#i feel a bit weird calling him ezra but god. i hate reading the word squall | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

julemmaes · 3 years

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One of the kids and their first crush.

First Crush

A/N: Set in the same universe as this and this (I’m gonna make a masterlist soon I swear), Cal (18) finds himself in a weird situation and doesn’t know how to handle things. I introduced Elucien babies in this one, everyone else will come by later on and very slowly I’m gonna introduce every other child.

If you’re new, this is a next gen collection of one shots, for now only about Nessian kids specifically. In this one, Ezra is 22, Cal is 18 and even tho they don’t appear, Nora is 13, Celia is 12 and Andra is 10. Nate and Theo are 17.

Send prompts about whoever you’d like to read more about and also very slowly I’m gonna give yall every single one of those:)

Enjoy!

Word count: 3,432

Cal brought his hands to his hair, "Oh my god, what's wrong with me?"

Theo, leaning against the car next to him, chuckled, "In my opinion the correct question would be what isn't wrong with me- Ouch." the boy turned to his twin, "Why did you hit me?"

"Because you're being a dick," Nate replied, glaring at him, "Stop talking shit."

"Why did I agree to this?" asked Cal shocked, looking up from the road and shifting his gaze from one cousin to the other. Two pairs of brown eyes locked onto him and then, in a synchronized motion that never failed to make Cal cringe, the twins shrugged.

Theodore and Nathaniel Vanserra were two of the most handsome boys in all of VHS. They both had the natural grace of the Archeron sisters that all cousins in the family shared, but their father's beauty that they had acquired over the years was one that made it easy to hate them with just one look. It was humanly impossible that such beautiful people could exist.

"Because you like her and want to date her, maybe?" asked Nate sarcastically.

Theo threw him a look, "Who's being an asshole now?"

Nate huffed then turned back to Cal, "Listen to me," he took him by the shoulders, getting so close to his face that for a second he was afraid he was going to kiss him, "You've been drooling over Rania for months. Months, Cal. And she finally made the first move because you were too chicken to step up."

"Chicken?" laughed Theo beside them.

Nate closed his eyes taking a deep breath, deciding to ignore his brother, "She asked you out. You accepted. You're going on a date." he shook his head confused, leaning even more towards him, "What's wrong with that?"

Cal looked at him wide-eyed, imagining Rania's crystal eyes sparkling with excitement at the prospect of going to dinner with him, so different from the rust brown, almost red ones that were staring back at him. "Nothing, it all adds up," then he cleared his throat, "Shouldn't you be home by now?"

"What time is it?" asked Nate taking two steps back. Cal felt the air return to his lungs and he sagged against the door of his car. Well, his and Ezra's car.

Theo cursed checking the time on his phone, "Shit it's almost three."

Nate nearly broke his neck as he lunged to grab his backpack on the ground and then started running in the direction of their house, yelling a simple hello to Cal and for his brother to hurry up. Theo's eyes went wide, snorting with an amused grimace on his face.

Cal huffed out a laugh, "It's not three o'clock is it?"

Theo shook his head, with a lopsided smile too similar to his father's, "Not even close." then turned to his cousin and threw him a flying kiss, starting to walk after Nate. "Call me if you need any advice on what to wear."

Cal gave a thumbs up and then slipped into the car.

It didn't take him more than ten minutes before he arrived home, but once he parked his car next to his mom's, he sighed.

He needed to talk to his dad.

Cassian would certainly know how to handle this situation better than he was doing.

The front door burst open and a distraught Ezra, visibly in a hurry, opened the driver's door, grabbing his brother by the shoulder and pulling him out of the car.

"Ezra!" shrieked Cal with wide eyes, "What the fuck!"

"You're late." the eldest pointed out to him, then tossed him his backpack with a stern look, "Here."

"Sorry." Cal murmured, then pushed his hair out of his face, "I got stuck with Theo and Nate, I didn't notice the time."

Ezra stopped the frantic movements, looking at him worriedly all of a sudden, "Are you okay?"

Cal nodded, licking his lower lip, "Just Raina."

"Oh." murmured Ezra, "We can talk about her tonight when I get back if you want." he smiled at him, then seemed to remember that he was running late and Cal didn't have time to correct him and tell him that the problem was the exact opposite of what he thought that Ezra was already backing up.

The silence that greeted him in the house was unsettling.

"Hello?" he asked loudly enough for anyone to hear.

"In the kitchen!"

Cal smiled and kicked off his shoes before following the smell of lunch.

"Hi Mom."

Nesta was perched on one of the island stools as she munched on a cereal bar. "Hi dear." she looked up from her book to smile at her son, but turned serious, "What happened?"

Cal dropped his head back, huffing, "Am I a fucking open book?"

Nesta frowned, "No swearing."

"I don't see Andra here." he glanced around him opening his arms.

"I don't care, I don't want you to say them." and before he could retort, "And in this case you could have just as easily said I'm an open book without the need to shove fucking in it." she pointed out to him.

Cal nodded, knowing full well how pointless it was to engage in this conversation again. He pointed to the table set just for him, "You're not eating?" then arched an eyebrow, "Where is everyone?"

"I ate with Nora and Celia and then took them to practice. Andra is at school like she is every Wednesday." she got up too and sat down across from him at the table, closing her book and resting her chin on one hand, she asked, "So, what do you have?"

Cal took a bite, "Dad?" he asked with a full mouth, avoiding his mom's gaze.

"At work." then she huffed, "You failed a test?" guessed the woman.

Cal laughed, "Like that's even possible."

"Did you get in a fight with Theo and Nate?"

"I don't think that's possible either," he replied in a small voice.

"Cal," his mother's hand rested on his. He was forced to look at her and sighed, seeing the concern in Nesta's eyes, "Are you okay?"

He nodded. Evidently with not enough conviction because the woman in front of him bit her lip down thoughtfully.

"If you want I can call Dad and ask him to come home early," she offered, "If you want to talk to him, I mean," then continued, "You know he'd be here in three seconds."

Cal nodded again, knowing full well that his father would rush home even risking an accident if he knew one of his children was feeling down. Setting his fork down next to his plate he brought his hands to his face. He hated his mother when she did that.

He looked her straight in the eye as he told her so.

Nesta looked even more concerned, "I'm sorry," she told him, probably feeling guilty for pushing him too hard to talk, "if you want I'll leave."

"Nono," the boy replied promptly, then grimaced, closing his eyes. He grunted before muttering, "Raina asked me out."

He doubted his mother knew who he was talking about, but it didn't take a genius to figure out it was the girl he liked.

The room filled with an awkward silence.

"Ah." was Nesta's only response.

Cal resumed eating, his head down, "And I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean?"

"I've never really liked anyone before," he said, "and Raina is...she's special."

He smiled, thinking of the billions of braids she so proudly wore every day in a different hairstyle.

"Did you say no?" asked Nesta. Cal felt her curiosity even without the need to look at her.

He shook his head, "I said yes," he confessed, "but I need dad to tell me how to act. I don't have a clue what to do. Where to take her, how to dress, whether I should text her first. All that shit there- sorry." he smiled mischievously when Nesta bounced him again and hoped he'd taken her mind off the real problem.

"And how come," she began, "I can't be the one helping you?"

Cal looked at her at that point, "Because you're not a people person." he pointed out, "Dad managed to win your heart, it won't be that hard for him to give me advice on how to win Raina's." he took a sip of water, "When I think about it, dad and Raina have a very similar personality. " he shrugged, "So he can tell me what he likes and I can do it for her." he nodded as if he had discovered the Holy Grail, but that sly grimace disappeared from his face when he saw his mother's expression.

She sighed, her eyebrows so high they almost touched her hairline, "Dear, that's the dumbest thing you've ever said in your entire life." she told him in amazement.

Cal opened his mouth wide, offended, "Mom-"

Nesta raised a hand to stop him, "Let me talk."

He nodded once.

"First, answer these simple questions," she began, "What were you going to do about it this afternoon?"

"Ask her if she was okay with Friday night to go out." he said without hesitation.

"Good." she smiled at him for half a second, quickly becoming serious again, "And where would you like to take her?"

Cal tilted his head to the side, not understanding where this was going, "Why are you-"

"Just answer."

"I was thinking of taking her to the diner, to Ben's," he replied, unsure of his choice, as a faint blush made its way across his cheeks.

"Perfect." she gave him the thumbs up, "And since it's a diner, you'll just need to wear simple jeans and a t-shirt, or am I wrong? Nothing too fancy or flamboyant."

The boy huffed, irritated that his mother was giving him all logical answers to his senseless and fake concerns. "Okay, and your point?" he asked, scratching his forehead.

Nesta smiled at that, "My point is that these aren't your real problems and you're scared of all kinds of other stuff."

"I really don't like talking to you about this stuff." he muttered, folding his arms across his chest. They both knew that wasn't entirely true. They both knew that if either of them were really uncomfortable, they wouldn't be able to get a word in edgewise.

"Yeah I didn't either." scoffed his mother, "But I would have liked someone to tell me that it was normal for me to feel all those emotions the first time I met your father."

Cal frowned.

"You don't have a problem with setting up a fancy date," she told him, "I raised you teaching you what respect and kindness is and if I failed, then dad took care of it. Because both you and your brother are golden boys and you'll never have to worry about not being offering enough." Nesta looked away, "But while your brother can... handle?" she asked no one in particular, searching for the right term, "His emotions relatively well, you're like me." then she giggled and Cal knew they were navigating waters his mother didn't particularly like to touch, "And I'm a mess when figuring out how I feel."

Cal knew what she meant, so he nodded.

She was right.

Talking to the twins about what was really bothering him had never even been an option. The idea of having to tell them how much he actually liked Raina had been more terrifying than the emotions themselves. He knew they wouldn't understand and would wait until it was socially acceptable for him to tell Raina directly how he felt without scaring her off.

"How about you finish eating and then we'll go for a walk along the river?" his mom suggested, "Or do you have to study?"

Cal shook his head, smiling shyly at her, "I'll finish eating and we'll go." then he took to gorging himself.

Nesta chuckled as she went to get ready to go out.

***

"When Dad asked me out the second time, right after our first date, I said no," Nesta said, looking across the river to the other side, where a couple of older poeple were walking slowly arm in arm.

They had paced for a half hour, in which Cal had told her about how they had met in the coffee shop in front of the school almost four months earlier and how she had offered him hot chocolate. How they had spent a whole day talking about everything and nothing, and how they now had an ongoing obligation to meet at least once a week in the same cafeteria, even though they ate at the same table every day with all their other friends.

Nesta had asked to see a picture of her, and Cal had been surprised to find out that he wanted his mother to like Raina more than anything else at that moment. Luckily, Nesta had been speechless and commented on the girl's silvery eyes, blinking a couple of times before giving him the phone back and commenting with a simple, "She's beautiful."

Now, sitting on a bench along the bank of the Sidra, Nesta was telling him about the days when Cassian had had to struggle to make her his.

"How come?" he asked genuinely curious.

Nesta smiled, lowering her gaze to the wedding band around her ring finger, "Because I liked the first date too much."

Cal furrowed his brow, "Were you afraid the second one wouldn't measure up?"

"No," she murmured, casting him a glance, "I knew perfectly well it would be better than the first."

"So why did you say no?" the boy asked impatiently.

"I knew that the second one would be better than the first one and that the third one would be better than the second one and so on and I was already so overwhelmed with my feelings that I was afraid it might become too much." she explained, "Your father was the first one to get close after so many years of me having my bad friendships and relationships." she frowned.

"If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to," he made a point of reminding her. He wanted to be helped and would have liked to know more about his parents' lives before them, but he didn't want his mother to feel compelled to share things with him that still bothered her.

Nesta squeezed his hand lovingly, "Don't worry, those things are in the past and I have nothing to be ashamed of." she smiled at him, "I was with someone else before your dad and that man kinda ruined my life. I thought I would never be able to trust anyone in the future again. That I would never again feel the love and affection I had felt for him." she huffed out a laugh. She brought both hands to her lap and Cal shoved them into his pocket. "Then your father came along and it was all so sudden and I fell in love right away, hard. Completely lost for a boy I barely knew. And it scared the hell out of me."

"Why?" Cal already knew the answer, it was what he felt every time he saw Raina walking down the halls of the school. Every time she bit into a piece of bread in the lunch room and then made a disgusted face at how awful the food tasted.

"Because I could only imagine how much it would hurt if it ended suddenly. If I felt everything so strong in the good, it would be just as strong in the bad, you know?" she turned to him, more serious than ever.

Cal just nodded.

"Your father was hurt by it," she confessed. She began to play with her wedding ring, "He was so hurt, god." she giggled, probably thinking about the night she had rejected him, "He stood in silence for minutes on the front porch of my house gasping, thinking about all the possible things he had done wrong during dinner and the aftermath and we looked at each other and looked at each other until he asked me why and I couldn't tell him. He wouldn't have understood. Or he would have thought I was crazy."

The boy chuckled as he stared out at the glistening water under Velaris' winter sun, imagining his parents as kids, dressed up for a date. "How come you finally agreed to it?" he asked, later specifying, "To go on a second date I mean."

Nesta seemed to ponder how to phrase it, "Because I loved him."

Cal gave her time to process the words. If it was even half as difficult for her as it was for him, he needed to let her speak for herself.

"Because I realized that such a strong emotion, even if it was sudden and all at once, could only be a good thing. That even if it ended badly, I would have the memory of those happy, carefree moments." she nodded thoughtlessly. "I realized that something like that had to be reciprocal. A connection with a person like I had never felt before, not even with Tomas - who I believed to be the love of my life for years."

"I'm glad he wasn't," Cal murmured, chuckling.

Nesta gave him a light shrug, "Me too." then continued. "I knew your father wouldn't give up on me as easily as I was giving up on him. So after the thousandth time he asked me why I couldn't go out with him, I agreed and every time, every damn time, my heart gave out a little more.

"And I got to a point where I had nothing left to give, because he had everything about me. And I was okay with that. I was risking losing myself in what could easily have been a summer fling, but I knew it was worth it.

"Thankfully, it wasn't. Thankfully I trusted my feelings and kept fighting for what I wanted and even though sometimes your dad and I hit bumps along the way, it's still worth it. Every day."

Cal was watching her carefully.

Nesta often told her children that she loved them. He had heard her say I love you to their father many times, but never, never had he heard her speak in that open way, that vulnerable. She must have realized it too, because she took a deep breath, as if she had forgotten to breathe until that moment. Then she turned to him and put a hand on his face. Cal leaned into that touch.

"I just want you to know that you're not alone. That I feel that way too, right away. And I can assure you that if Raina is the right person for you, then she'll understand that too. Maybe it won't be the same for her, maybe it will take her longer to get to where you think you are now, but that doesn't mean she doesn't love you the same way." her eyes grew watery. "And never, ever be afraid that you're giving too much. There's no such thing as too much when it comes to love. Not in these cases."

Cal nodded, not sure he would be able to speak if he tried, but he knew his mother could see the gratitude in his eyes.

He couldn't imagine how his father must have felt when Nesta had confessed his true feelings to him. Cal was sure that the love she reserved for her children was different from the love she reserved for her husband, but certainly not weaker, not in smaller amounts. Just different.

"I know it's scary dear, but trust me when I tell you that feeling emotions so hard will bring you the best memories you'll ever make," she finally whispered.

Cal cleared his throat, not quite sure whether to be calmer or more agitated than before, but he said anyway, "Thanks mom."

Nesta turned to the snow-capped mountains that were visible above the town, "No problem."

They stood watching the river sparkle for too many minutes, but when they got up, Cal hugged his mother so tightly that Nesta was stunned.

They were used to exchanging kisses and hugs in their family, but she felt this was different.

She wrapped her arms around her son, despite the fact that he was much taller than her, and they rocked each other as the boy tried to bring order to the mess that was his head.

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thebestplltheories · 7 years

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PLL 7x17 Driving Miss Crazy - Thoughts

- LOVED the episode. Entertaining from start to finish! Look, we all knew that “answers every week” is bullshit. I say this every week, but we’ve waited so many years, so we can wait 3 more weeks. So let’s just set aside the fact that we get no answers and just appreciate the fast pace and lack of fillers. I’m glad that the build up to the almighty answers-episode is fun. Season 7 really is the best season to date in my opinion.

- This episode should've been called Mona Mania, instead of that season 3 episode! She owned this episode. I won't even list everything she did that justifies her walking around town with a crown on her head. You know all the reasons. Just every Mona scene was so damn entertaining.

- NO ALI!!! Instant success!!! It felt like a good old season 4 episode. I say this a lot but Ali still feels like the outsider to the group. The dynamics just work better with Spencer, Hanna, Aria and Emily. I love those 4 together. Ali still doesn't fit in the group, in my eyes. I might feel like that because we had 4 whole seasons with just the 4 of them so I’m too used to it and I never adapted to the change properly when she came back in 5A. No hate on Sasha, but I’m just not a fan of Ali’s character, I’ve always thought they ruined her once she came back from the dead. This episode just had great vibes without her, just like 713.

- Hastings drama was on point. Nolan is doing an amazing job playing Peter.

- We did it! Another thing this Tumblr community guessed right: Aria was filing a police report against Ezra during the time she found out he was writing a book. It’s a shame they’re not going further and doing the abortion story, but I still like this.

- MARY!! Welcome back. I actually feel sorry for her. I think she’s the most misunderstood character ever in PLL history.

- I did really enjoy the plot twist that Peter and Jessica were planning to kill Mary but she intercepted and killed Jessica. Self defence. I never saw that coming. It doesn't change the final outcome that Mary killed Jessica, but it’s a nice additional layer to the overall story to show just how complex this mystery is. I appreciated and enjoyed that unnecessary layer.

- Ezra pisses me off SO MUCH. He’s so blind. He’s so stupid. Just like last week, he thinks everything is about him. “You still don't trust me because I wrote a book?” UMMMM NO???? Two weeks ago (PLL timeline) Hanna was abducted and EVERYONE, including Ezra, got a message from someone named AD, and the twin of a dead woman rocked up in town. Why has Ezra forgotten all of this??? Does he think AD just packed up and went home?? Does he think Hanna’s abduction was just a prank gone wrong and that all the messages about ‘find Hanna before it’s too late’ was just for fun? He saw ‘Hanna’ hanging from ropes in the bell tower, and he thinks the thing bothering Aria is trust issues from 6 years ago? Open your eyes Ezra. Someone is messing with your fiancé again. Not everything is about you.

- On a positive note I did appreciate his comments about regret with the book situation. I know that was very sincere. But get a hold of reality. Aria’s change of mood is not about you, ffs.

- Did that shirt from Radley belong to Spencer’s twin? Idk, just something to think about.

- The fact that AD is trying to break apart the Hastings house feels like AD has a vendetta against the Hastings. Perhaps, Twincer is angry they adopted Spencer but not herself? Revenge?

- Spencer’s numberplate was CHD. I know we shouldn't be looking into this stuff because not once have these had meaning, but, I couldn't help but think back to Charles DiLaurentis.

- Thank god the musical number was short. I mean, I enjoyed it, and Janel can sing, but it did feel a bit random and out of nowhere. Perhaps that’s because I was so immersed in the episode and enjoying it so much, that when that came on, the pace was ruined out of nowhere. But judging it for what it is, standalone, it was cool! I don't understand Lucy’s comments that all the girls were in it? Were they, and I just didn’t see them? haha

- I’m surprised Spencer hasn't pieced together that Aria is doing this. The earring... bringing dinner then leaving? I don't know about you guys but not once in my entire life have I driven to my friends house to drop off dinner for them and then leave? That’s just weird. Some might say it’s a polite gesture... and it is, but it’s weirdly polite. No one does that?? “Hey I brought you dinner! Ok I’m going now!” wtf?

- Can Marco just arrest them already!? They’re dwindling on this story for too long. Too much talking, not enough action.

- The episode felt incomplete. I don't like how they’re dragging on a few storylines into the next episode, such as Aria’s reward (we know it was her files... but I wanted to actually read them in detail) and the doctor’s ID. Those storylines were the stories of THIS episode. Episode 17 was about THOSE things - they should’ve got total resolution, to define the episode and say “episode 17 revolved around these things”. I was just waiting for them to say Wren’s name (in regards to the doctor who did the procedure). And it never came. This episode should’ve had just one more reveal of sorts. And I don’t like that they didn’t just reveal things then and there. Oh and also the puzzle pieces... I thought with 2 more pieces, we’d get a better idea of what the pieces are forming. But no. So that was a tiny bit disappointing, that Aria did all that work and she/we still didn’t really get much out of it.

- That ending confirmed for me that Mona is not AD. It’s too obvious. I know CeCe was obvious because they literally showed her in a hoodie... but this is different. This is too close to the finale. I don’t believe Mona is AD. Instead, Mona wants to win the liars’ trust back so she’s working to solve the game, rather than administer the game to them. Also she is saving their assess by taking the shovels/potential evidence - it’s good not bad. Unfortunately this all comes back to Mona dying in the finale. She’ll get way too close to AD’s identity, and then AD will kill her. Thankfully, the girls will pickup where Mona left off and end it themselves. Then, they'll realise they couldn't have done it without Mona. So sad, but it’s a great story arc especially for a series finale.

- Caleb’s talk about Hanna to Ashley was adorable. That was a really well done scene. I loved their tent scene with the rings and Hanna bringing the bottle because she anticipated Caleb would say “yes I meant those words”. We all know the writers chose a tent because that’s where they spent their first night - I like that attention to detail. Terrible song choice... oh my gosh. Why not just use the same song as 1x19 (I think that was the episode?) Nostalgia always sells.

- Overall, my second favourite episode this season! 8.5/10. I really did like it. Again, I’ve gotten over the fact that we don't get answers every episode. It was a lie, yes, but I’m not going to sit here and whinge when the answers are just 3 weeks away anyway. I’m just taking the episodes for what they are, disregarding all comments from writers, and I’m loving the ride. Fast paced, good writing, amazing mystery/story. Decent romance too - coming from someone who only watches for mystery, they’re doing well. I honestly would’ve rated this a 10/10 episode if they just went that extra mile and revealed the doctor’s name (Wren), showed us Aria’s reward properly AND give us insight into what the puzzle pieces are forming. The episode felt incomplete that they started stories this episode and never resolved them completely. But nonetheless, it was amazing. No Ali definitely contributed to that ;) 8.5 might seem high for an episode with no answers, but I was entertained from start to finish, no fillers, decent romance, really good mystery... can’t say much bad other than it feeling incomplete. This was an episode of PLL doing what it does best. IF ONLY THEY JUST GAVE A LITTLE BIT MORE IN THE FINAL MINUTES.

EDIT: SORRY I MEAN DONOR - NOT DOCTOR. It’s 2.30am right now, and I just finished watching the episode. I was going to watch it in the morning but I stayed up to get this post out - I always get messages asking when my thoughts post will be up!

#pll #pll 7x17

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broodyauthor62 · 6 years

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This the first chapter from my first book “Baker’s Dozen: a Fantasy Novel”. Available quite cheaply on Kindle worldwide.

Prologue: Goin’ Over Town

In a reality not far from our own...

Paul Baker Colson speaks:

I was heading down Cedric Street, “goin’ over town”, as my late mother would have put it, and stopped on the bridge. It was a hot, extremely muggy afternoon and I was surprised to see a large number of people (mostly men and boys) fishing from the bridge and the shores of the river. This was strange: the Clarke River is not a clean stream; its dark waters are polluted by a paper-mill upstream. “Town” water was taken from Lake Ontario, not the river.

I quit counting the catches at 30. Most of the fish seemed to be bass. I looked west, down-river, and something caught my eye. Amid the coloured T-shirts and shorts, a spot of black-on-white showed: a figure sitting on one of the benches by the river. It appeared to be an old man, black from broad-brimmed hat, severe suit, and pants, white from shirt and skin.

I felt drawn to this figure... I couldn’t explain why at the time. I took the stairs to the shore at the south end of the bridge. I walked down the boardwalk to where the man was sitting, dodging excited fishermen as I went.

The oldster sat quite still, a large, dark green book on his lap. He looked, I remember now, like the old-time preachers you would see in Westerns. Oddly, something made me uneasy. This was even before I had a good look at him. His shirt was bright white and the wrinkled skin on his hands was hardly a shade darker. Looking at him, I could sense, somehow, his great age and youthful intensity at the same time. These two conflicting emanations seemed to cause me to want to talk to him. His hat’s brim shielded his eyes from mine as I stood before him.

To his left sat a teenager in a Jays’ baseball cap, white shirt, blue jeans, and black high-tops. I couldn’t see his eyes, either. He sat very still, his dark hair forming a duck-tail at the back of his cap. He sat so still I wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

The elder of the two tilted his head back, gazed at me with pale blue eyes, and croaked: “Have you read from the Book?”

I figured he meant the Bible; probably that was what he was holding on his lap.

“I’ve cracked it open from time-to-time,” I answered, glibly.

His eyes hardened at that.

“Not this Book! This is that which you can’t handle lightly!” he hissed loudly.

His breath stank of decayed fish. The young man flinched at the outburst. Then he looked up at me.

Bad drugs, I thought. His skin was paler than the old man’s... if that was possible. His eyes were brown, dilated, blank, and staring.

“Darrel, here,” said the senior in a more-normal tone, “has read from the Book. He is one with us!”

“Darrel” flinched again.

“My name is Ezra Marsh, out of Innsmouth, Massachusetts.”

“Paul Baker Colson.”

Okay, I thought, Introductions made. Still, I felt I was getting out of my depth with this conversation so I had to ask: “Okay. So what is this book?”

“The Hymns of Dagon!” he answered, triumphantly.

“Dagon,” I repeated. “Who’s he?”

The wasted face brightened.

“He is the Render the Seas! The Bringer of the bounty! The Father of the multitude, the Deep Ones!”

He became agitated, again; he almost fell flat on his face as he snarled the last sentence out.

I grabbed his slender shoulders to steady him. His suit was damp with sweat. I looked around but the anglers hadn’t seemed to notice his outburst. He had staggered up off the bench; I steadied him back down. Darrel had jerked several times during the man’s rant.

“I apologize for my zeal... but if you knew... if you knew ... ,” he spoke, thickly; he sounded like he was losing his voice. For a moment, I thought the old guy would have a stroke right there, what with the heat. After a moment, though, he seemed to calm down and his breathing normalized. Marsh looked up at me, a sly look on his emaciated face.

He asked, “Would you like to hear one?”

I looked at my watch: almost 4:00 pm.

I replied, “Well. Okay. You’ve made me kinda curious.”

I sat down on the bench beside him, to his right. The smell of fish increased incredibly: it was as if he should be covered in scales, flopping by the feet of one of the nearby fishermen. He opened the book on his lap. There were no musical notes that I could see, just script that I took to be Arabic or close to it. I could read Arabic script but the words seemed meaningless to me.

He began to “sing.” His voice hissed, moaned and gobbled.

It made no sense to me (although I did hear the name “Dagon” in his sighing and sputtering tune). He went on like that for a few minutes, never raising his voice. From the other side of him, I could hear Darrel humming atonally.

When Marsh was done, he turned to me square and asked, “What do you think?”

“I think... I hafta go!” I replied. I stood up and added, “Good luck spreading the word! Bye, Darrel!”

His “song” and Darrel’s moaning undertone had really bothered me. The sun had seemed to dim and the cooling air had given me goose flesh. I hurried away, back up to Cedric Street. I heard Ezra Marsh call after me. I made out the word “again” over the noise of the crowd...

“Dagon,” I mumbled that night as Andy, my 16-year-old brother and I cleaned up the supper dishes. They didn’t amount to much as we had ordered out for pizza, a habit we were indulging in probably more often than was good for us.

Andy looked at me.

“‘Dagon’? Have you been into the Old Testament or lookin’ through my library?” he asked. He looked puzzled but amused.

We’d been getting along well recently, so I replied mildly, “Neither. Just some weird old guy I saw today.”

I set the last washed plate in the right sink for him to dry.

“He used that word or name,” I finished.

“Really!” he responded. “Hmm... the only ‘Dagon’ I know of was a god of the sea worshiped by the Philistines in the O.T... They used to sacrifice people to him for more fish. And... . oh, yeah! He was also a nasty critter from some of those books of mine you refer to as ‘simple horseshit’.”

“Which horseshit?” I demanded of him.

I hated it when he knew more about something than I did! He held up his palms in mock-defence.

“Okay, okay! In my collection of H. P. Lovecraft stories, Dagon was a god of the sea, too. He was a deity for some humans on land and for his ‘children’, the Deep Ones, under the water. Was this guy an H.P. nut or sumthin?”

“No... I don’t know!” I growled.

I was angry with myself for feeling strange about the whole business and mad at my brother for making light of it. Should I tell him that Marsh had used those strange names as if they meant something real to him? I wouldn’t be able to face his knowing smile: Go on, Bro. Have another rum and cola!

I drew in a breath and said, “Okay. Maybe he was just a senile, old ‘H.P. nut’. That’s probably how you’ll end up, too, if you don’t watch it!”

I smiled at him; being nice was something we were working on, too.

We finished the dishes and, as usual, he went to his room in the back of the house to go on-line and I sat down in the living-room to watch the Jays on the 54-inch. The Jays were having a better season than those past, the games were usually good... but Ezra Marsh was still on my mind.

As the game progressed, my mind wandered. A rum and Pepsi would go good right now, I thought. I shook my head fiercely; I was trying to dry out! Going on the straight-and-narrow! I felt myself getting angry. The Jays scored a run. I inwardly studied my feelings. All my frustrations came from one source: Andrew. My parents had tried to leave it all to him... with the proviso that he looked after me! It turned out that wasn’t legal. But Andy’s lawyer was trying to set some kind of precedent, so...

So what if I’d alienated my parents by joining the Armed Forces at the fresh-faced age of 16? So what if the bottle had been holding me instead of the other way? So what if they couldn’t practice birth control in their 40s? I guess I wasn’t enough of a son for them! So what if... it was an endless litany that I indulged in often... and it wasn’t a good habit. There had been times since I had left the Forces that I had considered seeking medical help, because I felt the feelings I had were unhealthy. I wasn’t a strong believer that mental illnesses really existed, so I never acted on that idea.

Mom and Dad had been livid when I signed up but I felt at the time my country needed me... that, and I hated school. Plus, about ten years earlier, the Canadian government had decided to beef up the military. The Nazis hadn’t made any aggressive moves in almost fifty years but the consensus was, “Why take a chance?”

The Americans were such isolationists and ball-less wonders... at least, as far as I was concerned. They couldn’t be counted on for protection. The government had passed what had been widely known as “Pierre’s Choice”: at the age of sixteen, you stayed in school, got a job (there were few of them) or joined the Armed Forces (you weren’t thrown into the fray immediately; there was a two-year training period) so I headed off to learn how to be a soldier. The infantry was my trade of choice as it had the easiest entry requirements. I had become very good at killing and other “nastiness” over the years. The League of Nations continued to limp along, trying to maintain the peace. They quite often called on Canadians to do the dirty work (I think many of the European delegates considered Canucks quasi-barbarians): clandestine operations that usually occurred in European nations not totally under Nazi control. I took all the right courses that could fit into my schedule and moved up the ranks quite quickly. I was a bit of a wunderkind and my superiors were very happy with me. Ironically, during my career, it was pointed out that an education would be a definite asset. I applied myself, put in many long days, and came out with college equivalence. Of course, there was also a slight drinking problem. My brother had sidestepped the Choice... later governments had liked it a lot... by starting university early, on-line. He was now working on his second year of his Bachelor of Science, majoring in physics. He was a genius.

The game ended at ten pm. It had been a slug-fest, 10-6, with the Blue Jays winning in the ninth. The news came on: apparently, the princess-in-exile was in trouble with Revenue Canada... again. This bored me. I took a Pepsi out to the front porch (no rum, damn it!), looking to cool off on the chaise lounge. The soggy night heat then wrapped around me like steam in a sauna. The moon was high in the sky, nearly full. The air’s moisture had placed a faint ring around it. I watched it rise while I drank three cans of cola. Midnight came on and I decided to go to bed.

Might as well, I thought. Have a whole day of hanging around to do tomorrow.

I had it in my mind, then, that the scream I heard from the north was wordless. In my dreams, now, it is a pleading negation: “Not me!” or just “NO!” I stood straight from the comfortable chair and dropped my half-full pop can. The shriek sounded like it came from the park by the river. A few dogs in the neighbourhood responded to the sound by yelping but all fell quickly silent.

I was a block down the street, running in my moccasins before I thought: What are you doing? But I kept on. The park was fronted by the boardwalk where just eight hours earlier I had met that strange man. And Darrel. I cut through the park between the wide-spaced trees, moving on the wet grass as quietly as my military training could supply.

When I got to the wooden planks, I noticed this first: one of the benches had been smashed in half. There was a coppery smell in the air. The moonlight spotlighted a dark object lying on the dewy, trampled grass. It was a black high-top running shoe.

I picked it up and was surprised by the weight. I realized the ugly truth... I’d seen it in Czechoslovakia: the foot was still in it. The anklebones stuck out, splintered. I threw it from me with an angry cry of disgust. It hit the water with a loud splash.

After that sound, there came a loud churning of the water’s surface. It became apparent that someone or something was swimming toward shore. I crouched down, going into what I call my “war-mode”. I was ready to fight, weaponless as I was. I only wished that the lights along the walkway had been lit that night.

Two bright ovals of light caught me in that position.

A voice yelled out, “Hold it right there!”

“Okay, okay!” I shouted back.

I slowly dropped to my knees to put the yeller at ease. The noises from the river ceased.

Oh, good, I thought.

The policeman and the policewoman, Drury and McAvoy, were from the O.P.P. Clarkesville didn't have its own policing anymore. They inquired what was going on, had I broke the bench (though they quickly concluded that I couldn’t have done it by myself), and why did I have blood on my moccasins. That question startled me.

Blood! I said to myself. That smell; I should have recognized that smell!

In short order, they had me handcuffed. McAvoy held my left arm tightly. I did the smart thing: I did not resist. Drury went over by the busted bench and found where the blood was on the grass. He stood up; put his mike to his lips and contacted headquarters (I supposed), getting info from my wallet, and using the cryptic language police use while so doing. Another patrol car pulled into the park, blinding me with its headlights.

The next few hours rushed and dragged, alternatively. We rocketed to the HQ. We flew by the front desk, stopping long enough to remove my belt and keys and get my fingerprints. They indicated I was probably going to be charged with mischief (nothing was said about the blood at the scene). We went zooming to the holding cell, which was mercifully empty. They left me there and time slowed to a crawl. It seemed like hours before one officer came back with a portable phone so I could call Andy.

“I’ll call Sade,” he said and added, “I’m very disappointed with you, Bro.”

A very large man in a grey suit looked in on me. He held up a detective badge for me to see.

“I’m Detective Jimmy Cochrane. Let’s talk.”

He wanted to know what I’d been doing in the park so late at night. I told him about hearing the scream, finding the foot. He sniffed.

“Divers will find it. We got your ID from your prints. Got them from the Ministry of Defence. You’re some kind of hero, eh? Had a bitch of a time getting anything about you... except awards.”

“I’m no hero.”

“Well, you do have a lot of decorations and medals on file... it even says you were a Regimental Sergeant Major.”

I looked down at my bare feet. “Any fool can win medals! Look. I haven’t done anything. Won’t you guys let me out?”

“Yes, they will!” called Yvan Sade as he walked up to the cell. “Are you charging Mr. Colson with anything? Substantial?”

Cochrane replied, “We were originally thinking of mischief but it looks like we need more evidence.”

Andy’s lawyer smiled his shark’s smile.

“Then I think we’re done here! Come on, James, that’s a good fellow!”

They let me go. The short, burly Mr. Sade led me to his car.

“Cheaper than a taxi!” he enthused.

During the short drive home (Sade drove like a maniac), I told the lawyer my story.

“Shouldn’t have chucked that foot away! Evidence, my boy! Evidence!”

We pulled into my driveway. I asked Sade if he wanted to have a coffee but he declined. “Busy day tomorrow! Or, I guess it’s today!”

Yvan Sade always spoke using exclamation marks. He wheeled out and was gone in a spray of gravel. I walked into the house in my bare feet, my leather moccasins, bloodstained as they were, being held for testing.

Andy was waiting for me in the kitchen. It was 3:00 am. He asked me if I wanted to eat, that he was making something for himself.

“Just wanna go to bed... feel like a bag of shit.”

“You look it, too.”

“Screw you.”

“Just kidding!” he said. “You okay?”

“Will be... ”

That said, I went to my bedroom, climbed on my bed and fell asleep without even undressing. Fortunately, I hadn’t any blood on my clothes.

My dreams were fierce. The worst one had Andy being torn apart, his bones cracking like dry kindling, by something huge and dark, eyes like egg-shaped, glowing prisms. I heard Marsh’s voice screaming in triumph, “Dagon! Dagonnn!” I could hear waves crashing in the background and smell the ocean. It turned its blazing eyes on me...

“No!” I shouted as I jerked myself upwards into full wakefulness.

I was sweating and felt ill. A cool breeze blew fitfully through the west window but all it did was chill me.

Change in the weather comin’, I reasoned.

The front doorbell rang. I looked at the clock: just past nine. I got up, knowing Andy was probably asleep, and only the Last Trump could wake him. I straightened my clothes as much as possible and went to answer the door, shaking my head to clear the cobwebs left by my short sleep. Jimmy Cochrane stood outside, his detective’s badge in hand. I’m 183 cm. but the man had a good head on me and probably 25 kilos, too. He extended a large hand to shake.

“May I come in?” he asked, as I accepted his hand.

I let him inside and showed him to the kitchen. He pulled out one of the crafted wooden chairs and sat down slowly. You could tell this fellow had broken chairs before then; I worried about my brother’s investment. I offered him a cold drink (“No, thanks”), then a coffee (“Yes, please.”). I went about setting up the coffee maker and we talked back and forth about the heat, the cooling in the air that a.m. and the Jays. Finally, we sat across from each other, coffees in hand.

Cochrane sat back slightly.

“Tell me again about last night. Don’t leave anything out.”

I told him, in detail, all that had happened late Friday night and early Saturday. I spoke with some heat about having nothing to do with the broken bench or the blood. I made a point about mentioning the shoe and the noises from the river again.

“What does the noise from the river suggest to you?” he asked.

“I, I don’t know. It was as if I was in shock. Most of the night seems like a blur.”

“Does the name 'Darrel Spencer' mean anything to you?”

Darrel! “No. Why?”

“He was a young offender who had given a DNA sample a few months ago. It was his blood at the crime scene. They dragged the river there, too.”

“What did they find?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” He gave me a cryptic look. “It’s beginning to look like a homicide, though. You’ll be relieved to know you’re not the prime suspect. The lab boys found your footprints in the blood but no other physical evidence. So you shouldn’t worry.”

He gave me a smile which showed missing teeth, a boxer’s smile. It clashed with his fine, grey suit. He ran his left hand through thinning, red hair.

“Sorry to have troubled you. Actually, this news might have made you feel some better.”

He gulped the last of his coffee and stood up.

“I’ll let myself out. And, yeah, I know this sound’s hokey but: don’t leave town for the next few days.”

He grinned at me and patted me on the shoulder as he left. I heard the door open and shut.

That was weird, I thought.

I felt strange after Cochrane left. Lassitude flooded over me, leaving me sitting there at the table as my coffee cooled down to undrinkable. The effects of arriving at the scene of Darrel Spencer’s slaughter had unnerved me more than I had realized. Had I been away from action... from war and death so long that this occurrence shocked me into immobility?

And why, I wondered, haven’t I mentioned Ezra Marsh?

Sacrifice, Andy had said. For more fish.

Not tonight! I thought. I won’t let it happen again!

As I stood up from the table, I appraised my life briefly. I said to myself, I’ve done... questionable things, even evil things. It’s time to balance things out.

Later, in the early afternoon light, with thunder rumbling in the distance, I went to my bedroom and began my preparations. I wasn’t sure for what I was getting ready but I was sure it involved death... and death was something I knew.

I knew Andy still slept so I quietly entered the closet in my room. I was quiet because the bathtub in the bathroom next door would act as a sound conduit right into Andy’s room. I didn’t want to take the small chance of waking him, yet. I removed the collection of shoes and boots from the closet floor. Once the floor was cleared, I removed the piece of carpeting, exposing the trapdoor to the crawlspace.

I opened it. The smell of fresh damp earth surrounded me. Reaching down, I found the waterproof box. I felt around for the handle on one end and picked the container up. Carefully, still trying to be as quiet as possible, I pulled it up through the square hole. I set the heavy box on the floor just outside the closet and worked the combination lock.

The khaki combat uniform was still folded neatly. I removed the clothing to get at the smaller box under it. The box opened revealing a GLOCK 37 pistol and several clips of ten .45 calibre hollow-point bullets. I inspected this then closed the tin and set it aside. Farther down in the main box, I found two sticks of camouflage paint.

There we go, I thought, feeling complete.

I slid the smaller box, the paint, and my uniform under the bed. The bigger box went back under the floor. I then laid down and waited...

The storm that struck later that afternoon was intense. Clarkesville hadn’t had one like it all summer. The lightning flashed almost continuously followed by cannonades of thunder. The wind blew up a gale. The power went off twice but neither time lasted more than a few moments. It was bad enough to make me think a tornado was in the works.

I could hear Andy awake in his room yelling at the more brilliant displays: “Jesus! Holy fuck!”

The storm rolled its way eastward, leaving cooler air in its wake... plus a few relieved citizens. It was 5:00 pm. so I went to the kitchen. I wasn’t hungry but Andy was always a bottomless pit when it came to food. I began to prepare some spaghetti, using slices of fried sausage in the sauce (Andy’s preference).

I was quiet during supper. Andy was, too, sensing my mood. The noodles and sauce could have been paper and water as far as I was concerned but my brother enjoyed it. Due to his efforts, there wasn’t any left to be refrigerated. He helped me clean off the table and grabbed a bagel from the fridge. I told him I would wash and dry the supper dishes later. He looked surprised.

“What’s with the sudden generosity?” he asked.

“Maybe I went and got religion.”

He chuckled, stuffed the bagel in his mouth, and went to his room, a can of Pepsi in hand. Excluding forays for more cola and trips to the bathroom, I knew I had probably seen the last of him until morning. I went back to my room. I knew I had some hours to wait.

What was I going to be facing? A band of cultists of some kind, likely. Marsh couldn’t have butchered Darrel all by himself. Could he? My mind raced.

I somehow knew that Ezra Marsh and his followers (how many?) would have another victim there by the river tonight. Sixth sense? I didn’t think so. It was just one hunter reading the heart of another.

I knelt beside the bed and pulled out the box and the uniform. The “COLSON” name-tag stared up at me from above the left breast pocket. I looked at the Regimental Sergeant Major insignia’s lion and unicorn. I sighed and opened the box and took out the GLOCK. Dominic, my supplier, had told me I’d like this weapon. I’d only test-fired it five times while back at the old farm. I pulled the slide back and gazed at the cleanliness of the breech. I sighed again. I set the automatic pistol aside and took out ten clips of ammunition.

A small voice inside me cried, Tell the police!

I ignored it. I'd decided to treat it as a “The Black” op but this time I was certain of the ethics of my target(s). I laid the uniform beside me on the queen-sized bed. I put nine of the clips in the pant-leg pockets, four on one side, the rest on the other. I loaded the last clip into the GLOCK and clicked the pistol’s safety, putting it under my pillow. I put the tin box back under the bed. I then reached over to my alarm clock and set it for 11:00 pm.; four hours to wait. I wondered if I’d sleep.

I stared at the clock until 10:30. I climbed off the bed and stripped to my shorts and put the khaki on. I tucked the shirt in, reached under my pillow, and got the pistol. I stopped for a second; I’d forgotten the holster. I shook my head in disbelief and corrected that by getting the metal container out again.

As I pulled the holster out of the very bottom, I thought, I had better get a grip or I’m going to die tonight.

The holster held the pistol under my left armpit. I placed the GLOCK gently, barrel first, into the leather. I then took the camouflage paint out. I didn’t need a mirror. I had done it so many times before. It took a minute, using both shades of green. To finish, I put a camouflage baseball cap (from my collection of caps on the wall) on my head. I then went into “war-mode” and moved like a ghost out of my bedroom. I could hear Andy clicking away on his keyboard but he didn’t hear me. I opened and closed the door to the breezeway silently and in a moment, I was outside.

There was a stiff breeze blowing from the southwest, pushing fitful clouds ahead of it. I circled the south side of our house and headed north.

I crouched, crawled, and slid behind the neighbours’ houses on Sandra Street until I reached Babcock Road and the south side of the park. I crossed Babcock like a shadow. The light from the almost-full moon waxed and waned with the passing of the clouds. Gravel pressed against my bare feet, followed by the kiss of cool, wet grass.

Passage through the conservation area was tricky: some branches had been blown down. As I approached the boardwalk, I saw the path’s lights were lit this night. The bench had been hastily slapped together and was festooned with crime-scene tape. I was rather surprised that any repairs had been done. Two figures were seated there. One of them was Marsh; I could tell from his black hat. I couldn’t tell who the other was. I waited.

Ezra Marsh stood up. He was wearing a black robe instead of his suit. He held out his hand to the other, who was female. She took his hand and stood up. She was slim with long, dark hair. She was clothed in jeans and a denim jacket. She moved slowly, stiffly... as if she was in a trance. The old man walked her to the side of the boardwalk away from the water.

“Stay here, Nicole,” he said quite clearly.

He walked to the water’s edge. I could tell he was singing one the Hymns of Dagon without the book this time.

Probably has them all memorized! I thought inanely.

Marsh reached the river’s brink and turned and faced the girl. He dropped his robe, exposing his scrawny, hairless body. He turned back to the water and raised his arms to it.

Seeing him naked and then vulnerable, I stepped out of the shadows, brandishing the GLOCK and yelled, “Forget it, Marsh, you ass-hole! It’s over! Let the girl go!”

His response was a maniacal cackle. He swivelled his head to look at me.

“You cannot stop what has been started here! Dread Cthulhu will curse you if you try!”

He looked back at the water, arms still outstretched.

“Caleb! In the name of Dagonnnn! Rise up!” he roared, body quaking, the volume of his voice giving a lie to his weak-appearing form.

Just in front of him, the water erupted and something leapt ashore. The first thought I had was, The Creature from the Black Lagoon!

Then Nicole started screaming and collapsed into a quivering ball of fear. This was real! The sea animal, half-human thing; it let out a blubbering squeal and moved toward the terrified girl. I acted, filled with rage.

“No, you don’t scumbag!” I screamed and aimed.

Marsh saw this and bellowed, in return, “No!”

I put the laser-sight right on the monster’s chest and fired. It moved sideways incredibly fast but the slug still connected. The right shoulder disintegrated into a cloud of flesh, scales, and bone fragments. The beast howled, the remains of its right arm hanging loose. Marsh yelled out in anguish.

I ran up to the young woman. I was 5 metres or so from “Caleb”. I grabbed her left flailing wrist and pulled her to her feet. She resisted but I lifted her up with fear-fuelled strength. She looked at me with shock-dimmed eyes. She looked past me and saw the thing and almost withdrew into her ball again. I slapped her hard. Her eyes cleared and she looked at me sanely for just a moment.

I hollered in her face, “Run! For fuck's sake, run!”

She turned and scampered south, toward Babcock Road. She cried out as she ran. Answering cries came from the west.

I felt a heavy impact on the ground behind me. I whirled around. Mortally wounded, the beast stood before me, taller and wider than a normal man could be. It had jumped the five metres! I brought my pistol up and it hit me with its good hand... with claws. Pain splashed through me and I was raised spinning in the air. My right side was aflame and I was sure I was leaving my intestines quivering in the air.

In that second I thought wildly, Don't drop the GLOCK! Don't drop the GLOCK!

I hit the ground, bone-breaking hard. I didn’t drop the GLOCK.

I rolled to my back and looked between my feet. Caleb was now twice as far away. I tried to raise my right arm. Pain! I reached across my chest and took my weapon from my injured right hand. I aimed the pistol with my left, putting the little red dot on Caleb’s chest. Marsh saw this as he stood by the monster and flung himself across the creature in its defence.

I thought, Get one of you!

The round hit the old man in the head, taking the back of it off. His body dropped like a stone. Caleb looked down wildly, his eyes like wide green prisms, the gore on his chest now with the addition of Marsh's brain-matter.

“Poppa! Poppa!” he howled.

He picked the elderly man’s corpse up with his left hand and turned back to the river. I aimed shakily with my left hand and unloaded a shot at the back of his head. Then everything went black...

Through waking and losing consciousness, I saw much:

A tall, wide-shouldered, middle-aged man with a full grey beard bending over me and saying, “Well done.”

A harried-looking policeman, dripping-wet from rain, yelling, “EMS! Right now!”

Lightning flashed before my eyes, turning the raindrops silver...

I laid swaddled in a bed in the ICU of the County Hospital. Worried-looking nurses looked in on me from time-to-time. Andy was by my bed much, holding my left hand, careful of the IV. Doctor Alder was there several times. He looked concerned, too. Over it all was the smell of seaweed. I decided I was dying.

There came a time, though, when I was alone. I started to close my eyes and enter oblivion once more when movement caught them. The middle-aged man with the full beard entered the room (no other patients were there) without hindrance from the nurses. He walked to the head of my bed. I rolled my eyes to look at him.

“Well done,” he repeated, reaching into his grey robe. He pulled out a vial filled with clear liquid. He uncorked it and reached over, holding it to my lips.

“Drink,” he said.

Dumbfounded, I followed his command. It was bitter but somehow soothing. I noticed the seaweed smell ebbing. The pain in my right side eased markedly.

“In two days you’ll go home.”

He walked out of the ICU with the same silence as when he came. I drifted off to sleep.

Two days later, I was sitting in front of the 54-inch with a Pepsi in my hand. The wounds and infections had cleared up... just like that... after the antibiotics had failed at first.

Doctor Alder called it jokingly, “A medical miracle.”

You could see the puzzlement in his eyes.

I sat there on the LayZeeBoy, with the ounce of rum in my cola taking the edge off the itch in my right side (Andy had agreed one ounce wouldn’t hurt). The sutures were still in but would be dissolved in a few weeks (or less). The Jays were winning on the tube and life was good...

In the next few weeks of healing, I found out a few things. The girl whose life I’d saved was Nicole Troyer, a friend of Andy’s. I had met her before but under much more relaxed circumstances. She’d actually come screaming to our door. Andy had taken her in and called the O.P.P. and the ambulance. They thought someone had tried to rape her (I was briefly accused of that!). Nicole couldn’t remember anything after the first bad storm. Some teenagers had been smoking marijuana over by the bandstand: they saw everything, they said, but their stories, interesting (and close to the truth) though they were, were dismissed. Any blood and brain tissue had been washed away by the second storm that had occurred right after my meeting with Marsh and Caleb. The river was dragged but no bodies were found.

Finally, I think the official story ran that I had stopped in the park and rescued Miss Troyer from two attackers. One of them had been in some type of costume, perhaps a wet suit and mask. I had fired at both but they were able to get away. They had, however, had time to stab me repeatedly before leaving. The police then arrived to find me bleeding to death in the rain. End of story.

My pistol was confiscated, being illegal in Canada. There were a few other charges against me, mostly firearms-related, but Sade was able to have them dropped.

Most of the information came from Cochrane who showed up one day to see how I was doing.

Since he had AB- blood, Andy had donated some of his to make up for what I’d lost. This brought us closer together and made us friends for months.

To make a long story short: I healed well. I still walked, using a cane to help with the pain on my right side: ribs had been broken as well as the gashes and bruises. I walked around town, looking for the middle-aged man with the full grey beard... but I never saw him. After a few months, I gave up, about the same time as I stopped using the cane. In a town the size of Clarkesville, you would see anybody that time.

I was “goin’ over town” quite a bit during that search. I’ve talked to the anglers (there weren’t many) as I passed, going north or south.

I was told the fishing sucked...

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