Evan's Wail

By Lanny Ray Lee

Evan Blair was about to start his first semester in college, when one night while
driving down to his girlfriend, Beverly, he was chased by the gang of bikers.
Later that night at Evans house, his father, Ron, received officer Kerry with the
heartbreaking news that Evan was dead and Beverly was in the hospital. According
to the short investigation, Evan crashed his new motorcycle into the
fence and died instantly.
Submerge yourself into this intriguing fictional tale and listen to Evans Wail to
unravel the truth. Feel the intensity of love and sorrow, experience denial before
accepting the truth, and embrace the joy of giving freedom for the one you
love.
Author Lanny Ray Lee - Born in Owensboro, Kentucky the home to more world
class people than any other town of its size in the country; Lanny Ray Lee is
continuing the legacy.
He has spent most of my life as a designer in the aerospace field that reaches
to the early development of the Hubbell Spacecraft . Trust me, he says, Theres
a story and lots of skeletons there! Working with the defense contractors and
NASA is probably the best possible training in creative by writing reports on
slipped schedules or over budget.
A few years ago, he decided that he didnt want the hassle of clearances. So,
now most of his assignments are interesting and creative, such as design works
on light armor vehicles.
Lanny is busy writing a new novel about of the Acadian people and developing
a not for profit foundation for child safe guns.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 12, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462811885

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Along the winding New England road, Charolis cattle looked like great boulders, moving through tall, late-summer grass. Ron Blair glanced in the rearview mirror, but quickly turned his eyes forward, knowing the hard face looking back at him was his, probably forever.

As they drove—stifling his tears, he quietly struggled not to lose control of his emotions and join his sixteen-year-old daughter’s swells of sobbing. Last night, the Blair house had become a place of unparalleled tears. This morning, all attempts at conversation had ended with what-ifs or maybes. No one had the right explanation, and words gave way to shocked silences.

Yet he had to say something to address his daughter’s pain, or he would explode. According to the trooper, it… it happened a few miles ahead, he said. We can turn back if you want.

Stephanie shook her head with such energy, "No. We have to go… you know. That place. It’s just that… why did Mom have to go to the airport instead of coming with us? Auntie could’ve gone to the airport to meet Grandma and Grandpa!"

Ron didn’t ignore her question, not really. It’s just that he was thinking about how just this morning, he’d sat on the patio longing for the long days of summer just past. He blankly stared into the chilly fall mist, a warning that frost would be soon descending on the Long Island Sound.

His thoughts were jumbled. That’s why he couldn’t respond to his daughter’s questions. In fact, the last twelve hours had continued to be indistinct, everything eerily diffused, regardless of how hard he tried to concentrate on affairs that needed attending to. Things had to be dealt with. When he suggested they do it today, it was because it was the only thing he felt capable of doing. He really wanted to run away. He kept pleading with his mind to tell him this wasn’t real. That his cherished son hadn’t just yesterday crashed his new motorcycle into that fence causing his death, and leaving his girlfriend critically injured. But begging for an advocate to make it all go way was like whispering in a gale.

"Fall is the season for families, Stephanie, he said. But… not like this. I’ll miss doing things with your brother. We’ll both miss hanging out with Evan and Charley—."

Yes… winter will be here soon, Stephanie said with a slow shake of her head. Without Evan—it’s so unfair!

I know honey, I know, he mumbled, then took refuge again in the silence as he drove past the limits of his town.

*     *     *

The Stone Works, founded by the present owner’s great grandfather, Oliver Townsend, originally made grist wheels for mills around New England. As most businesses eventually do, it had diversified its product line to survive. Huddled together like refugees from a war zone, they continued up the long brick walkway between the neat rows of sample monuments. Memories of summers in his early teens when he pushed a mower between these same rows of headstones flashed through his mind. This morning, those headstones are shrouded in mist…

He stopped walking, unable to believe what he’d just heard, but his heart was already thumping at the thought of the impossible.

When his steps halted, Stephanie’s had too. He whispered, looking around, Stephanie. Did you hear that?

Noooo… Dad? She stood frozen, her eyes darting in and out of the tombstones on display. When she said no, he allowed his hope to soar higher, hating himself for believing in something that couldn’t possibly be true. It was Evan’s voice—coming from somewhere in the mist nearby. Once again, unmistakably, his lost son Evan, wailed, Help me. Please, it’s me.

Stephanie clutched his arm. He fought to be the grownup, the father who couldn’t allow his daughter to collapse, weeping, because his expression allowed her to believe something that couldn’t possibly be. Then he realized he was being selfish. It was himself, not his daughter that he wanted to protect. He just couldn’t bring himself to believe that they had both heard his son’s troubled pleas. Oh, he wanted to believe; so very much. He just couldn’t.

Stephanie, looking to her father, was sobbing now. He glanced around, telling himself that someone was playing a barbaric joke on them, using the fog around them as cover. Quickly, he said, I… Son, that can’t be you. You’re not alive. But, and finally, he felt his own sobs begin. All right, all right! Whoever the hell you are, we’ll be back soon. And I’m going to find you, and find out why you’re pretending to be Evan—

He heard Stephanie’s muffled shriek, and whipped his head around in time to see a young man’s figure drift near her, like a shape forming, in the fog.

Help me, Stephanie. It’s me, Evan, the figure lamented, but then disappeared.

Gasping, she turned back to Ron, her face as pale as the fog. Did you see that, Dad? It’s him! God doesn’t have his spirit yet. Evan’s still here, somewhere… .

Please, enough, he stumbled out. We’re driving ourselves cra—it’s just the grief. And the fog. It plays tricks on your eyes… a rattling breeze, some bird cawing. That’s all it was.

He gently pushed her ahead of him on the pathway, as if to protect her from what might follow them. But now the shock had lifted, and though he would never admit it to her, he believed it wasn’t an hallucination. It was Evan. Somehow it was Evan. But why here? God forbid, he’s not in Heaven. My God, I can’t believe this!

And how could he bear to keep walking when his dead son’s spirit might still be nearby?

I have to, he thought, for Stephanie.

Calling for all the inner strength he could manage, he edged up the walk behind her, giving a reassuring nod each time she turned around, reluctance in her eyes.

Nothing like this had happened at the passing of his parents. They’d just gone away, and were now in heaven, probably watching over them now.

So why did it seem Evan’s spirit was still here? Why wasn’t he up there with them—the grandparents he used to enjoy so much? He tried to reason, maybe, because his parents had died peacefully, not like Evan.

He couldn’t help it; he recalled hot summer Sundays, and the kids yelling, Get a move on! Let’s get going so we can get a parking space at the beach! And later, Dad, look how good I can swim!

He glanced up. The fog was settling in. The city cemetery was directly across the road from the monument works, but there was a small ancient graveyard in town, next to the Congregational church. As a kid, he’d been here with his parents, but never in the old one. And now, his parents were there… .

Why would he remember the cemetery? He had been there often for funeral services. Death, if he thought of it at all, was very far away, until last evening.

He quickened the last few strides toward the monument shop, hearing Stephanie’s pleas to slow down, but not noticing. As he opened the shop’s door, his mind screamed. Turn around! Run! Then you can make things go back the way they were—

The owner, Teddy, saw Ron’s entrance and hastily stood behind his desk, which was piled high with samples of urns and brass handles.

Good morning, Ron, Stephanie. Thought you might be coming by today. I am so sorry. You know that. Is there anything I can do?

As he spoke, Teddy shook Ron’s hand and hugged Stephanie gently.

Yes, uh… matter of fact, there is something you could… help me with, Ron managed. Could I buy a marker for the crash site?

Teddy gave a sad nod. As soon as I heard… I felt so helpless that I had to busy myself… . He sighed and tried again. Come on back with me, I made one up for you already. And if it’s not exactly what you want, please tell me.

Motioning them on to the workroom, Teddy lifted a white wooden cross from the shop workbench and gingerly tested the four freshly painted letters spelling Evan’s name. "The best I could manage, considering—you know. I’ve got the best job in town, telling good stories when folks stop in. They usually come in weeks after the services to make their selections, and with such long faces. Somehow, everything turns to the humorous side.

But then, sometimes, I’ve got absolutely the worst job in town. We were already missing having Evan and some of the other kids around town since they went off to college. In fact, we were making plans to have them be pilgrims on our float in the Thanksgiving parade. But… Tears filled Teddy’s eyes. I can’t even joke that first, I was gonna offer them the chance to be turkeys. What happened, Ron?"

They’re holding Evan for an autopsy, Ron spit out; surprised that he could say it without breaking down.

Teddy’s wife, noticing Ron’s car in the parking lot, stepped into the shop just in time to hear this.

Oh, Ron, how awful! she gasped.

Stephanie, my sweet Stephanie, I am so sorry. She held her in her arms as she stifled her tears.

While Teddy pulled a handkerchief out and began wiping his eyes, Ron sighed. It’ll come out in time, but for now, we’re tearing ourselves apart trying to figure out what the hell went wrong out there.

"Ron, we just want you to know… . We know Evan, and it just wasn’t like him to be driving that fast without an awfully good reason; especially, with Beverly riding with him. Also… we heard about what Beverly said at the clinic last night. I’d be looking for some answers too."

Yep, Ron was unable to say more. He gently accepted the cross, though his first impulse was to refuse it; it represented another collapsed bridge to his son. But, to him the cross was an ancient holy scepter, symbolizing his wishes that his son rest in peace, and to accept that what had happened out there on that lonely road last night was real.

Reality won in that instant. Denial was over. Now it was time to figure out the next best thing to do. He owed that to Evan, and to his girlfriend Beverly, who was at the clinic right now, fighting to stay alive.

The mist mixed with more tears while he and Stephanie walked silently to their car. Ron held the cross close to his chest, carefully avoiding the slippery leaves scattered along the brick walk.

"Evan, I promise you, I will find out what happened last night. He whispered this to himself as they passed by the spot where he thought he’d seen Evan. Please rest well."

Stephanie took his arm and put it around her shoulders. Don’t worry. I’ll help you. We won’t stop until we find out what happened.

Perhaps Evan’s close by, even following us, he thought. But, how foolish I am to think that. They kept walking, their steps awkward and slow.

Sunlight was trying to peek through now, transforming the mist to a steamy fog and making the parking lot a diminutive world of few cars and many trees. He was barely aware of the sounds around him, though he could hear a familiar faraway sound that tore at his heart to recognize. Stephanie didn’t seem to notice the distant noises, and he was grateful. Now, he was glad for the fog. Why? Instead of looking forward to his first semester at college, his son’s restless spirit was begging for help.

They were at the end of the walkway. He paused at the curb for a moment, waiting for his anxiety to subside enough to allow him to reach the refuge of the car. He wondered how many times he’d passed people in this state, not comprehending the depths of their pain.

With Stephanie huddled in the passenger seat, wrapped in her own misery, he sat and stared through the top of the slightly steamed and lowered window at the town cemetery across the street. The fog rising from the cool grass was still too dense to see his parents’ headstone. He was sure the gravediggers were there, waiting and watching from the extra plot next to his parents’, pausing before they began digging Evan’s grave. They were probably sitting on a headstone, maybe even his parents’, sipping from blue and white paper cups; perhaps even talking about him, or about Evan, which only added to the ache in his heart.

So why was he feeling drawn to go to the crash site at all? You’ve never done anything without a clear reason. So why today? Why so soon?

The question stung, but as it had late last night, then this morning, the non-answer came—he didn’t know why, and didn’t know that it even mattered why.

He drove carefully, controlling his grief, even when Stephanie asked, May I hold it?

He nodded. Sure. Truthfully, I want it up front with us too. I could hardly drive knowing Evan’s cross was back there by itself.

It’ll be by itself soon enough, she said, and began sobbing again.

He pulled the car over and got out. Opening the tailgate, he slipped the white cross from under its cover then handed it to his daughter. Sobbing quietly, she held it, arms wrapped around it as though it was her brother she was holding, not the lone symbol of his passing. As he eased the car back onto the road’s blacktop, he thought how much larger the cross now seemed than it had in Teddy’s big, calloused hands.

When they neared the place where it happened, he sucked in a breath. Beside him, he heard Stephanie’s soft whimper again, but couldn’t bear to break the silence to try to comfort her. It was all he could do not to scream when they approached the site where the crash had taken place the evening before. They saw people already beginning to form groups near the fence where Evan had died, and knew that all their lives had changed forever.

You know, I thought the crowd would be smaller than this, he said as he pulled off the blacktop onto the graveled shoulder.

Stephanie squinted through tears. Of course, Dad, there’s lots of people. So many people loved him.

Rows of cars and bright-colored imported bikes were parked on the country road’s shoulder ahead of them. A roadside grotto in Evan’s memory had already been set in place; stones gathered from along the roadside were lovingly placed in a circle, obviously waiting for the cross Stephanie still clasped in her arms. Clusters of familiar friends gathered along the road on either side of the dry ditch and along the property fence.

Lots of kids and maybe even their parents had visited last night and this morning, leaving flowers and ribbons. Handmade signs were fastened along the fence. The words Love and Sorrow filled the written banners, and judging from the hearts and glitter, those were likely composed by some of his friends’ girlfriends.

The kids, eager to help, had moved the expensive flower arrangements together with the simpler ones of plain mums and fall roses. Some of the kids even parted with their stuffed animals and teddy bears in his memory. Like an honor guard, everything was arranged to overlook the memorial from the base of the fencerow.

Someone in the crowd saw Ron’s car pull from the road, and within moments, a wave of heads turned and bowed. Watching from the safety of the car, Ron said, It would be just fine if you don’t want to do this now, honey. We can come back another day.

With a nod, she got out of the car and stood, shoulders slumped, clutching Evan’s cross. Sighing, he went around, opened the tailgate and retrieved a spade. With his thumb, he crumbled away some caked dirt, remembering, but not wanting to, the last time he’d seen it: the day Evan had used it to dig holes to plant a row of Jackson and Perkins roses for Mother’s Day.

He walked around to Stephanie, and together they followed the narrow roadside’s shoulder that gently sloped to the bottom of the ditch.

Charley, Evan’s best friend, was first to greet them. Hi Mr. Blair, Stephanie. We’ve got everything else set up. Please let us do his cross.

Thanks, Charley. So happy you came, Ron said. I’m afraid we couldn’t have done this without all of you.

Evan’s big friend gently hugged Stephanie’s head to his chest while he carefully removed the cross from her reluctant fingers. Then, in turn, each kid went up to the cross, tenderly caressing the letters, more than one calling out Evan’s name in a moan. All of the kids watched somberly as Charley took the spade from Ron and carried it to the center of the stone circle.

Stephanie’s sobs became louder when Charley pushed the spade into the ground. Stepping on it with his full weight, he dug the first dirt, then handed the spade to another of Evan’s friends. What would have taken Ron, weak and shaky, an hour to do, took only minutes. The group soon gathered around the white cross, standing firmly as a tribute for all to know, that Evan died here.

Ron barely noticed when they joined his hands, just bowed his head with the others and prayed. As soon as the prayer ended, the group sang their high school’s graduation song, coming to the part:

When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high. And don’t be afraid of the dark. At the end of a storm is a golden sky… You’ll Never Walk Alone. The guys, at the beginning too stoic to cry, were sobbing as loud as the girls by song’s end.

As if on cue, the mourners said their partings, leaving Ron and Stephanie to grieve alone. Passing drivers slowed respectfully—until he and Stephanie heard the unmistakable clamor of motorcycles approaching. The sounds, so similar to the noises he’d heard while picking up Evan’s cross, made anger worm into Ron’s gut.

Bellowing laughter, the biker gang roared past, blowing their noisy pipes. Ron turned his head at the sting of fresh tears, and at the vision of his son’s last moments here.

CHAPTER 2

Joyfulness—the prelude to anguish…

Well, little sister, now that I’m a college man, I guess I can fill you in on how grownups are. I’ll ace my first exam at the U of New Haven, and then go on to athletic glory. ‘Guess when you go, you’ll have to lurk in my shadow.

You are so conceited, Evan Blair!

He dodged in time to miss the napkin Stephanie threw at him. This was followed by giggles and a return volley from Evan. Ron simply grinned at the sight and continued eating his dinner. Evan was giving it to her because his little sister was pretty and smart, and they both knew it.

Secretly, Ron recognized she was a little jealous of her older brother, but mostly she was proud of him. And, she really liked all of his friends, especially Charley, who, like her brother, was a good student athlete and likewise a class leader. Of Evan’s circle, Charley had always been special to her. This fall he’d saved her from going to her Sussex High’s homecoming dance alone after she broke up with her boyfriend. While it was far too early for her to think about marrying, Ron hoped that if she did, it would be to Charley or someone just like him.

What are you doing this evening, Evan? Emily said.

Evan smiled at his mom across the table. "First, I’m going to help Beverly. She is going to keep her head down in the books tonight."

Emily nodded at Evan, then Stephanie, Don’t worry about the table. Your dad and I’ll clean up tonight. And Evan, if you’re going out on your bike, take—

I know, Mom, take it easy out there… . Yeah, yeah, you worry too much.

This mention made Ron’s good mood evaporate. He’d kept his thoughts to himself throughout most of dinner about the roaring motorcycles outside. They’d been hearing them far more frequently lately. In the past, only one lone rider or two could be heard, occasionally roaring away from one of the stoplights over in town. Now it sounded more like a gang of them, practically every night. He worried about Evan going out too, but it wasn’t right that his son, who was a good kid, should have to change his life because some punks were taking over the neighborhood, again. He wished it would rain so those people would stay off the roads.

It was different when Evan and Stephanie were little. The whole family had visited the nearby Village of Deep Creek, the internationally known encampment of the Fife and Drum Revolutionary War Reenactment group. The annual event attracted thousands of enthusiasts and their families, who recreated a campground from that era. The town fathers welcomed the group, but soon after, Marley riders arrived. First, a few locals, but that soon became whole gangs from nearby states, who congregated in the town’s park, drank Bud by the case and brawled to their boom box music. Then they’d follow the reenactment group’s parade, riding their Marleys, stopping often to rev their engines. Spectators and children were nearly deafened by the noise and choked by the bikes’ raw exhaust. The Marley gangs finished their appearance with a salvo from their handguns, which they insisted were loaded with blanks. It couldn’t be proven otherwise, since nothing was damaged nor were any spectators winged.

Having had enough of the bikers’ violent behavior, the Fife and Drum reenactment group found another town for their meets. However, the Marley group had added the Village of Deep Creek as one of the stops along their regular circuit for get-togethers.

Ron wasn’t yet on the town council, but Connecticut isn’t California, and the normally reserved locals got pissed off when some of the bikers started throwing beer cans at the sheriff’s deputies. The sheriff pulled a few bikers in and booked them. The undercover state police, who already watched biker gangs with a wary eye, were ready to single out a few and make examples of them. As the governor’s summer residence was so near the event, there was little doubt the National Guard would be summonsed over from their nearby camp.

Even the Marley riders knew the governor wasn’t someone to screw around with, so an accord was struck. That was the last time the Marley gangs came to the small, depressed community over on the Thames River.

That is, until recently, if what Ron was hearing every night was any indication.

It wasn’t that he didn’t already know about the Marley group. It was that no one on the town council could figure out why the gang had returned, seemingly without reason, and in such an obnoxious way.

Perhaps Evan felt this too. But just in case he didn’t, Ron had to say something. Son, your mother’s right. Watch your butt for crazies out there tonight.

Picking up his helmet, Evan opened the door, but then turned back to look at them. Bye all! And Dad, don’t worry. You know I’ll be careful.

He grinned at his parents, and winked at Stephanie. Then he was gone.

Long familiar with the sequence of sounds, Ron unconsciously timed the events of Evan’s departure. First, the Suzuki started, then revved up. The faint click of the kickstand meant Evan was straddling the bike while snapping his chinstrap and lowering the visor to protect his eyes from the bugs. Even though he hadn’t had the bike long, Ron had become so accustomed to the routine, when he heard the engine change pitch, he knew Evan had shifted gears in front of the house two doors down.

Soon the whine of the Suzuki’s engine faded. Ron looked up from his plate and happened to see Stephanie’s face. What’s wrong honey?

Didn’t you hear that? He didn’t pull away as fast as he usually does. There was a… a pause.

Ron had noticed, but only shrugged. ‘New bike; maybe he was checking something out. Or maybe he saw one of the neighbors and took time to wave. Could be anything… .

She shook her head. Maybe. But that’s not like him when he’s in a hurry to get to Bev’s. And… he winked at me. He’s never done that before.

Ron reached across the table and patted her hand. Aw, he’s just happy to be heading to Beverly’s. That’s all. He’ll probably wink at her too.

Giggling, she lightly slapped his hand. Oh, Dad, will you get serious.

He was glad he sounded out the fatherly warning before Evan left. If he hadn’t, it would’ve been on his mind all evening.

*     *     *

What a great evening for the ride to Beverly’s house; winter would soon force him to put his shiny Suzuki away. But Evan was still euphoric about the days he had left to ride it. And maybe he could ride this one most of the winter. He grinned. Well, at least I can; might be a bit much for Bev. When she was on the seat