Wednesday, May 28, 2008
As long as you're at it...
...you will also want to check out this very engaging post over at Kim Coles' blog, I'm with Sully. I had no idea there were so many talented Perry fairies out there.
The Field
I have added a new, very important link to the blogroll on the right. The Field, a grassroots chronicle of this year's presidential race, is mostly the work of Al Giordano, a superb journalist who has made his bones covering the trainwreck of U.S. foreign policy in Latin America. Al is using his considerable talent this year to cover the White House race. Read his work in good health.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
No, really, I mean it this time
I know I've neglected this blog over the last few months, but I swear that is about to change. Things are rebounding quite nicely, as I've landed a pretty good union job close to home and I have managed to get my bills mostly caught up. I am playing around with a few ideas for overhauling Black Helicopters (my first manuscript) that will probably mean shelving The Circle for a while. I have a couple more chapters to post from the latter, then I will shift over to the reworked former. As always, any input is welcome regarding the fiction. I also would not be terribly upset if someone knows a thirtyish or fortyish hot chick interested in meeting a working guy moving on from a long relationship.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
When is a profit not really a profit?
The title today is linked to an interesting story about the American Axle strike that is hobbling GM and other manufacturers right now. I won't retell the story, as the link does a much better job than I could, but it reminded me of a few publications I have worked for over the years. How many times have you been told that the company just isn't making it, despite declining overhead and increased sales? Our economic problems are very real, but how many times have you felt like you were being fed shit so that someone up the ladder could throw a few more Omaha steaks in the freezer?
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Is dawn approaching?
Hey all,
April has been a good month, thus far.
My gall bladder surgery last Tuesday went swimmingly; I checked in the hospital at 9 a.m. and was home by 2 p.m. Aside from a little bruising around my laproscopic incisions and some trapped air, I haven't had any problems.
I have had a few job nibbles, but nothing worth mentioning specifically. Money is a concern -- especially since I would like to remain a home owner -- but I'm scraping by okay. My advice to you to keep your job; this economy sucks and I fear it's going to get a lot worse.
The best news of the month? I've finally got a car! Some of you may remember that my old Prizm was stolen in late February, three weeks after I was shitcanned from my job and a week after Josie and I decided to split up (that was a shitty month). Well, I took possession of my great uncle Norb's old Crown Vic yesterday. It's an '87 with 167,000 miles on it, but it is clean and fires right off the line. I'd like to think that Norb would want me to buy it; he was a good man who always took an interest in my education and gave me books and magazines to read.
Josie has been a big help and I think we're getting to a good place relationship-wise. Reconciliation is not terribly likely, but I am relieved that we split before we out-and-out hated each other.
I feel better now than I have in a few years.
April has been a good month, thus far.
My gall bladder surgery last Tuesday went swimmingly; I checked in the hospital at 9 a.m. and was home by 2 p.m. Aside from a little bruising around my laproscopic incisions and some trapped air, I haven't had any problems.
I have had a few job nibbles, but nothing worth mentioning specifically. Money is a concern -- especially since I would like to remain a home owner -- but I'm scraping by okay. My advice to you to keep your job; this economy sucks and I fear it's going to get a lot worse.
The best news of the month? I've finally got a car! Some of you may remember that my old Prizm was stolen in late February, three weeks after I was shitcanned from my job and a week after Josie and I decided to split up (that was a shitty month). Well, I took possession of my great uncle Norb's old Crown Vic yesterday. It's an '87 with 167,000 miles on it, but it is clean and fires right off the line. I'd like to think that Norb would want me to buy it; he was a good man who always took an interest in my education and gave me books and magazines to read.
Josie has been a big help and I think we're getting to a good place relationship-wise. Reconciliation is not terribly likely, but I am relieved that we split before we out-and-out hated each other.
I feel better now than I have in a few years.
Friday, April 4, 2008
The Circle, pt. 7
Note: This is the seventh of several installments from my latest work-in-progress, The Circle. If I knew how to make the copyright symbol on a MacBook keyboard, this is where you would find it. Don't steal my shit, man.
Ed arrived at the farm shortly before dawn Sunday morning. He was sorry he asked Rick to go into the woods the night before, but the circumstances around Tommy’s murder and Lillith’s death has unsettled him. The hole in Tommy’s chest looked as if it came from a 30.06 blast at point blank range, but there were no powder burns. And there was something about Barb and Nettie’s ghost story that unsettled him. Ed sent Rick out into the woods to calm his own nerves, only to find out that old Earl had another story for them.
Rick sat quietly on the back patio that ran the width of the family manse, watching the Sunday morning sun as it started poking its way through the thick woods. He glanced briefly at Ed, and then turned his gaze back to the horse barn situated in front of the woods that the trio was about to enter.
Earl insisted that the boys be together when he told them his story. When the sun finally emerged from the trees, Earl appeared in the doorway of his tiny apartment above the barn. Ed and Rick were parked in the golf cart waiting for him as he reached the bottom step. There was no small talk, just anticipation heavily laced with dread.
The cart headed back into the woods, which had dried a bit but remained as dark and foreboding as they had been at dusk the night before. They reached the marker soon enough, but the scene below had changed noticeably since dusk. The circle was starting to grow in, covering many of the gouges and markings.
“What the Hell, Rick? You told me somebody had cleared away all this,” Ed asked.
Before Rick could respond, Earl spoke up. “Eddie, this was just as Rick told you last night. I saw it myself. She’s out now and she ain’t coming back, as far as I can tell.”
The cousins looked at each other, then Rick turned to Earl and asked, “Who are you talking about? What woman?”
Earl leaned back against the cart and sighed. “That woman who killed Tommy yesterday, Rick.”
Eddie shook his head. “Earl, that biker shot Tommy. There wasn’t any woman in that bar.”
“Okay, Eddie, then how come you sent Rick out here last night to check on this very spot?” Earl countered. “Is it because you think that biker maybe didn’t kill Tommy? And maybe you believed his story because you both remember another story?”
The cousins looked at each other again and quietly acknowledged Earl’s point. Earl knew that their memories had to be faint, since they were just boys when their fathers stood out on that very riverbank 50 years before.
“Your dads did what they had to do, boys,” Earl said firmly. “That woman was evil, pure and simple. She had your Aunt Lil and wasn’t about to let her go. They brought me here especially to help them, and I did and I don’t regret it for a second.”
The cousins nodded, then Ed spoke up again. “Earl, if that woman was dead” -- he paused for a moment and grimaced at the thought of his father as a murderer -- “if she’s been buried out here for all this time, then how could she possibly have killed Tommy, or Aunt Lil?”
“Diana -- thats the name she went by -- wasnt any ordinary woman. She showed up here when your grandma Hennessey was dying,” Earl started. “She said she was the daughter of an old friend of Ma’s, but when Ma saw her she died right then and there. Pop Hennessey said he’d never seen his wife so scared of anything. They let Diana stay on for a few days, but then one of the workers, who had a still hid out by here, found Diana and Aunt Lil together...”
Ed said, with Rick nodding absently, “Yeah, we knew shed been attacked when she was a teenager, but not by who.”
Earl acknowledged the interruption and continued the story. “Well, they ran her off and had the doctor check Lillith. She was never touched, Ed, but it was too late. Diana was in her head, even when she wasn’t there. Half the animals were terrified of Lillith, and the other half seemed like they could read her mind. And she began visiting the bunkhouse in the middle of the night. Hell, I bet she got three or four of them poor farm boys fired just because she wouldn’t leave them alone.”
Ed looked over at Rick, who was hanging on every word. Ed remember Lillith as a teenager, and he was having trouble remember her carrying on with anyone. He did remember a pretty redhead, but he was having trouble placing her on the farm when Ma Hennessey died. Ed did his best to stay poker-faced, however, because he had known Earl his whole life and was willing to allow that the old man remembered things better than he did.
“Well, your dads and Pop were beside themselves. They couldn’t even drag her to church,” Earl continued. “But in time, Lil outgrew a lot of that and everything was okay. She finished high school and was just starting to date Phil Mendenhall when weird things started happening around the farm. One of the guys got attacked by a pack of wild dogs. The others started claiming to hear weird noises in the woods; it got so bad that a bunch of them quit. And then...”
“She showed up again, didn’t she?” Rick said nervously. “I remember my dad talking about her.”
Earl nodded and said, “Yeah, she did. Nobody actually saw her, but we knew she was out here, waiting for Lillith to come to her. One night, Pop caught Lil climbing out her window. When he tried to pull her back in, she kicked so hard that your granddad went flying backwards and landed on his head. It broke his neck and he was dead on the spot.”
Ed and Rick started to weep a bit, as their memories of that night came streaming back. Their fathers were so enraged that they took off into the woods chasing their little sister, leaving their dead father to be found by their young boys.
“I know, boys, I know,” Earl said reassuringly. “I loved Pop as much as you did. That’s why I followed your dads out here. By the time I got here, they had already beaten that woman half to death. Lil was crying and screaming and I didn’t know what to do. They told me to drag her back to the house. She about clawed me to death getting her back up there, but I did it. Not long after that, your dads came out of the woods covered in mud and hair and blood. By dawn, Phil came and got her and they went off for a while.
You know, a couple weeks before Rick fired Tommy, I heard him talking all that devil worship shit to some of the guys, but I didn’t think anything of it. I guess I never took him seriously enough that I thought he would do something like this. I’m starting to think that maybe she was never as dead and buried as we thought she was.”
Rick was scared. “So even if this Diana did come back, what in the Hell can we do about it, Earl? Shit, our dads killed her and she was buried for 50 years and she still came back!”
Ed looked anxiously at the old man. Earl’s story rang true, except for Ed’s recollection of who came back and when. He remembered his dad and Rick’s dad bringing Lillith back to the house. It was Earl who came out of the woods later, covered in mud and hair and blood, or so Ed recalled. “No, that can’t be right, Ed thought to himself. Earl wouldn’t have any reason to lie about that.”
Ed arrived at the farm shortly before dawn Sunday morning. He was sorry he asked Rick to go into the woods the night before, but the circumstances around Tommy’s murder and Lillith’s death has unsettled him. The hole in Tommy’s chest looked as if it came from a 30.06 blast at point blank range, but there were no powder burns. And there was something about Barb and Nettie’s ghost story that unsettled him. Ed sent Rick out into the woods to calm his own nerves, only to find out that old Earl had another story for them.
Rick sat quietly on the back patio that ran the width of the family manse, watching the Sunday morning sun as it started poking its way through the thick woods. He glanced briefly at Ed, and then turned his gaze back to the horse barn situated in front of the woods that the trio was about to enter.
Earl insisted that the boys be together when he told them his story. When the sun finally emerged from the trees, Earl appeared in the doorway of his tiny apartment above the barn. Ed and Rick were parked in the golf cart waiting for him as he reached the bottom step. There was no small talk, just anticipation heavily laced with dread.
The cart headed back into the woods, which had dried a bit but remained as dark and foreboding as they had been at dusk the night before. They reached the marker soon enough, but the scene below had changed noticeably since dusk. The circle was starting to grow in, covering many of the gouges and markings.
“What the Hell, Rick? You told me somebody had cleared away all this,” Ed asked.
Before Rick could respond, Earl spoke up. “Eddie, this was just as Rick told you last night. I saw it myself. She’s out now and she ain’t coming back, as far as I can tell.”
The cousins looked at each other, then Rick turned to Earl and asked, “Who are you talking about? What woman?”
Earl leaned back against the cart and sighed. “That woman who killed Tommy yesterday, Rick.”
Eddie shook his head. “Earl, that biker shot Tommy. There wasn’t any woman in that bar.”
“Okay, Eddie, then how come you sent Rick out here last night to check on this very spot?” Earl countered. “Is it because you think that biker maybe didn’t kill Tommy? And maybe you believed his story because you both remember another story?”
The cousins looked at each other again and quietly acknowledged Earl’s point. Earl knew that their memories had to be faint, since they were just boys when their fathers stood out on that very riverbank 50 years before.
“Your dads did what they had to do, boys,” Earl said firmly. “That woman was evil, pure and simple. She had your Aunt Lil and wasn’t about to let her go. They brought me here especially to help them, and I did and I don’t regret it for a second.”
The cousins nodded, then Ed spoke up again. “Earl, if that woman was dead” -- he paused for a moment and grimaced at the thought of his father as a murderer -- “if she’s been buried out here for all this time, then how could she possibly have killed Tommy, or Aunt Lil?”
“Diana -- thats the name she went by -- wasnt any ordinary woman. She showed up here when your grandma Hennessey was dying,” Earl started. “She said she was the daughter of an old friend of Ma’s, but when Ma saw her she died right then and there. Pop Hennessey said he’d never seen his wife so scared of anything. They let Diana stay on for a few days, but then one of the workers, who had a still hid out by here, found Diana and Aunt Lil together...”
Ed said, with Rick nodding absently, “Yeah, we knew shed been attacked when she was a teenager, but not by who.”
Earl acknowledged the interruption and continued the story. “Well, they ran her off and had the doctor check Lillith. She was never touched, Ed, but it was too late. Diana was in her head, even when she wasn’t there. Half the animals were terrified of Lillith, and the other half seemed like they could read her mind. And she began visiting the bunkhouse in the middle of the night. Hell, I bet she got three or four of them poor farm boys fired just because she wouldn’t leave them alone.”
Ed looked over at Rick, who was hanging on every word. Ed remember Lillith as a teenager, and he was having trouble remember her carrying on with anyone. He did remember a pretty redhead, but he was having trouble placing her on the farm when Ma Hennessey died. Ed did his best to stay poker-faced, however, because he had known Earl his whole life and was willing to allow that the old man remembered things better than he did.
“Well, your dads and Pop were beside themselves. They couldn’t even drag her to church,” Earl continued. “But in time, Lil outgrew a lot of that and everything was okay. She finished high school and was just starting to date Phil Mendenhall when weird things started happening around the farm. One of the guys got attacked by a pack of wild dogs. The others started claiming to hear weird noises in the woods; it got so bad that a bunch of them quit. And then...”
“She showed up again, didn’t she?” Rick said nervously. “I remember my dad talking about her.”
Earl nodded and said, “Yeah, she did. Nobody actually saw her, but we knew she was out here, waiting for Lillith to come to her. One night, Pop caught Lil climbing out her window. When he tried to pull her back in, she kicked so hard that your granddad went flying backwards and landed on his head. It broke his neck and he was dead on the spot.”
Ed and Rick started to weep a bit, as their memories of that night came streaming back. Their fathers were so enraged that they took off into the woods chasing their little sister, leaving their dead father to be found by their young boys.
“I know, boys, I know,” Earl said reassuringly. “I loved Pop as much as you did. That’s why I followed your dads out here. By the time I got here, they had already beaten that woman half to death. Lil was crying and screaming and I didn’t know what to do. They told me to drag her back to the house. She about clawed me to death getting her back up there, but I did it. Not long after that, your dads came out of the woods covered in mud and hair and blood. By dawn, Phil came and got her and they went off for a while.
You know, a couple weeks before Rick fired Tommy, I heard him talking all that devil worship shit to some of the guys, but I didn’t think anything of it. I guess I never took him seriously enough that I thought he would do something like this. I’m starting to think that maybe she was never as dead and buried as we thought she was.”
Rick was scared. “So even if this Diana did come back, what in the Hell can we do about it, Earl? Shit, our dads killed her and she was buried for 50 years and she still came back!”
Ed looked anxiously at the old man. Earl’s story rang true, except for Ed’s recollection of who came back and when. He remembered his dad and Rick’s dad bringing Lillith back to the house. It was Earl who came out of the woods later, covered in mud and hair and blood, or so Ed recalled. “No, that can’t be right, Ed thought to himself. Earl wouldn’t have any reason to lie about that.”
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
The Circle, pt. 6
Note: This is the sixth of several installments from my latest work-in-progress, The Circle. If I knew how to make the copyright symbol on a MacBook keyboard, this is where you would find it. Don't steal my shit, man.
Barb came home to a blinking light on her answering machine. It was a message from ace TV guy Josh Stuck, offering her a late drink in exchange for some scoop on some dead hillbilly the police found at a bar near downtown.
Barb had received a dozen previous offers from Stuck to meet for a late drink, but she never took him up on it. He was pretty, to be sure, but he knew it. For Barb, the only thing worse than a vain guy was a married guy, and Stuck was that, too.
Barb was curious, however, about the dead hillbilly. She called the watch commander again, this time to ask about the report.
“Yep, you didn’t get this from me, but it was a Mendenhall; in fact, I think it was the son of that old lady you found this morning.”
Barbs jaw hit the floor.
“Um, who’s doing the paperwork? Is it Ed Hennessey? Surely he’s not handling both cases?”
The commander sighed on the other end.
“Yeah, of course he is. All I know is that Hennessey says his cousin was shot by the bartender and that’s that. Its fucking politics, Barb, and you don’t need to get yourself into it.”
That was the third time that day that Barb was told to mind her own business. It pissed her off enough to hang up the phone and call the pretty newsman.
They met around midnight in Broad Ripple, one of those neighborhoods packed with bars and restaurants that attracted young professionals on the make -- with or without their significant others. Stuck was at his cool best, and Barb flashed him just enough tits and teeth to keep him talking. According to Stuck, one of the technicians at the crime scene told him the wound in Tommy’s chest looked big enough to drive a truck through, but the only weapon they could find was a little .32 taped under the bar and it didn’t look like it had been fired. The bartender kept telling the cops that Tommy was chattering away one minute, then he was on the floor bleeding the next.
Barb found herself actually enjoying Stuck’s company. He described the scene thoroughly to her, sounding more like a professional and less like a bimbo than she had expected. He was funny; his faux-gruff impression of Ed Hennessey was dead-on. She caught herself laughing a few times. He wasn’t just pretty, but he wasn’t rugged, either. He was just really good looking, she thought. She started to wonder what kind of a kisser he might be. The fact that he was married mattered less and less by the minute. She didn’t do married guys as a rule, but she was horny and figured that Stuck would want to keep things cool and quiet as much as she would. At closing time, she invited him home for a nightcap.
They went back to her apartment. Barb didn’t bother to offer him that drink, or more small talk about the job. She threw Stuck on the couch and started making out with him. Within a few minutes, they were naked, with her riding him like a rodeo champion, pawing, groped and fucking each other until the first rays of dawn started poking through her Venetian blinds.
With the sun came Barbs senses. There was no guilt. Barb didn’t do guilt, having seen how a whole string of boyfriends used it to back her off whenever she demanded that they right a wrong. No, she was mad for being horny enough to convince herself that fucking a married man was worth the risk of being confronted by an angry wife, or gossiped about by other cops. Wronged wives craved vengeance and drama and cops craved any gossip that made others look bad.
Barb needed to know what was going on in Stuck’s head, so she purposely admired his big, gold wedding band and asked about his wife and their new baby. Rather than putting him on the defensive, he drooped his head slightly.
“Uh, actually, she took the baby and moved back to Jersey, Josh said. I guess things weren’t as good here for us as she had hoped.”
Barb didn’t know what to say. She expected Josh to be nervous and defensive, but his pitiful response didn’t suggest anything other than regret something she never expected. She was relieved to hear he was separated, but not because it removed the scarlet A from her chest. She was relieved because for a brief second she anticipated dating him again. She was starting to like this guy, whether she wanted to or not.
“Oh, hey, I didn’t know,” Barb said. “I’m sorry.”
Josh lifted his head up and managed a weak smile.
“Don’t sweat it; its not your problem.”
Barb smiled back and offered, “Well, if you want to hang out tonight, I wouldn’t mind the company...”
“Oh, no, no, its cool,” Josh said. “I’ve got a busy day today, anyway.”
“Well,” Barb started, “I want to keep quiet about this, about us, okay? I mean, it seems like its okay for guys on the department to fuck every stripper they can get their hands on, but its different for the women -- even the single ones.”
“Oh, hey, mums the word,” Josh quickly reassured her. “I would never say anything, Berry. You’re cool, really. I would never fuck things up for you.”
Barb knew Josh was serious, and she appreciated it. She leaned forward and hugged him. As she pulled away, he surprised her with a strong, deep kiss. She repeated her offer, and he smiled and politely declined. He showed himself out, but not before he asked to see her again. Without hesitating, she said “Yes.”
Barb closed the door and floated off to bed.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
The Circle, pt. 5
Note: This is the fifth of several installments from my latest work-in-progress, The Circle. If I knew how to make the copyright symbol on a MacBook keyboard, this is where you would find it. Don't steal my shit, man.
Rick Hennessey scribbled a quick note to his secretary telling her to finish overseeing the setup for the fundraiser he was hosting that night. He had some farm business to tend to, or so he wrote.
Rick nervously strolled out to Building No. 1 to commandeer a golf cart. His foreman, Earl, met him inside. Seeing the ashen color of Ricks face, he asked what was the matter. Earl had lived on the farm longer than anyone and was practically considered family, but Rick climbed onto the cart and took off without so much as an acknowledgement of the old man’s question. The stout, grizzled old man tried to slow the trimmer, more purposeful young man, but to no avail.
Running a 2,000-acre farm was tough enough without the added burden of braving several acres of dense, saturated woods to have a look at a muddy spot on the bank next to the swollen White River. The wind picked up considerably as he neared his destination. It was a bracing wind, almost too cold for October, Rick thought.
Soon, Rick was at the small, limestone marker his father and uncle planted atop the riverbank some 50 years before. The area had been cleared recently, as Rick could tell from the splintered, green, beech, oak, and maple saplings. They formed a ragged ring around a large patch of shaved ground, probably 20 yards in diameter and the shape of a perfect circle. He disembarked from the cart and eased carefully down the muddy hill onto the bank. He could hear the rising river just beyond the slope, but it was nowhere near flood level. In the middle of the circle was what what looked a lot like a funeral pyre clogged with half-burned logs. Deep gouges and scrapes surrounded the spot. They could have been letters or numbers, he guessed, but the hard rain had muddled them beyond recognition.
Rick began to remember why he never challenged his father’s prohibition against playing in the woods. Eddie used to try and goad Rick into sneaking back out there to the river, but Rick was always too afraid to go. He never asked his dad what happened in the woods that night because he didn’t want to know. Whatever it was chased Aunt Lil off the farm for the rest of her life. It also inflicted his dad with foul, dark moods that haunted him to the grave. When Ed’s dad died of a heart attack several years later, Rick’s dad called his brother “a lucky bastard” as the casket was lowered into the ground. A few days after that, Rick’s dad was found swinging by his neck from the attic rafters. Lillith failed to appear at either of her brothers’ funerals.
Standing there, he relived all of that suffering and dread once again. That childhood sense of foreboding, that unspoken knowledge that something evil dwelled around those trees, gripped him again as if he were nine.
“She’s out, Rick,” came a voice from behind.
Rick’s heart shot up into his throat. He spun around and saw Earl standing up by the golf cart.
“What the Hell are you doing here?” Rick sputtered.
Earl smiled gently, trying to reassure his startled boss.
“Rick, we both know why you’re here. You and me and everybody else on this farm have got a big problem. That Tommy did a bad thing, and its a lot worse than you know.
"Why don’t we go back to the house and call Eddie?” Earl offered. “You both really need to hear what I have to say. You don’t mind if I ride back with you, do you? I don’t think I could make it back to the barn through all that mud.”
Rick had to nod his assent, as he was still a tad breathless by the old man’s sudden appearance there. It took Rick almost 15 minutes on a golf cart navigating muddy trails and thick undergrowth to get back to base. As he climbed off the cart, he couldn’t avoid noticing Earl’s very slow and deliberate disembarkment.
Just as Rick started to offer the old man a hand, he realized that he didn’t have more than a few minutes alone on that riverbank before a broken-down old farm hand caught up with him on foot.
Rick Hennessey scribbled a quick note to his secretary telling her to finish overseeing the setup for the fundraiser he was hosting that night. He had some farm business to tend to, or so he wrote.
Rick nervously strolled out to Building No. 1 to commandeer a golf cart. His foreman, Earl, met him inside. Seeing the ashen color of Ricks face, he asked what was the matter. Earl had lived on the farm longer than anyone and was practically considered family, but Rick climbed onto the cart and took off without so much as an acknowledgement of the old man’s question. The stout, grizzled old man tried to slow the trimmer, more purposeful young man, but to no avail.
Running a 2,000-acre farm was tough enough without the added burden of braving several acres of dense, saturated woods to have a look at a muddy spot on the bank next to the swollen White River. The wind picked up considerably as he neared his destination. It was a bracing wind, almost too cold for October, Rick thought.
Soon, Rick was at the small, limestone marker his father and uncle planted atop the riverbank some 50 years before. The area had been cleared recently, as Rick could tell from the splintered, green, beech, oak, and maple saplings. They formed a ragged ring around a large patch of shaved ground, probably 20 yards in diameter and the shape of a perfect circle. He disembarked from the cart and eased carefully down the muddy hill onto the bank. He could hear the rising river just beyond the slope, but it was nowhere near flood level. In the middle of the circle was what what looked a lot like a funeral pyre clogged with half-burned logs. Deep gouges and scrapes surrounded the spot. They could have been letters or numbers, he guessed, but the hard rain had muddled them beyond recognition.
Rick began to remember why he never challenged his father’s prohibition against playing in the woods. Eddie used to try and goad Rick into sneaking back out there to the river, but Rick was always too afraid to go. He never asked his dad what happened in the woods that night because he didn’t want to know. Whatever it was chased Aunt Lil off the farm for the rest of her life. It also inflicted his dad with foul, dark moods that haunted him to the grave. When Ed’s dad died of a heart attack several years later, Rick’s dad called his brother “a lucky bastard” as the casket was lowered into the ground. A few days after that, Rick’s dad was found swinging by his neck from the attic rafters. Lillith failed to appear at either of her brothers’ funerals.
Standing there, he relived all of that suffering and dread once again. That childhood sense of foreboding, that unspoken knowledge that something evil dwelled around those trees, gripped him again as if he were nine.
“She’s out, Rick,” came a voice from behind.
Rick’s heart shot up into his throat. He spun around and saw Earl standing up by the golf cart.
“What the Hell are you doing here?” Rick sputtered.
Earl smiled gently, trying to reassure his startled boss.
“Rick, we both know why you’re here. You and me and everybody else on this farm have got a big problem. That Tommy did a bad thing, and its a lot worse than you know.
"Why don’t we go back to the house and call Eddie?” Earl offered. “You both really need to hear what I have to say. You don’t mind if I ride back with you, do you? I don’t think I could make it back to the barn through all that mud.”
Rick had to nod his assent, as he was still a tad breathless by the old man’s sudden appearance there. It took Rick almost 15 minutes on a golf cart navigating muddy trails and thick undergrowth to get back to base. As he climbed off the cart, he couldn’t avoid noticing Earl’s very slow and deliberate disembarkment.
Just as Rick started to offer the old man a hand, he realized that he didn’t have more than a few minutes alone on that riverbank before a broken-down old farm hand caught up with him on foot.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Well, that happened
Hi.
I've been away from this blog for most of the last month attending to some pressing matters, like my stepdaughter pulling away from her mother and I and her mother pulling away from me.Jamison, whom I have raised since age 3, has waged an all-out war for the last six months to go live with her biological father. He and his new wife have promised her the moon and the stars and she believes them. I don't know if you have ever tried reasoning with a 13-year-old, but it is fucking impossible nowadays. Jmo is gone now despite Josie and I's best efforts. There is more to this part of the story, but it is still too painful to recount and would be pointless.
As for Josie, she and I have separated after 10 years of marriage. The separation has nothing to do with the Jmo situation; it has more to do with 10 years of stuff between two people who are both in love and very different. She thinks it's best for her and Joshua to move out and try to start over. She may well be right; we both are so dug in on certain issues that there is little or no shot at compromise.
I have been without my family for a few days now and it hurts terribly. I want nothing more than to go back to that happy place when the kids were young and Josie and I wanted nothing other than each other's love. That time is gone, I know, but it was sweet and I do miss it.
Life goes on, however, as shall I. No matter what happens, I always get out of bed and try to make the best of the day.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Update
I've been distracted in recent weeks and haven't paid much attention to the blog. If you actually check it everyday, I do apologize. I've been dealing with some heavy shit around the house and trying to find a job. The job search is brightening, but I don't want to jinx myself by saying anything further. As for the heavy shit, well....
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