Making the Bitter Sweet

By T.L. Wiens

How long does the pain of bullying last? For some, it becomes a lifelong search for revenge; others never overcome the shame. Paul Corey is on a mission to find justice. The pain and humiliation he suffered at the hands of a bully must be revenged. But he neglects to consider the full consequences of his actions. The poison of bitterness takes root as a community struggles to understand the motivation behind his revenge plot. Will all his fantasies brought to life also bring about healing? Or will knowing he has the capability of becoming a bullying monster destroy him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 26, 2008
• ISBN: 9781465316615

T.L. Wiens

T. L. Wiens lives on a farm overlooking Lake Diefenbaker with her husband and four children. They run a mixed farm as well as a trucking company. Recently, she started an internet bookstore to help self-published authors have a place to market their books. She was inspired to write this book when one of her own children experienced the torment of a bully. Through prayer and faith in Jesus Christ what could have ended in tragedy became a victory. Her hope is for those scarred by bullying to find healing so they can live a life free of the bitterness.

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Copyright © 2008 by T.L. Wiens.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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

Cover art—Kendra Wiens and Matthew Wiens

Author Photo—Katelyn Wiens

If you would like to contact T. L. Wiens, please visit her website:

www.crosslifeventurebooks.com

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

41233

Contents

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

EPILOGUE

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Bullies leave their mark on their victims and their families. Often, wounded and ashamed, those who suffer at the hand of a bully find themselves alone with their pain, without support. Where is the line to define the nature of actions on a playground? When does aggression become an unacceptable act of violence? Why are we surprised when victims seek out revenge?

The events in this story are based on things that happened on a schoolyard where no one found any reason to categorize them as bullying.

To all those who have suffered because of bullying, to those who have lost hope because they thought no one cared, we can only apologize. We as a society have failed. I dedicate this book to the families of those who paid the ultimate price for our apathetic attitudes. It is time to make our schools a true zero tolerance zone to bullying.

INTRODUCTION

He stood naked. The ropes pulling on his outstretched arms connected to the bucket above his head. He tried to will his mind to take him somewhere else, but the taunting of the crowd wouldn’t allow him that luxury.

Drop ’em. Nick circled him as he spoke.

Get lost, Nick, he whispered under his breath.

Oh, you know better than that. Nick’s face turned ugly. Defying me is pointless. Don’t want that pretty face smashed up.

He glanced around the room and knew he couldn’t win. There were too many of them. Of course, they would all be here for this—the last hurrah with high school graduation only a few days away. Graduation. Then he’d be free from these enemies. He let his arms drop, bringing the contents of the bucket raining down on him. Nick moved in, stuffing something in his mouth. He fell to the ground, vomiting, as cackles of laughter pecked at his ears. A camera bulb flashed.

This will be the photo of the year. Nick’s voice rose above the noise of the crowd. A true graduation revealing.

He couldn’t take any more. He scrambled out of the shack, slipping on the spew on the floor. Into the night he ran. He didn’t stop until he was deep in the woods, a mile from town. He slumped against a tree, gasping for air.

He wouldn’t bother going to the police. He’d tried that before and they laughed at him, called him a sissy. His mother wouldn’t understand or care. She would refer him to his father. And his father—he didn’t measure up as a man to him—he would laugh just as his tormentors had done, believing that little things, like being humiliated, were character builders.

He would head home tonight but vowed Nick would pay. Someday, Nick would pay. They would all pay.

CHAPTER ONE

Jeremiah Coates followed the winding road down to the valley where the town lay. Keeping his breathing even, he tried to calm his nerves. He had to appear for an interview in fifteen minutes—his first chance to become an officer on a police force.

He never dreamed that he would wear a uniform of any sort, much less a police uniform. Growing up where money flowed like water, he spent his time attending charity events and grand parties. Seldom had thoughts of dealing with the less desirable of humanity, with anything but a check book, crossed his mind. But life changed. Six years of defying all he knew brought him to this place. He still had the money and enjoyed the luxuries it provided, but the check book didn’t pay for everything.

He brought his ten-year-old BMW convertible to a crawl in compliance with the posted speed limit. A speeding ticket wouldn’t look good on his record. He smiled his approval as he took in the buildings lining the streets—a small town where crimes like vandalism by bored teenagers constituted a serious crime. A man in uniform in this place still carried authority and demanded respect.

He pulled up to the police headquarters. Squeezed between Beeson’s accounting firm and Crenshaw’s grocery store, it fit right into the scenery. Jeremiah took a deep breath before pushing open the door to what he hoped would be his new life.

*     *     *

That kid I’m supposed to interview here yet, Sadie? Jeremiah heard the voice call from somewhere inside.

Nope, the lady at the desk called back.

Send him right in when he gets here. The man’s voice had an assuredness in it; the voice of a man in authority.

Jeremiah checked his watch; he had a few minutes to spare. He made his way to the desk. The smile on the receptionist’s face boosted his confidence and her appreciative once over said more than words.

Oh my, she said. You must be the one applying for the job. The Chief is waiting for you.

She pointed across the room towards the door marked ‘Chief Jim Parks.’

Thanks, he said.

Her face blossomed like a red rose as he turned to make his way to the office. Jeremiah knocked twice on the open door.

The man sitting at the desk stood to shake his hand. I’m Chief Jim Parks.

Pleased to meet you. I’m Jeremiah Coates.

Come, have a seat.

Jeremiah felt the Chief’s eyes scrutinizing him. Just looking the part of an officer of the law wouldn’t cut it. He needed to prove he had the skills needed for the job.

You want to be a small town police officer? the Chief asked.

He didn’t want to hesitate to answer but it sounded like a trick question. Yes Sir.

Fresh out of the academy and you want to come here. I’ve got to tell you, it’s not the most exciting police work. Not much room for promotion either. So why would a promising young recruit want this job?

Well, Sir. Jeremiah stopped to clear his throat… I met a fellow named Bud Burroughs.

Old Buddy. Chief Parks leaned back in his chair.

Yes. Jeremiah tried to read the mood, wondering if he should change subjects or continue. He told me about the position here and about you. He thought it would be good for me to work under you. Said you were the best cop he ever worked with.

Brown nosing already? Chief Parks laughed.

No Sir, just giving your question an honest answer. Jeremiah felt a rush of fear.

The Chief let out a hearty chuckle as he watched Jeremiah squirm. Ah, don’t get your tail in a knot. He picked up the resume in an effort to hide the pleasure the mention of Buddy’s approval brought. I must say you’ve done a little of everything. That’s a real asset. Police officers get asked to do some pretty unusual things not covered in the academy. Think you’re up to that?

I’ll try anything once.

Jeremiah answered the rest of the questions with no difficulty and felt confident by the end of the interview that he had secured the position.

I’ll be making a decision by the end of the week. One way or another, we’ll get back to you. Chief Parks held out his hand.

Jeremiah took note of the firm grip. The Chief would be a good man to work with. He glanced at his watch.

In a hurry? the Chief inquired.

Not really. Just trying to decide if I should have a bite to eat before heading home.

Well, you can’t leave town without trying out the local cuisine. Chief Parks stood, escorting him from the office. And I am talking about more than just food.

Jeremiah followed Chief Parks out of the station. Drivers of passing cars waved to them as the officers crossed the street. People on the sidewalks called out their greetings. Inside the café, Chief Parks headed towards a back table—probably his regular spot Jeremiah thought as they sat down. The waitress set a cup of coffee in front of the Chief, who asked for the usual, then turning to Jeremiah, she asked for his order.

Good morning, Mr. Crenshaw, Chief Parks called to a lone coffee drinker at the corner table. My income tax done yet?

Ben Crenshaw looked up from the paper. Not yet. Should get it done today though.

One could tell that Chief Parks liked the young man—the clean-cut appearance associated with small town purity. Jeremiah nodded his greeting before following the Chief’s attention to another table where two men sat.

Hello, Pastor Adams.

Well, Chief Parks, the elderly man said.

How are things? the Chief asked.

Fine. Adams’ tone came out edged with bitterness. I have this new helper—or should I say my congregation has forced this ‘wet behind the ears’ boy on me.

Jeremiah took in the young man seated with Adams. He must be the reason for the Chief’s interest—another newcomer.

I’m Pastor Curtis Warren. The young man looked nervous.

Pleased to meet you. I’m Chief Jim Parks, head of the law around here.

Nice to meet you. Curtis gave them a nod.

Are you moving here? Chief Parks asked.

I’m just here to help Pastor Adams ’til he’s feeling better.

I heard you’d been ill. Chief Parks spoke to the elderly man.

It’s all nonsense. Adams sounded angry. They send me this young whippersnapper. Thinks he can change the world with a prayer. Thinks he’ll be an asset. Bah! I’ll be twice as busy putting out his fires.

Pastor Adams… Curtis started, but a look from his superior quieted him.

Are they trying to send you to the old folk’s home too? Adams asked of the Chief, taking note of Jeremiah.

I hope not. Chief Parks chuckled to lighten the mood. This is Jeremiah Coates. He’s applied for a position on the force here. We’ve been short a man for awhile now.

Watch yourself. Adams pointed a bony finger at the Chief. Young bucks are always thinking ‘out with the old, in with the new.’

An uncomfortable silence followed the man’s bitter words.

Good talking to you, Pastor. I’m sure you’ll be back preaching fire and brimstone in no time. Nice to meet you, Curtis. Chief Parks turned back to Jeremiah.

Jeremiah shook the Chief’s hand one last time before climbing into his car. The food lived up to the claim as did Jim Parks. He waved as the Chief crossed the street and headed back inside the station.

He reviewed the day in his head. The interview went well. The Chief seemed to like him and he admired the diplomacy the man used with the old pastor. Anyone could see the man was living his last days and wouldn’t be pastoring full time again. How would he have dealt with the situation? He knew the answer and that Chief Jim Parks could teach him a few things. He hoped he would be returning to the small town very soon.

*     *     *

Jeremiah got the call he was hoping for. Five days after he was hired, he worked his first shift. A month later, he felt like a fixture. Everyone went out of their away to make him feel welcome, but then again, no one had come against him yet from the wrong side of the law. He saw Curtis occasionally and it was obvious that the young pastor wasn’t so enthralled with his new residence. He smiled. Small towns thrived on tradition—no big revivals, no big changes of any sort. Steady—in everything.

CHAPTER TWO

Liza Richter made her way into Beeson’s accounting office, glancing around to take in every detail. From her position near the glass office door, it looked like a nice place. The secretary proved she knew her job, sorting files while handling calls, without missing a beat. The plaque on the desk bore the name Melanie Sykes. She looked like a Melanie. Liza liked when a name suited a face.

Excuse me, she said, approaching the desk. I need some help with these forms.

She handed Melanie the papers. Liza watched her go over the material.

Let me consult Mr. Beeson. I’m sure he’ll be able to help.

Thank-you, Miss um… Liza glanced at the name plate. Sykes.

Melanie had a short conversation on the intercom before returning her attention back on Liza. Mr. Beeson said you could come right in.

Liza made her way into Mr. Beeson’s office, accepting the outstretched hand and a hearty handshake. Here was a confident man’s touch.

Hello, I’m William Beeson. Mr. Beeson motioned with his hand for Liza to take a chair.

Liza Richter. She took a seat.

How can we help you? the white-haired gentleman asked.

My husband passed away and I need help getting my paper work in order.

So sorry to hear about your loss.

The sincerity touched her. She handed him the papers, pushing back the emotion brought on by talking about her late husband.

Mr. Beeson glanced over them. I’m sure our firm can handle this.

Thank-you—will you be looking after this personally? I’ve had problems with firms before, letting some young kid handle my account.

I assure you, I have a very capable young man who looks after these matters. Young Crenshaw is a whiz with numbers. He’ll look after you.

I don’t know—I would prefer you look after it.

Let me call Mr. Crenshaw. I’m sure once you meet him, you’ll feel more comfortable, Mr. Beeson turned to the intercom. Miss Sykes, could you get Mr. Crenshaw to come to my office.

Liza eyed every inch of the young man who arrived. A good six feet tall with an athletic build, his face and eyes shone with the innocence of youth.

You wanted to see me, Mr. Beeson?

I want you to meet Mrs. Liza Richter. Mr. Beeson gestured towards her. She is recently widowed and having some trouble with the paper work.

I’m so sorry to hear that. Ben’s tone echoed that of his boss.

Liza showed Ben the papers. She could see the common style the two men had and the influence Mr. Beeson had on this Crenshaw boy.

I don’t see any problems. Ben scanned the pages. I should be able to get this done in a couple of days.

Really? Mrs. Richter nodded her approval. That would be perfect. You see, I’m working one day a week for Mr. Conley. That’s what I do. I go to these small town dry cleaners and offer to do repairs on damaged clothing. Since I lost Hector, money has been a little tight. This estate business needs to be finished as soon as possible so I can access our accounts. I should be back in a week. Will the work be done then?

That should be plenty of time, Ben promised as he grabbed the pile of papers and headed for the door. He turned back momentarily to face Mrs. Richter. Nice to meet you. I’m happy to be able to help out.

Nice meeting you, Mr. Crenshaw.

Liza smiled as she headed out of the office.

*     *     *

Ben set to work on Liza’s account as soon as he got back to his office. Engrossed in the numbers in front of him, he almost didn’t hear Melanie’s knock to announce lunch. He glanced at his watch, wondering where the hours had gone.

Are you planning on taking lunch? Melanie asked.

Uh, replied Ben, too engrossed to look up from his work, Mom asked me to drop by for lunch today. He looked up from his papers. How about tomorrow?

Sure. Lunch tomorrow then? She pulled the door shut.

It took a moment for it to dawn on him—he’d made a date with Melanie. He smiled at the thought as he stood and stretched before heading out the door.

Crenshaw’s Grocery represented a relic from a bygone era. Ben knew that his parents worked hard to compete with the city chain stores a short two-hour drive away. Esther would hear about a new product the ladies loved and the next week they would carry it, and Nicholas did the same for the men. The shelves of the small store bulged with variety. If you couldn’t find what you needed at the Crenshaw family store, they would remedy that. Ben pushed open the door to the familiar sight of his mother standing behind the counter.

Lunch ready?

It’s waiting for you in the back. Esther pulled off the apron she wore. I’ll lock up and be right there.

Ben nodded, heading to the back where his dad sat at the small table. When Esther joined them, Nicholas blessed the food. Ben bowed his head in respect, even if he didn’t profess the faith. After the amen, everyone dug in.

*     *     *

Jeremiah headed to the majestic structure known as Chalmers Bank at nine a.m. to install a new security system. As the clock neared noon, the thought formed in his mind that he might never get out of the place. He had no idea what he was getting himself into when he agreed to help Jake Chalmers. For Jake, this signified more than a bank; it embodied his pride and joy, his life. The news of a bank robbery nearby had Jake demanding his baby be safe. The job appeared to be out of police jurisdiction. At least it would in a bigger centre, but here, installation of security systems fell to him. Jeremiah tried to be patient as he described the new system’s operation. With a bank full of computers, it seemed the explanation should be quick and easy, but it proved to be more difficult. Jake’s face clouded with incomprehension forcing Jeremiah to repeat his instructions for the third time. At last, he could see the light of understanding dawning in Jake’s eyes.

Jeremiah headed to the small coffee shop across the street from the police station. He viewed eating at the café as important as the café’s job to supply nourishment for its clients. The regulars often knew more about local criminal activity than the police.

As he pushed the door open, he was surprised to see a smiling Celia Potter waiting on tables. Still in high school, she seldom worked during a weekday afternoon.

Miss Potter, do I need to pick you up for skipping class? He smiled, giving her a little wink.

There are no classes today, Officer Coates. Celia blushed at the attention given her by the tall, handsome officer.

I might have to check that out. He feigned a scowl.

He made his way to Chief Parks’ table, passing Jake Chalmers son, Riley, as he went. He felt the cold hard stare. Everyone knew Celia dated the spoiled rich brat. Knowing he’d crossed the invisible barrier of jealous ownership Riley placed around Celia gave Jeremiah a sense of satisfaction. He smiled. This high school punk couldn’t do much to a man in uniform.

Jeremiah spotted Chief Parks already seated at his table, enjoying a bowl of soup. He took a seat across from him.

You get that job done? the Chief asked between spoonfuls.

Yep, that bank is safe. Jeremiah tried to hide his distaste for the job. That was the most excitement I’ve had in six months.

Celia stood beside the table trying to concentrate on writing down Jeremiah’s order while he flirted. She blushed and he enjoyed her reaction. His gaze followed her as she headed back towards the kitchen.

You shouldn’t do that, the Chief said wiping his face with a napkin.

I’m just having some fun. Jeremiah’s face lit up with the pleasure. She knows that.

She might, but he doesn’t.

Jeremiah let his gaze go toward Riley. Yeah, well, he needs his ego trimmed.

I guess, Chief Parks agreed. But who’s going to trim yours?

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes at the comment but laughed it off.

CHAPTER THREE

As usual, Ben joined his parents for Sunday dinner. He didn’t attend church and made it clear he didn’t want to talk about religion. But seeing Pastor Curtis join them would make that tough today.

How do you keep alive in this place? Curtis asked Nicholas.

Like everyone else, we eat, sleep…

Not physically. Curtis sighed. Spiritually. Nothing ever changes here.

That’s the beauty. Ben knew staying quiet would be better, but this subject came too close to his heart. Who needs change?

Curtis ignored Ben, focusing on Nicholas instead. I’ve spent hours organizing the church’s historical documents. I swear only the first names have changed—the directory is like a family tree. Everything is the same: same songs, same stories, same sermons, same families.

Nicholas cleared his throat to answer. Ben waited for this guy to be set straight.

You must be patient. Nicholas tapped Curtis on the hand. You’ll get your chance when Pastor Adams passes the torch.

And you really think he’s going to? Curtis couldn’t hide his frustration. The man can’t even stand to deliver his sermons anymore. And the sermons—there’s more to the Christian faith than a list of dos and don’ts.

Patience, Esther repeated. And prayer.

Ben pulled away with that. His experiments with prayer hadn’t proved very successful. If this change relied on prayer, he didn’t need to worry.

I’ve got to go. He stood. I have some work to do.

Truthfully there was no work calling. Guys like Curtis annoyed him. Everything ran along fine until these do-gooders got everyone believing something was wrong with the way things worked. One seed of discontent soon had everyone thinking life needed change.

Two days later, Ben Crenshaw looked out his office window thinking about the conversation with Curtis. The familiar storefronts were darkened now, save for his. It used to be Mr. Beeson looking out this window. That’s all the change he needed. He decided he had the work ethic of a high power executive, but the inner longings of small town boy. All his dreams were here—a chance to run the grocery store after his parents retired. To marry and have children who would enjoy the same things he had as a small child. Under the tutelage of Mr. Beeson, he could attain his dreams. Ideas of going to university had faded when he considered the financial hardship it would involve. In a small town, people like Mr. Beeson still existed. He had worked his way up from a green—as—grass apprentice to handling almost half of the accounts.

He rose, gazing at the picture on his desk. He found comfort in the smiling faces of his mother and father. He’d follow in their footsteps, running the store someday. The other smiling face in the picture was his brother Nick. They had once dreamed together about the day they would take over the family store and make it into a successful chain. With Ben’s accounting skills and Nick’s salesman suave, no one could stop them. Until the day Nick dropped the bomb—he needed to get away from this place and head to the city. It came as a shock, but his next announcement broke their parents’ hearts—Nick wanted nothing to do with his family. Having hick town folk hanging around would cramp his style. What had they done to warrant Nick’s cruel behavior?

Ben stared out at the darkness, trying to shake away the pain of those memories. He let his thoughts drift to the lateness of the hour. Yet again the numbers had kept him long after regular hours, preventing him from enjoying a round of racquetball with some buddies. His stomach reminded him that he forgotten about supper. Maybe he should set an alarm in his office to remind him life had more to offer than accounting.

He stepped out of the office, his keys in one hand and his briefcase in the other. As he reached for the car door, a sharp pain stabbed into his shoulder. He dropped his briefcase as a numbness moved through his arm. He turned to find himself face to face with a dark figure. His eyes seemed unable to take in the stranger’s features. He made a feeble attempt to defend himself but his arm moved like a fishing line cast by a small child. His keys fell from his fingers; his body went limp. He collapsed into the arms of the menacing stranger. The world went black.

The black figure dragged the limp body to his car and lifted it in. He glanced back at Ben who lay in the backseat in a drug-induced slumber. He let a smile spread across his face, knowing revenge would be his.

Ben opened his eyes to find his whole world spinning. Fighting his way out of the haze, he struggled to focus. Nothing made sense. On attempting to get up, he found his hands and feet bound. He struggled to free himself, but to no avail. In frustration, he let his head fall back to the cushion of the couch where he was lying. Sensing he had company, Ben looked up.

A shadowy figure, shrouded in black, stood in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee and watching him struggle. As Ben let his eyes rest on her, he felt a shiver run through him. Was it the same one who brought him here? He wasn’t sure.

Welcome, Mr. Crenshaw. Her lip curled in a snarl. I have waited so long for this. We’ll see who the weak one is now, won’t we, Nick.

Emotions pulled him to and fro as he decided whether his loathing for Nick should take precedence over the numbing fear.

In a hoarse voice, Ben managed to say, I’m not Nick.

She moved towards him, like a black streak of death coming to swallow him up.

If you’re not Nick, who are you?

Ben, Ben Crenshaw, he replied and then as if to explain added, Nick is my brother.

You’ll do then. She spoke more to herself than Ben then turned to leave the room.

Is this about Nick? Ben’s desperation was evident in his shaking voice.

She paused as if considering something.

Nick has hurt me too, Ben whispered.

The woman stopped as if considering the plea. Ben felt he had reached a human emotion within a monster.

All the more reason I need to do this. The dark figure hurried out of the room.

Ben trembled as he struggled to stop the thudding of his heart in his chest. He looked around to make sure no one else watched him. The huge room reminded him of something out of a medieval movie, with enough space for ladies in flowing gowns to cheer on their favorite knight. The thought gave him no comfort.

He turned his attention back to his bonds. He struggled with them for an hour before laying his head back on the couch, defeated. You can’t give up that easily, he chastised himself. He steeled himself for the pain of working at the rope with his now bleeding wrists before returning to the task.

A movement on the far side of the room caught his eye. Ben looked up to see a mass of a man filling the doorway. But the smile on the man’s face bothered him more than his size—and then he heard the laugh. It boiled his blood. He wouldn’t stand a chance of overpowering this giant, who could snap him like a twig, but Ben sure wanted to try.

The man moved towards him, pulling a knife from his belt. Ben stared at the shining glitter of the blade, swallowing hard. His eyes followed as the blade rose up and came down slicing through the bonds on his feet. He remained motionless, afraid that any move would be the wrong one. His captor grabbed him, pulling him to his feet. Ben, light-headed from the swift change in position, couldn’t find his legs.

Can I just have a second? Ben closed his eyes trying to stop the room from swimming.

Paul Corey gave a sadistic laugh before shoving him hard towards a hall on the far side of the room. Ben’s legs buckled. The floor moved closer, like a slow—motion replay, until he crashed down onto the hardwood. Hot tears threatened as the pain rippled through his body. Ben huddled on the floor like a whipped puppy.

Get up.

He remained motionless, but once again Corey had other ideas. Yanked again to his feet, Ben felt the hard shove. He took in as many details of his surroundings as he could. Willing his feet to move, he made his way forward and peered around the corner. Unlike the large room’s rich color and texture, the hallway’s undecorated dull grey walls spoke a different message. He saw a white door that reminded him of solitary confinement rooms in the movies. He hoped they would go right past it. He prayed as he attempted to continue around the corner. His captor gripped his shoulder, stopping him from escaping whatever lay beyond the white door monster. His eyes grew large when Corey pulled out the ring of keys; the truth hit home—he was going to be locked up with who knew what. Ben heard the click of the lock, saw Corey swing the door open. With one final shove from Corey, Ben sprawled on the floor of a room that consisted of four white walls. The blade of the knife tore through the cords still wrapped around his wrists, without making contact with his skin. He crawled away from his captor to huddle in a corner of the room. Then he heard the deafening click of the lock. The solitude felt safe next to his present company options.

*     *     *

Ben felt safer when far away from the door. He huddled in the corner on the floor, his legs pulled close to his chest and his head resting on his knees. He didn’t know how long he had sat there when he heard the lock turn. The door opened. There stood the giant of a man. The man set a chair down near the door and sat on it. Ben, unsure of what might be expected of him, remained frozen to his spot.

So, Mr. Crenshaw. The chair creaked when the man shifted his position. I would guess you have many questions, but I’ll spare you the time and tell you all you need to know. You will address me as Sir or Mr. Corey, and you will do as I say or suffer the consequences. Understand?

Ben nodded.

Do you understand? Corey repeated.

Yes, Sir, Ben mumbled, but his eyes shone with defiance.

If you were Nick looking at me like that, I would smash your smug face in.

Ben let out the air in his lungs when Corey grabbed the chair to leave. He watched the door close and listened to the lock turning. He breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be alone again.

Hours later, a small panel in the centre of the door opened. A gloved hand dropped a small bottle of water onto the floor. He hurried to retrieve it, ignoring his fears that his captors may have tampered with the contents. The cool liquid felt like a teaser, doing nothing to quench the thirst he felt. Minutes later, the hand reappeared. A voice demanded the return of the bottle. Ben threw the bottle at the waiting hand. The hand withdrew and the lock of the large door once again turned.

Ben took in the face attached to the arm. You!

But this couldn’t be the genteel widow he’d served in the accounting office; this looked like a wild-eyed devil. The whip came from nowhere wrapping itself like a boa constrictor around Ben’s neck. He felt himself being dragged towards the menacing figure; his airways closed off by the rawhide around his throat. He had no strength to struggle.

Pick up the bottle and place it in my hand. Liza glared at him.

Ben complied and Liza let the whip loosen its grip. She smiled at him. Ben fought for breath, massaging his neck. Relief spread through him when she left. He enjoyed the safety of the locked room. So far, the white room had many advantages.

*     *     *

By the third day of captivity, Ben had a new understanding of the terms bread and water. His whole body screamed with thirst and hunger. The small portions that arrived few and far between did not sustain a man. Ben had lost all sense of time, with no idea how long he had been in the windowless cell. His captors weren’t talkative, choosing to resort to pushing and shoving over verbal direction. He remained in the cell, except for his short visits to the washroom. They never said enough to reveal the reason for his extended stay. All he knew for sure was that Nick was connected with this in some way.

*     *     *

Paul Corey pushed away the plate in front of him contemplating the mix-up with Ben Crenshaw. This would mean changing his plans. Even as he watched the young man struggle, he could feel the hate dissipating into pity. That would never do if he hoped to accomplish his objective, and just how would he reach that objective with the wrong Crenshaw? He sipped his coffee considering these things. With the last drop swallowed, he had a new plan. Perhaps fate had dealt him yet another gift; perhaps Nick’s brother would prove to be Nick’s Achilles heel.

*     *     *

The crisp air reminded all those who ventured outside that winter would soon arrive. Chief Parks drove his cruiser down the empty streets of the quaint old town. In the past ten years as police chief, he had never come face to face with any serious crime. There were the usual domestic disputes, or complaints about vandalism, but even these were few and far between. He enjoyed his job and the town liked him. He swung his cruiser onto Main Street checking for anything out of place. A car was still parked in the accounting firm’s parking lot even though it was six in the morning. He smiled, thinking Ben had made his move on the secretary. Everybody in the small town knew of Ben’s shyness around the beautiful Melanie Sykes. Every coffee drinker in town had a bet placed on how long it would take for the shy lad to work up the nerve to ask the pretty lady on a date. Chief Parks wondered who won the bet when he spotted a shiny object lying on the ground close to the car. The object caught his attention and his curiosity.

Pulling up alongside of the parked car, his curiosity became a feeling of dread. A briefcase lay near the front of the vehicle, and the shiny object that had caught his attention was a set of keys. He had often seen Ben twirl the familiar globe-shaped key chain in his fingers. In a sudden rush of understanding, Chief Jim Parks realized this was a crime scene and he would need help.

Jeremiah answered the Chief’s call. With his training on protocol still fresh in his mind, he helped Chief Parks rope off the scene. A search for Ben followed, turning up nothing.

*     *     *

Jeremiah got the task of telling the Crenshaws what they had found. The dirty tasks always went to the new guy no matter where you worked. He knocked on the door of the quaint home. Esther answered.

Good morning, he said, hoping they couldn’t see the sweat on his brow.

Officer?

Mrs. Crenshaw, I’m Officer Coates, he replied as if he hadn’t heard her. Is your husband home?

Yes. She turned to call Nicholas to the door.

Jeremiah locked onto Nicholas’ eyes as he spoke, feeling women didn’t handle these things well.

Chief Parks made a discovery this morning… He took a deep breath. We discovered Ben’s briefcase and keys lying beside his car this morning.

What? Nicholas gasped.

It appears Ben’s missing—unless you know of his whereabouts? Jeremiah felt like a tongue-tied schoolboy giving his first speech in front of the class.

Ben’s missing? Esther gasped.

We believe so, Jeremiah stated.

Esther started to sway but Nicholas’ strong arm was there to catch her. Both looked weak with fear. Jeremiah moved into a robotic state, going through the motions of what he was trained to do, explaining what had to happen next, ending with the empty promise of finding Ben safe and sound.

Four days later, the investigation stalled. Jeremiah had compiled a large amount of information, but very little of it could be considered as evidence. They had interviewed half the town but the effort produced no leads. Ben’s lifestyle—an average income, run-of-the-mill good guy—didn’t help. The officers went over it again and again only to become more perplexed each time they did so.

Jeremiah could feel the heat as he sat down at his table in the café. Every eye asked the question—where was Ben Crenshaw and why hadn’t he found him? He glanced over noticing one set of eyes that didn’t accuse him. He slipped in across from Pastor Curtis.

Something wrong? He watched the waitress serve the table by the door, hoping she’d get to him soon. He needed coffee.

Nothing much. Even the way Curtis stirred his coffee looked defeated. Any word on Ben?

Nothing yet. Jeremiah avoided eye contact.

Should the church hold a prayer vigil?

You’re asking the wrong guy. Jeremiah shrugged. I’m more of a ‘create your own destiny’ kind of guy.

I’ve been praying for something to shake up this town and then this happens. What do I do now?

Jeremiah didn’t know what to say. I-I, I honestly don’t give prayer that much power.

Curtis nodded but Jeremiah could tell he hadn’t cheered the man up. He let out a sigh as he headed towards the door. He didn’t feel like having coffee anymore.

CHAPTER FOUR

The last bell sounded, signaling the end of the school day. Celia Potter gathered her things and hurried to join Riley in the parking lot. He stood beside his car, looking handsome. She slid into the passenger side of his Porsche. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a small piece of paper—her first pay check.

Guess you won the bet, he said slipping into the driver’s seat. I’m really proud of you, Celia. I wouldn’t have lasted two days in that dive. Remind me, what is this going to cost me? He playfully rubbed her nose with his finger.

"You know very well. You promised me a trip to the city to see a