The World of Edward Givens: Volume III: Justice

By Dezarae DUNSMUIR

After losing the love of his life in an accident, Edward Givens has a crisis of Faith.  Edward's boss, Clifford, is dealing with his reverse racism.  Edward is confronted with disturbing news at the settlement of his accident lawsuit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dragon's Press
• Release date: Jul 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781949276183

Dezarae DUNSMUIR

Dezarae Dunsmuir is a celebrated author and poet. Born in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, she was prolific even as a child. At age 8, as a ballerina, she danced on stage with Mikhail Baryshnikov. At age 9, she hosted a television series about science. She went on to be syndicated coast to coast on radio, interviewing celebrities and offering valuable insights on issues important in Canada.

Book preview

Where Volume II Ended

She couldn’t help herself; she didn’t care what her son had said he wanted. Julia fell to her knees in between Edward’s bed and some of the machines keeping him alive. She started praying to God, uttering not just prayers but pleas, too. Julia was beseeching the Almighty to look down on her son and forgive him his blasphemous statements.

Although she truly had faith and believed in a loving Lord, she was sorely afraid that Edward had crossed the line. Julia feared that with his heresy, God would turn his back on her son. The Lord was full of forgiveness but he could be angered, too.

She didn’t care if she had to stay on her knees for the rest of her life, Julia was determined to convince the Almighty that her son was out of his mind with physical and emotional pain; that he was full of drugs that changed his personality and that he was worthy of the Lord’s forgiveness.

As a mother, there was no way she was going to stop fighting for her son’s soul and God’s forgiveness.

She reminded the Lord how devout and pious Edward had been before this horrific situation had been visited upon him. She explained that her son was a flawed human – and no human – was truly capable of understanding the ways of the Almighty.

She ended her prayers with a final plea – final for the moment – that God embrace her son and not only forgive his recent actions but that the Lord also ease the suffering of her son’s grief.

If anyone could get through to the Almighty with fierce sincerity and an iron determination to save her son’s soul, it was Julia Givens at that moment.

She was daring God not to answer her prayers.

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Bob and Frederick were silent during most of the drive back to the farm. Each of them was deeply engrossed in their own thoughts and worries about Edward. Not only were they concerned about his surviving his physical injuries, they were also worried about the depth of his grief. Now they had to add the salvation of Edward’s soul to their list of concerns.

Eventually, Frederick broke the quiet in the cab of the truck.

That was quite some scene, wasn’t it, dad? It sure surprised me to hear Edward talk like that, especially about God, he said.

Son, your brother has a lot on his plate right now, answered Bob.

It would be a tough enough job to get over his injuries. Then you add his grief and lack of a will to live on top of it and that makes it much more serious. The capper is his eternal salvation and I just don’t know how to tackle that one at all. Right about now, your brother has more than the weight of the world on his shoulders, he has the weight of the Almighty on them, too.

He was like some stranger. He didn’t act anything like the brother I know and love, replied Freddie.

He’s definitely not himself, that’s for sure, responded Bob.

He wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He was too worried about his oldest son to be talking much at all. Bob knew he had a duty to comfort Frederick, too. That wasn’t much of a priority for him, at the moment: saving his son’s soul, was.

I wish I had answers for all of your questions – and mine, too, stated Bob.

Unfortunately, I’m just another flawed human who is currently struggling with trying to understand the ways of the Lord. To be truthful, they aren’t making a whole lot of sense to me at this moment, he spoke with finality.

Frederick knew his father’s tone well: it meant there wasn’t going to be any more conversation about the topic of Edward.

It meant, in fact, that there wasn’t going to be any more conversation at all.

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Sherry and Ray were in their living room. Ray was in his favorite recliner and Sherry was stretched out on the couch. Ray was supposed to be reading the evening paper but he was just staring at the page because his mind was far distant, recollecting memories of Edward, and Tina, too.

Sherry had the television on but she wasn’t paying any attention to it. She was lying with her eyes shut, remembering all the good times they’d shared with Edward – and then Edward and Tina.

As time progressed, the pair recalled more and more instances they had experienced with their friends and they both had tears silently trickling down their cheeks.

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Julia was sitting alone in the family waiting room, drinking a glass of juice. One of the nurses had shown her where the fridge was for the family of patients in the Unit. It was fully stocked with all sorts of beverages and even some fresh fruit. Having the fridge on the Unit made the lives of the families a little easier during their times of intense worry and stress.

She was thinking, addressing the Almighty, yet again.

Did you hear me? Were you paying attention when I was in Edward’s room? I hope so, because if you answer my prayers and my pleas, you will give Edward all the proof he needs to believe again. You have the power to nip his anguish and doubts in the bud.

Isn’t it bad enough that he’s been seriously injured and lost Tina? What could you possibly hope to prove by having my devout son lose his faith in you, too? If there’s a lesson to be learned, please tell me what it is because all of this is beyond me.

Give me the strength to carry on the fight for my son’s soul, Lord. Please give me the willpower to win this contest for his eternal salvation. I beseech you: forgive him and assist me in keeping him within your fold. Let him know you love him, even if you have visited this pain and sorrow on him.

Her face took on the semblance of resignation mixed with finality.

It’s all in your hands, she thought, as she had her last sip of juice.

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Althea hung up the phone with a slam. This was the last straw. She had been trying to reach Clifford for weeks and all she got was his voice mail. He never returned any of her calls. To top it all off, he had missed the court date for the child support hearing this afternoon. Every time she called him to discuss the matter, she reached his voice mail. During this last call, she listened to a recording telling her the number was no longer in service.

She had called all the numbers she had for his friends and acquaintances, to no avail. Clifford hadn’t been in touch with any of them. When she tried his work number, she was told he was no longer employed with the agency. When Althea asked what had happened, she was informed that the information was confidential and she – as his ex-wife – had no legal right to any of it.

Althea had driven to the motel where Clifford had been staying There she met with a manager who was most unfriendly and uncooperative. The only information she could get out of him was that Clifford Jenkins had ceased being a tenant over two weeks ago. He had left no forwarding address, either.

After all of this investigating, Althea became worried that some misfortune had befallen her ex-husband. They may not be able to live together harmoniously but she certainly didn’t wish him any ill. At that point, she called all the hospitals in the area to see if he had been admitted. He wasn’t in any of them, which gave her a small respite from worry.

Another unpleasant thought crossed Althea’s mind: could he possibly be dead? She dreaded doing it but she forced herself to call the Morgue to see if he was there. While the receptionist looked up the records, Althea held her breath. She knew she had to find out if Clifford was dead or not but she was afraid of what the answer would be. Much to her relief, the receptionist came back on the line and told her that no-one with the name of Clifford Earl Jenkins had been admitted in the last three weeks, including the night before.

At the end of this call, Althea sat at the kitchen table, fuming. Now that she knew he wasn’t sick or dead, she was getting very angry with her ex-husband. In a flash of insight, what had actually happened dawned on her: Clifford had been fired. She was certain it was for his racist tendencies.

He was fleeing the law, too. Obviously, some employees had launched a lawsuit against him personally, as well as the agency and he didn’t want to deal with it, much less have his wages garnisheed. If he was fleeing from a lawsuit at his old place of employment, it was an added bonus for him to be avoiding the lawsuit for child support Althea had launched against him.

For all intents and purposes, Clifford had dropped off the face of the earth.

Initially, Althea was angry with him for taking the coward’s way out; for shirking his responsibilities.

Then another flash of insight dawned on her: she would never have to worry about him corrupting the minds and attitudes of her children with his racist nonsense. She relished the thought that she wouldn’t have to expend any more energy fighting every idiotic notion he attempted to instill in them.

She knew the children would eventually be somewhat upset because they never saw or heard from their father any more but she could easily deal with that. Since they didn’t seem all that inclined to see him now, she knew never seeing him wouldn’t be much of an issue for them to handle.

Althea was thrilled with the knowledge that she would never have to deal with Clifford ever again.

She poured herself a glass of wine and did a little dance around the kitchen to celebrate this glorious victory.

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He wasn’t crazy about his new residence. It was definitely quite a few steps down from the last motel he had resided in but Clifford didn’t care. It was a necessary part of his plan to become the Invisible Man. In his mind, he started referring to himself as that person more and more frequently.

Whenever he met anyone on the street, where he was now spending much of his free time, Clifford never told anyone his real name. He would answer that his name was the Invisible Man. Since many people on the street had nicknames, he didn’t stand out in the crowd. Most of them had their own devils they were fleeing from, so they understood his use of a street name completely. To all of them, he was the Invisible Man and that was that.

He went around to the local businesses, such as they were, looking to do odd jobs as a day laborer. He often found work and – on occasion – it lasted for a few weeks. He never gave any of his employers any true information about himself and he insisted he be paid cash at the end of every workday.

What savings he had that were liquid, he had withdrawn before his disappearance. He kept the cash hidden in his room, underneath a loose floorboard he had discovered. It wasn’t as safe as a bank vault but it was the best he could do considering the circumstances.

At first, getting used to the dirt and smell of street life and street people was difficult. Clifford had been a man who prided himself on his grooming and apparel in the old days. He still did his best to stay clean and keep his clothes tidy, as well. To the other street people, he was known as the best-dressed man among them. In a strange way, this gave Clifford a sense of pride. He may have left his old life behind him but he still maintained some pride in his personal appearance.

As far as street life and homelessness went, Clifford was well off. He had a real roof over his head and heat in the winter. Granted, his residence was a run down, seedy hotel loaded with roaches but it was a thousand times better than sleeping out on a grate in the street. His tiny room even had a window unit air conditioner that functioned a lot of the time. Compared to most of his compatriots, Clifford was living the high life.

He had never been forced to stay in a shelter and he hoped his luck would never run so bad he would have to. He had heard many tales about how dangerous the shelters were. Unless the weather was so unbearably hot or cold people needed a respite from it for their health, most people down on their luck preferred to take their chances on the street, rather than risk the dangers presented in the shelters. He was determined to stretch what little he had in the way of savings and to supplement them with constant day labor wages, so he could stay in the skid row hotel and never wind up on the street.

That’s why he made his way to the bathroom that was shared on the floor of his hotel with twelve other inhabitants. He purchased liquid disinfectant and scouring powder. He thoroughly cleaned the tub with a religious fervor before he took a bath. He was always clean-shaven, too. He followed the same process with the bathroom sink before he used it.

When he and his clothes were presentable, he went to a local army surplus store and purchased some towels and washcloths. Although it was quite a walking distance away, Clifford made sure he did his laundry every week, too.

When he presented himself to the owner of one business or another, he wanted to look as good as possible. He wanted to get the job, any job and his appearance created sympathy for his circumstances with the business owners. He was obviously a man down on his luck, not the usual ne’er do well found on the streets.

Clifford created an alias for himself, too. He knew he’d never get hired for one day’s labor if he told the business owner his name was the Invisible Man. To all those people who hired him, he became Fred Cooke.

The type of jobs Fred Cooke applied for and got required no identification. No income taxes or social security dues were deducted. He was always paid cash at the end of the day, always under the table.

As Fred Cooke, Clifford was developing a good reputation with the people who owned businesses in and around skid row. His appearance, combined with his demeanor and being well spoken made him extremely desirable as an employee in those parts.

Fred Cooke was actually making a tidy sum under the table.

Clifford stashed as much of the money he made as Fred Cooke as humanly possible. Whenever the local gospel missions fed the down and outers, he was there in the line. Whenever charities – or even individuals – took it upon themselves to hand out free food to the street people, Clifford made sure he got his fair share. If any doctors came by – or charities set up free medical or dental clinics for a few days – he was always present, getting his teeth fixed and having physical exams done.

It came as quite a surprise to Clifford that there were more resources available to street people than he ever knew existed. He made sure he informed himself about all of them and used them every opportunity he got. He did research at the local library; he kept up with the news reading the papers there almost every day. He was functioning quite successfully as Fred Cooke and the Invisible Man.

Until he was actually living it, Clifford Jenkins would have thought choosing to become a street person would be a manifestation of sheer insanity.

As Fred Cooke or the Invisible Man, Clifford Jenkins was enjoying being free of all the responsibilities that he had shouldered for years.

He was his own man; he didn’t owe anyone anything, except his landlord.

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Edward’s World

Frederick and Cindy were sitting at the kitchen table in the Edwards’ house. It was quiet at the moment, because it was still early, 6 am; it was also quiet because Marjorie and Steve were asleep. Cindy warned Freddie that whenever her parents woke up, it was going to get noisy and with no warning, either.

Reaching across the table to take Cindy’s hand, Frederick looked deeply into her blue eyes as he spoke.

Everything is going to be as fine as it could be, all things considered. I’m here now and you’re not alone any more. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it together.

He squeezed her hand tightly as he spoke.

Tears pricked behind Cindy’s eyelids.

I know it sounds silly but that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, she responded.

Frederick stood up from the table and came over to where Cindy sat. He bent down and gave her a tight hug. The hug led to a kiss, a kiss that lasted for several moments.

When they parted, Freddie was somewhat embarrassed.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…

Don’t be silly, interjected Cindy.

That kiss was wonderful, she added.

You mean it? It was okay that I kissed you? he asked.

Absolutely and don’t you ever think about not kissing me when you want to, not ever again, she admonished him with a bit of a playful tone in her voice.

That kiss reminded me that there’s life going on outside of these walls and part of it is my life, she responded.

It’s been pretty depressing for both of our families, said Frederick as he sat down again and sipped his coffee.

You have no idea what’s been going on at the hospital with Edward. It’s bad, really bad…and scary, too, he added.

I’ve been so steeped in death and mourning around here, I completely forgot that I have a life to live, even if the sister I loved dearly doesn’t. Thank you for kissing me for two reasons: one because it was wonderful, and two, it reminded me that my life isn’t over just because Tina’s is.

How about your folks? Cindy asked.

Mine are just doing so-so. Dad’s worried sick but he never says much and mum is living at Edward’s bedside. She’s got this idea in her head that if she leaves him, he’s going to die. That’s why she hasn’t been here to visit your family yet, he explained.

I figured she hadn’t come because of Edward, replied Cindy.

My folks aren’t doing very well at all. I doubt they’re ever going to recover from this. If the funeral doesn’t wake my mum up – as the doctor hopes it will – she’s going to the psychiatric ward at the hospital. Dad, I don’t know if he’s ever going to be able to go back to work any time soon. He’s too much of a basket case.

It all sounds bad, stated Frederick.

"Yeah and I’m starting to worry about money. I don’t know about benefits at dad’s work: do they cover being torn up by your daughter’s death? I wonder how long he can stay off work?

Then there’s mum: what if she has to go to a psychiatric hospital for a long time? Will our medical cover that? And I won’t even mention the mortgage, the light bill, you name it.

All of a sudden, besides planning my sister’s funeral, I’ve got to start figuring out all this adult stuff and I’m not ready for it. Something tells me I’m not going to have any choice about it, either." Cindy shrugged her shoulders with resignation.

You need your parents to be parents right now and they aren’t up to it. I get it, said Frederick, voice full of sympathy.

He held Cindy’s hand in his as they sat at the table.

I’m not that much older than you but farm life is different from city life. You learn about bills and all that stuff at an early age because they affect the survival of the farm, which means the survival of the family. I’ll help however I can, whenever I can, he responded.

You learn about reality a lot sooner on the farm, it sounds like.

Yep, that’s what happens alright.

I know it sounds kind of crass but I have to talk to dad before we go to the funeral home. I don’t even know how much I’ve got to spend on Tina’s funeral. I can only make arrangements. I can’t legally sign for anything. I guess they’ll have to give me the paperwork to bring back for my parents to sign and then we’ll deliver it back to them, stated Cindy.

I guess that’s the only way it’ll work. If your parents don’t come with us, then that’s what will have to happen, agreed Frederick.

Cindy stood up from the table and straightened her shoulders.

I’m going to go and wake them up. I have to talk to them about everything, starting with the funeral arrangements. I’m sorry they’re torn up but they’re the adults here. Unfortunately, I’m just a kid. They need to step up, grief or no grief.

Her voice and body language were resolute.

Frederick gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

Should I wait outside, so you have privacy? he queried.

Cindy looked at him intently.

No, you stay right here. There’s nothing secret going on, besides, I don’t ever intend to have any secrets from you. Just be warned: once they wake up, it’s going to get good and noisy around here; full of sounds that you won’t like because they’ll be the sounds of anguish.

Okay, I’ll just sit here and wait. Good luck, he replied.

Cindy walked out of the kitchen.

She looked like she was on a mission: dreading it but determined to see it through to the end.

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The steps to her parents’ bedroom seemed to go on forever to Cindy. When she reached the bedroom door, she stopped and took a few deep breaths, steeling herself for what was to come. She knocked on the door and waited but there was no answer. She knocked again and waited again. When no answer was forthcoming, she opened the door and looked into the room.

Her parents were lying on the bed, asleep. Her mother looked quite stiff, her arms were straight at her sides. Her father was curled up in a semi-fetal position, hair askew and clothes rumpled. He was still wearing the same clothes he’d had on for days.

Mum, dad, said Cindy in a quiet voice as she approached the bed.

There was no response from either of them. She walked to her father’s side of the bed and gently shook his shoulder.

Dad, wake up, please, she said.

Steve opened his eyes and looked at his daughter. For a fleeting moment, he looked at her and smiled. Then