A Life of Death: Episodes 1 - 4 Read online

  Her touch amazed me. Under her hands, the stress of everything that happened lifted, if only for a little while. Her eyes scanned my face from a foot away. I couldn’t pull myself from her gaze. Even in the veil of night, my memory filled in the gaps that darkness hid. She was beautiful. Unable to help myself, I leaned in to her upturned face and touched her supple lips to mine. She responded in kind and for the next few minutes, I soared to the moon and back. When we parted she snuggled under my arm.

  “I’ve wanted you to do that for a long time,” she whispered.

  “Then why didn’t you tell me?” I asked with a coy smile. “A day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought about it.”

  She slapped my shirt with care and said, “I shouldn’t have to tell you.”

  Although meant to be an affectionate tap, pain shot up my side. Thankfully, the night hid my discomfort. She set her hand on my thigh and leaned in to me.

  “So what happened to him?” she asked.

  It took a minute to register who she meant. “Who, Frank?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh… I think seeing the blood scared him. I don’t think he meant to do it, just lost control. I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Wait, you mean to tell me he didn’t know what he was doing? You’re offering him an insanity plea before you even press charges?”

  I shook my head. “No, no, no… He knew what he was doing, but he couldn’t control his rage. When he wore himself out, it was like a light turned on. I saw it in his eyes. He saw the blood and panicked. The drunk did it today, too. Frank takes after him. It isn’t surprising considering how much they look alike.”

  “Is that an excuse?” she asked, pulling her head from my shoulder. Her eyes bore into me. “Should he be able to do it just because he couldn’t control his temper?” Her voice grew louder with each question, as though she intended to wake the dead.

  I saw her point. I was the victim, and the way she saw it, I was giving him a reason to do it again. “No, it isn’t an excuse. He shouldn’t have done it, but it’s just what I saw happen.”

  Calming down, Paige resumed her former position. “I think he realized something. You said he heard the drunk confess, right?”

  I nodded, but said nothing.

  “Well, it’s like you said. He’s just like his father. But looking like someone doesn’t make you them. I think it took something drastic like that for him to realize how much he took after his dad.”

  I considered her theory. It was plausible and made more sense.

  “But he hasn’t gone off the deep end and killed someone like the drunk did. Maybe that means there’s hope. He ain’t such a bad guy. We don’t have a thing in common, but what if I’m supposed to help all people who can’t help themselves, like the girls?”

  “Are you seriously saying that now you want to help the guy who practically killed you?”

  As odd as it sounds, I was. Within a matter of seconds, things had become a lot more complicated.

  “Alex, once I think I know you, you say something that turns everything upside down. I just don’t get you sometimes.”

  “But that’s why you like me,” I teased.

  “One of the reasons,” she answered with a yawn. Her breathing slowed, and she nuzzled deeper into my shirt.

  “How about we go out tonight?”

  “Sounds good,” she murmured before drifting into unconsciousness.

  I could have leaped into the air with excitement, but didn’t dare jostle the fragile flower under my arm. My mind pondered what had just happened. I replayed the conversation, over and over. Instead of unraveling how the events had come about, my thoughts stalled on the words she’d used: I don’t get you. Vivian had said the same thing that very night. I smiled at the irony as the tree limbs above whispered into the wind. It wasn’t long before I too nodded off, my chin resting atop her fragrant curls.

  Saturday - 18

  October 8, 1995

  The following morning, I awoke alone and shivering. A light rain fell around me. The large pine’s limbs drooped to the ground with the weight of the pelting water, creating a shelter at its base. Paige was nowhere to be seen and I had slumped to the ground in my sleep. Through the haze of rain, I saw that her father’s car was gone. I straightened up and shifted into my normal position. My joints popped and groaned after being curled up all night.

  My watch said 8:30 a.m. It was early, but I felt refreshed after the night’s adventures. The so-called parental figures would be leaving for work now, so it might be safe to head back to the trailer and freshen up. Paige had told me to come by this morning, but I wasn’t going without taking a shower. Stepping out from under the protective limbs, I was instantly drenched. Water cascaded down from the tree and sky, making up for my elusiveness throughout the night. I stretched, reaching high into the air, and felt my muscles spasm. A few minutes later, the twitching subdued and I started for the cemetery gate, running my hands along the corner of my father’s headstone as I passed by.

  I trudged through the rain for the next twenty minutes, rivulets of water finding their way under my clothes and creating a river down the center of my back. The water was nice and cool. It felt as though the heavens were attempting to cleanse the years of abuse. I relished in the cool droplets falling from above, closed my eyes, and faced the sky. My feet knew the way, so sight was irrelevant. The distinct sound of crunching gravel and crossties underfoot reassured me that I was on the right path. Soon after, I found my hands grazing the tops of waist-high grass in the abandoned lots. The rain clouds overhead parted, their gray, roiling masses drifting on the wind and revealing blue skies.

  As the deluge of droplets dwindled, I found myself at the edge of Tranquil Heights Trailer Park, staring at the faded sign. Long forgotten woodchips and plant life fought over the ground beneath it, but the fungus was winning. Patches of grass had invaded the small landscape. Beyond it, rusting singles and double-wides were lined up like sardines. As rays of sun shone down, the world around me attempted to dampen my spirits by illuminating untended lots and abandoned trailers. For every occupied home, one went unattended. Even soaked to the bone, I refused to allow the sight to alter my mood. I set one foot in front of the other and walked down the thin road between trailers. Minutes later, I passed through the empty parking space next to our trailer and went inside.

  I sloughed my wet clothes and jumped in the shower. The scalding water steamed up the room and released the tension from my shoulders. I stepped out and dried off, but was stunned at what I saw in the foggy mirror. The person standing before me looked as though life had been very difficult. My shoulder looked like a steamroller had run across it, leaving it black and blue. My ribs hadn’t fared much better. Fortunately, the fight had only darkened the half-healed bruises on my face. It wouldn’t be too startling for Paige to see in the daylight.

  Throwing the towel aside, I redressed in my normal attire and topped it off with my father’s favorite shirt, a black pinstriped button up. After buttoning the cuffs, I stepped in front of the mirror and admired my handiwork. The long sleeves and dark colors drew attention from my family’s achievements. I smiled at the end product. There was nothing to be done about my face, but she had seen that before. I just didn’t want to worry her or spend the entire day talking about the drunk.

  After years of mulling it over in my head, I had finally done something about my feelings for Paige, and she returned the sentiment. I don’t know what possessed me, but I was glad to have taken the leap. Sliding into my sneakers, I ventured into the hall and made for the door. As I passed by the girls’ room, the door cracked to reveal Abigail’s worried face. She glanced around, but seeing only me, opened the door further and stuck out her head.

  “Where you going, Alex?”

  “Out to meet Paige,” I whispered. Even with the drunk absent, I resorted to the necessary safety precautions developed over the years. “Y’all okay?”

  “Yeah, we’re fine. Where’d you go
last night?”

  “To see my dad.”

  She nodded. A similar sorrow was reflected in her eyes. She looked away as tears welled up, reminding me of what she had seen her father do. At least I didn’t have those memories tormenting me each night.

  “Listen, I’m gonna be out for the day. Stay in the room and don’t make him mad, okay?” She nodded again. “I’ll be back to watch over you tonight. Make sure Gloria’s okay till then?”

  “No problem,” she replied, her confidence returning with the responsibility. “Been doing it for years.”

  I returned her smile. “Be back later.”

  I patted her shoulder and fled the trailer, bounding down the porch steps. I plugged myself into the rock music of my father’s youth and continued on. Classic rock was the one thing we shared. The walk to Paige’s house wasn’t long, and while sucked into the music I felt as though the world were a video swimming by. Locals in town bustled about their business. Even the traffic was drowned out by melodic guitar solos and screaming vocals.

  Homeless Bob appeared from around one corner without his antique lawnmower, talking to himself like usual. But seeing me brought him back to reality. He locked his lips, ending the discussion, then sprinted back the way he’d come. He put as much distance between us as possible. The sight bothered me. Had I done everything I could? I was certain I’d saved him a lot of pain and suffering, but without the ability to plead my case, I had to leave him to his thoughts. I turned back to my travels and allowed the gut-wrenching drum solos to drown my uneasiness.

  Within minutes, my mind returned to Paige’s words from the night before. They lifted me from the ground and allowed me to float the rest of the way. Homes reminiscent of middle-class neighborhoods appeared in clustered blocks. Dogs barked behind wooden fences and a few people were out mowing their lawns. As I stepped onto the paved walkway leading to her front door, I wound the headphones and slid them into my pocket. The doorbell and I waited for someone to answer, rolling my fingers in anticipation. Mr. Kurtley opened the door in a polo shirt and blue jeans.

  “Good morning, Alex,” he said with a grin. His words were sincere, but as he looked down at me, a tightening at the corners of his eyes told me what he was thinking.

  Yeah, me too, I thought, wishing I didn’t look like I’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champ. I was sure I’d given as much as I’d taken against Frank, but that was nothing compared to the brawl with the drunk.

  “G’mornin’ to you too, Mr. Kurtley. Ready for a trip to the battlefield?”

  “So long as you’re feeling up to it.”

  He was giving me an out, but I couldn’t resist spending time with Paige. She was all I could think about.

  “Sure, never better,” I answered. He stepped aside and waved me in the front door.

  Paige appeared in the small foyer with her backpack in tow. A smile lit my face at the sight of her, and after a moment’s pause, she said, “Hey, Alex. You doing okay?” Her voice was filled with concern.

  I stifled my annoyance at the repetitive question. “Sure am. Can’t wait to get started.”

  I couldn’t have cared less about the assignment, but without it, this little outing would never have happened. For once I thanked Mr. Broaderick for his unintentional contribution to my happiness.

  “What’s in the bag?” The loaded pack piqued my curiosity. I had only brought a spiral notepad and pencil.

  “Oh, I packed us lunch and a few things to take notes on,” she replied, unzipping the pack. “Give me that and I’ll put it in with the rest.”

  I shrugged and handed her the notebook. “Want me to carry it?”

  “No, I’ve got it,” she murmured after zipping the bag.

  “Okay, ready to go?” her father chimed in. We both nodded, eyes locked in anticipation of the day, and walked out the door.

  The ride to the battlefield was quiet. Paige and I both sat in the back. I was content to watch her. I remembered the feel of her lips and was surprised when she slipped her tender hand in mine. We rode the rest of the way in silent revelry. As we passed the antique cannons and overlapped wooden fence, the museum emerged between forest bluffs. I last visited it years before, but it hadn’t changed much. It was a two-story building with dark shingles and cedar siding. Its construction was still somewhat recent, but mimicked the buildings of the era. Sidewalks led up to the double-door entrance.

  When the car came to a stop, Paige asked, “Dad, you sure you don’t want to come with us?” The question was polite, but I think Mr. Kurtley knew we’d be happier unsupervised.

  “Sorry, kiddo, I can’t. Have to get some work done at the office, but you kids have fun. Try not to get into trouble.”

  Paige returned his stare through the rearview mirror. The look was baleful, scolding him as if to say, “For the umpteenth time, we won’t!” With that, we stepped out of the car.

  “Remember, four o’clock at the front door,” he added through the lowered car window.

  Paige didn’t respond. “We’ll be here,” I replied, attempting to stay on his good side. “Thanks for the ride.” With a wave, he was gone.

  I turned and confronted the Tinen Valley Museum as though it were an odd stranger from my past. The last time I’d been here was in better times. I stared at the building straddling the hilltop and ran my sweaty hands along my jeans. It was the only thing for miles, outside of monuments and ancient cannons that had seen better days. As I discovered renewed sweat on my hands, it felt like I had something in common with the war remnants. The dirt and perspiration just wouldn’t stay away. The rest of the land around us was rolling hills. It was a comfort to feel Paige’s hand again slip into mine, intertwining our fingers. She didn’t comment about my palms. With a deep breath, I nodded toward the building and the glass wall surrounding the second floor that overlooked the battlefield. It was one of the few characteristics not limited by the antique design.

  “Shall we?”

  Paige stood tensed, but whether it was due to the mystery of what lay beyond the museum doors or in anticipation of spending the day with me, I’ll never know. “Yes,” she mumbled, but added with more gusto, “It should be fun.”

  She matched my step as we meandered up the sidewalk and past the corroded green plaques. I remembered the story they told. They detailed the events leading up to the conflict in the order they occurred. As we stepped up to the building, Paige guided me off the path and up to a large plaque adorning the cedar sided wall. It outlined the outcome of the battle and how it benefited the Union army. But at what cost?

  I’d experienced violent deaths first hand over the last week and could only imagine what it must have been like fighting and dying in the war. 2,500 men died where we were standing, or so it said. As I read on, a tingling spread up my foot and into my leg. I dug the ball of my foot into the ground to rid it of the pinpricks. The odd feeling persisted. I stomped my heel and the feeling dissipated, but returned a moment later. I repeated the motion and got the same result.

  Paige peered up at me with a quizzical look and a peculiar slant to her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, foot’s just asleep.”

  When she finished reading, we turned and entered the building. The annoying sensation faded away. In the entryway stood a large, rifled cannon, the earliest of its kind. It stood out from the others with its original paint and markings. It had fared far better than those outside, which were subjected to the elements each day and night. The spokes of its wheels were anchored to the floor with large chains, as though someone might consider loading it into an oversized pickup truck. I chuckled as the image of a lone man attempting to steal the cannon came to mind. The weight alone would deter any normal person from the idea. I was in awe at the might of something so large and formidable. I’d seen it before, but at that time I thought only a giant could control such a thing. To a four-foot-tall child, it was monstrous.

  “Wow,” Paige gasped, “It must be a replica to be in such goo
d shape. It says it’s a Galena Blakely, one of the few ever purchased by the Confederacy.”

  I nodded in silent agreement as my eyes scanned every inch of it. The long, chilled barrel was pitted and chipped, as though the museum staff had attempted to make it look more realistic. The large gun felt familiar. It was something from a past long lost to me. Although we’d only met once, it felt like it knew me. I set my hand atop its great barrel and all thoughts of Paige and my unwelcome home left. The dense metal reminded me of what life was like, once upon a time. I caressed the barrel like a cowboy would his steed.

  The antique aroma wafted up from the cold metal. Oh no, I thought as I was jolted from the museum. It’s happening again.

  A Soldier’s Sacrifice - 19

  Morning fog filtered the sunlight streaming into my eyes, and I became aware of new sights and sounds. The air echoed as a barrage of large mosquitoes buzzed by. Ash and burning sulfur permeated the air. Looking down from the hilltop where Paige had clasped my hand moments before, a horde of men rushed up at me. They were clad in the somber gray uniforms of the Confederacy. As the sulfuric fog drifted across the rolling hilltops, other soldiers became visible atop an opposing knoll. A battery of cannons was at their fingertips, and they fired on my position. A dissonance of booming shots ricocheted across the sky, but the fog masked our location. The strategic thought was odd, something I shouldn’t have known.

  The hard metal of the great cannon lay beneath my hand, but it was no longer cold. In fact, its heat weaved through my thick glove as it blazed to life. It rocked back on its haunches and roared like thunder. I was nearly bowled over, ducking in time as it sprang to life. My ears rattled as the fuse sputtered and died, its mission accomplished.

  I dipped the long-handled sponge into the putrid bucket at my feet, waiting for the others to manhandle the weapon back into place and worm out the barrel. When they finished, I hefted the sponge-rammer up to the muzzle and stuffed the dripping end down the barrel of the gun. I swept large flakes and black powder out of the steaming opening as the cannoniers readied the gunpowder and a twelve-pounder. Stepping back, I tapped my foot while the first man inserted the powder. I spun the long-handled rammer like a staff and stuffed the powder into the chamber with the other end. Carl dropped the large shell down the gun’s gullet, and I rammed it home. I worked without thought, doing as I’d been trained. As I finished, I noticed my cuffs. They were like the uniformed soldiers’ around me, Union blue.