye and squinted at Clarabelle with the other eye. “OK,” she said slowly, “I’m a little confused by all this. It’s very complicated. You and your husband showed up here with a plan to murder Gerry, but you pretended to marry him instead, and even had a baby.”

“That was Cavell’s idea. He said, ‘I divorce you. You marry my brother, have the kids, we get all the money and buy a big house on the coast.’ ” She wiped at her eyes. “He didn’t want to kill his brother. ‘Mary is family,’ he said. ‘Kill family…they haunt you,’ he tapped a finger on his head, ‘up here. I’m not doing it again.’”

A groan of horror escaped my lips, but I said nothing. I wanted to stop her, to stop the voice of a dead man, to save myself from learning anything about my brother that I could not prove wrong. His evil heart lay rotting in his chest in a freezer down the hall, and I had believed that all the terrible secrets he had carried in it were gone forever. I did not want them exposed. I did not want the burden of knowing all that he’d done.

Komei said, “Want me to shut off the speaker?”

I hesitated, then shook my head, “Not yet.”

Roberta had no idea of my struggle. “Mary?” she said. “Who’s Mary?”

Clarabelle gave a strangled giggle, “That’s what he always called Gerry. Mary. It rhymes, and Gerry doesn’t like it.”

“OK, I think I’m clear, now,” Roberta nodded. “There were two plans, your husband’s plan and your lover’s plan. Which one did you choose to follow?”

Clarabelle laughed sharply, “Look at me. Which do you think?”

“Just want to hear you say it in your own words.”

“Cavell, of course. Yeah, it was worse for me, that plan, but Cavell made all sorts of promises about taking good care of me for the rest of my life. No more babies, for instance.”

“And you believed his promises? He might have been planning to eliminate you once he had the money?”

“He loved me.”

“So long as you were young and pretty.”

Clarabelle looked away from Roberta and waved a hand vaguely in the air, “No reason to worry about stuff like that. I‘ve got time.”

Roberta straightened up and moved her shoulders as if her back bothered her. “So…you, your husband, and Cavell arrive in Strangers’ Moon with a plan, or two, to get a large inheritance of money away from Cavell’s brother, Gerry Zygmunt. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“You seduce Gerry, get pregnant, and pretend to marry him, with the blessing of your lover, Cavell. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Time passes, and all of you start to get restless. It’s a long time to wait for this big pot of gold. It’s so very close, almost in your hands, but you can’t touch it yet, or even spend it. Gerry’s in the way. Gotta deal with Gerry. And Cavell, too, according to Neville, because there’s a little girl named Zissi who could get the money for you a whole lot sooner.”

Clarabelle’s eyes were on the uneaten sandwich in front of her. She was slowly tearing it into little pieces. “And a cat,” she said. “The cat came before Zissi.”

Roberta chewed on her lip. I thought she intended to explain about the cat, but she apparently decided it wouldn’t serve her purpose. Instead, she said, “By the way, I’d like to know how you managed to convince Gerry not to go to the police when his brother showed up. He should have. He knew better than to protect a fugitive.”

Clarabelle looked up to meet Roberta’s eye and shrugged, “I don’t know why he protected Cavell. Because they were brothers, maybe?”

“Is that all?”

“Is that all?” Clarabelle repeated. She hesitated a little, “Sounds like a pretty good reason to me.”

They contemplated each other in silence for several seconds, until Roberta said, “We’ll get back to that. Let’s talk about what all of you were doing while waiting for babies to be born.”

Clarabelle shifted on her chair and raised a hand to rub at her neck, “I hate these chairs. My back hurts. I’ve got heartburn and a headache. Can’t we talk later? I want to lie down.”

“If you answer a few more questions,” Roberta said, almost kindly, “we’ll be done, and you can rest. I know you’re uncomfortable, and I wish we had a nicer room for this conversation. Unfortunately, we’re small town folk with not much money to spend on a police station.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Clarabelle snorted. “So ask your questions and hurry it up.”

“Neville said he owed money to Joe Carr’s gang. He needed money. Did he tell you what he planned to do about it?”

“He told me he was going to ask Gerry to give it to him. That’s all he said. I told him Gerry had no money. Not yet. He said he’d convince Gerry to borrow it from a bank and that since he had a big inheritance coming the bank would give it to him. That’s all I know.”

“Did he say he was bringing anyone with him to talk to Gerry?”

“He said Cavell would be with him. I didn’t know those other men would be there.”

“Did Cavell arrive with Neville and the other two men?”

“No. I asked Neville what was going on. Who were these guys? Where was Cavell? He got nasty and stupid, like he always does.”

I was so absorbed in what was being said in the interrogation room, I almost didn’t hear Neville moving around and mumbling to himself, “Crazy, dumb bitch. What does she think she’s doing?” He repeated “dumb bitch” several times and then fell silent.

Roberta was leaning forward, and spoke slowly, “What did he tell you?”

“He told me he was taking over from Cavell. He was fed up with waiting when his own plan was so much better. He told me they were going to kill Gerry as soon as he got home from work, and then Cavell. It would look like an accident, like the two of them had a fist fight out at the edge of the cliff and fell over.”

“And the baby? Daniel?”

Clarabelle hesitated, “He didn’t say anything about the baby. But…the way he looked at him, I knew…”

“So what did you do?”

“I yelled at him. I told him it wouldn’t work. I told him Cavell would kill him.”

Neville mumbled, “Dumb bitch.”

“Weren’t you afraid Neville would kill you, too? Get rid of the whole family?”

“No, he needed me. I’m Zissi’s mother. Cavell is…” Clarabelle sobbed a little and wiped a sleeve under her nose, “…is her father. To get the money, he couldn’t kill me. So he pushed me into the bathroom and they barricaded the door.”

“Then?”

“It was quiet for a while. I think they took the baby and went outside. I was sick in the toilet. I felt awful, and I realized that I was pregnant again.” She stirred in her chair, rubbing at her neck. “I heard Gerry talking. I shouted but I guess he didn’t hear me. I pushed at the door, trying to move it. Then I was sick again. Then I pushed on the door and finally got it to open enough for me to get out. I saw through the window that they‘d gone way out to the edge of the cliff. I ran into the bedroom to get my gun.”

“What were you going to do with the gun?

“Stop them. I had to stop them from killing…” She paused.

“Killing who?”

“Anybody. It was stupid. He’s so stupid. Gambling, for crying out loud! Stupid moron!”

“Was Cavell there?”

“Not yet. I ran out the door but I was too late to stop them from killing Gerry. He wasn’t there anymore, and one of the guys was looking over the cliff, so I knew what they’d done. Neville had the baby. He was standing at the edge of the cliff.”

I jumped up from my chair, shaking, my chest so tight I could hardly breathe. Komei said quietly, “Sit down, Gerry. The kid is safe at home. All the bad guys are locked up, or dead.”

My knees gave way and I fell back into the chair.

Roberta said, “What happened next?”

“Cavell showed up.”

[Lynet]

Roberta said carefully, “What did Cavell do?”

“He…” Clarabelle was crying again, her face twisted, her words interrupted by her sobs, “…he had his gun up…aimed straight at Neville. He said, ‘If you drop that kid, you’re a dead man, Mac. Put the kid down, real careful, and move away from him.’ ” She pressed both hands to her face for a moment, fighting for breath, trying to calm herself. Roberta handed her a couple of napkins from the sandwich platter and Clarabelle blew her nose.

“And,” Roberta said, “did he put the child down?”

“Not yet. He tried negotiating. He could see that Cavell was in one of his rages and might do anything. The baby was insurance, the only way he was not going to get himself shot. But he walked away from the edge of the cliff, saying he was going to take the kid back to the house, that Cavell should relax and put the gun down.”

Clarabelle stopped talking for a moment. She was clutching the shredded napkin in both hands. Her hands were shaking. Then she continued, “Cavell moved his gun, just a little, and pulled the trigger. One of the other two men went flying backwards over the cliff, the blond guy.”

Neville rattled the door of the holding cell and shouted, “That’s a LIE! Cavell didn’t shoot him. SHE did. She walked right up to him and shot him in the face. Cold blooded bitch. Then she turned around and smiled at me.”

I was up in a flash, reaching through the bars to grab his shirt and pull him hard against them. I did it twice more, slamming his head into the metal, before Komei got to me and pulled me away. Machk staggered and fell back on the cot, his forehead bleeding.

Roberta and Clarabelle, of course, knew nothing about what was happening in the anteroom.

I resisted sitting in the chair until Komei waved handcuffs in front of my face. Then I sat still, my fists resting on my knees, and tried to sort out the conversation coming over the speaker.

Neville groaned and mumbled to himself in the holding cell.

“No,” Clarabelle said in answer to a question I’d not heard, “he didn’t put the baby down yet. He kept walking toward the house, moving faster. The other guy started to leave. I pointed my gun at him and told him to stand still. Cavell had his own gun pointed at Neville and he reached out and took mine away from me. He winked at Neville and said, ‘I’m an expert shooter. Watch.’ Then he aimed my gun at the other guy and shot him in the face. The guy dropped to the ground and didn’t move at all.”

“Cavell shot him, too? Both of them?” Roberta looked grim. “None of his fingerprints were on the gun. Just yours. How do you explain that?”

“He cleaned the gun before he gave it back to me.”

“So that you’d get blamed for the murders? And you loved this man?”

Clarabelle brought both of her fists down on the table, “No! That’s not what he was thinking. He wanted it clean, like it hadn’t been fired, so that I’d be safe.”

“Well, he did a bad job of it, because we could tell it had been fired recently. And it had your fingerprints on it. You were duped, woman, by that psychopath.”

Clarabelle rose to her feet, “No! He loved me!” She started crying loudly.

“Sit down, Clarabelle,” Roberta said wearily. “Blow your nose.”

Clarabelle spent a few minutes doing that, and wiping at her eyes. “But I told that idiot Machk to get rid of the gun. I told him to throw it in the sea, just to be safe.”

“Unfortunately for you, he didn’t. Betrayed all around, weren’t you. Except by Gerry, of course. Too bad you don’t appreciate that. He’s been doing everything he can to keep you out of prison, and it’s going to cost him dearly, make no mistake.”

Clarabelle shrugged, “Then he’s a bigger idiot than even Machk.”

Roberta glanced up at the mirror, as if she could see me, and then looked away.

In the holding cell, Machk laughed quietly.

[Lynet]

You should know that the title of Chapter 72 comes from a poem by William Blake called "The Sick Rose."

As for Clarabelle's version of events on the cliff, we're not done yet... ;)

Sorry for the lack of pictures. I promise you there will be more although not until we get through about 5 more chapters of the police investigation. I could have taken a hundred pictures of people sitting around a table talking, but I much prefer action shots.

[em90]

Wow, this is getting very complex...and I'm really looking forward to seeing how it all works out!

[Lynet]

Thank you Em90. I was just adding an apology to my last comment when you posted.

[dizzysommer]

Oh my goodness. I almost believe Neville, but some of the things Clarabelle's saying is just....yeah.. Can't wait for more.

And when do you plan on updating YOUR story, em90? =D

[em90]

And when do you plan on updating YOUR story, em90? =D

Oh, maybe in about...I dunno, a month or so? :P (No actually probably either today or tomorrow.)

Lynet - I know I'm not at all bothered by any lack of pictures, and I'm sure others probably feel the same, especially when you have long passages of dialogue, and like you said, any pictures would be multiple shots of people talking. I think if the story's strong enough, pictures are just supplementary rather than a real necessity, and they do work best in action or 'emotion' shots. :)

[Lynet]

Roberta examined the nails of her right hand, thinking, and then said, “Did Machk put the baby down then?”

“Yes. He put the baby down and backed away toward the house. ‘Kid’s on the ground,’ he said. ‘No reason to shoot me. Your kid’s safe. Your money’s safe.’ ” Clarabelle lifted her chin, “He did that because he figured out right then that Cavell could blow his head off whether he had the baby in his arms or not, and that maybe he was safer without the kid after all. But Cavell just put the guns inside his shirt and told me to pick up the baby. Then he walked up to Neville and shoved him against the wall of the house. He said, ‘Where‘s my brother.’ Machk said, ‘Real sorry, Buddy. He was fighting those two men you shot and he fell off the cliff.’ Cavell leaned close, breathing right into his face, and said, ‘Go back to the casino and wait for me. And don’t screw with me, Mac, because I’ll find you no matter where you go.’ Machk looked scared and he left in a hurry, running around the side of the house toward the road.”

“I didn’t run,” yelled Neville. “But that guy was a total loony. He might have shot all of us.”

I looked around at him, “You’ve been saying Clarabelle shot those men.”

“She shot them, alright. I’m sure as hell not going to prison alone. And it looks like you’re going, too, Buster. You won’t survive long. That pretty face of yours is going to attract a lot of ugly attention.” He started laughing again.

“Gerry,” Komei caught my eye. “He’s a loser. Lies are a way of life for his type, so ignore him. Roberta will sort it out.”

I turned back to the conversation on the other side of the glass.

“…walked to the cliff and looked over the edge. He just stood there a while. I started feeling sick again and took Daniel inside and got him a bottle of milk. He went to sleep with it in his crib. I felt better and went back outside to see what Cavell was doing. He’d gotten rid of the other body. Over the cliff I figured. He was angry. He was breathing hard, panting. I started to leave again because I don’t like to be around him when he’s like that but he grabbed my arms. I said, ‘It’s OK. We’re good. I’m pregnant again. We’ll still get the money.’ So he let me go and walked back to the house where he stood next to Daniel’s crib, just staring at him. Then he looked up at me and smiled, ‘I’m his Daddy, now.’ Then he left.”

[Lynet]

Roberta looked bored, “This is an interesting story, Clarabelle. Parts of it may even be true. It’s not the same story Machk is telling. He insists that you shot those two men, and since your fingerprints are on the gun, I’m inclined to believe his version. Either way, the two of you conspired to kill Gerry Zygmunt and ultimately killed two other men. You will go before Judge Leverton in a week and I assure you he will hold you over for trial.”

“I’m pregnant. It’s Gerry’s baby, and he doesn’t want his baby born in prison.”

“Gerry has no say in the matter. He is not your husband. Frankly, I would be surprised if the baby is even his. Social Services will arrange foster care.”

I was standing up by now. Komei had moved closer, “Easy, Gerry. The interrogation isn’t over yet.”

I stared at him and then through the glass at Roberta, shaking my head. “Foster care? She can’t! It’s Daniel’s brother, or sister!” I stepped closer to the glass. Komei came with me, and we both watched the two women on the other side.

Clarabelle slouched unhappily in her chair, stirring breadcrumbs around on the table top. “You think you know everything?” She sniffed. “You’re so smart you think you can tell what’s true and what’s not?”

“I know a snake when I meet one, Clarabelle. You’ve given birth to two children and are going to have another. You reproduce and then abandon the young to their fate, without a backward glance. What separates you from any reptile we find under a rock?”

Clarabelle rose suddenly to her feet, shouting, “I shot them! I did it. The damned fools killed Gerry, and were going to kill my baby. Do you think for one second I was going to let them do that? That I’d let them throw my baby off a cliff?”

Roberta was on her feet, too, “We caught you running away from that baby.”

“To keep Cavell away from him. I loved Cavell, but he would get crazy. And dangerous. He beat me. He even hit our kid once. Zissi! Our baby! He hit her! Damn you, don't you understand? He was fascinated by Daniel, spent too much time around him. So I persuaded him to rob the bank and meet me in Strangetown.”

“What?” Neville muttered. “Now that’s bullshit.”

Roberta studied Clarabelle’s face, “And leave Daniel to Social Services?”

“To his father. To Gerry.”

“Gerry’s going to jail.”

“Whatever for? Because of Cavell? Cavell threatened the lives of everyone Gerry knows--those women he dated, you, me, but most of all, Daniel. Believe me, lady, whatever Cavell threatened, he acted on, and Gerry knew it.”

“He should have gone to the police, as he did, finally, when it was too late.”

“Too late?” Clarabelle hissed. “Are you talking about those two deadbeats who beat up gamblers? Too late for them? I killed them. Not Cavell! You got that?”

Roberta smiled, “Loud and clear. Will you sign the statement?”

“I’ll sign it on one condition,” she snorted. “You make sure Gerry gets this baby when it’s born. He’s the father.”

“We should be able to arrange that.”

Clarabelle nodded and sank wearily down into her chair. “I’m tired,” she muttered. “I want to lie down.”

Behind me, Neville said, “I’ll be damned.”

[Lynet]

Marylena came for Clarabelle and as they passed me on the way out of the anteroom, Clarabelle looked over at me and said, “Stay out of trouble.” Then she was gone.

I said nothing, still trying to understand what had happened. What had she done?

Komei said, “Roberta wants to talk to you.”

I nodded and went into the interrogation room. Roberta was sitting at the table. Before Komei shut the door she told him to turn off the speaker and the recording equipment. “This conversation is just between me and Gerry.”

I sank into a chair, “I don’t understand what happened. She changed her story. She was almost free, and changed her story.”

“Do you want to hear what I think?”

“If you can explain any of this, then yes.”

“Cavell shot those men using her gun. Her first version was what really happened. Her second version, matching what Neville has told us, is not true.”

“Wait! Stop! But you’re arresting her for murder! You can’t do that!”

“What I think and what I can prove are two different things. All the facts, for what they’re worth, as well as her statement, and Neville’s statement, point to her as the shooter. The circumstances, I’ll admit, may help her. Those men were about to kill Daniel. They had already killed you, or so she thought. All of this may help to shorten her sentence. But don‘t forget, Gerry, the two of them planned to murder you, and almost succeeded. Doesn’t matter that she might have changed her mind at the last minute. There is no way she can escape the charges of attempted murder and conspiracy to commit murder.”

“Roberta, go with her first version. Convince the judge. I’ll help you. I‘ll tell him about Cavell, that he was an expert shot, that he had fits of violence. She‘s innocent.”

“No she’s not! What’s the matter with you? Your ears not working? She conspired to murder you, Gerry! She is going to prison for that. You, young man, are going to do as she asked, and stay out of trouble. Based on her statement, I’m pretty sure I can keep you out of jail. On probation, maybe. Community service. Something like that, but free to raise your children. If, on the other hand, you manage to convince anyone that Cavell was the murderer, then you go to prison as an accessory. Tell me that you understand! Tell me that you want to stay out of jail and raise your son!”

“Yes,” I agreed weakly. “I do. But, she told the truth as if it were a lie, and then she lied as if it were the truth. It doesn't make any sense.”

“Yes it does. I didn't know what she was doing until the end of it. I just thought I had an incredible idiot of a woman sitting at the table. But she lost her temper just a little too quickly when I accused her of being a snake who abandoned her children. That cut pretty deep, I gather, more than she could stand, as careful as she’d been up to then. So she changed her tune sooner than she had probably planned. Worn out, I suppose. It was pretty much finished, anyway.”

I rubbed at my face and said more to myself than to Roberta, “Why?”

“To keep you out of jail, Gerry, so that you can take care of her children. That was her goal from the beginning, as soon as we caught her. I plan to go along with it. No good will come of having you in jail, and it‘s my opinion that you‘ve been punished enough for not coming to us about your brother. I assume you know better then to repeat anything you and I have discussed in here.”

“Of course, but why didn't she just tell you...”

“Think about it. When’s the last time you believed anything she told you?”

“I tried.”

“I’m sure you did, but you barely trusted her. And with her record, we didn’t believe anything she told us. It was all suspect. So what would you do, if you knew that everything out of your mouth was assumed to be a lie? And you wanted to convince us of something, of Gerry‘s innocence, for example. She told the truth, knowing we would not believe it, and then let me force what I thought was the truth out of her, which was actually the lie that proved you innocent. Get it?”

“Out of my league.”

“Exactly right. Go home to Daniel, and do a good job by him.”

[Lynet]

:help: :blink:

There's an old short story by Agatha Christie called "Witness for the Prosecution," which was my inspiration for solving Gerry's dilemma. I hope my Roberta explained things clearly enough.

Meanwhile, there will be a handful of additional chapters as we sort out Gerry's love life. :)

[dizzysommer]

You stated it well enough. =D Yay, Gerry isn't going to jail!

[Lynet]

“DAN!” I yelled. “Answer the phone!”

“WHY?” He yelled back from the other room.

“Because it’s RINGING!”

“But it’s Captain Kangaroo!”

I knew that, of course. The TV volume was way too high.

I kept a firm hand on the toddler in the bathtub. “Dan! Just answer it and tell them to hold! Might be about the house.”

A few moments later I heard a crash in the other room. I shouted, “Dan! You OK?”

“I’m OK. A chair fell over.”

Sure, I thought. All by itself, a chair falls over. Annie kicked at the water in the tub and managed to soak the last dry patch on my shirt. I decided she was clean enough, lifted her out of the water and wrapped a towel around her. When I carried her into the living room, I saw one of the kitchen chairs over sideways on the floor, near the phone. Dan lounged on the couch in front of the TV, absorbed in a noisy cartoon.

I said, “Who was it?”

“Who?”

“On the phone?”

“Nobody.”

“What exactly do you mean by nobody? Did they hang up before you answered it?”

“No,” he looked up at me at last. “A lady. I asked if it was about a house. She said no. I hung up.”

“Didn’t she give her name?”

“No, Daddy. You told me not to talk to strangers, even on the phone. Didn’t you tell me that?”

I sighed, “That’s what I said, and I meant it. If it’s important, she’ll call back sometime.”

Dan nodded and smiled at me. I could never be angry with him about anything, because of that smile. Unfortunately, he knew it.

The next day the phone rang while Dan was in school and unavailable for errands. I was wrestling a ticklish baby into a clean diaper. It seems, however, that her internal affairs department was not yet done, because even as I got one side fastened, the clean diaper was suddenly not clean anymore. Annie squirmed in earnest, wanting to get off the changing table and back to her toys. She started wailing. She was tired. So was I. And the damn phone kept on ringing.

I picked her up and hurried into the living room to answer the phone. As I grabbed the receiver, a partly fastened dirty diaper slid down the struggling baby’s leg and fell on the floor. Messy side down, of course.

“Hello?” I said. Annie squirmed in my arms, trying to get down. She was very loud about it.

“Gerry? Is that you?”

Annie’s squirms grew more violent, and when she arched her back, throwing herself backwards, I almost dropped her. I dropped the phone instead. Annie screamed at me.

The phone call was not about the house and I didn’t have time to figure out who it was. I got a firm grip on the toddler, picked up the receiver, and said, “Sorry. Busy. Bye.”

It took me at least an hour to give Annie a bath, put her in clean clothes, get her to bed and clean up the mess that the two of us had left around most of the apartment. I opened a couple of windows to air the place out and then collapsed on the couch.

My butt was hardly on the cushion when the door opened and Dan came bouncing in. “Hi, Daddy! I’m home!” He dropped his notebook on the floor and put a hand to his nose. “Ugh! It stinks in here!”

[Lynet]

Moving day.

The landlady kindly offered to keep Annie downstairs-- “Away from the dust,” as she put it--while Dan and I packed our clothes, the dishes, the books and the toys. We were leaving most of the furniture behind as part of the deal with the landlady to help cover the final month of rent.

Coming up with the rent, in fact, had at last gotten to be too much of a strain on the wallet of a gas station attendant. It was the only job I could find, except golf caddy, which I had tried first and thoroughly hated. Pumping gas wasn’t much better, but at least my hours at the station were in the middle of the night when the children were asleep. As was the elderly nanny. I usually came home to find her snoring on the couch in front of the TV.

The phone call about the house had finally gotten through when I had both hands free. “The house,” the lawyer lady said, “is yours.”

House? I keep calling it a house, but I should probably not be referring to it that way. Not yet. It was hardly more than a shack on the beach, a shack that Cavell had apparently gotten in a legal manner, using cash. Where he got the cash, of course, was a question that would never be answered. The telephone call I had been so anxious to get was from a title search that proved the house was now mine, free and clear and without liens.

I had asked the lawyer early on about the child, Zissi. Wasn’t she heir to the property? She was. But her grandparents, who were her legal guardians, “wanted no truck with anything Zygmunt,” and had signed over the deed. Didn’t they want payment? “Zygmunt money is ill-gotten. No truck means no truck, and don’t come ‘round here looking to see this child, neither.” The lawyer had quoted them without expression on either her face or in her voice and had seemed satisfied with the conclusion of the matter. I should be, too. But sometimes, as I lay alone in bed in the middle of the night, I’d think about Clarabelle, the wild child raised in a stern and uncompromising environment. I’d gotten the impression from somewhere that she had run away at a young age. Maybe if I had met her then things would have been different. I knew these were foolish thoughts, and whenever mine strayed that way, I always rolled over in bed and went to sleep thinking about our kids, instead. And our new home.

The shack had a room on the end that used to be a small shop, probably selling tourist trinkets. No trace of the enterprise remained, other than a plastic whale hanging from the ceiling in the corner. The shop had been small, but was still the largest room in the house. It was full of sunshine from its big store windows and had its own door to the porch. Dan wanted it for his bedroom and I reluctantly agreed. He was very excited about the room, the house, and especially the beach. The day we moved in, he ran everywhere, checking out everything, and I decided not to make any demands on him for a while. I only asked that he keep the noise down so that Annie would finish her nap while I unpacked. There wasn’t a lot of that to do. We didn’t own much.

We had moved in on a Monday after Dan got home from school. It was a good time for me because I didn’t have to go to work. It meant that we were all together for our first night in a strange, new environment. Good thing, because Dan shook me awake somewhere around one AM.

“Daddy? Daddy, wake up.”

“Uh…what? Dan? What’s up? What time is it?”

“I dunno, but can I sleep in here with you?”

“Sure thing. Climb in.”

He lay down close against me and I put my arm over him. He was still so small. I often forgot how young and fragile he was, because of all the energy he radiated during the day.

After a few minutes, I knew he wasn’t asleep yet. I said, “You can have this room for a bedroom if you’d rather. I wouldn’t mind moving to the other one.”

“I like my room, Daddy. I don’t want to share it with Annie. Maybe you can give her this room and you can sleep in the living room.”

“We’ll see.” I didn’t want to get into an argument with him about it. For now, Annie’s crib and changing table were in the hall. My plan was for the two of them to share Dan’s room, but it was not an issue so long as she was in the crib.

He was quiet for another few minutes. Then he said, “When’s Mommy coming back?”

It was the question I had been dreading. “I don’t know, Dan,” I said quietly. “Why do you ask?” I was certain he would tell me about something that happened at school, but that wasn’t it. Not this time.

“Because I had a dream,” he said. “I thought it was real ‘til I woke up, and then I knew it wasn’t. There was a lady. She was smiling and fixing my blanket, I guess because she thought I might get cold, although I wasn’t cold.”
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%207/820ClarabelleTucksInDaniel.jpg
“It was just a dream.”

“Sure. But maybe it was her. Could’ve been her.”

“Could have been. What I think is that when you have a dream like that it’s because she’s thinking about you and wishes she could be here.”

“Really?”

“Really.” I waited, expecting he would want to know more, but he just sighed. His breathing slowed and I realized he’d gone to sleep. I lay there wide-awake with my arm around him, helpless to protect him from the hurt I knew was coming.

[Lynet]

Thought I'd show you a couple of pictures of the shack on the beach :)

http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%208/snapshot_55a05020_f5a399a2.jpg
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%208/snapshot_55a05020_35a39d03.jpg
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%208/snapshot_55a05020_15a39b43.jpg
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%208/snapshot_55a05020_15a39c00.jpg

[Lynet]

Annie was finally asleep. At last! I studied her face. It was the face of sweet innocence when she slept. But when she woke, the solemn gaze and wrinkled brow would be there all over again. I’d never seen this with Dan. I was comfortable in the role of his Dad. His baby sister, however, confused me.

Straightening my aching shoulders, I rubbed at them and shook my head at these ridiculous thoughts. Zygmunt, you make too much of nothing. She’s barely two years old, and your only problem is that you don’t understand women. Face it! You’re going to make a complete hash of raising this girl.

I turned away from the sleeping child and walked quietly outside to the beach where I sat down to watch the waves and wait for Dan to get home from school. Dan was good for me. He was both my connection to reality, and my escape from it. Raising two kids in a shack and working a job that barely covered the grocery bill was not the future I had planned for myself. But when Dan was home, I forgot all about that. I smiled, thinking of the baseball I’d bought for him. He didn’t know about it yet.

Thinking of Dan and the baseball, I stopped worrying about Annie, and watched the waves thunder past the rocks and roll up over the beach. I became so absorbed in my daydreams that I didn’t know anyone else was there until she spoke.

http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%207/830Daydreaming2.jpg

“Hi, Gerry. Mind if I join you?”

“Huh? What?” I looked up. The sun blinded me for a moment, but she moved a little, throwing her shadow over me and saving my eyes from the sun. I recognized Tina.

“Why, thank you,” she said, “I think I will.” She sat down. “A rug on the beach. Good idea.”

http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%207/830GerryAndTinaOnBeach.jpg

After a moment of clumsy silence, I said, “How are you?” She’d taken me completely by surprise. Any visitor would have surprised me, but Tina was the last person I ever expected to see again.

“I’m good. How about you?” She smiled easily.

“Getting by.”

I felt awkward, not knowing what else to say. Tina, on the other hand, seemed relaxed. After a minute of watching the waves, she said, “You’re a busy man these days. I’ve called a few times to see if you needed anything, but I’ve had trouble getting through.”

“Sorry about that. And thanks for the offer, but we’re OK.”

“I know you’re OK, but no one has heard from you in months. Children can easily overwhelm a single parent and I suspect you need a break.”

“They aren’t any trouble,” I said carefully. “I’m doing fine.”

She nodded and seemed to abandon that topic, looking over her shoulder at my shack, “Nice house.”

“We like it.”

“Compact.”

“And solidly built,” I agreed.

“Unpretentious.”

“Too true, but everything works.”

“Reliable, then.”

“Realistic,” I shrugged, tired of the word game.

She studied my face, “And lonely.”

“It’s just a house.”

“I wasn’t talking about the house.”

“Can’t have been talking about me. I’ve got plenty of company.”

“A girlfriend? I hadn’t heard. What’s her name?”

“There is none. I’m a gas station attendant with two kids. I’m broke and I have to report to a probation officer every week. The kids are great company. The probation officer, not so much. The only women who would be interested in a man like me have tattoos on both arms. Not my type.”

“That’s good, because I don’t have any tattoos at all. Not my thing.”

I sighed and stared out at the waves. “It’ll be a long time,” I said slowly, “before I have anything worthwhile to give to a woman. Right now, Annie and Dan are my whole life.”

http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%207/830GerryAndTinaOnBeach2.jpg

“And when Clarabelle returns…”

“She won’t,” I said sharply, and then spoke more quietly, “She won’t be back.”

“Then why do you still wear the wedding band?”

I looked down at my hand, “I wear it for Dan’s sake.” Then I took a deep breath and gave her my friendliest grin, “Listen, Tina. I appreciate your stopping by. I should’ve been a better host and offered you some juice or coffee, but Dan will be home any minute and you probably want to get going.”

“Actually, I’m not in a rush. Some juice would be great.”

“Er…”

“But if you’re anxious to get rid of me, and it seems that you are, I will agree to disappear quickly only on one condition.”

I shook my head anxiously, “I’m not trying to get rid of you…but…um…what sort of condition did you have in mind?”

“Go out with me. On a date.”

I blinked.

“Don’t look so shocked. Do I leave before Dan catches his father with a strange woman? Or do I get some juice and meet this fabulous little boy? Oops. Too late. There’s the bus.”

“Tina,” I said weakly. “I hear Annie crying.”

“Well, go take care of her, then. I’ll introduce myself to Dan.” She smiled happily.

[Lynet]

A picture of Daniel...
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%207/840Daniel.jpg
and his baby sister, Annabelle...
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%207/840Annie.jpg
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%207/840EveryoneOnTheBeach.jpg
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%207/840GerryThinksAboutHisFuture.jpg

[Lynet]

I own a suit and tie. I know for sure that I own a suit and tie. It’s just a matter of finding them.

It occurred to me, as I tore the house apart, that the suit would be too wrinkled and dusty to wear and that I was wasting time and that I would be better off taking my watch to the pawn shop and buying a new suit. But now I was in the grip of the search, and I could not let it alone because I KNEW I owned a suit and tie. I’d worn them to court a few months ago and I hadn’t thrown them out, so they must--dammit--be here!

“Daddy, your face is all red.”

“I’m hot. It‘s a hot day. What‘s your sister doing?”

“Watching cartoons.”

“Go sit with her. Don’t give her the crayons.”

“Awww, Daddy, I don‘t want to sit with her. I want to help you find it.”

“Find what?”

“What you’re looking for. Can I help?”

“Help me by sitting with Annie and watching the cartoons.”

“But I don’t like her cartoons. They’re stupid. They’re for babies. I’m waiting for the Ninja Llamas. They’re the best.”

The suit was not under the bed and I really knew that because I’d already looked, but you never know because sometimes things just mysteriously show up where you’ve already looked. Sitting back on my heels, I squinted up at him, “Eh? The what Llamas?”

“NIN-ja!” he shouted as he struck a strange, crouching pose with one arm extended and the other curled at his waist.

I reminded myself that I really needed to pay attention to what he watched on TV.

I got up off my knees and sank down wearily on the bed, and then started to laugh.

“What’s funny, Daddy? Tell me! What’s funny?”

“I just remembered something, and I need your help, Dan. I’m going to lift up the mattress, and I want you to get my suit out from under it.”

“Suit?”

“Clothes.” I stood up, took a firm grip of the mattress and lifted it up, exposing the box-spring and my suit laid out neatly on top of it, pressed by the weight of the mattress. The jacket, of course, had some misplaced creases in it, but I figured a hot iron would take care of those. The tie was there, too, and a handkerchief.

“Daddy?”

“Just pick them up, please, so I can put the mattress back down.”

“Why are your clothes…”

“Don’t wad them up! That’s right. Thanks, Dan. I appreciate it. Are the Llamas on TV soon? I’d like to watch it with you.”

“Were you hiding the clothes?”

“No, I just wanted to press the wrinkles out of them before a job interview, but then I got another job and forgot about the suit.”

We both heard a crash and bang from the other room and ran in to find Annie in the middle of a pile of metal cook pans that she’d pulled out of the kitchen cabinet. At the anxious look on my face, she started to cry, but I had to laugh and tickle her. No harm done. Everything in the lower cabinets was for her entertainment, anyway. Dan yelled “Ninja Llamas!” several times at the top of his lungs as he ran to the TV and pranced around in front of it.

I took Annie over to the couch. We all watched the goofiest cartoon show I’ve ever seen. Dan’s energetic mimicking of his colorful heroes was a lot more entertaining.

[dizzysommer]

oh yay. Ninja llamas, nice.

[Lynet]

It was Thursday, my day off. Ms. Karen Gast showed up promptly at 5 PM and only shrugged when I said I wasn’t sure about the time I’d be home. She was the same nanny the kids always had, but they still weren’t happy with this change in the routine.

Dan demanded to know where I was going, looking almost frightened. Annie sensed his upset and whimpered. I gave them both a hug.

“Listen, you two. I’m just meeting a friend at the restaurant where she works. Miss Karen will fix you dinner. I happen to know that she’s your favorite nanny, so be nice to her.” I smiled at the unsmiling woman who only nodded as she opened the refrigerator. Flattery had no more of an effect on her dull personality than anything else I’d ever said to her. I turned my smile on the children, “OK, kids, I’ll be back later tonight, same as always.”

Dan still held onto my hand, “So why are you wearing a suit, Daddy? You wear a suit when you look for a job. Remember? That’s what you said.”

“Right you are, Dan, but tonight is special. I’m meeting a good friend, so I need to wear it.”

“Is it Miss Tina? That lady who played with us on the beach?”

“Yes,” I said casually, “it is. You like her, don’t you?”

“I guess. But she doesn’t know much, like how to build a sand castle. And she doesn‘t know anything at all about pirates and the secret caves where they hide treasures. I showed her the map I got from my friend Chandler who got it from a pirate shipwreck, and she was really, really surprised that pirates drew maps.”

“She was? Are you telling me she doesn’t know about treasure maps? That’s very strange. I’ll have to ask her about it.”

“No, Daddy. It’s OK. Don’t tell her I told you. She can’t help it. She’s like Annie.”

I wondered briefly about this odd comparison to Annie and wanted to pursue it with him, but the taxi honked, interrupting us. He followed me outside and stood on the porch. As the taxi pulled away, I waved to him and was relieved to see him wave back.

I had not been entirely truthful with Dan, not because I thought he wouldn‘t understand, but because the nanny’s ears were clearly twitching with curiosity. She rarely ever spoke more than two words to me, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t the town gossip. Anyway, I wasn’t meeting Tina at Rachelle’s Restaurant. I was picking her up at her apartment, although I planned to take her to Rachelle’s for dinner. Roberta, Marylena, Gregg, and everyone else, all praised the food and the romantic atmosphere, and I was determined to take full advantage, especially of the romantic bit.

I laid a nervous hand over the slim lump of the wallet in my jacket pocket. It held all the money I had managed to set aside over the past couple of months, money saved for the unforeseen and inevitable emergency, and I had decided that a date with Tina qualified. New parts and repairs for my pickup truck did not qualify. The Big Blue Mistake was parked on the gravel at the edge of my property and I could only wince every time I looked at it. Why had I ever bought the wretched thing?

Forget about it, I told myself. Tonight is for dreams, not regrets.

[Lynet]

I could have walked.
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%207/850TheSentinelApartments.jpg
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%207/snapshot_35a05020_d618f697.jpg
The taxi made three left turns and stopped in front of a four-story apartment building called the Sentinel. Walking would have saved me a few bucks on taxi fare, but I decided it would also have been a hot and dusty walk. And it would have been even worse for Tina if she had gotten all dressed up. Besides, even though I could see the back of Rachelle’s from where I stood, it was on the other side of a small, muddy field.

Zygmunt! I snorted, annoyed with myself. Stop worrying about a few bucks here and there and stay focused.

I told the driver to wait and was headed for the stairs when Tina suddenly appeared.

“I was watching from the window and saw you arrive, so I came right down. Why the taxi? Feeling lazy tonight?” She grinned wide as she walked up and kissed me lightly on the lips. Her cheeks were flushed. Her dress was red, and clung to all her soft roundness. Her hand on mine was warm.

“Er…wow,” I said stupidly, trying to clear my head. All of a sudden I was sixteen again, and as tongue-tied and nervous as I was on my first date. “Here,” I mumbled and turned to open the taxi door for her. “See? Air-conditioning. Not lazy. Special. For you.”

“Why thank you, Gerry. This is very nice.”

She settled herself gracefully onto the seat with a smooth move of her hips. The long legs followed. I blinked and took a deep breath as I closed the door, thinking, ‘Have mercy on me, Tina,’ as I went around and got in on the other side. She looked so beautiful in that red dress that I wanted to rip it off her, and it didn’t occur to me to question these contradictory feelings.

I said to the driver, “Rachelle’s.”

Tina said, “Wait. Don’t go yet.” She looked at me, “Since I work there, would you mind very much if we went somewhere else?”

I smiled, refusing to be disappointed. “The evening is entirely for you. Where do you want to go?”

“The Paddlewheeler. It’s changed hands and is under new management. No gambling anymore. I’ve heard that the food is great, and there’s dancing. It has a lovely view of the sea, too.”

“Dancing by the sea? Sounds great.” I told the driver to take us to the Paddlewheeler. As the car pulled away from the curb, I leaned back into the seat with mental fingers crossed, hoping the place was as nice as Tina imagined it to be. Dancing! Dancing with Tina! My arms around Tina! Kissing Tina!

Zygmunt! I thought. Get a grip! Don’t just sit there! Woo the woman, or you sure as hell won‘t be doing any dancing and kissing. How should I woo her? How? Are you crazy? What happened to the slick charm? It got me into deep shit, is what happened! She’s just a woman, no different than the others. She’s VERY different! Try flattery. They all like flattery. She’d see through it. Small talk about the weather. Boring! Her job. She doesn’t want to go there. Your kids. Hardly romantic.

“Gerry? Where are you?”

“Um…what? I’m sorry, I was just thinking about something.”

“About Daniel and Annie? You shouldn’t worry. They’re going to be fine. Kids are a lot stronger than we realize.” The expression on her face was simple kindness.

I realized suddenly that I was in the company of someone who already knew about the complete mess I’d made of my life. I had nothing to hide from her. I needed no pretense about who I was or where I was headed. I laughed a little, embarrassed. “I’m going to do my best to see that they are. But I wasn’t thinking about them. I was thinking that an evening with you is something I’ve wanted for a long, long time, and that it would never happen because I’ve made too many mistakes. And I was thinking…” I hesitated, but her eyes were big, waiting for me to finish the sentence. “…and I was thinking that I want you to be happy with me, and that I don’t know how to make you happy.”

There it was, my heart exposed for all the world to see. I felt cold and anxious.

“Hmm,” she squinted at me, looking worried. “Have you considered the possibility that after a couple of dates you might not care whether I’m happy or not? You might not like me at all. For example, I’m sarcastic and bossy. And I’m a know-it-all. I talk too much and too fast after only one glass of wine. Um…what else? Oh, yes! I always forget to put the cap on the toothpaste, and I always squeeze the tube in the middle. Always! I am seriously grouchy in the morning until after I’ve had breakfast. My apartment looks neat, but don’t be deceived. The drawers and closets are a total mess, and I can never find what I did with the bills that have to be paid.” She stopped, looking cross. “Are you laughing? Don’t laugh at me! I am completely serious. We’ll have fun for a couple of dates and then you‘re going to decide you've made a mistake, and you'll run hard and fast and as far away from me as you can possibly get.”

The taxi driver said wearily, “Are you two going to sit in my taxi all night, or go in and get dinner? Looks like a nice place. Why don‘t you go on in and give it a try? The fare is seven simoleons.”
http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%208/850ThePaddleWheeler.jpg

[Lynet]

I apologize for such a short update. RL has been hectic. :(

But here are a couple of pictures of the Paddlewheeler Restaurant. I built it on the beach before the Bon Voyage EP for Sims 2 came out.

http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%208/snapshot_00000038_74d61077.jpg

http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll127/LynetB/Zygmunt/Zygmunt%208/snapshot_00000038_94d61140.jpg

[em90]

If real life becomes less stressful...I'd be interested to see what finally happens to Gerry.

:)

[whitewater]

I also agree.