He's Not Heavy

By Barry Spielman and Michael J. Spielman

This is a supernatural horror tale about twin brothers whose lives are intertwined until a major event changes that. This leads to involvement with big city gangsters and winds through the illegal sale of body parts

• Language: English
• Publisher: Spielman Publishing
• Release date: Feb 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005223137

Barry Spielman

BARRY SPIELMAN was born and raised in the Chicago metro area until he moved east in his early 20s. He has a strong interest is science and technology and completed his BS, MS, and finally the PhD from Syracuse University, all in electrical engineering. Barry has published and presented over 100 engineering papers. He has received numerous awards and honors in his field.Barry has always been intrigued by the human mind, the idea of mind over matter, and loves to read about the supernatural, horror, science fiction, and fantasy. His favorite stories are by Stephen King and of the Twilight Zone ilk. His favorite movies are grade Z horror movies from the past.He lives in Ellisville, MO, a suburb of St. Louis, with his wife, Louise, and has two children, Liza and Michael. Michael is the c-author of "He's Not Heavy." Liza gets credit for the cover artwork, and Louise greatly influenced the conclusion of this story...

Book preview

HE’S NOT HEAVY

by

Barry Spielman

and

Michael J. Spielman

For Louise and Liza

It is with great appreciation to Louise for her support and important suggestions for the story and cover design and to Liza for providing the basis for the cover design.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the imagination of the authors or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2020 by Barry Spielman and Michael Justin Spielman

ISBN 9798556772991

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

JOEL(I)

STAN (I)

JOEL (2)

CAITLIN (I)

BEARCAT (I)

JOEL (3)

BEARCAT (2)

MANNY (I)

JOEL (4)

CAITLIN (2)

IDA (I)

STAN (2)

MANNY (2)

BEARCAT (3)

JOEL (5)

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Joel (I)

Buckle up, boys.

Momma’s words, spoken ad nauseum since the day Jeremy and I came home with our first driving permits five years ago.

Momma would stand in the front door, slim and delicate, pretty even without makeup, waving one tiny hand goodbye as we left for classes each morning, or on weekends when we went out on double-dates. I always took Caitlin. Jeremy, not the settling down type, took one of several women who passed through his life in two-week spans, three max. They all had long legs and brains, but their names often went unremembered. In truth, the one constant, dominant relationship weaving its way through the maze of our lives was me and Jeremy. Joel and Jeremy. The Bledsoe twins.

In this moment I see Momma clearly in my mind, beautiful in the emerald green dress she’d bought just for the occasion, waving bye-bye just a few hours ago, Jeremy and I with silly grins on our faces, bouncing on the balls of our feet with barely contained excitement, our yellow-silken graduation robes glistening in the late afternoon sun.

Buckle up, boys, she said. Safety first. Always.

I listened. Jeremy did not.

Jeremy went face first through the windshield. I did not.

#

A black vastness flooded over me. I saw my black dress shoes on black pavement, drowning in rain. Forever drowning.

My head and neck ached ferociously. A gash on the right side of my scalp was bleeding steadily. Such are the wages of having your head slammed into the side window of your car. My lower abdomen was bruised and sore. These were the consequences of a seat belt doing exactly what it was designed to do in the event of an accident.

What?, I said to a question I didn’t catch.

The policeman said, Do you know your name?

Joel...Joel Bledsoe. What’s yours?

He ignored my question. Rain pelted his yellow rain slicker and sluiced onto the dark road at his feet. The words ‘Chicago Police Department’ stenciled across one pocket. I stood before him, still dressed in my drenched graduation robe. We could be twins, I thought.

We could be twins.

Buckle up, boys.

The officer asked if I knew what day it was, what was today’s date, what year is it? He must have found my answers satisfactory because the questions kept on coming.

Is this your vehicle?, he said.

My eyes drifted from the rain-swollen pavement to the jagged metal remains of my Toyota Celica. Our car. The Bledsoe twins.

Yes, I said.

Needles of rain slapped against my face. The inhuman glare of scattered headlights and road flares and a barrage of traffic noise assaulted me from all angles.

Were you the one driving?

No, I said. When can I see Jeremy?

As before, my question went unanswered.

The policeman said, Then Jeremy was driving. Jeremy’s your brother. He said it as a statement, not a question, and nodded, as if he were putting a puzzle together in his head and the pieces were slowly but surely coming together. Like he knew something I did not.

The shrill wail of fast approaching sirens in the thunderstorm did nothing for the pain in my poor head. Just for laughs, let’s throw flashing lights into the equation. Lord how my head hurt.

Can you describe what happened?, said the policeman.

I gazed stupidly at the star fracture on the passenger side window, gently touching the laceration on the side of my head. Jeremy, he… He was driving too fast, we… We spun out, smashed head on into the oncoming traffic.

Paramedics are almost here, buddy, you just hang on, said one of Chicago’s finest.

Where’s my brother?

His eyes quickly darted to the left, then fell back on me. He tried to hold me in place with his hard, solemn cop’s eyes. When I turned away, he clamped his hands over my arms.

He said, "No, friend, no. You don’t want to do