This story is to fulfill the challenges for "Courtroom", "Secret Garden", "The Lottery", "Mr. Marvel's Magical Colored Pencils", and "Love Potion." The love potion aspect makes this a little more risqué than I usually like. You have been warned.
-----
"All rise. This court is now in session. The Honorable Pinson R. Winthrop presiding. The gallery may be seated."
"Who's first on the docket today, Officer Jensen?"
"Mabery versus Mabery."
"Are the Maberys in the courtroom? Come forward. Swear them in, Jensen."
"Raise your right hands. Do each of you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
"I do."
"I do."
"They are sworn in, your honor."
"Very good. Each of you has declined to have counsel present for this hearing, is that correct?"
"Yes, your honor."
"Yes, sir."
"This is a preliminary hearing. Each of you is allowed to present evidence to justify a full hearing at a later date. The only decision to be arrived at today is whether or not a full hearing will be held. Do each of you understand this?"
"Yes, your honor."
"Yes, sir."
"Very good. Mr. Mabery, as you are the claimant in this case we will start with you. Will you please state your complaint against the defendant."
"Yes, sir. My wife stole a million dollars from me and I want it back."
"I did no such thing!"
"Mrs. Mabery, I'll ask you to keep quiet while we discuss your husband's claim. You will have your chance to present your own side of things. Is that understood?"
Pause. "Yes, your honor."
"Good. Mr. Mabery, that's a very large sum of money. Why haven't you taken your wife to criminal court?"
"Well, uhm, the circumstances are a bit odd, sir. I wasn't sure I could get criminal charges to stick."
"I see. Why don’t you tell me the whole story."
"Yes, sir. See, about six months ago I won the lottery."
"Ah, so you're that Randy Mabery. I thought I recognized your name. You took home approximately fifty million dollars after taxes, isn't that right?"
"Yes, sir. Truth be told, I wasn't comfortable having all that money. What was I supposed to do with it? I'm a simple man, your honor, and I like living a simple life."
"Yes, I heard that you gave most of the money to charity."
"Yes, sir. I kept a million on the advice of a friend. I figured we could live off the interest and I could spend my time fishing."
"Stupid %$#& idiot...."
"Mrs. Mabery! I warn you, I will not tolerate profanity in my courtroom. You have been warned once already for speaking out of turn. Unless you wish to be charged with contempt of court, I suggest you keep your comments to yourself. Do I make myself clear?"
Pause. "Yes, your honor."
"Please continue, Mr. Mabery."
"Well, as you can tell, Lindsey here was none to happy with my decision. She wanted to keep all the money and live the high life. After I gave the bulk away, she demanded I give her 'her half' of the million I invested or she'd leave me. Lindsey was always going on about leaving me for this reason or another; I figured this time was no different. It was about a month after that she tricked me into signing her over the full million."
"She tricked you into signing a legal document giving her control of your portfolio?"
"Yes, sir."
"May I see the document?"
"It's here, your honor."
"Jensen, please?" Pause. "This document seems in order. It's even signed by a notary, a Ms. Owen."
"Yes, your honor. That's her standing over there. She was in on it."
"You claim you were coerced into signing the paper?"
"Yes, sir."
"And how did that occur?"
Pause. "They used a love potion on me, sir."
"Come again?"
"Ms. Owen keeps this secret herb garden in the woods out back behind her house. My wife and her spend a lot of time out there, them and their other witch friends. When I wouldn't give her the money they brewed up a love potion to use on me. At that time I was thinking about leaving her myself, she was giving me so much grief. Then she prepares me this nice dinner, and was all apologetic and the like, and made sure I drank this fancy cocktail she had seen on a 'cooking show.' Married for twelve years and this is the first time she ever gave me a fancy cocktail. Next thing I know, I was having these feelings for her like I hadn't had since before we were married and I was like, 'Let's go upstairs right now' and she was like 'Yes, let's, but first why don't you sign this paper.' And I was so...I wanted her so bad right then that I'd have signed anything. And then Ms. Owen steps out of the kitchen and signs the form right after me. Then they just left me there in the kitchen in my...aroused state. It took two days for the effects to wear off. By that time they had control of my accounts and were holed up at Ms. Owen's place plotting ways to spend it. I managed to get an injunction to freeze the money pending this hearing and here we are."
"Mr. Mabery, that is without a doubt, the most preposterous story I have ever heard."
"It's true, your honor. Ask my wife."
Pause. "All right. Mrs. Mabery, is this wild tale true."
"Yes, your honor."
Pause. "Excuse me."
"It is true, your honor."
"So you're saying you and Ms. Owen actually brewed up a love potion to entice your husband to sign over one million dollars to you?"
"Yes, your honor."
"And you actually admit to it."
"Of course. See, your honor, as far as I am aware, it is not actually illegal in the state of Illinois to use a love potion to influence someone's financial decisions. So what if I used a love potion? How is that any different than using sound logic to change someone's mind?"
"It matters if the concoction you gave him altered his mind to a point where he wasn't in possession of his faculties."
"I have here a list of the ingredients of the potion, your honor, as well as sworn affidavits from three local doctors affirming that the ingredients themselves and any combination thereof are completely harmless and without mind altering effects."
"Jensen." Pause. "Interesting. So what you are saying, Mrs. Mabery, is that you dosed your husband with an impotent love potion."
"I'm, saying that the love potion was legally impotent, yes, your honor."
"Legally impotent. That's a new one on me. How do you then explain his temporary change in behavior?"
"I'm sorry, your honor, but I don't see how it's my responsibility to explain anything having to do with Randy's behavior. It's not my fault he gets so...ahem, 'randy' when he thinks he's going to get some."
"I see." Pause. "Very well. Is there any other evidence to be offered in the case?"
"No, sir.
"No, your honor."
"Very well. It is my decision that there is insufficient evidence in this matter to move to a full hearing. This case is dismissed. You are excused. Jensen, what do we have up next?"
*****
Lindsey Mabery snickered as she and Ms. Owen watched her soon to be ex-husband storm out of the courthouse.
"Well, that was certainly entertaining," Ms. Owen said.
"Yes. To be honest, I wasn't sure it was going to work. The affidavits we provided seemed so...fake. I mean, look, they were written out in colored pencils, for goodness sake."
"That's the power of Mr. Marvel's products, dearie. The recipient sees what he expects to see." Ms. Owen gave Lindsey's hand a squeeze. "Now, what say we go get that injunction lifted and spend some of your money?"
"Yes, let's."
As they walked down the steps Ms. Owen giggled.
"What," Lindsey asked.
"You said the potion was 'legally impotent.' That tickles me pink."
"I could have said Randy was legally impotent. It would have been just as true." And they laughed together.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
"The Archer"
The archer stood alone in the wood. He had known this day would come, but he hadn't expected it would come so soon, or for this reason. He had been so careful, had taken dozens of precautions, had layered contingency upon contingency.
All were undone.
He stood alone by choice. Others would have come, but he would not allow it. Not for this.
Those who counted him their leader had always followed blindly, their loyalty freely given in exchange for rescue from their oppressors. He was their savior, both physically and figuratively. Not only had he provided them food and shelter, he had given them purpose. They were prepared to die for him for the loyalty thus inspired. This he could not allow and stay true to his principles.
Those who counted him their friend had followed out of trust. His friendship had been proven time and again, his planning and foresight tested and found sufficient for their common cause. These were prepared to risk life and limb for his happiness, for they knew he would do the same for them. This also he could not allow. It was not in his nature to ask for help when that help would benefit him alone. It was a contradiction. He would give that help freely for another – had done so many times – but even so, to ask was not in his character, and he would not change.
He could hire others to fight this battle. God knew his enemy had done so from the start, was doing so even now. What mattered the loss of the life of one who valued life as naught but coinage to be fought for and won? Life was of infinite more worth than mere coinage. What was money, after all, but a way to manipulate through the baser qualities of greed and selfishness? He had used this to his advantage, enraging his enemy as he took what was his and then simply gave it away. No. To rely on the hired thug was to be no better than those he opposed. He could not and remain himself.
And so, the archer stood alone in the wood. Stood for his principles. Stood for love.
"This is your final chance, rogue. Come forth now or we will kill her, lady of the court notwithstanding."
The archer stepped forward, his bow held low, his head held high.
"Stay your hand, Sheriff. I am here."
All were undone.
He stood alone by choice. Others would have come, but he would not allow it. Not for this.
Those who counted him their leader had always followed blindly, their loyalty freely given in exchange for rescue from their oppressors. He was their savior, both physically and figuratively. Not only had he provided them food and shelter, he had given them purpose. They were prepared to die for him for the loyalty thus inspired. This he could not allow and stay true to his principles.
Those who counted him their friend had followed out of trust. His friendship had been proven time and again, his planning and foresight tested and found sufficient for their common cause. These were prepared to risk life and limb for his happiness, for they knew he would do the same for them. This also he could not allow. It was not in his nature to ask for help when that help would benefit him alone. It was a contradiction. He would give that help freely for another – had done so many times – but even so, to ask was not in his character, and he would not change.
He could hire others to fight this battle. God knew his enemy had done so from the start, was doing so even now. What mattered the loss of the life of one who valued life as naught but coinage to be fought for and won? Life was of infinite more worth than mere coinage. What was money, after all, but a way to manipulate through the baser qualities of greed and selfishness? He had used this to his advantage, enraging his enemy as he took what was his and then simply gave it away. No. To rely on the hired thug was to be no better than those he opposed. He could not and remain himself.
And so, the archer stood alone in the wood. Stood for his principles. Stood for love.
"This is your final chance, rogue. Come forth now or we will kill her, lady of the court notwithstanding."
The archer stepped forward, his bow held low, his head held high.
"Stay your hand, Sheriff. I am here."
Friday, September 24, 2010
"Sealed With a Twist"
This is an homage to one of my favorite short stories by Edgar Allen Poe: "The Cask of Amontillado."
-----------
The prank wars between rival fraternities on college campuses are well documented, but Frank Fortune had gone too far. I freely admit the video he shot of me in a "compromising situation" with the dean's daughter was a masterstroke, but the way he went about disseminating the thing was above and beyond the gentleman's agreement that generally held sway when it came to such things. The repercussions of the video's viral release were more than I could bear.
I gave him no reason to think a reprisal would be coming. In fact, I made sure to keep my interactions with him on a decidedly positive level. I gave him every impression there were no hard feelings. My smile, which he took to mean we were still on good terms, was in reality the result of my plan for revenge.
Fortune had a hobby. He viewed himself a brewer of sorts, and at the weekly parties our quad of frat houses rotated in throwing he never failed to produce a batch of his most recent swill.
So it was that I found him that night finishing off a large mug off some slop he called "wine." He threw an arm around my neck, confident in our continuing good relations. He was obviously wasted. His breath reeked of licorice and alcohol, and he was decidedly tipsy.
"Monte," he said, slurring the words, "How you doing, man? The dean let you out for the night?"
"The dean and I are okay," I lied. "As long as I keep clean we're cool."
"Awesome."
"Speaking of awesome, I need your advice," I said. "My roommate and I have been trying our hand out at brewing. Since you're the local expert on the subject I thought I'd ask for your opinion on our first brew."
"Nats, bro. I'll give it a go. Hand it over."
"Ah, that's the thing. If word got back to the dean I had any alcohol I'd be screwed. Would you mind coming back to the SAE house to try it out?"
He eyed the impromptu stage across the room where a number of the Phi Kappa Psi guys were setting up for the traditional white t-shirt contest.
"I'll miss the show."
"S'ok," I said, "I can always ask Lucas. He claims he's better at brewing than you anyway."
I hadn't taken more than a step before Fortune's arm caught mine in a weak fingered grip. "No way. No way Lucas is a better brewer than me. You take his advise you'll ruin the batch for sure."
"But I don't want you to miss the show."
"I'll come," he said, swaying slightly. "We hurry, we can be back before it starts."
I nodded.
*****
Five minutes later we were in my house heading down the stairs to the sub basement.
"You keep your stuff way down here?" Fortune asked. He was leaning heavily on me as we descended the stairs. I didn't think he would fall, but I wasn't taking chances.
"With the risk the dean may search my room at any time? Damn right."
I led him down the old hallway. The SAE house had been built in the early 1900s. It had been heavily modified during the prohibition era to include several hidden areas for the smuggling of booze. When SAE had purchased the house the first chapter members had discovered the areas. Many had fallen into disrepair and were no longer safe, though some were still used for various purposes.
We entered a room at the far end of the hall. It was scattered about with building materials. Drywall and two-by-fours were stacked in one corner with an assortment of tools lying here and there around the floor.
"What's all this?" Fortune asked.
"We're making this into a new rec room. In the meantime, I make use of this." I led him to the far side of the room where a drywall frame had been erected to cover over an old brick wall. A piece of sheet rock leaned against the frame. I moved aside the sheet rock to reveal an old door, barred with a wooden crossbeam and locked with a padlock. I took a key from my pocket and unlocked the lock. I then removed the wooden beam and pulled the door open. I procured a flashlight from the floor and shined the beam into the open doorway. A small passage made entirely of brick led away from the old door, ending in a jumble of fallen bricks and earth approximately ten feet in. On the floor near the back of the passage sat a small wooden barrel. I pointed at it.
"Good hiding spot, right? No one would ever think to look here."
Fortune burped. "Right about that."
I handed him his mug. "Go try it out."
He swayed a bit unsteadily. "In there?"
"If you don't want to that's fine. I'll ask Lucas."
I turned to leave. Fortune grabbed the flashlight from my hand.
"No, I'll do it." He made his way to the barrel, the light from the flashlight moving erratically as he stumbled forward.
When he reached the barrel I shut the door.
"Hey," he called out. "What're you doing?" His voice was so muffled it was hard to make out. I dropped the crossbar in place and attached the padlock. A moment later he pounded on the door. "What's going on?"
"A little pay back," I replied.
"Good one, Monte." He sounded much more sober now. "Good one. Where's the camera?"
"No camera, Fortune. It irks me that no one will see your humiliation, but I'll learn to live with it. You won't have to suffer long. I estimate you have four hours of air, and then you won't be worrying about anything."
I set the piece of sheet rock in its place on the frame. It covered the door perfectly. A few nails later and the door was completely hidden.
He pounded harder on the door. "Someone will find me. You'll never get away with this."
"My dear Fortune," I replied. "Everyone is at the Phi Kappa Psi party. No one will be down here until morning at the earliest. By then it will be too late."
There was silence for a good long moment.
"He-heh-he-heh-heh-heh. Ha ha ha ha ha!"
Was that laughing? "Something funny, Fortune?" I called. There was no response.
"Fortune?"
No answer still.
Smiling, I replaced my tools and left the room.
*****
It was forty minutes later at the Phi Kappa Psi house I was approached by a man in a police uniform.
"Are you Monte Tresor?"
"Yes, officer. Is there a problem."
He took me by the shoulders, spun me about and proceeded to handcuff me.
"Mr. Tresor, you are under arrest for kidnapping and attempted murder."
"What? How? I…." It was at that moment the crowd parted and I saw Fortune standing next to another uniformed officer. The baffled look on my face must have spoken to him. In answer, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and waved it in the air.
-----------
The prank wars between rival fraternities on college campuses are well documented, but Frank Fortune had gone too far. I freely admit the video he shot of me in a "compromising situation" with the dean's daughter was a masterstroke, but the way he went about disseminating the thing was above and beyond the gentleman's agreement that generally held sway when it came to such things. The repercussions of the video's viral release were more than I could bear.
I gave him no reason to think a reprisal would be coming. In fact, I made sure to keep my interactions with him on a decidedly positive level. I gave him every impression there were no hard feelings. My smile, which he took to mean we were still on good terms, was in reality the result of my plan for revenge.
Fortune had a hobby. He viewed himself a brewer of sorts, and at the weekly parties our quad of frat houses rotated in throwing he never failed to produce a batch of his most recent swill.
So it was that I found him that night finishing off a large mug off some slop he called "wine." He threw an arm around my neck, confident in our continuing good relations. He was obviously wasted. His breath reeked of licorice and alcohol, and he was decidedly tipsy.
"Monte," he said, slurring the words, "How you doing, man? The dean let you out for the night?"
"The dean and I are okay," I lied. "As long as I keep clean we're cool."
"Awesome."
"Speaking of awesome, I need your advice," I said. "My roommate and I have been trying our hand out at brewing. Since you're the local expert on the subject I thought I'd ask for your opinion on our first brew."
"Nats, bro. I'll give it a go. Hand it over."
"Ah, that's the thing. If word got back to the dean I had any alcohol I'd be screwed. Would you mind coming back to the SAE house to try it out?"
He eyed the impromptu stage across the room where a number of the Phi Kappa Psi guys were setting up for the traditional white t-shirt contest.
"I'll miss the show."
"S'ok," I said, "I can always ask Lucas. He claims he's better at brewing than you anyway."
I hadn't taken more than a step before Fortune's arm caught mine in a weak fingered grip. "No way. No way Lucas is a better brewer than me. You take his advise you'll ruin the batch for sure."
"But I don't want you to miss the show."
"I'll come," he said, swaying slightly. "We hurry, we can be back before it starts."
I nodded.
*****
Five minutes later we were in my house heading down the stairs to the sub basement.
"You keep your stuff way down here?" Fortune asked. He was leaning heavily on me as we descended the stairs. I didn't think he would fall, but I wasn't taking chances.
"With the risk the dean may search my room at any time? Damn right."
I led him down the old hallway. The SAE house had been built in the early 1900s. It had been heavily modified during the prohibition era to include several hidden areas for the smuggling of booze. When SAE had purchased the house the first chapter members had discovered the areas. Many had fallen into disrepair and were no longer safe, though some were still used for various purposes.
We entered a room at the far end of the hall. It was scattered about with building materials. Drywall and two-by-fours were stacked in one corner with an assortment of tools lying here and there around the floor.
"What's all this?" Fortune asked.
"We're making this into a new rec room. In the meantime, I make use of this." I led him to the far side of the room where a drywall frame had been erected to cover over an old brick wall. A piece of sheet rock leaned against the frame. I moved aside the sheet rock to reveal an old door, barred with a wooden crossbeam and locked with a padlock. I took a key from my pocket and unlocked the lock. I then removed the wooden beam and pulled the door open. I procured a flashlight from the floor and shined the beam into the open doorway. A small passage made entirely of brick led away from the old door, ending in a jumble of fallen bricks and earth approximately ten feet in. On the floor near the back of the passage sat a small wooden barrel. I pointed at it.
"Good hiding spot, right? No one would ever think to look here."
Fortune burped. "Right about that."
I handed him his mug. "Go try it out."
He swayed a bit unsteadily. "In there?"
"If you don't want to that's fine. I'll ask Lucas."
I turned to leave. Fortune grabbed the flashlight from my hand.
"No, I'll do it." He made his way to the barrel, the light from the flashlight moving erratically as he stumbled forward.
When he reached the barrel I shut the door.
"Hey," he called out. "What're you doing?" His voice was so muffled it was hard to make out. I dropped the crossbar in place and attached the padlock. A moment later he pounded on the door. "What's going on?"
"A little pay back," I replied.
"Good one, Monte." He sounded much more sober now. "Good one. Where's the camera?"
"No camera, Fortune. It irks me that no one will see your humiliation, but I'll learn to live with it. You won't have to suffer long. I estimate you have four hours of air, and then you won't be worrying about anything."
I set the piece of sheet rock in its place on the frame. It covered the door perfectly. A few nails later and the door was completely hidden.
He pounded harder on the door. "Someone will find me. You'll never get away with this."
"My dear Fortune," I replied. "Everyone is at the Phi Kappa Psi party. No one will be down here until morning at the earliest. By then it will be too late."
There was silence for a good long moment.
"He-heh-he-heh-heh-heh. Ha ha ha ha ha!"
Was that laughing? "Something funny, Fortune?" I called. There was no response.
"Fortune?"
No answer still.
Smiling, I replaced my tools and left the room.
*****
It was forty minutes later at the Phi Kappa Psi house I was approached by a man in a police uniform.
"Are you Monte Tresor?"
"Yes, officer. Is there a problem."
He took me by the shoulders, spun me about and proceeded to handcuff me.
"Mr. Tresor, you are under arrest for kidnapping and attempted murder."
"What? How? I…." It was at that moment the crowd parted and I saw Fortune standing next to another uniformed officer. The baffled look on my face must have spoken to him. In answer, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and waved it in the air.
Friday, September 10, 2010
In the Barn
Dr. Carter Dietz swore as he slammed the phone down on the cradle. He wanted to scream. He hated dealing with the self-serving bureaucrats who ran the university's grants and contracts department. How was he supposed to finish his research on time if they refused to release the project funds to purchase the needed equipment? What did it matter if the request fell outside of their definition of capital expenditures? Wasn't the money was his to spend as long as it went toward the project? Apparently not. And they had the audacity to leave him a voicemail rather than talk to him in person when he had been calling their office repeatedly or over a week. Did they just conveniently forget his cell number?
He swore again, mentally chiding himself for losing his temper. He would be fifty in a week. His heart wasn't as strong as it should have been and his blood pressure was sure to be elevated. If he didn't want a heart attack he better calm down.
Carter took a moment to compose himself, using the breathing techniques he had learned during his last trip to the health clinic. They seemed to help.
His heart rate was just about back to normal when the phone rang. Oh no, not those idiots from GAC again. The tension in his shoulders immediately returned. He checked the caller ID. The number surprised him. It was his neighbor.
"Carter Dietz," he said as he picked up the receiver.
"Dr. Dietz? Hello, this is Mabel Jones."
"Hello, Mrs. Jones. What can I do for you?"
"Well, I know it's not my business, but that old barn on the west side of your property, the one that butts up against mine? Something strange is going on out there."
"What do you mean?"
"I heard some loud noises about ten, fifteen minutes ago. Figured it was just your boy and some friends. But when the eerie lights started coming through the cracks in the siding I got scared. I called your house, but no one answered. Thought about calling the sheriff, but if it is your boy I didn't want to get him into trouble with the law. Bryce has been a good boy to me. But I thought you should know, strange things are happening."
Carter sighed. Mrs. Jones was a good neighbor. She was always looking out for things. It probably was Bryce messing around with his friends. He'd have to go take a look, just to ease her mind. He glanced at his watch. He was shocked. Was it 8:30 already?
"I'll check it out Mrs. Jones. Thanks for calling me."
Carter tried Bryce's cell, but there was no answer, and Lily didn't pick up at the house. That was odd. Bryce wouldn't have answered if he was messing around doing something he shouldn't, but Lily should have been home at this hour.
Well, nothing for it. It was time to head home anyway. Carter grabbed his briefcase and headed out the door.
*****
Thirty minutes later he was pulling onto the drive that lead back to the house. They had purchased the old farmstead five years ago when Carter took the job with the University of Kansas. The house itself was in good shape, a classic 1950's style farmhouse with front porch, three stories and all the country charm you would expect from homes of that era. The rest of the buildings on the property hadn't managed the time so well. The garage was functional, as was the barn that sat opposite the house across the drive. The family used those buildings regularly, and Carter had even gone through the effort to repaint them.
The old barn was the exception. The old barn had been built before the other buildings, a casualty of the redistribution of properties that had occurred in this area in the mid-fifties. It had originally belonged to the farm that occupied the place where Mrs. Jones now lived. When that farm had been split into pieces and sold, the barn ended up as part of this property, but too far from the house to be worth maintaining. It had fallen into disrepair and was now considered generally unsafe. Carter had agreed to let Bryce attempt a restoration, but it was slow going. The electricity was working now, and Bryce had shored up some minor structural issues, but until the local building inspector declared the space safe for occupancy, Carter had forbid Bryce from allowing anyone else into the building.
Carter exited the car and looked around. The lights in the house and the new barn were out and there were no other cars present. How very strange. He checked his watch. It was just past 9:00. Where could they be?
A noise off to the west drew his attention. Was that a door slamming? The only thing off that direction was the old barn. As he looked that direction a flicker of light played out above the tops of the trees that obscured his view of that corner of the property.
Mrs. Jones' words came back to him. Loud noises and eerie lights coming from the old barn. Could Bryce and his friends really be doing something out there? It was the answer that fit the evidence. Carter found his temper rising. If that boy had friends in that place there would be hell to pay, especially if they were doing what so many teenagers liked to do on Friday nights in this rural community.
Carter grabbed a flashlight from the garage and trekked out to the old barn.
*****
Carter emerged from the stand of trees and stopped to observe. The old barn stood about fifty yards ahead of him. He had heard several sounds of a door slamming and seen several more flashes of light during his approach. Now that he could see the structure it was evident there were lights inside. He could see the same flashes through the cracks in the siding that Mrs. Jones had described. He cast his eyes a bit further down the way where he could see Mrs. Jones house. It was some distance away. The woman may be older than dirt, but she had excellent instincts. Something was definitely going on here. He was going to get to the bottom of it.
Halfway to the barn a movement in the shadows to the right of the door caught his eye. "Who is that?" he called out. He hadn't meant to sound so angry, but there was no mistaking his tone. The figure froze, and then the lights in the barn went out.
Carter trained the flashlight beam at the spot where the movement had been.
"Bryce, if that's you I'm going to...."
His voice petered out as the flashlight beam revealed the figure. He almost didn't see him, dressed in black as he was, a hood pulled over his face. It was the reflection of the light off the scythe that gave him away. Slowly the hooded head turned his direction. The eyes glowed red.
He dropped the flashlight. He didn't mean to, his fingers just lost their grip.
It was Death.
No wait, that was ridiculous. Death? He scooped up the flashlight and aimed it back at the same place. There was no one there.
Of course there was no one there. Death? His eyes had been playing tricks on him. He moved the beam to the barn door. It was closed, but the padlock was missing. A ha! Bryce and his friends must be inside. Who else would have the key?
Carter strode briskly to the barn. "Bryce, that's enough. Quit fooling around with me, son. You and your friends need to come out here now." He reached out a hand and threw open the door.
"Carter Dietz....." The voice floated out of the barn, deep and resonant. He could feel it through his shoes. He froze.
"Carter Dietz, your doom awaits...." A figure snapped into view in the barn. He could only see it in silhouette as bright lights lit it from the back, but the red eyes were unmistakable. Death. His anger drained from him, replaced by pure terror.
"Carter Dietz, your destiny is before you. You're...getting old."
Carter cowered before the figure as it approached. Wait, old?
The main lights for the barn suddenly came back on. "Surprise," yelled an army of voices, "Happy Birthday!"
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Across the hayloft a large black sign had been strung with white lettering. It read, "Happy 50th Birthday." Tables and chairs had been set up in artful configurations. Black balloons and streamers were everywhere. A crowd of his family and friends filled the room, but Carter's eyes were on Death. The figure pulled back its hood and pulled off the mask with the glowing eyes.
"Bryce!"
"Hey, Dad," Bryce said as he sauntered up. "I got you good, didn't I."
"Bryce, no one is supposed to be in here." It was the wrong thing to say, he knew, but it was the only thing that would come out. A surprise party?
"I gave him permission," Lily said as she approached from the side. She kissed him on the cheek. "Happy Birthday, Carter."
Carter looked from his wife back to his son. "You organized this," he asked Bryce.
The boy nodded.
"But where are all the cars?"
Lily answered. "They parked at Mrs. Jones place and walked over. We had her call you at 8:30 after most of the guests had arrived."
Bryce grinned, uncertainty showing on his face. "So, what do you think?"
Carter looked around. Smiling faces looked back from all around.
"I think it's wonderful," he replied, "_IF_ you have cake."
Bryce pointed to the small tombstone situated on a nearby table. "It's even chocolate."
"Ah, but you always say you can't eat cake, sweetie," Lily said, a mocking smile playing about her mouth. "With your cholesterol problems it may very well kill you."
"I've already had one run in with Death tonight. Look how that turned out." Carter mussed his son's hair. "I think I'm willing to risk another."
Smiling, they moved further into the barn.
He swore again, mentally chiding himself for losing his temper. He would be fifty in a week. His heart wasn't as strong as it should have been and his blood pressure was sure to be elevated. If he didn't want a heart attack he better calm down.
Carter took a moment to compose himself, using the breathing techniques he had learned during his last trip to the health clinic. They seemed to help.
His heart rate was just about back to normal when the phone rang. Oh no, not those idiots from GAC again. The tension in his shoulders immediately returned. He checked the caller ID. The number surprised him. It was his neighbor.
"Carter Dietz," he said as he picked up the receiver.
"Dr. Dietz? Hello, this is Mabel Jones."
"Hello, Mrs. Jones. What can I do for you?"
"Well, I know it's not my business, but that old barn on the west side of your property, the one that butts up against mine? Something strange is going on out there."
"What do you mean?"
"I heard some loud noises about ten, fifteen minutes ago. Figured it was just your boy and some friends. But when the eerie lights started coming through the cracks in the siding I got scared. I called your house, but no one answered. Thought about calling the sheriff, but if it is your boy I didn't want to get him into trouble with the law. Bryce has been a good boy to me. But I thought you should know, strange things are happening."
Carter sighed. Mrs. Jones was a good neighbor. She was always looking out for things. It probably was Bryce messing around with his friends. He'd have to go take a look, just to ease her mind. He glanced at his watch. He was shocked. Was it 8:30 already?
"I'll check it out Mrs. Jones. Thanks for calling me."
Carter tried Bryce's cell, but there was no answer, and Lily didn't pick up at the house. That was odd. Bryce wouldn't have answered if he was messing around doing something he shouldn't, but Lily should have been home at this hour.
Well, nothing for it. It was time to head home anyway. Carter grabbed his briefcase and headed out the door.
*****
Thirty minutes later he was pulling onto the drive that lead back to the house. They had purchased the old farmstead five years ago when Carter took the job with the University of Kansas. The house itself was in good shape, a classic 1950's style farmhouse with front porch, three stories and all the country charm you would expect from homes of that era. The rest of the buildings on the property hadn't managed the time so well. The garage was functional, as was the barn that sat opposite the house across the drive. The family used those buildings regularly, and Carter had even gone through the effort to repaint them.
The old barn was the exception. The old barn had been built before the other buildings, a casualty of the redistribution of properties that had occurred in this area in the mid-fifties. It had originally belonged to the farm that occupied the place where Mrs. Jones now lived. When that farm had been split into pieces and sold, the barn ended up as part of this property, but too far from the house to be worth maintaining. It had fallen into disrepair and was now considered generally unsafe. Carter had agreed to let Bryce attempt a restoration, but it was slow going. The electricity was working now, and Bryce had shored up some minor structural issues, but until the local building inspector declared the space safe for occupancy, Carter had forbid Bryce from allowing anyone else into the building.
Carter exited the car and looked around. The lights in the house and the new barn were out and there were no other cars present. How very strange. He checked his watch. It was just past 9:00. Where could they be?
A noise off to the west drew his attention. Was that a door slamming? The only thing off that direction was the old barn. As he looked that direction a flicker of light played out above the tops of the trees that obscured his view of that corner of the property.
Mrs. Jones' words came back to him. Loud noises and eerie lights coming from the old barn. Could Bryce and his friends really be doing something out there? It was the answer that fit the evidence. Carter found his temper rising. If that boy had friends in that place there would be hell to pay, especially if they were doing what so many teenagers liked to do on Friday nights in this rural community.
Carter grabbed a flashlight from the garage and trekked out to the old barn.
*****
Carter emerged from the stand of trees and stopped to observe. The old barn stood about fifty yards ahead of him. He had heard several sounds of a door slamming and seen several more flashes of light during his approach. Now that he could see the structure it was evident there were lights inside. He could see the same flashes through the cracks in the siding that Mrs. Jones had described. He cast his eyes a bit further down the way where he could see Mrs. Jones house. It was some distance away. The woman may be older than dirt, but she had excellent instincts. Something was definitely going on here. He was going to get to the bottom of it.
Halfway to the barn a movement in the shadows to the right of the door caught his eye. "Who is that?" he called out. He hadn't meant to sound so angry, but there was no mistaking his tone. The figure froze, and then the lights in the barn went out.
Carter trained the flashlight beam at the spot where the movement had been.
"Bryce, if that's you I'm going to...."
His voice petered out as the flashlight beam revealed the figure. He almost didn't see him, dressed in black as he was, a hood pulled over his face. It was the reflection of the light off the scythe that gave him away. Slowly the hooded head turned his direction. The eyes glowed red.
He dropped the flashlight. He didn't mean to, his fingers just lost their grip.
It was Death.
No wait, that was ridiculous. Death? He scooped up the flashlight and aimed it back at the same place. There was no one there.
Of course there was no one there. Death? His eyes had been playing tricks on him. He moved the beam to the barn door. It was closed, but the padlock was missing. A ha! Bryce and his friends must be inside. Who else would have the key?
Carter strode briskly to the barn. "Bryce, that's enough. Quit fooling around with me, son. You and your friends need to come out here now." He reached out a hand and threw open the door.
"Carter Dietz....." The voice floated out of the barn, deep and resonant. He could feel it through his shoes. He froze.
"Carter Dietz, your doom awaits...." A figure snapped into view in the barn. He could only see it in silhouette as bright lights lit it from the back, but the red eyes were unmistakable. Death. His anger drained from him, replaced by pure terror.
"Carter Dietz, your destiny is before you. You're...getting old."
Carter cowered before the figure as it approached. Wait, old?
The main lights for the barn suddenly came back on. "Surprise," yelled an army of voices, "Happy Birthday!"
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Across the hayloft a large black sign had been strung with white lettering. It read, "Happy 50th Birthday." Tables and chairs had been set up in artful configurations. Black balloons and streamers were everywhere. A crowd of his family and friends filled the room, but Carter's eyes were on Death. The figure pulled back its hood and pulled off the mask with the glowing eyes.
"Bryce!"
"Hey, Dad," Bryce said as he sauntered up. "I got you good, didn't I."
"Bryce, no one is supposed to be in here." It was the wrong thing to say, he knew, but it was the only thing that would come out. A surprise party?
"I gave him permission," Lily said as she approached from the side. She kissed him on the cheek. "Happy Birthday, Carter."
Carter looked from his wife back to his son. "You organized this," he asked Bryce.
The boy nodded.
"But where are all the cars?"
Lily answered. "They parked at Mrs. Jones place and walked over. We had her call you at 8:30 after most of the guests had arrived."
Bryce grinned, uncertainty showing on his face. "So, what do you think?"
Carter looked around. Smiling faces looked back from all around.
"I think it's wonderful," he replied, "_IF_ you have cake."
Bryce pointed to the small tombstone situated on a nearby table. "It's even chocolate."
"Ah, but you always say you can't eat cake, sweetie," Lily said, a mocking smile playing about her mouth. "With your cholesterol problems it may very well kill you."
"I've already had one run in with Death tonight. Look how that turned out." Carter mussed his son's hair. "I think I'm willing to risk another."
Smiling, they moved further into the barn.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Back to School
"It's been a good summer, Tim. We had a lot of fun, didn't we?"
I nodded my agreement as Keri and I went through the doors to the school.
"I'm going to miss having you with me," she continued. "Things will be different without you around."
I felt the same way about her. Life at school was one great bother, but life with Keri had been grand. I slept terribly at school, what with the poking and prodding and knocking all the time. At Keri's, I slept when I felt like it and played when I felt like it. At school, I was fed well, but I heard the same lecture hour after hour. At Keri's, I sometimes missed a meal -- twelve year old girls are so easily distracted -- but I was entertained by the most wonderful variety of music, DVDs, and television programs.
I twittered. Back to the school grind.
Mrs. Fredin looked up as we entered her classroom. "Well, Keri, welcome back! I see Tim is looking fine. How was your summer?"
"It was dicing," Keri replied with a grin. Mrs. Fredin raised an eyebrow, but I knew that 'dicing' meant 'a lot of fun.' I was happy to see I was more current on the popular slang Keri's group used than Mrs. Fredin was.
"Why don't you put Tim down in his place and you can tell me all about it."
Keri deposited me by the bookcase. I looked around. Last year's poster about the human eye had been replaced by a newer one featuring the human cardiovascular system. The tinker toy model of DNA was still in the corner, along with the plastic skeleton the kids so enjoyed. I twittered again. It did feel good to be home.
Keri's talk with Mrs. Fredin was short and she was soon on her way. As she approached the door she called out to me, "See you 'round, bird brain."
"Bird brain," I chirped back. It was our secret greeting.
Mrs. Fredin gasped. "He talked!"
"Yeah," Keri said. "I taught him."
"That's wonderful," Mrs. Fredin said. "It's always hit or miss whether parakeets will talk. Can he say anything else?"
I chirped out another phrase before Keri could respond. This time both of them were shocked. I gave my best parakeet shrug by cocking my head slightly to the side.
Hey, I only repeat what I hear. Not my fault we watched a lot of South Park.
I nodded my agreement as Keri and I went through the doors to the school.
"I'm going to miss having you with me," she continued. "Things will be different without you around."
I felt the same way about her. Life at school was one great bother, but life with Keri had been grand. I slept terribly at school, what with the poking and prodding and knocking all the time. At Keri's, I slept when I felt like it and played when I felt like it. At school, I was fed well, but I heard the same lecture hour after hour. At Keri's, I sometimes missed a meal -- twelve year old girls are so easily distracted -- but I was entertained by the most wonderful variety of music, DVDs, and television programs.
I twittered. Back to the school grind.
Mrs. Fredin looked up as we entered her classroom. "Well, Keri, welcome back! I see Tim is looking fine. How was your summer?"
"It was dicing," Keri replied with a grin. Mrs. Fredin raised an eyebrow, but I knew that 'dicing' meant 'a lot of fun.' I was happy to see I was more current on the popular slang Keri's group used than Mrs. Fredin was.
"Why don't you put Tim down in his place and you can tell me all about it."
Keri deposited me by the bookcase. I looked around. Last year's poster about the human eye had been replaced by a newer one featuring the human cardiovascular system. The tinker toy model of DNA was still in the corner, along with the plastic skeleton the kids so enjoyed. I twittered again. It did feel good to be home.
Keri's talk with Mrs. Fredin was short and she was soon on her way. As she approached the door she called out to me, "See you 'round, bird brain."
"Bird brain," I chirped back. It was our secret greeting.
Mrs. Fredin gasped. "He talked!"
"Yeah," Keri said. "I taught him."
"That's wonderful," Mrs. Fredin said. "It's always hit or miss whether parakeets will talk. Can he say anything else?"
I chirped out another phrase before Keri could respond. This time both of them were shocked. I gave my best parakeet shrug by cocking my head slightly to the side.
Hey, I only repeat what I hear. Not my fault we watched a lot of South Park.
Friday, July 30, 2010
"The Research Project"
"'This is not a good choice for a dissertation topic, Neil.' That's what my advisor told me when I presented it to him that fall afternoon those years ago. 'No one is doing this research. You'd have to build the project from the ground up. What about funding? Who in their right mind would fund such a thing? This is a mistake.'
"I refused to believe it. It was such an important question. Who wouldn't want to fund it? In this my advisor had been correct. The paucity of funding sources was frightening. I was almost finished before I began.
"I was saved by the generosity of Sir Albert William Grey. A true visionary, Sir Albert saw the value of my idea immediately. He was a kindred spirit, with ample resources to see the project through. Not only did he fund the project, he provided valuable expertise in the area of sonic resonance that I would have been unable to draw upon otherwise.
"Let me spend a moment telling you about the facility we used. Nothing in existence suited our needs. In order to reach the goal we had to completely redesign our laboratory space. We were forced to build from the ground up – or rather, from under the ground up. The subterranean vault was cavernous, more than a football field in length and width. The walls were specially designed to eliminate vibration. At the very center we located the lab itself.
"We took great pains to isolate the lab from outside influences – including electromagnetic interference. Electricity was a large no-no. Have you ever tried to minimize electromagnetic signature while operating standard laboratory equipment? It can't be done. All of our instruments were redesigned. Where power was unavoidable, everything was meticulously shielded. The internal testing room of the lab was a marvel of sound proofing technology. State of the art materials and strategies were incorporated, including several of Sir Albert's own design that are currently under patent review. You can see the configurations we used in these photos.
"The most revolutionary part of the design was the nested baffling shown here in slide five. The two panels are divided by absorption plates which channel the vibrations out via this gel filled polystyrene pipe. It's really quite ingenious, and I would be happy to entertain questions about it later in the presentation, but for now, it's time I share with you the results of our experiment.
"After five years and seventy million dollars of research, Sir Albert and I are proud to share our primary finding."
A large photo filled the screen in the auditorium. The vast majority of the picture was black, but there in the very center was a slight rosy glow.
"Ladies and gentlemen, silence is not, in fact, golden. It is pink."
"I refused to believe it. It was such an important question. Who wouldn't want to fund it? In this my advisor had been correct. The paucity of funding sources was frightening. I was almost finished before I began.
"I was saved by the generosity of Sir Albert William Grey. A true visionary, Sir Albert saw the value of my idea immediately. He was a kindred spirit, with ample resources to see the project through. Not only did he fund the project, he provided valuable expertise in the area of sonic resonance that I would have been unable to draw upon otherwise.
"Let me spend a moment telling you about the facility we used. Nothing in existence suited our needs. In order to reach the goal we had to completely redesign our laboratory space. We were forced to build from the ground up – or rather, from under the ground up. The subterranean vault was cavernous, more than a football field in length and width. The walls were specially designed to eliminate vibration. At the very center we located the lab itself.
"We took great pains to isolate the lab from outside influences – including electromagnetic interference. Electricity was a large no-no. Have you ever tried to minimize electromagnetic signature while operating standard laboratory equipment? It can't be done. All of our instruments were redesigned. Where power was unavoidable, everything was meticulously shielded. The internal testing room of the lab was a marvel of sound proofing technology. State of the art materials and strategies were incorporated, including several of Sir Albert's own design that are currently under patent review. You can see the configurations we used in these photos.
"The most revolutionary part of the design was the nested baffling shown here in slide five. The two panels are divided by absorption plates which channel the vibrations out via this gel filled polystyrene pipe. It's really quite ingenious, and I would be happy to entertain questions about it later in the presentation, but for now, it's time I share with you the results of our experiment.
"After five years and seventy million dollars of research, Sir Albert and I are proud to share our primary finding."
A large photo filled the screen in the auditorium. The vast majority of the picture was black, but there in the very center was a slight rosy glow.
"Ladies and gentlemen, silence is not, in fact, golden. It is pink."
Friday, April 30, 2010
Grace
This was a challenge on grace. Somehow, a submarine needed to get in there, so I added that too.
-----
"We're saved by grace, not by works. If you just believe you're saved."
"Yeah, grace is important, but you've got to do something. Faith without works is dead."
"Do as much as you want, but if there was no grace, there would be no salvation, no matter how many 'works' you do."
I groaned. Chuck and Stu were my best friends, but their constant theological discussions really got on my nerves sometimes. The current debate had been continuing on and off for close to a week now. I didn't care who won, grace or works, as long as the conversation ENDED.
"Guys, would you just shut up? You're scaring the fish away."
The conversation stopped abruptly as they glowered at me. I didn't care. They could glower all they wanted. We'd come here to catch some fish and that's what I intended to do.I zipped my lure out into the river and reeled it in as the current carried it downstream. We'd been here for two days now and so far had caught nothing of note. The river was low this year and running fast, making the fishing more difficult. It was frustrating. Chuck and Stu arguing over religion made the frustration worse. I considered moving away from my friends, farther downstream, but that would take me into the middle of our neighbors.
The family of six had been at the campsite when we arrived. The mom and dad like to sit in their folding chairs, seeming to oversee the activities of their brood, while in reality the kids did pretty much whatever they wanted while their parents dozed. The older ones were out playing in the woods – I could hear their shouts and shrieks somewhere back behind me. The younger two, George and Sam (ages somewhere around 4 and 6 respectively), were playing at the edge of the river. The object of their play was a two foot long plastic submarine. One of them would stand upstream, holding the sub in the water. He would let it go and it would rush downstream to where the other would snatch it up and run it back up to the launching point. Then they would switch places and do it all over again. Neither one seemed to care that the toy didn't act like a real submarine. They were having a ball.
They were also making me extremely nervous. Sam was pretty adept at catching the sub, but George was more unsteady at the edge of the bank.
"Here is comes!" Sam released the sub into the quickly moving water. It hurtled downstream toward the outstretched hands of his little brother. George misjudged the sub, and it went sailing past. He grabbed at it. The move caused him to overbalance and he went tumbling into the river.
I stood frozen in shock for a fraction of a second. Thoughts ricocheted around my head in lightning succession: George was only four. While he was wearing a life jacket, the river was moving too quickly for him to be able to swim to shore. His parents were sleeping. The falls were only three hundred yards downstream.
That last thought jolted me into action. I dropped my pole and took off at a sprint. I passed Sam - who was only then registering what had happened - in a matter of seconds, and leapt over a pile of camping gear dumped unceremoniously on the ground by the older children at the conclusion of one of their games. I wasn't very graceful about it; my knee smashed into a large cooler as I landed. I managed to keep to my feet, but the cooler splashed into the water. Pain blossomed in my knee, but I did my best to ignore it. A child's life was at stake and I was the only chance he had.
I stormed ahead, doing my best to dodge around the trees and bushes that lined the bank. I was only partially successful. Tree limbs raked at my limbs and hair as I passed. Thorns and brambles ripped my clothes and tore at my skin. I was slowing down. I could see the cooler pass me out of the corner of my eye. If it was moving faster than me, then so was George.
I increased my pace, headless of the countless small injuries the surrounding woods were inflicting on me. Time lost meaning as I surged forward. How long had it been? I didn't know. My knee was burning now. I wasn't sure how much longer I could go on….
I burst from the undergrowth into a small clearing and was forced to skid to a stop as the river bent on its final approach to the falls. I could see them just up ahead now, the water smoothing as it prepared to drop the seventy five feet almost straight down. I searched frantically for George, but couldn't see him. My heart fell. I was too late. He had already gone over. It was then I heard the frantic sobbing from somewhere behind me. Could it be?
I quickly made my way back along the bank. There he was! I couldn't believe my eyes. The cooler I had knocked into the river had hung up on the branch of a tree that had fallen into the river. George had somehow managed to grasp the cooler's handle and was hanging on for dear life. I didn't stop to consider the how of the situation.
"Hold on, George. I'm coming."
I waded out into the river. Using the fallen tree as my lifeline, I managed to make it out to George before his strength gave way. The little guy refused to let go of the cooler, so I hooked my arm through his life vest, then freed the cooler and hauled both of them back to shore.
Chuck and Stu had arrived while I was making my way out to George and they helped us safely out of the river and back on dry ground. I lay there a minute, my heart pounding as I tried to catch my breath. What had just happened?
"That was amazaing," Chuck said. "Simply amazing. Dude, if you hadn't been so fast to react George would have died."
"What about the cooler?" Stu said, his voice full of wonder. "Kev knocked it over by accident and it miraculously stopped at the tree so George could grab it. God's grace at work."
There was a moment of silence as we pondered that statement.
"True," Chuck said finally," that was grace, but if Kev hadn't acted, the cooler never would have been where it was needed. That took works."
"God's grace would just have been manifested in a different way."
"George still needed to be pulled out of the river. That's works."
Were they really having this argument now? I sighed. Ignoring my two friends, I got to my feet and scooped the still traumatized George into my arms.
"Works or grace," I told him, 'You're safe. Let's get you back to your family."
I limped back along the bank. Chuck and Stu followed after.
"Grace!"
"Works"
"Grace...."
I sighed again. It was going to be a long weekend.
-----
"We're saved by grace, not by works. If you just believe you're saved."
"Yeah, grace is important, but you've got to do something. Faith without works is dead."
"Do as much as you want, but if there was no grace, there would be no salvation, no matter how many 'works' you do."
I groaned. Chuck and Stu were my best friends, but their constant theological discussions really got on my nerves sometimes. The current debate had been continuing on and off for close to a week now. I didn't care who won, grace or works, as long as the conversation ENDED.
"Guys, would you just shut up? You're scaring the fish away."
The conversation stopped abruptly as they glowered at me. I didn't care. They could glower all they wanted. We'd come here to catch some fish and that's what I intended to do.I zipped my lure out into the river and reeled it in as the current carried it downstream. We'd been here for two days now and so far had caught nothing of note. The river was low this year and running fast, making the fishing more difficult. It was frustrating. Chuck and Stu arguing over religion made the frustration worse. I considered moving away from my friends, farther downstream, but that would take me into the middle of our neighbors.
The family of six had been at the campsite when we arrived. The mom and dad like to sit in their folding chairs, seeming to oversee the activities of their brood, while in reality the kids did pretty much whatever they wanted while their parents dozed. The older ones were out playing in the woods – I could hear their shouts and shrieks somewhere back behind me. The younger two, George and Sam (ages somewhere around 4 and 6 respectively), were playing at the edge of the river. The object of their play was a two foot long plastic submarine. One of them would stand upstream, holding the sub in the water. He would let it go and it would rush downstream to where the other would snatch it up and run it back up to the launching point. Then they would switch places and do it all over again. Neither one seemed to care that the toy didn't act like a real submarine. They were having a ball.
They were also making me extremely nervous. Sam was pretty adept at catching the sub, but George was more unsteady at the edge of the bank.
"Here is comes!" Sam released the sub into the quickly moving water. It hurtled downstream toward the outstretched hands of his little brother. George misjudged the sub, and it went sailing past. He grabbed at it. The move caused him to overbalance and he went tumbling into the river.
I stood frozen in shock for a fraction of a second. Thoughts ricocheted around my head in lightning succession: George was only four. While he was wearing a life jacket, the river was moving too quickly for him to be able to swim to shore. His parents were sleeping. The falls were only three hundred yards downstream.
That last thought jolted me into action. I dropped my pole and took off at a sprint. I passed Sam - who was only then registering what had happened - in a matter of seconds, and leapt over a pile of camping gear dumped unceremoniously on the ground by the older children at the conclusion of one of their games. I wasn't very graceful about it; my knee smashed into a large cooler as I landed. I managed to keep to my feet, but the cooler splashed into the water. Pain blossomed in my knee, but I did my best to ignore it. A child's life was at stake and I was the only chance he had.
I stormed ahead, doing my best to dodge around the trees and bushes that lined the bank. I was only partially successful. Tree limbs raked at my limbs and hair as I passed. Thorns and brambles ripped my clothes and tore at my skin. I was slowing down. I could see the cooler pass me out of the corner of my eye. If it was moving faster than me, then so was George.
I increased my pace, headless of the countless small injuries the surrounding woods were inflicting on me. Time lost meaning as I surged forward. How long had it been? I didn't know. My knee was burning now. I wasn't sure how much longer I could go on….
I burst from the undergrowth into a small clearing and was forced to skid to a stop as the river bent on its final approach to the falls. I could see them just up ahead now, the water smoothing as it prepared to drop the seventy five feet almost straight down. I searched frantically for George, but couldn't see him. My heart fell. I was too late. He had already gone over. It was then I heard the frantic sobbing from somewhere behind me. Could it be?
I quickly made my way back along the bank. There he was! I couldn't believe my eyes. The cooler I had knocked into the river had hung up on the branch of a tree that had fallen into the river. George had somehow managed to grasp the cooler's handle and was hanging on for dear life. I didn't stop to consider the how of the situation.
"Hold on, George. I'm coming."
I waded out into the river. Using the fallen tree as my lifeline, I managed to make it out to George before his strength gave way. The little guy refused to let go of the cooler, so I hooked my arm through his life vest, then freed the cooler and hauled both of them back to shore.
Chuck and Stu had arrived while I was making my way out to George and they helped us safely out of the river and back on dry ground. I lay there a minute, my heart pounding as I tried to catch my breath. What had just happened?
"That was amazaing," Chuck said. "Simply amazing. Dude, if you hadn't been so fast to react George would have died."
"What about the cooler?" Stu said, his voice full of wonder. "Kev knocked it over by accident and it miraculously stopped at the tree so George could grab it. God's grace at work."
There was a moment of silence as we pondered that statement.
"True," Chuck said finally," that was grace, but if Kev hadn't acted, the cooler never would have been where it was needed. That took works."
"God's grace would just have been manifested in a different way."
"George still needed to be pulled out of the river. That's works."
Were they really having this argument now? I sighed. Ignoring my two friends, I got to my feet and scooped the still traumatized George into my arms.
"Works or grace," I told him, 'You're safe. Let's get you back to your family."
I limped back along the bank. Chuck and Stu followed after.
"Grace!"
"Works"
"Grace...."
I sighed again. It was going to be a long weekend.
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