Little Light Episode One: Little Light Of Mine

By R Schick

Bryan's daughter is abducted in the middle of the night by a released killer who is seeking revenge. It was Bryan who had sent him to prison all those years ago. As the slow wheels of justice have stalled, Bryan has taken it upon himself to rescue her. Big Mistake. Forced to make sacrifices along the way, how far will Bryan be willing to go to get his child back and at what cost?

Facing certain death at the hands of the killer/kidnapper and persecution by the law, Bryan writes this testimony. Little Light Episode One, is both a coming of age story and a gripping thriller that launches an entire series revolving around a horrific secret from Bryan's past. Follow along as Bryan recalls the series of events that will be his voice to prove his innocence a from beyond the grave.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R Schick
• Release date: Dec 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310990328

R Schick

Rocket Schick and Mrs. Rocket raise their family in (literally) the coolest city on Earth, Winnipeg. He’s a Winnipeg Jets and Winnipeg Blue Bombers fan.As a Psychosocial Rehabilitation Practitioner at the CRS, he has been employed by the Selkirk Mental Health Center for twenty years, helping people who suffer and struggle with mental health issues on their journey to recovery.As a screenwriter, he’s an active member of Francis Ford Coppola’s American Zoetrope as both a contributor and reviewer since 2009, garnering accolades as a Reviewer of the Month. He has mentored under a successful Hollywood Supervising Producer from such films as Apollo 13 and Band of Brothers. His screenplay Rockets Red Glare had been strongly considered for television development by a major Canadian production company.As a book author, Little Light: Episode Three, Four, and Five had recently placed as a finalist for the Chanticleer Mainstream Somerset Award in 2014. Aside from the Little Light Series, he’s also in the midst of creating a new sci fi series (for teens and for those young at heart), and continues to create screenplays.

Book preview

Prologue

January, 1984…

Come on, let’s go already, Tommy whined at his brother Daniel. At eleven years old, Daniel was three years his senior.

Don’t be such a nerd, Tommy. Come on, let’s climb to the top, he replied, grabbing a hold of the rusty ladder with his leather garbage mitts, customized by his own cartoony blue pen doodles.

Danny, I’m cold and getting hungry.

So.

Besides, if we don’t get home now, Tommy reasoned, if appealing to Daniel's stomach and comfort wasn't going to pay off, surely, the lure of after school reruns would entice. We're gonna miss the Jetsons and Different Strokes.

Fine, then go, Daniel threatened as he'd climbed half way up, knowing his brother wouldn’t leave without him. On the ground, Tommy looked around the windy and desolate field, conceding to the safer alternative of braving his trek home from school, alone.

A gust of wind blew the powdery snow across the hard packed field where the railroad tracks had ran parallel. He sat in his vehicle at the far end of the field, staring at the two boys climbing on the lone boxcar. The temperature was so cold that the moisture in the air had crystallized, and the reflection cast from the afternoon sun had been its truest indicator by displaying the illusion of three suns in the sky; the main globe and the two surrounding sundogs. Inside the idling warm vehicle with the a.m. radio on low, he flicked ashes off the tip of his cigarette out the crack of the window. It was only a matter of time before the kids had figured out a way to get inside the boxcar.

Daniel had spotted the old graffiti covered brown boxcar on their walk home from school. Off their usual route, he didn’t really have time to spare with a paper route bundle waiting to be delivered in front of his home, but the prospect of adventure associated with a real train boxcar was simply too tempting to let pass.

I am He-Man, Master of the Universe and you ... are Skeletor! Daniel shouted, pointing down to his freezing and hungry younger brother below.

You’re always He-Man, I want to be He-Man, Tommy protested then grumbled. Let's go, already. Doing his own bit of exploring at ground level, Tommy eyed up the shut door on the side of the boxcar. The door had a lever mechanism that latched it shut and had been too difficult for the eight-year-old to budge on his own. Daniel, now bored with playing He-Man alone, climbed down.

Whatcha doin? he asked. Tommy cringed as he pried with all his might to move the lever. Studying the contraption for a moment, Daniel stepped over to the edge.

Okay, I’ll lift it and you pull the door open, he instructed.

Okay, Tommy replied. They counted to three. Daniel lifted the bar and freed the door open. Slightly spooked but mainly exhilarated, they eagerly climbed inside.

The car appeared empty, however, beyond the lit area, the thrill of complete darkness had unleashed their creative imaginations. They looked at each other in anticipation. The darkness could reveal anything. The potential tantalizing treasure that existed beyond the threshold in that world of darkness had little Tommy percolating in anticipation.

Do you have to pee or something? Daniel asked his vibrating younger brother.

No! Shut up!

Okay, Tommy, Daniel began and nodded his chin forward in the direction of the darkness within, go ahead.

What? You go! After a few moments of hesitation, Daniel finally sighed.

You're such a wuss, he said, took in a deep breath. One, he lifted his foot to proceed into the darkness, and gestured for Tommy to follow suit. Tommy, in turn, lifted his left foot.

Two ... Tommy continued the countdown, and his voice was noticeably timid. They gave each other a reassuring all-for-one- and-one-for-all nod.

...And three, Daniel finally said as they simultaneously stepped beyond the well-lit doorway and ventured further into the spooky unknown.

Daniel's first step landed onto an unexpected soft surface. Curious, he glanced at Tommy who, from his considerably shorter vantage point, had a better view. The look on Tommy’s face, however, told Daniel that whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant.

What? Daniel asked, but Tommy didn't move. W-what is it? Tommy's ominous and stunned expression was instantly unsettling, especially as his small mouth inadvertently fell open. Tommy? Daniel pried; panic creeping into his inflection as Tommy slowly stepped backwards.

D-d-dead, Tommy stuttered, still backing up. Acknowledging the petrified look on Tommy’s face, Daniel immediately lifted his foot up off the cushioned floor and stepped back a pace, slowly crouching to capture his little brother’s view.

J-Jesus, he blurted. He’d been stepping on a human hand. Daniel instinctively backed up as well. Adjusting to the dark environment, a full silhouette and eventually a complete view came into focus. The body was that of a little girl, which to Daniel, seemed to be around his own age. She had long light brown hair and her clothes were torn. Her lifeless eyes were open and appeared to be staring at the two of them. It was apparent that she had been dead and frozen for some time as her skin was pale and colorless, and her lips seemed bluish.

She’s looking at me, Tommy whined, which snapped Daniel out of his transfixed stare and he looked back with a double take.

Tommy! he shouted. Tommy was unknowingly about to take a final step backward and fall out of the train. Stop! Left foot dangling dangerously over the edge of the doorway, Tommy teetered himself forward slightly with his arms stretched out on both sides. With his eyes sprung wide, as he could feel the wind gusts attacking his dangling leg. Daniel lunged forward, gripped Tommy's jacket and pulled him away from the teetering edge. You idiot! he shouted. Tommy buried his face in his big brother’s jacket.

I want to go home, he rightly whined, much too afraid to look back at the poor little dead girl lying on the floor merely inches away.

Yeah, Daniel whispered, okay. As if on the verge of catching whatever it was that had killed her, both boys bolted out of the boxcar and ran for their lives.

On the other side of the tracks at the far side of the field, he watched them flee the scene and smiled. He rolled down the window, flicked away his cigarette, blew out a cloud of smoke, and shifted his vehicle into drive.

C H A P T E R 1

2005…

My name is Bryan Spencer and I’m about to die. Before I do, however, I’d like to take the opportunity to clear my name by writing a detailed account of the events that have led up to this unfortunate end. This testimony on my own behalf is written according to my best recollections. I’m using a No. 2 pencil and writing on a two-inch pad of yellow lined foolscap paper.

It began this past Friday. I hit snooze for the third time as the blaring radio had nearly caused me to jump out of my sheets. The clock said five-thirty-five as it did every morning between Monday and Friday. Still asleep, Maggie had another two hours of precious slumber to enjoy. We had discussed who would be giving up the career when we’d decided to have children and every morning at five-thirty-five, I regretted our decision.

The window out of our bedroom displayed how horribly cold and dark it was out there. The snow was blowing and I could hear the strong wind leaking in the windows, which seemed to give off the eerie sound of a woman screaming and I grunted in disapproval at the unforgiving conditions outside. At least in the summer months there would be evidence of the sun trying to expose a brand new day but this being December, I wouldn’t see the sun at all until the weekend due to the fact that I would arrive at work before it rose and I never left until long after it set.

Fortunately, my early morning routine was ingrained in my head from years of constant repetition, otherwise, I’d be lost as I tried to organize myself on mornings like today, when it seemed even more difficult to get out of my incredibly comfortable bed to face that cold forbidding winter world out there. In the winter months, the routine had never changed. I would somehow stumble to the coffee maker without opening my eyes and switch it on. Maggie, the angel she is, set the coffee up for me the night before. The next task on autopilot was to aim the remote car starter out the window and hope that I’d left the heater cranked on high the evening before and then straight to the shower. After fifteen minutes of intense hot water increasing the circulation of my veins, I emerged invigorated and ready to start the day, yeah right.

Thermal cup of coffee in hand, I bundled up in my parka and gloves without a toque because the hair gel hadn’t dried yet, and then bravely stepped outside to the howling winds. The first note of panic struck me when I noticed that my car’s running lights weren’t on.

No, Shit, No! I shouted out loud, not that anyone else was awake yet to hear me curse as I hustled to my seemingly dead car. My suspicions had been realized, the car was dark, cold, and definitely not running. Sure enough, the damn neighborhood kids stole the block heater chord sometime during the night, again. It was the third time this month those little bastards made off with my chord, but I wasn’t the only victim in this senseless crime, as several of the neighbors had also recently been victimized. I’d fantasized about setting up a trap for those kids by hooking a snare wire and when they tried to pull off the chord, it would release a bb gun loaded with salt pellets or better yet zap them with a few volts of electricity as they tried to yank on my chord. Fantasies aside, I turned the ignition key and the dreaded sickly sound of a car being frozen to the core had let out a tired noise that instantly told me I’d be bussing it this morning. I scooped some change from my car ashtray and checked my watch. It was two minutes to six, and as far as I could remember from the last time those little punks messed around with my car, it meant that I had four minutes before the transit stopped a block away, so I ran.

The bus was warm, I managed to arrive just in time, taking an empty window seat and prepared for the annoyingly long ride that would stop thirty seven times before I arrived late to work. Yep, I counted last time.

Tonight was going to be great, although I’m sure that Maggie wasn’t looking forward to it. Deano Ducharme was a childhood friend from way back, he was to arrive tonight and stay over for the weekend, a tradition that we’ve been carrying out for years. The tradition had started out when all of the old gang would come over for the annual Christmas pilgrimage. My place had been chosen as the destination because Maggie and I were the first of all of us to settle down and actually have a real house in order to host the event. It used to be all of us but over the years, our lives became increasingly distanced. This year, Deano was the only definite confirmation and Jenny was a definite maybe. Maggie tolerated my childhood friends but I think she felt left out because she wasn’t part of the original group and hadn’t been able to add to our tales told of the good old days. Deano was the one member of the old gang that Maggie liked the least, so her reaction to the news that only he might be arriving was met with a very unenthusiastic response.

The upcoming reunion had spawned thoughts of the old days when we were kids and our only goal in life was looking for our next adventure. The eighties was such a long time ago and I kind of fell into a state of reflection for the entire duration of the bus ride.

I work at Malloy, Butler, Butler and Pratt as an accountant. We're one of three firms in Riverbend. Not exactly the dream job. They work me from seven am to six pm, five days a week, and if I had any ambitions on making partner, I’d be there on the weekends. I don’t and I’m not. The job is stable and steady, and it bought us my wife’s dream home bungalow as well as my Popsicle car. After today’s inconvenience, however, I’d decided that we're going to get a minivan, or one of those all wheel drive SUVs that everyone seems to be raving about.

My daytime life consists of stacks of papers piled three feet high on my desk, and no matter how hard or fast I work, the pile never reduces. They tell me if I keep it up, one day I’ll get a window office. Wow, nine years of service and maybe I’ll get a window. The sad part is, that's not sarcasm, this actually excites me. I guess that’s why I look forward to our annual get together. For one weekend of the year, I can escape my lowered expectation life and revisit a time when my dreams were an actual possibility and the sky was the limit without the mortgages, car payments, credit cards, lines of credits and so on, always getting in the way.

After a typical Friday afternoon of drinking copious amounts of coffee and consulting with my gossip guru Edwin Timmons on the latest, involving the who’s doing who in the copy room, I was more than happy to descend the Mt. Everest of file folders that I’d begun to climb just after seven a.m. I sneaked my way toward the exit without making eye contact with any of the partners on my way out, as it was an hour before the actual closing time, not that I’d be noticed anyhow. The bitter wind bit my cheeks as I stepped outside.

Oh, right, I groaned. My empty parking spot was the stark reminder that I was stuck taking the bus home, and sadly, even with escaping work early, it was still pitch black outside. The hiss of airbrakes and a roaring diesel engine on the other side of the curbside snow bank told me I'd just missed the bus. No, I whined and checked my watch. Fourteen more minutes until the next one.

Maggie is exactly who I need her to be. She’s the perfect wife and lover, and the perfect mother to our two beautiful little girls. She and the girls are the one ray of sunshine that I have in my otherwise humdrum existence. I really shouldn’t complain, I actually have a great life and most people, I could only assume, would be quite envious of what I have. I guess even Hugh Heffner or Donald Trump must have days where they wished that their lives were better, I suppose. Maybe it’s a midlife crisis but I’m only in my early thirties and I thought that wasn’t supposed to happen until I’m fifty.

Maggie is gorgeous both inside and out. A classic beauty, she always commands attention and respect with her sincere eyes and charismatic smile. I’ve seen her soft auburn hair set in every style imaginable and she’s always prided herself on her elegant fashions, however, since the arrival of the girls, the only hairstyle I’ve seen since has been a ponytail and the only clothes that she ever wears anymore are sweats and sweatshirts, yet somehow, she makes that look elegant as well. I was saying how Maggie was exactly who I needed her to be and that’s absolutely true, however, I hadn’t always thought that way.

After high school and before university, I moved away from Riverbend briefly to search for the big money out west, and wouldn’t you know it, the recession had extended out that far, as well. So, with no direction, no plans, a lot of ambition and empty pockets, I returned home to once again to live with Mom and Dad.

Maggie was definitely pretty but not the voluptuous type that I chased after in the dance clubs night after night. She had belonged to this woman’s club that my mother had belonged to as well, which had affectionately been named the Stitch and Bitch, where mostly middle-aged women got together and well, I guess, stitched and bitched. Maggie stopped by one evening to pick my mom up for their weekly get together and I was surprised to see someone so young attending her knitting club. It was my mom’s bright idea to have Maggie stop by to give her a ride. I suppose it was her little ploy to set the two of us up. Our first meeting, however, was anything but civil or love at first sight.

The latest fad was doing the Achy Breaky on the dance floor and I thought that I was the nineties answer to Arthur Fonzarelli. I was in my bedroom and decked out in a Garth Brooks silk shirt and a cowboy hat. I was ready to score later on that evening by two-stepping one of the many beautiful ladies off the dance floor and into the backseat of my dilapidated four banger Toyota hatchback, that had always been the plan, but had rarely turned out that way.

I heard the doorbell ring and assumed that it was one of my buddies who’d arrived. To my pleasant surprise, it was a pretty girl that I’d never seen before. I’d assumed that she was one of my younger sister’s friends so I figured that I would test out one of my newer pickup lines on her before using it on a real woman later on at the country bar. With my cowboy hat on and cocked forward to cover my eyes, I slid down the banister and made my grand entrance.