Reunion

By Lawrence R. Heibel

Ray Mondy dies as plans to kill his wife Pam for leaving him for another man go horribly wrong. Five years later, he finds a way to return to the living world by possessing live souls thanks to a young medium, Steve Thorndyke, who unwittingly brings Ray back from the dead. Ray seeks vengeance against his former wife, now married to Ron Candleson. While the Candlesons reunite with two teenage children that Ron left behind when he ran away with Pam, Ray torments them in the idyllic forested Bay Haven State Park on Lake Michigan. Steve Thorndyke, the only one who knows the truth about Ray stalks Candlesons and Mondy hoping to stop Ray's terrifying plans of vengeance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312536173

Book preview

Reunion

REUNION

Lawrence R. Heibel

COPYRIGHT

Copyright © 2014 by Lawrence R Heibel

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

ISBN 978-1-312-53617-3

Heibel Media LLC

1348 Front Ave. NW

Grand Rapids, MI   49504

www.heibelmedia.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To Kim, my wife, best friend and most patient supporter

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you to Bruce K. who introduced me to P.J. Hoffmaster State Park in Muskegon, MI and where the idea for this story originated.

Thank you to Audrey A. whose proofreading skills made this book better.

Prologue:  Friday May 14   Five Years Ago

Are you sure you want to do this?

I’ve never been so sure in my life, she said with a calm confidence.

Ron Candleson drove down unfamiliar streets in Grand Rapids following his GPS.  Pam Mondy, 28, sat in the passenger seat in black slacks that hid her long, thin legs and a white blouse with a black blazer.  Her short, dark brown hair hung down the side of her face so Ron couldn't see if her blue eyes were wet or dry.

Pam Mondy reached over and put her hand on her Creative Writing professor’s hand that was resting on the automatic shift lever of his Honda Accord.  His hand was dry and softer than her husband’s.  This was a hand that had never been raised to her and never would be.  This was the hand that had guided her hand and helped her discover her voice.  It was a hand that helped her discover that they shared a voice.

The graduation ceremony was really nice, Pam said to prevent a silent lull that might challenge her resolve.

Ron Candleson didn’t look like a creative writing professor.  He didn’t wear glasses or a tweed jacket.  For 40, he was fit and trim.  He had a full head of sandy brown hair that reminded her more of a surfer than a professor.  He glanced at her and smiled.  His eyes were always so bright and giving.  It was his eyes that had done her in.

I’m so proud of you, Ron said.  You’ve come such a long way.  You’ve grown into quite the writer.

I couldn’t have done it without you, she said as she squeezed his hand.

She had imagined this so many times over the past few months and saw herself trembling and full of fear.  But she wasn’t. 

Turn down the next street on the right, Pam pointed.

Her heart was beating faster now, but she didn’t feel anxious.  If anything, she was somewhat numb.  If any one had said to her six years ago when she returned to college at 22 that she’d fall in love with her then 34 year-old Creative Writing professor and leave her husband, she would have said that would be a nice dream.  She didn’t listen to family and friends back then.  Now all her family and friends were gone.  Her parents died in a drunk driving accident two weeks after her wedding.  Mom and Dad had both been drinking and that time Mom drove home.  She took the wrong ramp and travelled a mile the wrong way on Int. 96 just east of Lansing before a semi-truck collided head on with them.

Her friends left her when at 18, she married Ray Mondy, a 24-year-old computer geek that looked like an auto mechanic.  His muscles attracted her, his brilliant mind swept her off her feet and his way with her body sealed the deal.  All her friends had said he was bad news.  She defended his inability to keep his jobs to bosses who didn’t understand how smart he was; not his quick temper and even quicker loss of control.  He never raised a hand to her.  Until they were married.

She wondered if their whirlwind romance was so quick because he couldn’t hold his temper for more than four months, the span of time between their meeting at I-Hop where she was waitressing after school and their wedding at city hall.

He had never beaten her up.  He had never hit her in the face.  He liked to spank her.  Never with a belt or any object. He liked to use his hand on her bare bottom.  He only left red marks and physical pain that lasted a few hours; but he nearly killed her confidence and assertiveness.

Along with the spanking, there was the screaming.  He didn’t yell at her.  He screamed at her.  All of that started soon after her parents died.  He lost another job.  She had a scholarship to Michigan State in East Lansing, but he wouldn’t let her use it.  She didn’t need an education.  Her job was to take care of his house and produce him children.

Less than a year after they were married she had devolved into the submissive wife he wanted.  She lived in fear of his right hand.  She took solace in her writing of romance stories she kept hidden from him where a hero always took the girl away from the villain.  And now she sat in her hero’s car, about to be taken away from the villain.

Left at the light, then two blocks north go right, Pam directed.

Three years into the marriage, Ray conceded there would be no kids.  They never used protection or birth control.  Early in the marriage he stopped pleasing her in bed too.  He used her as if she were a sex doll with no feelings or desires or emotions.  And when she got her period every month, he crushed her with his anger and hatred that she wasn’t woman enough to bear him a child.  And then he’d spank her so she couldn’t sit or lay down for hours.  She would lie between the bed and the wall on her side in a fetal position.  He never bothered her there.

Six years ago, with no job and the economy in the shitter, Ray agreed to let her go to college.  Pam told him she’d study business, but her very first class was Ron’s creative writing class.  He never made an inappropriate move on her.  He gave her something she had not received in years.  He encouraged her to write and then publish her romances. 

She made a point in her first three years to take every writing and literature class that Ron taught.  The fourth year, he agreed to write a novel with her.  During the writing of the novel, she opened up about her husband’s abuse.  She had let her guard down one evening when they were writing together and she slipped.  He wanted her to call the police, but she refused.  She was as embarrassed as she was afraid.

A few months later, Ron opened up to her.  He and his wife had been separated but living together for the past two years.  He had two children not yet teens and was staying for them, though he was sleeping in the basement.

They celebrated the completion of the novel last year with a drink at a little bar the literary faculty and students liked near the college.  It felt more like a coffee house than a bar.  There were no televisions, just tables, bookshelves loaded with books and seats filled with literary geeks.

One drink turned to two to three to four.    She was leaning into him as they talked about how great it would be to publish the book and how much fun it was to write and how they should write another.  He paused and she kissed him.  If it weren’t for the alcohol, she would have pulled back immediately when he didn’t respond.  But her hesitation gave him time to respond and kiss her back.

When they parted, there was what should have been an awkward silence.  But it wasn’t awkward, just silent.  She thought she had loved Ray, but what she was feeling then was the real thing, and it was something she never felt for Ray.

That night when she arrived home later than usual and still a bit drunk, Ray did more than spank her.   This time he whipped her with a belt until the skin tore.  Then he raped her repeatedly.  He did things to her that she blocked from her memory.   As she recovered in bed the next two days she developed her plan to leave him.  She would complete her degree.  She would give herself to Ron if he would have her and she would leave town and go somewhere she’d never see Ray or places where she remembered being with him. 

For a month after that beating, she and Ray didn’t speak or touch.  He quit drinking again.  He was quiet and civil like the man she had thought she had fallen in love with when they dated.  She wondered if he had changed. 

He answered that question by losing yet another job and taking up drinking again as a job.  The spankings began again with and without the belt and though she continued to refuse to have sex with him, he took it anyway.

Two months ago, Ron left his wife and moved into an apartment.  Pam never betrayed her husband despite Ron’s encouragement for her to leave him and the abuse.

I want to shove that diploma in his face and tell him I did it and I’m now smart enough to leave him, she said again and again.

The diploma, received just a few hours ago, sat on her lap.  She stared down at it and refused to open the stylish folder that held it.  This had all been a dream of someday.  Dreams weren’t real except in her romance stories.  But this one was real.

Ray made a point of refusing to come to the graduation ceremony.  Pam made a point of not inviting him.  As they neared her house, she hoped Ray had stayed home because she was going to slap him across the face with her diploma.  Then she was going to introduce Ron, the hero, who would be taking her away from her husband the villain.  

Stop, Pam called out. 

Ron pulled over to the curb and stopped.  The street was lined with a variety of newer ranch style homes.  There was beautiful landscaping, green lawns and a pleasant, home feeling to the neighborhood.

My house is the tan one four houses up on the left.  His yellow Mustang is in the driveway.

When she couldn’t have kids, he treated himself to a muscle car.  He treated the car so much better than her.

You ready?  Ron asked her.

I’ve been ready for years.  Let’s do this.

* * * * *

Ron Candleson drove his Accord away from the curb and crept down the street at 10 miles per hour.  Ron couldn’t believe he was finally getting her away from her husband.  She was surprisingly calm.  Ron was a wreck inside though he was certain it didn’t show on the outside.  What if her husband had a gun?  What if he turned violent on them?

Ron parked on the opposite side of the street from the front of the house.  If everything went according to plan, Ray would leave and give Pam time to pack her things.  She had told Ron she could have everything packed in less than a hour.  Pam had clothing and personal items and her journals.  But she wasn’t bringing any mementoes or pictures because she didn’t have any.  Ray wasn’t a knick-knack guy, Pam had told Ron.  Ray didn’t like pictures of himself.  He refused to have a photographer at their wedding.

Ron turned the key in the ignition and the engine died.  Pam leaned over and kissed him full and strong on the lips.  Then she leaned back.

We start our new life together tonight, she said.

Before Ron could respond she was getting out of the car.  He fumbled with the button to detach the seatbelt and flung it behind him.  Ron opened the door quickly, stepped out of the car and closed the door quietly so he wouldn’t alert Ray.  Pam had practically run up the driveway and he fell in behind her as she reached the back door.

* * * * *

Pam pulled open the screen door and stepped inside.  The house reeked of fried hamburg.  A black cast iron skillet sat on the stove with burnt burger grease still in it.  Pam stepped past the stove to the refrigerator in view of the dining room table and stopped.   Ron bumped into her back and she stumbled a step forward.  Ray stood in the divide between dining room and living room.  He wore black nylon athletic shorts and a wife-beater with grease, mustard and ketchup stains on the front of it.  His face was unshaven with three day’s growth amounting to patches of stubble.  He held a bottle of Bud in his hand.  His eyes were glassy.

Who the fuck is this?  Ray growled.

I got it, you bastard, Pam said lifting the diploma up to his face. 

She so wanted to hit him with it, but it meant too much to her to damage it.  He reached up with his empty hand to bat it away but she was quicker and pulled it out of reach.

You tried to keep me down, Pam said in a calm, even voice.  You tried to beat the life out of me, the will out of me, the joy out of me.

What you talkin’ ‘bout, Ray slurred.

SHUT UP!

He stepped back and Pam stepped a foot forward.

You aren’t taking me down.  You failed.  Not only did I graduate but Ron here, my creative writing professor and I, have just written a book that we’re going to get published.

Holy shit!  Ray exclaimed.  It’s about time you brought home some money.

He drained the bottle and then looked for a place to set it.  He wasn’t near any table.  He flicked his wrist and the bottle sailed onto the carpeted living floor near his recliner where it clinked against two other empties.

Ron’s more than my professor, Pam said as she reached back and pulled Ron against her side and held him with both arms around his waist.   I’m leaving you for him.  You can have everything.  The house, cars, shit in the house.  I don’t care.

You can’t leave me, Ray laughed with more anger than humor behind it.  ’Til death do us part.  Remember?

Well you did kill that part of me that loved you so I’m going to consider the vow honored.

Ray stepped forward and instinctively Pam threw up her hands to protect her face as she backed up into Ron.  Ron skirted around her and grabbed Ray’s shoulders with his hands.  Ron gripped tight and felt hard muscle underneath.

Get your fuckin’ hands off me or lose them, Ray seethed.

Ron held on as he felt the already hardened shoulders tense further.  He let go and Ray stepped back.

Are you fuckin’ him?  Ray exclaimed.

I’ve never cheated on you, Pam said.  I so wanted to but I’m not stooping to your level.  I took those vows seriously.

You’re runnin’ off with him.  You’re gonna be fuckin’ him.

I’m not running, Pam stated forcefully.  I’m leaving of my own free will.  I’m not afraid of you any more and you’re not going to hurt me any more."

Pam stepped ahead of Ron and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

I’m going to pack up my stuff.

You don’t have anything, Ray shouted back at her.

I’m taking my personal stuff and my clothes.  That’s it.  I want you out of here while I pack and I don’t want you back until after I leave.

You can’t kick me out of my own damn house, he exclaimed.

I’m not kicking you out.  I’m asking you to give me space while I pack up and leave you.

You’ll steal my shit, bitch!

You don’t have anything I want, Pam shouted back.  I want you out of my life starting this second.  GET OUT!!!

Ray stood fuming.  Ron stood holding Pam’s shoulders, steadying her.  She was ready to scream in a full on rage.  But she didn’t want to lose control.

Get out.  Come back in a couple of hours and I’ll be long gone.

You think I’m just going to let you leave?

Ray stepped towards her and Pam felt her hand go back. She swung her hand wide and slapped the side of his face.  His head turned and spit flew and her hand felt as if she had whacked it against a brick wall.

You bitch!  Ray seethed.

I should have struck back years ago, Pam stated softly with a barely restrained anger.  Get out of this house now or I’ll call the police and show them the bruises from this afternoon.

Ray was silent as he contemplated his options.

I’m kicking you out, bitch.  Get your shit and get the fuck out.  When I get back, you better be gone.

Pam stepped over to put the dining room table between her and Ray and to clear a path to the door.  Ron followed her movement.  Ray glared at both of them and then strode out of the kitchen.  He stumbled at the step down to the back door and basement step.  Pam thought quickly that it would be great if he just fell down those stairs and broke his neck.  But he stumbled out the door and slammed the screen door shut.

She heard his Mustang roar to life, the car tiles squealed in reverse out of the driveway.  The car screeched to a stop and squealed as Ray accelerated down the street.

He shouldn’t be driving, Ron said.

Maybe he’ll kill himself, Pam said softly.

As long as no one else gets hurt I’m good with that.

Me too.

They stood in the kitchen in silence for a few moments.  Her heart was pounding now.   She thought she should cry, but she was excited.  She had done it.

Can you bring the car into the driveway and bring the suitcases in?  Pam asked.

Sure.

Ron left the house and Pam walked through the dining room of Ray’s little two-bedroom ranch.  This had never been her house.  He bought it without even showing it to her.  He could have it and all the terrible memories it held.  She walked down a hallway to the master bedroom and sat down on the bed.  The thoughts had found their way through the excitement and shock.  She began to cry.

* * * * *

Who the fuck does she think she is? Ray asked himself as he sped through the neighborhood.  She’s my goddamn wife.  I own her.

He slowed down at the four-lane road that took traffic out of the neighborhood and then stepped on the gas and squealed out into the second lane.  He followed the road half a mile to the first major intersection and spotted a Speedway gas station.  He patted his shorts and shoulder before realizing he didn’t have a sleeve to carry his cigarettes in.

Goddamnit!

Ray drove into the gas station parking lot up to the building and parked. He turned off the ignition and pulled the keys out.  He reached over to the passenger seat and picked up his wallet.  He opened the door and pulled it back quickly as another car suddenly pulled into the space next to him.

Fuckin’ asshole, Ray said loud enough for the driver to hear.   He opened the door slowly and stepped out.  As he closed his door, a short-haired blond teenage girl bounded out of the little blue Ford Focus that had almost taken his door off.  He checked out her ass as she walked by ignorant of his presence.

That little bitch could use a spankin’.

Ray laughed to himself and then tried to remember what he was doing here.  He walked to the rear of his Mustang and popped open the trunk with the key fob.   A large gray plastic tackle box consumed much of the trunk space, as did four rods and reels, a fish keeper, a large worm storage box and a folding lawn chair.

He moved the chair so he could check the tackle box.  He opened up the lid and several drawers unfolded themselves to reveal lures and weights.  The interior compartment had pliers, screw drivers but no cigarettes.  He moved the pliers aside and saw his filet knife in a leather sheath.  He just looked at it for a moment.  A calm contentment settled over him.  This was the same feeling he experienced when he had had enough and decided she needed to be punished.  Just making the decision was enough to bring the calm.  But executing the punishment; that brought the real joy.

Ray looked around.  The parking lot was empty for the moment.  He grabbed the sheathed knife, pulled it out of the box and closed the trunk.  He walked to the passenger door, opened it and dropped the knife on the seat.  Then he closed the door and entered the store.

He was here at least twice a week and by habit he turned away from the counter near the entrance and walked back to the cooler.  He passed by the soft drinks and stopped in front of the Budweiser six-pack of bottles.  The girl who had parked next to him was on the far side of the cooler doors looking at the dairy.

Ray opened the cooler door and pulled a six-pack out and walked to the end of the aisle.  He turned to head to the cash register and stopped.  The aisle was devoted to automotive supplies and before him set half a row of red, five-gallon plastic gasoline containers.  He picked one up and carried it the cash register.

Marlboro Red, Ray told the bored 20-something, brown haired girl at the cash register.

It’s gonna rain pretty soon, the cashier said as she scanned the items.

Ray grabbed a Bic lighter from a counter display and tossed it on the counter.  As bored looking as she was, she moved quick enough to catch the lighter.  She gave him a quick glare and scanned the lighter.

You want gas in that?

Kind of useless without gas, Ray replied with a snigger.  Set the pump for five gallons.

The cashier said an amount that Ray didn’t even hear.  In his head he was listening to Pam scream as he cut her across her bare ass.  He fished out a credit card and dropped it on the counter.

I’m sorry, the cashier came back a moment later.  This has been declined.

Fuck, Ray muttered.

The cashier gave him another glare as he pulled a fifty out of his wallet, the last of his cash.  He flipped it down on the counter.  The cashier held it up to the light, and then punched in the amount on the register.  He stuffed the bills she handed him back into his wallet and dropped the change into his shorts pocket.  He put the cigarettes and lighter into his left pocket and his wallet in his right pocket.  Ray carried the beer and gas can to the car.  He put the beer in the front passenger seat next to the knife, then closed the door and carried the gas can to the pumps.

Number one, he heard the cashier’s voice say from a speaker in the pump.  He looked about.  The pump he was at was number three.  He walked to the next pump and saw the 1.  He unscrewed the cap/spout and filled the container.  It shut off at five gallons.

The gas container was filled to the top and gas leaked from the pump handle onto the container as he pulled the handle out.  He fumbled to get the pump handle back into its cradle.  Then he fumbled to screw on the spout that was held in place by a cap.

He cursed as he tried to screw the cap on but it wouldn’t go on tight and the spout wobbled.

Fuck it, he finally said and kicked the can. 

Gas spilled out from the cap unnoticed.  Ray carried the can to his car and almost lifted the trunk lid before remembering there would be no room there.  He opened the passenger side door and put the passenger seat up and tried to put the can in the backseat.  The spout got tangled in the seatbelt and the can wouldn’t go in.

Get the fuck in there you bastard, Ray exclaimed as he pushed and pulled until the spout and cap fell off and gasoline spilled out into his car.

FUCK!

Ray set the can on the seat and fished the cap and spout off the floor.  He screwed them back on, this time getting a tight fit.  But he didn’t notice the cap on the spout had come off and remained open.

Ray shoved the passenger seat back and closed the door.  He walked around to the driver’s side door and as he put his hand on the handle, the clouds opened up.  He yanked the door open and climbed in and shut the door behind him.  He fished his keys out of his pocket and with them came the cigarettes and lighter.  He tossed those onto the passenger seat and put the key in the ignition and fired her up.

He drove home at a leisurely pace to avoid getting there too soon.  The car reeked of gasoline but he imagined that’s how the house would smell as it was burning as he watched it from the street.  But first there would be the filleting.  No, he thought, first he’d cut that fucking professor’s throat.  After he cut the guy’s pecker and balls off.  Next he was stripping her naked and spanking that tight ass until she was broken.  Then he was going to fuck her every way she could be.  Lastly he would fillet her.  Starting with those sweet cheeks.

He’d probably have to gag her, because skinning her was going to be excruciating.  She wanted to leave and the vows were ‘till death do they part.  He would be okay with the parting at that point.

He’d pour gasoline all over the bodies and out through the hallway, dining room and kitchen to the backdoor.  He’d toss the empty gas can down the basement.  Finally he’d drop his cigarette onto the gas and burn everything to the ground.

He reached down between his legs and squeezed his hard on that was peaking out of his shorts.  God, he couldn’t wait to stick it in her.  He’d remember her crying and sobbing for the rest of his life. 

He turned off the headlights as he turned onto his street.  He pulled up slowly to his house and saw the bastard had pulled his car into the driveway.  Ray crossed and parked at the curb in front of his house.  He left the engine running with the wipers barely keeping up with the downpour.

Their bedroom in the front of the house was lit up.  The drapes were open, but he didn’t see them.  He grabbed the knife from the seat and unsheathed it.  He had gutted and filleted countless fish with it.  Her professor and her should gut just like a fish.

He reached over, dropped the knife and grabbed his cigarettes.  He tore off the cellophane wrapper and the foil seal.  He pounded the pack against the palm of his hand and tapped and pulled out a single cigarette.  He put it in his mouth and tossed the pack on the seat next to the lighter.

* * * * *

He’s right outside, Pam said nervously from the living room.

As she rolled the last suitcase into the kitchen, she thought she had heard Ray’s car rumbling outside.  In the dark living room she had moved the drape with her finger to see out.  His car was sitting by the curb, facing the wrong direction and the wiper blades were going non-stop.

Do you want me to call the police?  Ron asked.

I don’t think he’ll do anything.  But he might try following us.

I can run him off, Ron said.

It’s raining.

So.  I can get wet.

Pam laughed half-heartedly, but it felt good to laugh.

Let’s wait and see if he does anything, she said.

Pam went to the front door in the living room and pulled it open slowly.  She peeked out the door.  She could see him moving in the driver’s seat.

Just stay there, she whispered.

* * * * *

Ray picked up the lighter.   His drunken brain had settled to live with the intense gasoline smell in the car.  But it wasn’t thinking when he automatically lifted the lighter and flicked the igniter to his cigarette.   A loud whooshing sound was all he heard.  The hair on his body was incinerated instantly leaving a sickening, nauseating odor of burnt hair in his hair-free nostrils.

RAY!   He heard his name screamed from far away.

He put his hands on the window.  They were burning black and blood was running down the glass.  Then he felt the fire on his arms and back and legs.  He pulled his fingers away from the window leaving blackened blood and skin on the window.  He pressed his face into the window as if he could squeeze out and screamed but no sound came out.  The fire was in his throat.  Then he took a deep breath and his lungs felt as if they had burst into flames

* * * * *

Pam reached back and grabbed Ron’s hand as he stepped up behind her.

Is he doing anything?

Before Pam could answer, a bright flash like a powerful spotlight being turned on flashed brightly inside of Ray’s car.  Pam let go of Ron’s hand and pulled the door open.  She pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the concrete porch.

RAY!  Pam screamed.

She jumped off the porch onto the wet grass and ran towards the car.  Rain drenched her.  A fire was raging in the car.  Pam stopped at the sidewalk and glanced back as Ron grabbed her arm and halted her. 

Get back!  Ron yelled as they stood in the pouring rain.

Ray’s hands made a sloppy, squeaking sound as he raked at the window and left bloody streaks on the glass.  His face was pressed against the glass and his mouth was open in a silent scream as the fire raged inside the smoke filled interior.  Ray’s face pressed hard, open mouthed and wide-open eyes, against the glass.  Pam turned and pushed her face into Ron’s chest. 

We’ve got to get back to the house, Ron said to her. 

Pam felt herself moving as Ron started walking fast across the wet grass.  He helped her up the two concrete steps and into the house.  He closed the front door and suddenly an explosion shook the house and the picture window blew into the drapes and dragged those down onto the living room floor.

Oh my God, Pam screamed.

She hurried to the living room and stepped on broken glass.  The mustang was a ball of fire and Pam saw a blackened figure hanging out of the driver’s side door.

He killed himself, Pam cried out.  The son of a bitch killed himself.

Chapter 1:  Friday January 24  

The light snow that had begun falling earlier in the afternoon had picked up strength off Lake Michigan.  Now the fluffy flakes had turned into biting pellets clinking against the windows as the wind whipped and screamed in nearly continuous gusts.  The single glass window panes rattled in their wooden frames.  Through the minute gaps between window and frame, an icy breeze kissed Steve Thorndyke’s unshaven cheek and jaw.   He gazed through the blurred window where he had wiped the frost away with the side of his hand.

He knelt on the couch, his knees resting on the thin fabric and foam that didn’t keep the inner springs from poking into his kneecaps.   The streetlamp across the street showed the snow sheeting nearly sideways from west to east. 

The driveway, which he had so cleanly shoveled at six, was buried again.  Drifts created a ramp up the thigh high snow banks lining the driveway.   The sidewalk out front was drifting over too.  The ruts that had been in the street that city snowplows hadn’t bothered to come down today were now filled too.

He had not seen snow like this since he was 12.  Nothing kept him from delivering the Gazette, even that winter.  That had been a bad winter.   He had loved the snow until that winter.  He should have moved south three years ago when he graduated high school and his parents died along with the drunk driver that hit them.   But they had left him the house and he was enrolled at the community college.  His best friend since high school, Doug Kaptein moved in and on to college they went, as they had planned.  What a waste that had been.

Doug was barely making it through on a minimal full-time schedule.  Steve was down to part-time classes and still not working.  The winds rattled the windows abruptly and Steve was distracted from his memory.  He wondered if Doug would make it back in this snow.  Doug could probably get through with his four-wheel drive Dodge Ram if he bothered to come home tonight.  Maybe he had found someone to take him home tonight—if any one was stupid enough to take him home on a night like this.

Steve figured he would leave his Prius in the garage until Monday.  It wasn’t like he had anything to do or any place to go.  The weatherman that had spent practically half the broadcast talking about the two feet of snow expected by Monday, said he wasn’t quite sure if the front had stalled or would push through by Monday.  Steve didn’t have classes on Mondays either so Tuesday would be the first day he might have to venture out. 

The furnace below him began to rumble and then boomed to life.  The tinny bangs of cold, aluminum ducts being warmed up tried to compete with the screaming of the wind gusts.  The wind gusts kicked up to not be outdone.  The competing noises made the house seem emptier and quieter.  A lukewarm flush of air rose up from behind the couch.  Before it could warm up the coolness on his cheek, the flush of lukewarm air was diluted by a draft.

Steve squeegeed the moisture that had welled up in his eyes with his thumb and index finger as he looked down at the furnace vent in the carpet behind the couch.  The windows rattled and the wind howled somewhat louder as if beckoning him to get back to looking out the window. 

His home sat on the northeast corner of Pine Grove and Houston.  A thirty-foot pine tree this side of the sidewalk was swaying a little in the wind.  Its branches were weighed down with snow and even the heavy wind had trouble shaking the sagging branches hard enough to shake off the old snow, let alone the new accumulating snow.

Little Bobbie Harcourt stood in the driveway next to the pine tree.  He wore his blue snowmobile suit with the hood tied tight and extending forward to protect his face from the snow.  His hands hung at his sides safely secured in red vinyl mittens.  A snowball was in his right hand.  

* * * * *

You shouldn’t be so close to the road, they’ll see you, Steve yelled from the east side of the house.

Do you actually want to hit a car?  You can’t even reach the road from there, Bobbie yelled back.

They won’t see me behind the bushes. They’ll see you.

* * * * *

Steve smiled.  God, they were stupid.  But what 9 year olds weren’t stupid, he thought.  Bobbie stood there in the driveway facing Steve, but Steve couldn’t see Bobbie’s face in the shadow of the hood.  The arborvitaes were long gone from under and around the window.  A glint of headlights broke through the swirling snow on Oak Grove.  The lights were pointing his way

* * * * *

Steve ducked behind the bushes up against the house.  He watched the car headlights draw closer.  A blinker said it was turning down his street.  The snowball was ready in his hands.  When the car began to turn, the tree would block the driver’s vision and he would lob his snowball, part ice and part snow since it was pretty warm today in the 20s.  The heavy snow seemed to make the night darker too so that helped.

Bobbie was taking a big risk standing in the driveway.  Granted when the car turned, he’d duck behind the tree; still, he chanced getting caught.   The only thing the driver had to do was look out his window and he’d see Bobbie.  At least, Steve would be safe hiding behind the eight-foot bush on the corner of the house.

The car was slowing.  Bobbie had his arm raised to throw.  Steve stepped out from behind the bush.  The car disappeared behind the pine tree.  Steve threw his ice ball high in the air toward the street.  He didn’t wait, but slipped behind the arborvitae and leaned slightly back to peak out toward the street to see if his missile had landed.

* * * * *

Steve recognized the headlights as they drew closer.  Doug was coming home pretty early; the snow must have made him nervous.  Or he had gotten lucky.  Or not.  He didn’t seem to be slowing much as he approached the intersection.  There was no blinker.  The headlights turned in his direction, cut off from shining on Bobbie by the tree.  Bobbie just stood with snowball in hand.

* * * * *

Bobbie stepped into the center of the driveway and pulled back to throw.  An engine roared and headlights flashed in his direction.   Bobbie’s arm slowly dropped to his side, still holding his snowball.  The car’s headlights revealed Bobbie.  The snowball dropped from his hand.  Smack-dab in the center of the driver’s side windshield was a splash of ice and snow like a scoop of ice cream scoop that had fallen from a cone onto the ground.   Steve hit it!  He really hit a car!  And now Bobbie was going to get busted!

* * * * *

Doug’s black Dodge Ram 4x4 roared up from the street.  Bobbie didn’t move.  The headlights flashed into Steve’s eyes.  His arm flew up to block his eyes.

* * * * *

The thud came first then a thump and cracking of windshield glass splintering then a woman’s scream.  Bobbie lie on his stomach on the hood of the car.   The snowball was gone and the windshield was indented and looked like a spider web.  A woman appeared from the passenger side of the vehicle, screaming.  A man came out from the driver’s side.  Steve sank down behind the bushes and lay still.  He couldn’t see through the branches and the needles and the snow.  The ground was really cold.  He just lay there.  He could hear a car engine, but no more screaming from the woman.  A new scream shattered the quiet still of the night.  It sounded like his mother.

* * * * *

The Ram’s engine died and the thumping bass of Doug’s stereo pounded for a few moments longer before the wind gales resumed their dominance of the night’s sounds.  Bobbie stood in the driveway next to the pine tree looking up toward the house with a snowball in hand.

The side door opened and heavy feet stomped on the linoleum.  The draft from the window felt colder.  There was whispering and the stomping subsided.  The side door slammed shut.  Steve heard more whispering, growing louder.  He turned away from the window and sat down.  A spring poked his cheek and he scooted over until it wasn’t pricking any more.

Hey, Steve, Doug said quietly as he walked into the dining room and stopped where the linoleum and the carpet met.  The little bit of light from the kitchen and living room windows illuminated Doug enough to show he shouldn’t have been driving.  I thought I saw you in the window.  Want to join us?

Doug’s shirt was unbuttoned and half-untucked revealing a swimmers clean-shaven chest.  He hadn’t swum since his freshman year, but he still kept shaving.  The girls seemed to like it.  A blond and a brunette, both a little older than Doug usually brought home, definitely not coeds, but not yet cougars either, slipped in behind Doug. The blond bumped the dining room table and started giggling, which ignited giggles in the brunette.

We’ll be downstairs if you’d like to join us, Doug said. 

Doug stepped over to the open basement doorway, the first door beyond the living room and dining room.  The door marked the beginning of the hallway that led to the bathroom, Doug’s room, his room and the empty master bedroom, which had been his parents.  The two women tentatively glanced over at Steve while following Doug.  They giggled down the steps and someone banged against the wall of the stairwell, which caused louder giggles and shushes.  Then there was quiet.  Almost immediately the television blared on.  The volume went up a little more and Steve knew there would be no sleeping tonight.

He pushed himself up from the