The Day Always Comes

By Richard Osborn

Mike Gibbons, who was conceived through artificial insemination, is just four when his single mother is killed in a car accident. After he is sent to live with his grandparents, Mike grows into a popular young high school athlete. Unfortunately, Mike is still angry about his mothers sudden death and not knowing his fathers identity. When he enlists in the navy after graduation, he befriends Mary without any idea she is about to change his life forever.

One night after Mike tells Mary about his family history, she encourages him to search for his donor father. Even as Mikes internal struggles continue and his release date from the navy quickly approaches, he decides to try to locate his father. But when his research leads him to believe he has finally found the man who gave him life, Mike is left to wonder whether this man is truly his father or whether there is something much darker lurking in the shadows, just waiting to be revealed.

In this mystery thriller, a young man searching for his birth father is led down a dark path he never could have imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Mar 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781480844001

Richard Osborn

Richard Osborn is a veteran of the United States Navy. After earning a commercial pilot’s license from Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University, he flew for Northwest Airlines for thirty-five years, retiring as a 747-400 captain. At age sixty-nine, he returned to academia and earned a degree in creative writing from Augsburg College. Richard lives with his wife in Edina, Minnesota. This is his second book.

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Copyright © 2016, 2017 Richard Osborn.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-4399-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-4400-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017903449

Archway Publishing rev. date: 04/17/2017

To

My literary friends

Everyone has to start somewhere.

Remind yourself of this as you look at those

who have what you’d like to have.

It may seem very far away at this point,

but if you keep going, your day will come.

—Holiday Mathis

Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

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Author’s Note

Acknowledgments

I am grateful to two people who diligently helped me in the final stages of this story. Their expertise brought to my attention words and phrases, which needed work.

Linda Millette lives in Maryland and was a great help in the timeline, punctuation, and typos department. Nothing went past her eyes. She is an experienced catchall editor.

My wife, Tish, lives with me in Edina, Minnesota, and we’re celebrating fifty years of marriage. She read my manuscript and gave me feedback from a reader’s point of view. She worked tirelessly. Even when she couldn’t sleep, she would get up in the night and read the manuscript. I love her dearly for her helping hand, great feedback, and encouragement.

I thank you both. Even though they had many suggestions, my story did not become their story.

Prologue

John Logan grew up in a family of six. He was the oldest of two boys and two girls. His father, Ned, a self-made man, had a talent for interior design, reconstruction, painting, and wallpapering. He kept a firm grip on the family, especially the two boys, but in a different way, he had great affection for his two daughters. John’s mother, Marie, worked at home as a homemaker, the usual occupation of a woman in the ’50s, cooking, cleaning, and doing the laundry. She realized the importance of raising the family with Ned’s support. His work provided a comfortable income for their modest home. They weren’t rich, but they weren’t poor. They were a happy family.

John never had a room of his own, having to share a bedroom with his brother. Each of the four went on to college with scholarships, worked part-time, and provided for themselves. John started at an early age in high school and worked with his father through college in the summer months, as well as during winter and spring breaks.

John graduated magna cum laude from the University of Michigan with a degree in civil engineering and gained employment with a firm in the city. The work seemed like drudgery because he had a love for his father’s occupation. He couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to paint, wallpaper, remodel and satisfy the desire to follow in his father’s footsteps. After two long years of city work, John decided he would go into business with his father and eventually be on his own after his dad retired.

Dianne had come into John’s life while they were in college. They dated for almost the entire four years and a year after graduation John and Dianne married.

Father Jim Fisher was John and Dianne’s parish priest, a family friend, and a high school classmate. Jim and John had been close for more than twenty years. Father Jim married John and Dianne, and yes, she spelled her name with two n’s—which always caused confusion. Father Jim baptized their two daughters. He had been John’s confessor, friend, and confidant. The two men had jogged together, played tennis, and were golfing partners before John and Dianne married.

One evening, as per usual, John was jogging and passed Nancy Moore’s home on the corner of Chestnut and Grand. Nancy was in the driveway getting out of her car, having arrived home from work. John and Nancy knew each other well and usually volunteered together on weekends at a food shelf. It was winter, and the driveway appeared slippery, so John went up to help her into the house with some packages.

Nancy noticed the back storm door was slightly open. She thought she had pulled it tight, and it would lock behind her when she had it armed, but she couldn’t remember if she did arm it. She mentioned her mistake to John but insisted she must have left it ajar. Laughing at her absent-mindedness as of late, John insisted on going in and checking things out before she entered.

John came back and said the house looked fine, with no evidence of a break-in, and offered her his hand to help her come in. Nancy started to slip because of the ice and John grabbed her arm. Had he not grabbed her, she would have fallen. Her skin was warm, and his grab was firm, making a mark of his fingernails on her wrist. He apologized, but Nancy assured him if he had not caught her, she could have seriously injured herself. They went inside, and John stayed a moment, put some chapstick on his lips rubbing his index finger on them to spread the lip salve evenly. Nancy was so excited to show him what she had bought. It was a scarf from Hermes of Paris; a limited design. She had quite a fetish for scarfs, so she put it on around her neck. John poured himself a glass of water, went into the living room with Nancy and looked in the mirror. John thought it was beautiful. He put the empty glass on the table in front of the mirror and helped her to adjust the scarf. They planned to meet on Saturday morning to go to the volunteer workplace. John left.

Nancy Moore did not report to work the next morning. The office personnel thought she was ill and remarked it was strange she hadn’t called. She always did. The following day came, and when Nancy didn’t show again, her supervisor called her home with no answer. They suspected something was wrong and reported it to the police.

When the police arrived, the back door was unlocked. Upon entering, they found her lying between the dining room door and the kitchen entrance. She was not responsive. They called an ambulance and took her to the local hospital emergency room. The doctor on duty pronounced her dead on arrival.

The next day, the coroner reported she had been dead for roughly twenty-four to forty-eight hours because the autopsy revealed she had not eaten an evening meal or breakfast the next morning. The marks on her neck suggested Nancy Moore died of strangulation. A mark on her wrist appeared prominently with the police thinking it appeared someone grabbed her. An empty bag from Saks Fifth Avenue lay next to her body with a sales slip dated two days earlier. It identified a scarf she had bought; it was not there.

Two people had seen a man running from Nancy’s house around five-forty-five on that dark February evening. Their story was consistent. The incriminating evidence was a broken water glass clearly showing fingerprints and lip impression. The mark left on Nancy’s arm from John, grabbing her so she didn’t fall, also became evidence. After the glass had been examined at the police lab, they determined the match was John Logan’s. There was enough residue of lip imprint and fingerprints from the person who drank from it to conduct a DNA test. John always puts lip balm on when he went running, especially in the winter. The DNA of the lip print was also a match with John. He was arrested on 1st-degree murder charges.

Six months later the trial began and the two witnesses stuck to their story, insisting they had seen a man running from Nancy’s house two evenings before her body was discovered and he had slipped and fallen. He was wearing a white, hooded sweatshirt. It was dark, making it difficult to look at the individual’s face, so they were unable to identify the person. They assumed it was a man. The only physical evidence was the broken glass, the mark on Nancy’s arm, the lip balm imprint, the white hooded sweatshirt, and the DNA.

The trial lasted two weeks. The prosecution presented the case from the physical evidence of fingerprints, DNA from the lip print on the glass, the mark on her arm, and the couple seeing a man running from Nancy’s house. The defense presented the question of the gender of the person the couple saw. They couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman; it was dark. The defense also introduced the fact that Nancy and John were good friends and there was no intimate contact between them. John’s wife Dianne took the witness stand to support him. She did not ever think they were anything but good friends.

The broken glass and the DNA did not help John’s defense. A search warrant of John and Dianne’s home produced the discovery of a white, hooded sweatshirt in John’s closet and the lip balm he frequently used. The prosecutors already had pieces of physical evidence against him, and also the couple who insisted it was a man. However, the defense could not prove otherwise, so the jury believed the evidence and the prosecution’s case.

On the day the trial ended, six hours later the jury entered the courtroom with a verdict. The twelve jurors found John guilty and recommended to the judge he receive the death penalty.

She agreed and sentenced him to death by lethal injection.

1

Sharon Gibbons reached for the bottle of Tylenol. Each capsule was extra strength, 500 mg. The bottle originally contained 225 tablets and was half empty. She downed four on an empty stomach. Her headache of more than several days had become intense. She knew she needed to get some help.

Mike, come for your breakfast. We have to go.

No answer.

Michael, it’s eight fifteen. I have to get you to daycare by nine o’clock.

No answer.

Michael John Gibbons. Where are you?

Sharon walked to the staircase leading to the basement. She only called him Michael including his middle name when she needed him pronto. Otherwise, he was Mike. Still no answer. Sharon walked into the living room and stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor. She was about to call him again.

Hi, Mama.

Michael was standing at the top of the stairs but dressed and as usual, shoeless.

Please get down here so we can get going, and bring your shoes. Your breakfast cereal is on the table. Besides, I still have this headache; it’s driving me crazy. I’m going to the urgent care clinic this afternoon. Grandma Louise and Grandpa Eli are coming for the weekend from Ohio. I’m going to ask them to pick you up today.

Okay, Mama. I come right now.

Mike came down the stairs, sat down, and started to put a shoe on the wrong foot.

Honestly, Mike. Sharon smiled. I’ve told you and showed you several times which foot your shoes go on.

I know, Mama, but I get confused. Does it matter which foot? They both fit good on either foot.

Mike put his shoes on the proper foot. Sharon decided it would be quicker if she tied them herself. He knew how to do it. He’d learned it quickly, but it took him forever because he used his dominant left hand. For a four-year-old, you’re doing very well. I didn’t have to dress you this morning, even though your shirt doesn’t match your pants.

But I like this shirt. And these pants are my favorites.

Sharon smiled, ruffled his hair, and put on her coat. The headaches were too often. A week ago, they’d come and gone, but now, mostly, they stayed. Sometimes her eyeballs ached, and light was intolerable. She wore her sunglasses nearly all the time. Mike sat down, ate his cereal, put his dish in the sink, and put on his jacket.

They left the house and headed for the car in the garage. Mike jumped in the back seat and into his car seat, and he was able to secure his seat belt, shoulder harness, and crotch buckle. Sharon checked the connections.

Good job, Mike. You’re getting to be pretty self-sufficient.

Thanks, Mama, but what does self-fasisient mean?

His mom smiled and said, It means, as I said, you’re doing very well. She gave him a kiss.

Sharon got in, started the car, and backed out. The morning traffic was its usual heavy volume. Her headache didn’t help, but she would get to daycare before nine. When they arrived, Mike waited for his mom to undo his seat belts as he’d been taught. Sharon kissed him good-bye. He ran inside, and turning, he waved, raising his left hand and arm from the window.

How did he get a dominate left hand? Sharon wondered. Probably from his father.

She got back into the car and started it. Oh, this headache, she thought as she drove away. The sun shining in her eyes was intense. She decided to stop by the clinic right now before going to work.

She accelerated on the entrance ramp to the speed limit and blended into the other traffic. Suddenly, her head fell forward, her chin to her chest. At the curve ahead, her car continued straight ahead and left the road. She apparently never saw the tree in front of her. She was going at least sixty miles per hour when the impact occurred; the air bags activated. She had her seat belt on, and it held her body in place. The horn sounded continuously.

51646.png

Nine-One-One, what is your emergency?

A car hit a tree at high speed on Forrester Road and M-21.

Can you tell how many are in the car?

I don’t know. It looks like just one.

I’ve dispatched the emergency vehicles. They should be there within five minutes. Thank you for the call.

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The police, ambulance, and necessary equipment arrived, and the EMTs suspected when they saw Sharon that she had not survived. The man who had seen the accident and had called 9-1-1 was driving behind her. He told the police the car had never slowed down, and the brake lights had never come on.

A few days later, the autopsy report revealed Sharon had died of an intracranial aneurysm.

2

After his mother’s death, Mike went to live with his grandparents in Ohio. His grandfather died three years later, so he continued to be raised by his grandmother. He was now eighteen, a senior in high school, and captain of the wrestling team, popular and well-liked by his classmates and friends. With the wrestling season