Lonely Shadows

By D.R. Willis

Nick Davis leads an ordinary life until the sight of an intruder’s shadow in the mists of an early morning storm sets in motion a series of events that will reveal his family’s mysterious past—and change Nick’s life forever. This seemingly random event makes Nick aware for the first time that he and his family are in grave danger.
Nick learns that back in the 1940s, his father had unwittingly become entangled with an evil international organization as he investigated the death of his brother. When his father is killed, Nick decides that he must disappear if he hopes to survive. He relocates and changes his name in an attempt to escape the bad luck that has been plaguing his
family for decades. But when it becomes clear that Nick has not eluded his mysterious enemies, he realizes that he must once again run for his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley
• Release date: Apr 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463833025

D.R. Willis

David Willis, an avid reader and writer of mystery/suspense, began early on by writing short stories designed to entertain his mother who became ill due to diabetes. This led him to the love of the written word he has today.

Book preview

Prologue

May 1, 1945

With the sun all but gone, Roth Braun’s shadow led the way until it was as subtle as a wisp of smoke. The darkening Georgia sky held the promise of a storm ahead. Roth glanced upward and then hastened his steps along downtown Savannah’s concrete sidewalks. It hasn’t rained in nearly a day, he thought sarcastically, and then, under his breath, wished to go back to a home that never existed. His next thought was to find shelter inside somewhere, before he resembled a drowned rat.

Continuing down the block, Roth noticed that hardly a soul was out and about. Of course, most of the men were still overseas, and with the impending storm, he figured that the women and the children, they dragged along with them were staying at home, safe and dry.

Roth was glad the streets were virtually empty. When strangers passed him by with their questioning eyes, he only imagined what they must be thinking: You’re a strapping young man. What the hell are you doing here, while my loved ones are risking their lives over there?

Not that he cared what they thought; not in the least.

Roth stopped at a small wooden shack of a newsstand. An older black man whose dark sunglasses were perched, slightly crooked, on his unshaven face, greeted Roth with a plastered smile. He was pointing in Roth’s vicinity. Morning, mister! I’m afraid we don’t have today’s paper yet. Just a few left over from yesterday. Must be something big brewing. Maybe even the end of the war!

A few newspapers were laid out across the wooden shelf that separated the two men. Sitting near the corner of the shelf, side by side, were a glass jar half-filled with pieces of wrapped chewing gum and a small metal cup containing a single dollar and a handful of coins.

Maybe, Roth mumbled back. It was apparent to him that the over-friendly man, watching the newsstand, was blind. He picked up an old newspaper, glanced at the headlines from the day before…Dachau Death Train Found! 32,000 Freed from Horror Camp…and put it back down. Just curious…how did you know I wasn’t a woman?

Most women like to smell pretty, and you didn’t…ha! Just kidding, mister. Besides, I had a fifty-fifty chance. The newsstand man tapped on the gum jar. If you buy some gum, I’ll throw in yesterday’s paper for free!

Roth took a copy of the newspaper and a stick of gum and then picked up a coin that was already in the jar and dropped it back in. Keep the change.

Thank you, mister!

You should think about packing it in. There’s a big storm coming, Roth said as he started to walk away.

I don’t think so, mister. My other senses are heightened. I can smell rain coming from a mile a…

A clap of thunder exploded from the heavens, bringing with it rain that began in the form of drizzle. Roth didn’t have to look back to know that the guy would be closing up shop for the day.

Not much farther down the block, Roth stepped into Pete’s Grocers as more thunder roared. Hmmm, he said. The first thing he noticed on the counter, separating the customers from a cash register perched atop a small, round table, was yesterday’s newspapers and some gum for sale. Apparently, Americans enjoy chewing gum while they read, he said under his breath. He was about to yell out, Is anybody here? but then he heard men’s raised voices from the rear of the store; some sort of argument was ensuing. Looking toward the source of the noise, he could see the back of a rather large man in a dark-gray suit. One of the four short aisles that cut across the store, creating a center path, was blocking his view of the other man.

I said I don’t have it! I can’t give you what I don’t have! the hidden man’s voice squealed out.

I’m not protecting your store out of the kindness of my heart, the large man said snidely. I wonder…if I open your cash register, will it be empty?

Please, I have a family to support! There was a moment of silence before the hidden man spoke even more loudly. People like you have no heart…get out of my store!

The large man raised his left hand. Whoa, put that gun away; you probably don’t even know how to use it. Besides, I have one, remember? He was now holding a gun in his right hand. Now put yours away before you end up hurting yourself. I said, put it…

Roth involuntarily twitched at the sound of a gunshot. It was immediately followed by another, and then another. He saw the large man drop to his knees before falling forward onto the dull white linoleum. The unmistakable noise of glass breaking followed, and then there was silence. Roth stood motionless for nearly half a minute before he ventured to the back of the store.

He cautiously peeked around the end of the aisle where the large man’s body was lying. Another body was sprawled nearby, a much smaller man wearing a white shirt and tan pants. The smaller man managed a couple of garbled words and then was still. Avoiding the blood that was on the floor…ironically intermingling with broken jars of ketchup…Roth kicked hard at the larger man, who did not budge. At that exact moment, he heard movement from the other side of the aisle, and he was able to catch a glimpse of a female in dark clothes running toward the front of the store. She was fast, and before he knew it, she was gone.

Roth thought it best not to try and chase down the scared witness. Instead he went to the front door, locked it, and flipped over the paper sign that was hanging by a string, so it said closed. He stood for a moment, peering outside through the glass pane. The rain was now coming down in buckets, and from what he could see, there wasn’t anybody at all on the street. Roth rubbed at his chin a bit and then turned his attention back inside.

He grabbed an apple from a round straw basket advertising the fruit at nineteen cents a pound or thirty cents for two. Today it’s free, he thought. While taking a couple of bites of the apple, he emptied the cash register of its contents…eight singles in all. He didn’t have the payoff money after all, poor dummkopf.

Leaving the fruit on the counter, he went back to the dead body that intrigued him more. Searching the extortionist’s pockets thoroughly, he found three twenty-dollar bills, empty pistachio shells, and a car key…Jackpot.

Incredibly, the Georgia storm left as quickly as it came, and when Roth exited the store, he walked into patches of sunshine that peeked through the scattering clouds. It didn’t take him long at all to match the key with the right automobile; parked brazenly near the front of the store was the dead man’s black sedan.

The back floor of the car was littered with empty pistachio shells. Roth now knew two things about the big dead man: he liked to steal, and he liked nuts. Roth opened the glove compartment, which held a few stray bullets but nothing else. He flipped the driver’s-side visor down, and an envelope fell onto his lap. He immediately ripped it open. Two one-hundred-dollar bills were inside. Roth smiled. The American streets are filled with gold, he thought, shoving the money deep into his pants pocket.

Besides the three-cent stamp, the front of the letter had an address for a Mrs. Joan Sullivan in Virginia. More important, though, the back had a return address, which Roth had ripped nearly to the point of illegibility. He recognized the name of the street, which he believed to be a few blocks away.

He started the engine.

Tap tap tap. A policeman was standing outside the car, holding a nightstick. He must have been walking his beat during the rain, because his uniform was drenched and there were still droplets stubbornly hanging on to the rim of his dark-blue cap. Roth rolled down the driver’s-side window and gave his most disarming smile, attempting to break through the officer’s hard stare.

I notice there, fellow, you came out from Pete’s empty-handed, and the sign says closed. The officer spoke with a thick Irish brogue.

Yes? was Roth’s one-word answer as his body began to tense.

The officer slowly looked away toward the store and then back at him. Roth felt his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

I was going to go in there for an early lunch, the officer finally said. What gives?

Roth’s body uncoiled. There was quite a mess on the floor. I’ll bet it’ll take some time to clean up whatever spilled. I’d go somewhere else today for lunch, officer.

Thanks for the tip, fellow. The police officer turned and began walking down the block, away from Pete’s. Roth waited a few moments, watching him stroll around the corner and out of sight, before driving off.

He didn’t have to drive far…five blocks in all…before reaching the address. It belonged to one of a few apartment buildings crammed close together, separated only by alleyways filled with metal fire escapes and drab, wet clothes hanging from lines strung diagonally between buildings. The clothes swayed slightly in the after-storm breeze.

Roth went into the building’s entryway, which had a faint, unpleasant aroma. He glanced at the vertical array of doorbells; most of them had names written beneath them. The name Sullivan was written under the doorbell for apartment 4G.

On the stairs between the second and third floor, two young people were making out. On the landing a few steps above them, a mouse cowered in the darkness of a corner. Roth ignored them all and made his way up the stairwell.

He got to the fourth floor and walked along the hallway. 4A…4B…A baby’s cries, followed by a mother’s pleas for them to stop, came from somewhere nearby. The last door, tucked away all alone at the very end of the hall, was 4G.

The door was locked.

Roth firmly grasped the doorknob and jiggled it back and forth, and then he repeated the action while applying pressure to the door with his shoulder. In no time at all, he heard a cracking sound and the door swung open. A quick glance showed no observers in the hallway. Roth walked in, shutting the door behind him.

He found himself standing in the middle of a very small family room furnished with only a worn-out brown sofa with a blanket crumpled up in one corner. There were two other doors in the room: a half-open one leading to a bedroom, and a closed one through which he could hear water running.

He steadily opened the closed one. A large bug scurried out and quickly disappeared. He saw a tub with a drawn shower curtain that hadn’t stopped the running water from steaming up the lone mirror hanging over the porcelain sink on the right side of the bathroom. Roth stepped into the room, grabbed the curtain, and jerked it to one side. There was no one in the tub.

Slowly, put your hands up and turn around, commanded a female voice from just outside the bathroom.

Roth turned to face a beautiful young woman with only a bathrobe wrapped around her. She held a pistol aimed directly at him. The small weapon wavered in the air, as did her arm. She was breathing heavily.

Seeing who was trying to threaten him, a smug, confident look formed upon his face. He finally stretched his arms up toward the ceiling. Should you be pointing that thing at me? he said in a calm voice. He couldn’t help but imagine what was beneath the towel. Someone’s liable to get hurt.

Should you be breaking into apartments?

Ignoring her question, Roth nodded toward the bathroom. The water running trick…impressive.

Thanks. Easy enough, though, considering how noisy you were with my front door. She couldn’t help but notice how handsome her intruder was. Now, sit down, she said, motioning with her weapon, as if she were in complete control of the situation. She wasn’t even close to feeling that way.

On the bed? Roth said.

Don’t flatter yourself, she replied, pointing the gun firmly at the couch.

He complied. May I lower my hands now?

She nodded her head, and without taking her eyes off him, she went into the bathroom and turned off the water. Then she walked back in front of the sofa, standing dangerously close to him, keeping the gun pointed at his chest. You picked the wrong place, she said. There’s nothing here to take.

Roth reached inside his jacket pocket.

Stop! she yelled.

He slowly withdrew a Viceroy and a book of matches, lit up, and took a deep draw. Then he grinned. It’s hard to believe that there’s nothing to take, considering I just witnessed your father trying to extort money from the grocery store owner down the block…I’m guessing it wasn’t the first time. And I imagine you know all about what he does for a living. He took another draw. By the way, the owner and your father exchanged gunfire. They’re both dead.

The young woman took a step back. Roth expected her to break down, go into shock, something. Instead her expression was placid.

Dammit, she finally said. Swell. Now what am I going to do? I suppose it was just a matter of time before the idiot got himself killed.

A surprising reaction, I must admit, Roth said. And I am not easily surprised. He extended his cigarette toward her. She shook her head no. He dropped it on the floor and ground it out with the sole of his shoe.

The young woman took another couple of steps back and lay the gun down on the windowsill right behind her. She leaned her body provocatively up against the window, which was warm from the sun that was now boldly shining through. She kept her hand close to the pistol. You don’t mind if I confess a couple of things to you, do you?

Not at all, Roth said. But aren’t you afraid I could be the police?

She smiled. Maybe, except you’re trying too hard to hide your German accent to be a police officer.

Roth offered a half-smile in return. Impressive again, especially for a young, beautiful girl. He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. I am literally your captive audience, ich bin nicht?

So, we are both trying to be invisible. She uttered the thought out loud before starting. I’m Teresa, Teresa Cayden. The person you saw was my uncle, Cass Cayden. He always had a system for everything…how to steal, how to bet on horses, how to be a dirty, nasty drunk…how to squander our money. Hell, he was really good at the last two. She looked away and then spoke again, her voice lower. My uncle gave me this pink robe after one of his drunken tirades. I guess he thought it would make up for…things. Funny, I used to like the color pink.

Roth hadn’t noticed before…seeing only the sexy curves beneath her robe…but there was more than one bruise showing on her naked skin, poorly camouflaged with makeup.

Teresa waved her hand about the room. So unless you’re in the market for a used, ratty couch, I suggest you break into someone else’s apartment. She glanced at her gun, dully gleaming in the sun. Or better yet, shoot me and get my miserable life over with.

I have a better idea, Roth said.

Do tell, Teresa said. She felt her skin getting warmer.

Outside, a police siren started as a whisper and within a few moments grew louder as it came closer and then passed by. Roth rose and went to stand next to Teresa as she looked out the window. She inched nearer to him. It’s heading toward the grocery store, he said and went back to the couch, ignoring her flirting.

Well, I guess somebody was hungry and found the bodies.

Will the police be able to link your uncle to this apartment?

Teresa shrugged her shoulders.

Quick, put something on and take anything personal of yours, Roth said. You’re coming with me.

Why should I do that?

Would you rather stay and try and answer questions from the police? Roth asked in a stronger tone. Besides, I think we could help each other in a way that would make what you and your uncle was doing seem like child’s play. You see, our meeting each other has made me realize how advantageous a female partner would be. Couples tend to blend in more than a lone man trying to hide his German accent.

Teresa still wasn’t budging.

It would be a chance to make more money than you could spend in a lifetime, Roth added.

Teresa smiled big and went into the bedroom to get changed. Underneath the mattress were some crumpled tens she had kept secret from her uncle. She shoved them into the bottom of a small black duffel and then filled the bag up with the few items of clothing and accessories she’d bought or stolen.

Tell me more about how we are going to make all this money, she said, as she came back into the family room.

Soon I will be in possession of a list of names that will give a whole new meaning to the word extortion, Roth began as they went out the door, heading to his apartment on the outskirts of town.

Teresa thought it best to leave behind what she had hidden in the shadowy space underneath the bed…her navy-blue pants and blood-stained blouse wrapped around the gun she had used to kill the store owner and her uncle, ridding herself of him once and for all.

A grin cut along her face.

***

PART 1

The year 1998

CHAPTER 1

You have to be kidding me, Nick Davis muttered with eyes still closed. The sound of his own angry voice pierced the darkness, startling him more than the unwanted ringing of the telephone. He turned and awkwardly fumbled for the lamp. Instead of light filling the room, the receiver crashed on the wooden floor. Shit! Nick said.

Son? Son, can you hear me? A distant voice asked from the phone.

Nick felt his way around, finally putting the receiver next to his ear. He glanced at the alarm clock; the red LCD numbers proclaimed it was 3:00 a.m. Hey! You know I don’t get up till three thirty, he thought.

Dad, is everything all right? Why are you calling in the middle of the night? This was one of those times he didn’t care if he sounded annoyed at his father’s latest antics.

But Nick had already calculated the answer. It wasn’t the first time his grizzled, white-haired father, who had recently reached the eighty-four-year-old milestone, had confused night for day.

A moment or two of hesitation passed before his dad spoke up. Uh…I was watching some TV and…

Nick gripped the phone tighter, a newly developed habit while conversing with his father. What have I told you about watching infomercials?

Without missing a beat, the senior Davis continued. Anyway, there is some kind of new pill for old dinosaurs like myself…you know, helps urges long since gone.

Dad, it’s the middle of the night! Besides, I really don’t know how comfortable I feel talking about your lack of sex. Come on, you’re my dad. I shouldn’t have to listen to this at three o’clock in the morning. Actually, I shouldn’t have to listen to this at any time.

But I just thought we could have a father-son chat. You know, bond and all. I…

Bye, Dad!

Nick returned the phone to the cradle using more force than intended. Little time passed before the guilt crept in, even though he felt he had all the right in the world to end the exasperating conversation. His fingers had already started dialing his dad’s number.

The phone hardly rang once before his father answered. What took you so long, Son?

Nick rolled his eyes. A long day already, and he hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet. I called back to see how you were feeling.

With my hands, Nelson Davis joked.

Nick smiled. Are you sure you didn’t adopt me? Maybe found me on a doorstep?

Sorry, buddy, you’re one hundred percent mine, and of course your mom’s. God rest her soul!

Nick thought, Funny how he still can’t talk about mom without the mantra God rest her soul. It may have been an unthinking reaction to his dad’s childhood religious teachings or just a simple wish that his mom had at last found peace.

I’ll check on you later, Dad.

Nick wondered how he would feel on the day when there would be no more calls coming. He pushed the negative thoughts from his mind.

After he hung up, Nick switched on the lamp, lighting his cozy little bedroom. He lived on the top floor of a two-family home on a small side street in Rosewood. He’d been born and would probably die here in the small suburban New Jersey town. He stood and stretched out his six-foot frame with minimal bone cracking. On his way to the bathroom, he glanced at the clock, which now read 3:20.

A creature of habit, Nick started every day the same way. He splashed cold water on his face before staring across at his own reflection. Getting older, but not too shabby for just turning forty-three, he pondered. Nick stood frozen a moment longer. Although, is that my father’s face beginning to blend with mine?

He washed and dried his hands and looked out the window. Nick did not take much stock in the local TV meteorologists. He figured sticking his head out the window had just as high a success rate.

His fingers flicked the slats open only to expose a rain-soaked pane. I guess my friend called it right; there probably won’t be any baseball to watch tonight, Nick thought glumly.

Before his fingers released their pressure, he spotted some kind of movement from behind a very old maple tree directly across the street. He found himself opening the slats even wider as he continued to stare into the stormy morning. Nick’s eyes focused on a shadow illuminated by the streetlight and hovering on the ground just beyond the confines of the maple tree.

He considered calling the police, but then from behind the tree, a figure darted up the block toward the main cross road. In what seemed like an instant, the runner was out of view.

***

CHAPTER 2

Heading to work, Nick first drove to the lone doughnut shop in town; fortunately for him, they always opened early. The rain continued to pound down onto Nick’s car, almost drowning out the radio weather forecaster, who announced, a little too cheerfully, There’s a seventy percent chance of rain today and the same for tonight. Nick smiled to himself. You’re about thirty percent off, he said to his car radio while finally opting for the all-sports radio station.

An annoying male caller, whose speech slurred and whose thinking appeared far from cogent, argued that the damn manager and not the damn pitcher had lost the game the night before. Immediately, Nick could tell the host lost his patience with the caller. Rolling his eyes at the absurdity, he turned the radio off.

Once more, sounds of the inclement weather took over as Nick slipped into his own thoughts. I need to change my phone number so Dad doesn’t wake me up in the middle of the night. Yeah right, like I’d really do that. Don’t forget to call Sis, even if she doesn’t call me anymore. Speaking of calls, I waited long enough to tell Amanda I had fun on our date last week. Was it two weeks ago? No wonder I’m still single.

Nick pulled into the Dom’s Donuts parking lot at four thirty, about the same time he pulled in almost every morning. There were two other cars already parked. One, Nick assumed, had to be the store’s employee, and the other was probably the figure he saw through the shop’s ample front glass panes, which were clouded by the humidity.

He parked the car, dashed through the rain, and without even glancing backwards, he aimed his keys at the car to lock the doors. The kid inside of Nick always considered it a cool thing to do.

As he entered the store, more concerned about getting drenched than anything else, he almost tackled the lone patron exiting at the exact same moment.

Watch where you’re going! the old man scolded while brushing past Nick.

I’m sorry, Nick began, but his words fell on deaf ears since the man was already out the door.

Quick, angry little bugger, Nick said.

Nick, what was that all about? a husky voice asked from behind the counter. The question came from the plump forty-something woman who had been working the graveyard shift for the past two weeks. She had assumed a first-name basis from day one. Well, that wasn’t exactly right. She knew his name.

Good morning. That, Nick said, pointing to the door, was just someone who got up on the wrong side of the bed.

The newest Dom Donut’s employee had been overly friendly, he thought, and not that the one thing had anything to do with the other, but she sported what had to be the thickest eyeglasses he had ever seen. Unfortunately, Nick had forgotten her name, and after a certain amount of time had passed, he couldn’t ask again.

As he made his way closer to the counter, Nick remembered why he loved the place. The doughnuts’ aroma enveloped the senses, sometimes reminding him of his childhood, when he had often walked through the snow hand-in-hand with his mom up to the corner bakery, his little legs barely keeping up with her stride.

Mommy, the snow is tickling my nose.

She exhibited a warm smile. Honey, snow likes to tickle little boys’ noses.

Some memories were always sweeter than others.

Excuse me, Nick. I just have to shut something off in the back. The employee’s words jolted him back to the present.

Before he could answer, she had disappeared into the back of the store, off limits to mere customers like him.

Nick imagined there was nothing in the back at all, just an empty room…an employee haven of sorts.

The woman returned to the counter area. Okay, I’m ready for your order, Nick.

Let’s see, is your name Cindy? What should I have on this very wet day? Nick asked, studying the changeless menu board. Could it be Sally? Why must she use my name in every sentence?

You know, Nick, I think an extra large coffee is a good idea! she answered, as if she had somehow solved all Nick’s problems just by pouring a cup of java. Nick, I heard two police officers talking about a peeping Tom that’s been scaring a few people around here. Can you believe in Rosewood, of all places?

Nick had to admit he was relieved to hear he wasn’t the only person this had happened to, so he shared his early morning uneasy sighting. As he spoke, she listened with rapt interest, her face lit with concern and a little powdered sugar.

Wow, I would have been petrified to go out to my car if I saw someone lurking near my home. Nick, you really should have called the police!

I doubt much would’ve been done anyway, and I’m sure I scared him away, Nick said, uncertain if he had done so or not. I don’t think he’ll be back, so there’s nothing to worry about.

The shop’s front door opened, and in walked a woman wearing a long, dark gray raincoat and holding a closed maroon umbrella. Despite the harsh fluorescent lights of the store, her short-cropped red hair framed her fair face perfectly, somehow giving her the look of a model and the girl next door all rolled into one. Nick’s gaze remained firmly upon the stunning woman.

I’m lost. Can you tell me if I’m in Rosewood? She directed her inquiry towards the shop’s employee in a heavy Slavic accent Nick took as Russian.

Nick stepped in between the two. You’re standing smack dab in the middle of Rosewood, he said with a winning grin. Uh…by the way, my name is Nick.

What a nice name. I can see why it was given to you, she said flirtatiously, twirling to leave.

I…I didn’t catch your name, Nick said.

The Russian woman turned slightly as she opened the shop’s front door. I did not give my name. she smiled.

Nick made one last stab. While you’re here, the coffee is great. The words sounded desperate, even to him.

I have no doubt, she replied and disappeared into the stormy morning.

Nick turned in time to see the woman behind the counter scowl.

***

CHAPTER 3

Even though thoughts of the captivating woman continued to swirl through Nick Davis’s head, he decided to try to concentrate on the workday lying before him. He worked in a drab brown one-story building, which housed a forty-year-old machine shop. Graffiti stretched across the outside cement from one side of the building to the other, mostly proclaiming a boy’s love for some girl. Any profanity was painted over again and again.

Nick was a machinist, as his father and two uncles had been. They had taught him almost everything there was to know about the trade, more than the technical school he had gone to. Nick had been featured in a local newspaper as one of the top machinists working in the area. Nevertheless, a slightly jealous coworker had asked on more than one occasion: Did the article get you a raise? Did you get any exciting new job offers? No, and a resounding no!

Nick stepped inside the shop and routinely locked the door behind him. Just outside the darkened building, a green sedan slowly passed by. The strange car stopped for a moment after reaching the machine shop’s front door. The driver’s eyes peered all around, but then the car proceeded down the block and eventually out of sight.

Nick continued his morning ritual, flipping all the light switches to the on position. He walked over to his toolbox, opened the lid, and glanced at all the photos he had taped to the inside. He did this partially for superstitious reasons and partially as a reminder of all the people he cared about and who had cared about him.

He found himself concentrating on three specific wallet-sized photographs.

The machine shop had not been too kind to Nick’s visual paper memories. Yellowed, worn tape barely kept the pictures in place. Small beads of grease clung to each one. One black-and-white photo displayed his parents looking very young. He kept thinking the picture had been his mom’s favorite of his dad.

One photograph showed his sister Amy and him at some carnival, but for the life of him, he could not remember being there.

Finally, one was of his best friend since sixth grade, Joe Kirkland. Truth be told, they met in the sixth grade, but it wasn’t until the last year of high school that the two had become inseparable, the year Julie Lewis broke both their hearts. Joe Kirkland’s photo was a perfect Kodak Moment…born to be lifetime friends, the two of them wrestled in a stack of autumn leaves with the biggest shit-eating grins you ever did see. That’s the memory Nick would hang onto, not the one only six months ago when he had thrown dirt into an open grave that would be the new home of his cancer-stricken lifetime friend. He began thinking about his last call to the hospital where Joe had gone for treatment.

Good morning. Rosewood General. What room number, sir? A pleasant enough sounding voice asked.

Nick felt a little confused. I’m sorry; I thought I dialed the room directly.

What room number, sir? she repeated.

Five hundred and forty one, Kirkland, Joseph Kirkland. An uneasy feeling swept through Nick.

A few second passed before the women’s voice spoke again. Sir?

Yes?

I’m sorry, Joe Kirkland has expired. The operator’s tone did not change, and yet her words had the same force as if she had screamed them.

Nick remembered thinking at the time, when did they replace the word dead with expired? When had his childhood friend and a carton of milk become equals?

He closed the lid to his toolbox.

There were no windows in the main work area, causing time and grit to meld the shop into shades of gray. On the wall just outside the bathroom, hung a torn picture portraying some wide-eyed gal draped in nothing more than a towel and a fabricated smile.

The faint smell of metal dust and cutting oils hung in the air, waiting to penetrate any unsuspecting lungs. Nick reckoned he wouldn’t have to worry about such things for at least twenty years or so.

Nick sat down at his desk and tried concentrating on the blueprint he had been working on the day before. Instead, he found himself replaying the day’s earlier events like the last song you hear on the radio that seems to linger forever in your head.

I’d do her! George Rufus boasted as he gulped his last bit of coffee. A sly grin shot across his face. George, who had played high school football some twenty years ago, still looked like he could burst through any defensive line, big as a bear and gentle as a puppy dog.

That’s why I don’t share things with you, Nick said. And the last time I checked, you were still married.

George pointed at him. "Hey, Nicky boy, you know my motto: