The End: Flights of the Owl

By G. Allison Weaver

The End is a novel based on a short story The End,copyrighted in 2010. This is a trilogy of stories about a character named Albert, nicknamed the Owl. Each story examines a question. The fi rst story, The End, examines the idea of whether or not a persons life actually passes before them as they die. The second story, The Endgame, is when Albert the Owl enters heaven and faces his Judgment Day. It is here that Albert the Owl sees the whole of the life just lived on Earth and discovers what judgment is and who is to judge. Through this process, Albert identifi es and initiates an act of redemption that might just fix everything that went wrong in Alberts life on earth. The third book, Endless, contains the result of Alberts act of redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503539990

G. Allison Weaver

The author was born in 1952 in Speyer, Germany. Abandoned soon after birth, Allison was placed in private and foster homes for a time and then into an orphanage. Major Ralph and Nell Weaver met Allison on Thanksgiving Day at St. Mary’s Orphanage, and Allison became part of their family soon thereafter. Allison became a naturalized US citizen at age five. Allison has worked in the legal profession as a legal secretary, paralegal, court reporter, as an insurance investigator, a criminal defense investigator, and a writer. Allison also writes piano and vocal music, teaches voice lessons, and conducts two choruses in the Central Texas area. Allison and spouse have resided together in Central Texas for the past fourteen years.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by G. Allison Weaver.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2015901575

ISBN:       Hardcover      978-1-5035-3997-6

                 Softcover       978-1-5035-3998-3

                 eBook            978-1-5035-3999-0

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.

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

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 03/10/2015

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Contents

Chapter 1 The Midnight Watchman

Chapter 2 The Shift

Chapter 3 The City

Chapter 4 Nighttime

Chapter 5 The Owl

Chapter 6 In A Flash

Chapter 7 Frank

Chapter 8 The Law

Chapter 9 Reflections

Chapter 10 Recapitulation

Chapter 11 Struggle

Chapter 12 A Rest

Chapter 13 Acquiescence

Epilogue

The Endgame

Chapter 1 Owl Rising

Chapter 2 Arrival

Chapter 3 Universes

Chapter 4 The Basics

Chapter 5 Time

Chapter 6 The Dialogue

Chapter 7 Judgment

Chapter 8 The Gifts

Chapter 9 Humans

Chapter 10 The Sharing

Chapter 11 Albert’s Hateful Life

Chapter 12 Bindy

Chapter 13 Man of the House

Chapter 14 Albert’s Day-to-Day Life

Chapter 15 The Owl at Work

Chapter 16 Albert’s Visit

Chapter 17 The Truths

Chapter 18 The Endgame

Epilogue

Endless

Chapter 1 The Midnight Watchman

Chapter 2 Franklin and Annabelle

Chapter 3 The Monroes

Chapter 4 Onward Northeast

Chapter 5 Anna

Chapter 6 A Son

Chapter 7 Tammy and Albert

Chapter 8 Rest

Chapter 9 Albert and Bindy

Chapter 10 The Accident

Chapter 11 The Owl’s Birthday

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

There is a sense if not a consensus among folks that at the time of death, one’s life passes before his or her eyes in a flurry or stream of images and memories. Of course, the only way one can be certain of this is to experience it, right through to The End.

Chapter 1

The Midnight Watchman

T he old man had guarded this little liquor store for about four years. He retired from his job at Mills Tool & Die where he had kept late-night watch for nearly thirty-five years. While at Mills, he never once slept on the job, and had a near-perfect attendance record, missing work only on a few occasions during his tenure. When he retired, the company gave Frank Monroe a wonderful retirement party and a gold watch. His retirement benefits had grown considerably because he had been regularly feeding that account all the years he worked there, never squandering or wasting money on things he did not require. He had never married and lived a very simple, fairly happy life.

Six months or so after his retirement, Frank moved from the northeast to Houston, Texas. He had some friends and a few relatives living in the area, and he was ready to leave the extremely cold weather he had endured all those years for a more congenial climate. He lived in a one-bedroom apartment, which was plenty big to meet his needs. He enjoyed a few television programs but preferred to sit out by the pool and read. He tried to find other ways to fill his days, but nothing really interested him. He was still very much a night person, and there weren’t many things this single sixty-three-year-old man could find to do in Houston at night while most of his peers and acquaintances slept.

One morning while reading through the classified ads, Frank spotted an opening for a night watchman at Keene’s, a medium-sized downtown liquor store. He called the listed number and made an appointment to interview for the job that afternoon. After the interview with the owner, a kind but serious businessman close to Frank’s own age, an agreement was made and Frank soon began work.

As was his habit, Frank showed up on time, 9:30 p.m. Upon arrival, he always spoke with Mr. Keene or one of his employees left in charge of closing the store when Mr. Keene was not there. Once the last employee had left for the night, Frank began about the system of duties he had devised to keep busy throughout the night. His shift ended at 7:30 am, when the owner showed up to begin making the store ready for the day’s business.

Frank ate whatever food he brought with him and napped between 4:00 a.m. and 5:00 a.m., his lunch hour, and stayed alert the other hours. Though not required to, Frank sometimes swept the store and dusted the counters, just to break the boredom.

Nothing much ever happened at Mills’ during his years there. He’d had to run teenagers off the property from time to time, kids who had arrived to party and see what kind of mischief they could enjoy. There was never a robbery or anything missing, no real incidents whatsoever all those years. He never even carried a weapon then.

But this was a different world and Frank knew that liquor stores in downtown Houston were often robbery targets. Keene’s cleared the premises of all cash each evening at the close of business, and most thieves understood this practice among liquor stores and sought more appealing targets after hours; Houston was teeming with them. The bars, restaurants, convenience stores, and pedestrians provided ample choices for thieves plying their trade.

At this job, Frank carried a .45 Smith & Wesson semi-automatic pistol, but there had been no cause to use it, until one night.

Chapter 2

The Shift

F rank arrived at work and spoke with Mr. Keene for a short time. By 10 o’clock, the store was empty of everyone but Frank, the doors locked, the door alarms activated. Frank went about his routine. First, he went throughout the store and straightened the bottles of liquor which customers had turned during their shopping, in order that all the labels faced forward, giving all the shelves a uniform look, much to Frank’s liking. He had always been a very organized worker and liked for things to be in their place.

Once back in the stock room, the pungent air reminded Frank of his earlier conversation with Mr. Keene. During a late delivery, an entire case of whiskey had been dropped and many bottles had shattered. Frank got there before anyone had an opportunity to thoroughly clean up the glass and mop the floor, and Mr. Keene had asked Frank if he wouldn’t mind cleaning up the mess. The smell of the lost whiskey was prominent.

Frank grabbed a broom and happily went about the chore. Soon all the glass was swept up and Frank began mopping up the booze. This chore took some time as the liquor had pretty much drenched the stock room floor.

Afterwards, Frank went through the store, dusting the shelves and sweeping and mopping the other floors. Then he went to take the trash he had collected, including all that broken glass, outside to the dumpster. He turned off the back door alarm and delivered the trash to the container and dumped his boozy mop water there in the alley. He then returned to the store, shut the back door, and reinitialized that alarm.

The front and back door alarms were independently wired, both emitting a silent alarm to alert law enforcement when tripped, the back alarm also clanging an old-time fire alarm bell to alert anyone within earshot of a break-in and hopefully scare away any perpetrator.

Having completed the physical tasks he had set for himself for the evening, he was now ready to sit back and read his book. Frank loved to read and was always working on completing a novel. He was particularly fond of James Michener’s works. He liked it that Michener’s novels were long and held his interest throughout. He was a slow, careful reader, and a single novel easily lasted a month of nights like this one. He enjoyed favorite passages over and over, often memorizing them as a result.

He used a break area in the back of the shop where there was a couch with a good lamp. Every hour or so, he would put down his book, grab his flashlight, and make his way through the dark back area of the store to the front, which remained somewhat light from glare of the neon signs outside. He checked the front door and made sure the alarm was on. He knew it was, of course, but this was a part of his routine that helped him be certain all the bases were covered. Once he had reassured himself that everything was fine, as it always was, he returned to the back entrance and rechecked that door and its alarm. Once his rounds were complete, Frank returned to the break room and continued with his reading over the next hour.

Such was Frank’s routine each shift. At 4:00 am, Frank finished the last round before his break, ate his sandwich and then lay down on the couch for a nap to refresh him for the last few hours of his long shift. Frank had a wind-up alarm clock he always set for sixty minutes when he napped. It had a double-bell and hammer alarm which was quite loud and never failed to wake Frank from his nap. Frank set the clock, turned out the light and quickly nodded off. Sleep came easily this morning, as always. It would not come so easily again for a very long, long time.

Chapter 3

The City

D uring the day, Houston looked much like any other large city. There were lots of flashy looking buildings, traffic was quite congested except on weekends, and the streets of the city were heavily traveled nearly any hour of the day. But at night, viewed from the sky or the myriad of inbound freeways, and even right on the streets among its skyscrapers, the city of Houston seemed more like an amazing piece of art than a center of commerce. The pace was slower and traffic sparser. The very center of downtown was most impressive with each building stretching higher than the one built before it, a contest of some sort between the architects of this metal and glass extravaganza. From most any vantage point, from dusk to dawn, the tall mirrored buildings reflected both fixed and moving lights from hundreds of sources, enhancing the majestic beauty of each individual structure and the city they comprised.

Just beyond the very heart of downtown though, Houston appeared to be a very different place. This area virtually surrounded the glamour of the skyscrapers and had much older structures, including specialty shops, gas and auto repair stations, modest single-family homes and duplexes, lots of tiny bars scattered here and there, and liquor stores. Two-story buildings were the tallest to be found. The zero-line lots were tiny and the buildings almost seemed to huddle together in each block. There were no modern structures; the neighborhood was developed in the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s. There were some renovations, updated wiring and the like, made to many of the places in the 1950s, but few new structures were ever built. Most of the property owners had survived The Great Depression and closely cared for their property. There were no abandoned buildings, and the only time a place had to be fully rebuilt was after a fire had destroyed the original structure.

Keene’s had been part of this neighborhood for thirty-seven years, and even with the hustle and bustle of city life all around them, the residents and shopkeepers looked out for one another and were always friendly and cooperative, as neighbors ideally are, through all of those years.

Chapter 4

Nighttime

M ost creatures are not nocturnal by choice; it is simply the way they are built. While not blinded by sunlight, they explore their territory using their hearing and vision much better at night. Bats, owls, millions of insect species, and even cats and dogs are nocturnal. They are naturally adapted to nighttime hunting and negotiate their chosen terrains with greater ease and success under a blanket of darkness.

Humans become nocturnal by many series of choices made and habits formed during maturation and young adulthood. Many seek nighttime professions and prefer third shift work and sleeping during the day. Thieves often prefer to work at night; they find safety in shadows and security in the knowledge that they are not easily seen by others who may be called upon to recognize them should their efforts result in arrest.

Chapter 5

The Owl

F orty-two years old, and he was little more than a bully, a small-time hoodlum. He worked always at night.

Somehow, when he was but a child, he had gotten the nickname Owl. Nighttime had always been his favorite time for living and thievery, and he grew to enjoy the moniker which had always stuck with him. Anyone who knew him called him the Owl. Most people did not even know his real name, first, middle or last, and no one ever asked, and that suited him just fine.

It had been a full evening already. He had left his hovel, as usual, about 9:00 p.m., to commence his nightly prowl, tonight choosing this old neighborhood near downtown, ten or fifteen blocks from his place.

He had stopped at a burger joint just before closing, ordered and consumed a hamburger, French fries and a Coke, while he checked out the physical layout of the shop. He had always enjoyed planning a strike – it was the best part, next to implementing the plan flawlessly, exerting control and taking what he wanted. He took his time finishing his meal and noted that the two remaining employees, both teenagers, were busily cleaning up the restaurant and gathering the trash to take out, ready to lock the doors as soon as this final customer left. The manager was out of sight, probably back in the office completing the day’s bookkeeping and preparing the next morning’s bank deposit.

Once an opportunity presented itself, the Owl overpowered and tied up and gagged both teenagers. The kids were terrified but compliant. He quickly made his way back to the office. The manager was exiting the office, wondering why he had not heard his employees’ usual chatter as they cleaned the place. He took the manager by surprise, and soon the manager was also bound and gagged and led to the room where his employees waited quietly as the Owl had instructed. Since everyone had cooperated, no one got hurt.

The Owl left the establishment quickly and no one saw him. He traveled ten or fifteen blocks from the hamburger place, and then felt he was safe. He checked his bounty, just over three hundred dollars. Not bad. He continued to walk around the neighborhood, making mental notes of places where he thought depriving owners of their belongings might be simple. He strolled and strolled.

It was just after 4:00 a.m. when he turned and walked into the alley behind Keene’s. He quickly noticed the strong odor of alcohol emanating from somewhere nearby. He saw the back door of Keene’s and noticed the sign, Keene’s Liquors—Deliveries Only. He stopped quickly in the darkest area behind the store and spent a moment listening. He heard only his breathing and sounds from the street in front of the shop.

He decided to break into the place. The smell of booze had put him in the mood for a drink, and here was a whole liquor store, closed, dark, really quite inviting. He didn’t even know what other trophies he might find, except booze. For some reason, he felt absolutely compelled to do this. If nothing else, he was certainly going to take a few bottles of