Jack Zane: Evil at Storm Lake Page 2

  Chapter 2

  For several days he hacked away at his novel, but he just couldn’t concentrate. He kept drifting back to his childhood, his former life that now seemed so far away. He couldn’t help but wonder how and where Matt was. And his dad; he hadn’t talked to him in over three years. During that period he’d been busy writing and living his life. Now it seemed strange, so insensitive, that they hadn’t talked. Maybe Fran’s death was a harbinger of just how time slips away. You take it so for granted that they'll all always be there, then….

  Well, he was going to get to rectify the situation to a degree, he hoped. Tilley had called to give him the date for the service. He’d leave Thursday. The service was scheduled for Sunday at noon. He was going to drive so he’d be able to stay a few days if he wanted to. There was a part of him that was anxious to go, but another part dreaded it. He knew gray can sometimes be more than a mood, it can be disturbing.

  With bags packed, he headed north. He hadn’t really been on a road trip since college. There’s a certain peace that comes with driving alone, watching the scenery go by. For some reason the unknown whereabouts of Matt kept nagging at him. Where was he? Would he show up? What had happened to him? For a brother who was less than brotherly, Jonathan found this curious. Why this concern…now? He hadn’t really given Matt much thought for several years. Maybe it was Fran’s death. Maybe that’s what was bringing this back.

  He’d drive up to Shreveport then over to Dallas then north up Hwy. 35 until he got to 166 in Kansas, then east to Independence. It would take a couple of days, but that was fine with him. It was early September, some of the trees were already changing and the air had a crispness to it. The trip became an autumn pilgrimage. He thought back to the last time he’d seen his dad. He’d gone home for Christmas a year after graduating from college. It was, unfortunately, also the last time he had seen Fran. They’d had a big dinner on Christmas Eve. His dad seemed…far away. They all talked and had a few laughs, but it was like he wasn’t really there. Fran, as usual, did all the cooking and made all the arrangements, while the men folk sat around and talked sports and politics. Jonathan tried to talk to his dad and, they did discuss a few things, but then he’d changed, became dark and quiet. Jonathan figured with everyone gone he just felt alone. What would he be like now? That was five years ago, and as shameful as it was, he hadn’t seen or really talked to him since. He was beginning to have this overwhelming sense of being a poor excuse for a son. His dad had always been there for him and had done everything in his power to get him through college. So this was the thanks he got…ignored. He sped up a little, there was suddenly an urgency to the trip. Maybe it was just guilt, but he sensed there was something back in Independence he needed to know. He’d been so anxious to leave, now there was some strange allure drawing him back.

  He sped through the night obsessed with getting there. But what if it was the same? What if it hadn’t changed at all? Oh, it had to be different, everything changes…even Independence, Kansas, he hoped.

  He arrived Saturday morning. As he drove through town, it all began to pour from his memory. Running from house to house getting candy on Neewollah, which is what they called Halloween. The warm summer nights, yard hopping, just to see if they’d get caught. Trying to peak in Sharon Morgan’s windows hoping to catch a glimpse of her getting ready for bed. Having a malt at Sorenson’s malt shop. Helping his dad unload drugs at the pharmacy, wondering what some of the stuff was, and if people in this little town really took this many prescriptions. Hearing the sirens go off, as those massive swirling funnels from the north would turn the sky to black at high noon. As he cruised along the streets it looked decidedly… the same. He kept thinking of what Yogi Berra once said, “It’s dejavu, all over again.” Well maybe the buildings and streets hadn’t changed, but surely the people had. He would find out soon enough, as he pulled into his dad’s driveway.

  Tilley had arranged for Jonathan to stay with his dad, and had told him, “He’s looking forward to seeing you.” Well, that was reassuring. After all these years and the way I’ve treated, or in this case ignored him, how in the world could he be looking forward to this? The house hadn’t changed a lick. Roof a little worn, shutters needing paint, and the front porch swing sitting right where he remembered it. Yogi was more prophetic than he knew.

  Walking up the sidewalk he still remembered all the football and baseball games in the front yard that invariably carried out into the street and on into the night under the streetlights. He could see a note hooked to the front door screen from his dad,

  “It will be good to see you son, make yourself at home. I cleaned up your room for you.” Dad

  The screen door still squeaked like a cat was caught in it and as he entered the house it still had that familiar old smell to it. It wasn’t unpleasant, just recognizable. He put his bag down and walked around; first into the kitchen, still clean and tidy as if no one had cooked there in days, then into the dining room with its linen tablecloth and old cherrywood hutch. The living room was more comfortable. The television set looked almost out of place sitting among the various antiques, but the room was warm and made him feel… innocent. He then turned and went up the stairs. His bedroom was the first one on the right side and Matt’s old room was at the end of the hall. His dad’s room was across the hall and had its own bathroom. He and Matt had always had to share a bathroom. This had become very interesting when they became teenagers with shaving, zits and a newfound need to primp. It had to have been both laughable and irritating for their dad, but he never let on how he felt.

  He opened the door to his old bedroom and peeked in. Amazingly it looked unchanged. His old bed, the dresser and what looked like the same old comforter. He set his bag down and walked down the hall to Matt’s old room. The door was closed and it opened grudgingly. It looked like a prison cell. The mattress was bare, no rugs, no curtains, and dust covering most of the furniture. It appeared no one had been in the room in a very long time. There was a sadness to it. Jonathan closed the door and went back to his room to unpack. Even though it was Saturday, his dad would be working at the drug store and should get home about six, if he remembered things correctly. This gave him a couple of hours to kill. He went downstairs and out to the backyard. It had seemed so much bigger…then. There were still all the beautiful lilac bushes, holding on to the last remnants of summer, and over in the corner were the plants he and Matt found so fascinating, the Death Camass. It intrigued them because their dad had told them, “It can kill man or beast.” Sure, it was poisonous, but it would take a lot more than they had growing in their garden to do the trick. Still, Jonathan always wondered, just how much would it take? He never did find out. And there in the center of the yard was…Bertha. The giant oak tree that was a swing set, tree house, and jungle gym all rolled into one. Many an afternoon was spent climbing, hiding and jumping in, out of, and around Bertha. He could still see the scars his old friend wore with pride. He laid down under the giant old tree in the cool soft grass. He closed his eyes and let the sounds and smells flood his senses. He went to sleep in the embrace of his youth.

  “Jonathan, hello, where are you?” It was like a distant voice, coming through the fog. “Jonathan, its dad…hello?”

  Slowly he returned to consciousness. He sat up and could see his dad through the screen door in the kitchen. He stared at him for a second, not sure where he was. His dad turned and saw him sitting in the back yard and hurried out the door. Running up to him he said, “Are you all right? What are you doing out here laying in the grass?” Jonathan rose to his feet, reached out and embraced his dad…for the first time in his life. He could feel him stiffen, unsure of what to do, but Jonathan held on, and began to cry. His dad’s arms slowly closed around him, and they held each other, as a father and son should, but never had. Jonathan let go, and stepped back a pace to loo
k at the man he’d taken so much from, never having said…thanks.

  “Son, are you okay?”

  “Yes dad, I’m fine. I just want to tell you one thing.” His voice began to quiver and he knew he’d better say this before he started crying again. “I just want to tell you I love you and thank you for all you did for me. I’ve not been a good son over the years and I desperately want to make up for it.”

  His dad stood there in shock. “What are you talking about, not a good son? You’re a wonderful son, and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

  Jonathan turned away and walked toward the back fence. He thought, how could I have pushed this man out of my life, how could I have been such a fool?

  His dad yelled to him, “I’ll go in and make us some dinner, you take your time.”

  Jonathan turned in time to see the screen door close. This was his chance, he could finally find out who his dad truly was. When you’re young, they’re just your parents, handing out the rules, making you go to school, setting curfews. But as you grow up, if you’re smart, you’ll find out who they really are and what makes them special. He’d never had that chance with his mom. He was not going to let this opportunity with his dad slip away, again. As he walked across the yard to the back door, he thought how, although unfortunate, Fran’s death had given him a second chance to discover his roots. The smell of his dad’s biscuits and gravy made him feel… at home.